Brandon Sanderson Stormlight Series Novels & Stories

Neither of us could believe it. Brandon was an Alpha, soon to succeed his father's throne after graduation. Wealthy, desired by many, and a known playboy, I knew I wasn't his type of girl, not to mention the future Luna. "Bloody shit! What sort of stupid fate is this? You, of all people? A rut like you? Naïve, dresses worse than a nerd, dirty, weak, and barely able to speak for yourself? I'd rather die than accept you!" he roared, anger flashing in his eyes.

His talent, like himself, was Sword Enthusiast. He also knew Freya, another lucky player, the first European Emperor in Wild Valley World. Caleb, the top Body Cultivator in Wild Valley World, nicknamed Martial Saint. Seraphina, the top demonic cultivator, recognized by the Lord of the Asura Hall and taken as his disciple, possessed overwhelming demonic techniques and mysterious spiritual skills. Kairos, the top Blade Cultivator. Sebastian knew most of the people here; they were all famous figures in the future.

My finger hovers over the trigger, ready to end it, but I can’t look away just yet. As I watch, Alessandra’s security is overpowered. Their bodies are searched and stripped of weapons. A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips. Not only is Alessandra’s life in danger, but so is her empire. I tighten my grip on the rifle, waiting for the right moment. Then, my phone vibrates again. “Hi Sandra. I know we haven’t spoken much lately, but I desperately need your help.” Brandon. My heart skips a beat as I read his name on the screen.

“No doubt why Lee is so much into books. I bet after reaching your age; she will also give lectures like you.” “Sorry, Mon amour. I just carried away.” Brandon chuckled and forwarded his hand toward Sophia. Sophia held his hand and smiled at him before sitting beside him. “So, what were you talking about?” Sophia asked, wondering how these two got along. “Nothing. I was telling him about Black Council, the hub of rogues.” Brandon said, on which Sophia furrowed his eyebrow, wondering why Theodore was interested in these things. “They practically kill one another to survive. And only the strongest could survive there.”

Hayden had pulled Cory into an abandoned shop only to have the front wall of it blasted off by the slate-grey beast. The gifted Stormbringer wailed, calling its three remaining comrades to it. The fawn, black and other white Stormbringer galloped to its side. The leader was breathing heavily. It dug its claws into the ground. Cory sensed what it was about to do. Gathering the strength of an army into its fifty-foot body, the colossal Stormbringer unleashed one final wave of lightning. A lightning storm hit the city, striking buildings and people at random, desolating the nearest structures and expanding outwards, causing damage to faraway fixtures. The zigzags of lightning diverged in such a

~Nick~ The name’s Nick Gracen, but most call me Lightning. I’m the local prez of the Wild Ridge MC Club. It’s a title that carries weight, respect, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. I looked around the clubhouse, a place that had seen more action than most could handle. The air was thick with the scent of oil, leather, and a hint of whiskey—a comforting blend that felt like home. The brothers were scattered around, some tinkering with their bikes, others deep in conversation about our latest shipment.

She held her golden staff high, and the tip began to glow with a killing light. ​"The bridge is open," the woman hissed. "Kill the vessel before the King arrives!" ​As the golden light gathered to strike Seraphina, the roof of the Frost Sanctum didn't just break—it vanished. ​A shadow larger than the building itself fell over them. The air grew ten times hotter in a single second. ​Seraphina looked up through the open ceiling. High above, silhouetted against the winter moon, was a figure draped in obsidian armor, riding a creature made of living smoke and fire.

The dawn broke over the desert like a whisper of blood, casting the world in a crimson hue that seemed to burn with the intensity of what was coming. Sena stood at the edge of their camp, the wind blowing softly through her hair, her eyes fixed on the horizon. In the distance, a storm was rising—a storm that wasn’t made of sand or wind, but of fate, and of the inevitable clash that would determine the future of the wolves, and the land itself.

The ghostwolves howl as we descend, their cries mournful. The tunnel ends at a chasm. Below, a storm rages-not of wind and rain, but of raw, screaming *creation*. Lightning births wolves that dissolve mid-leap; thunder shatters into a chorus of howls. The alpha steps aside. *"The Cradle. Drink, and be reborn."* The Hunter grabs my wrist. "Don't. This thing's a battery for gods." "And I'm a Stormbearer," I say, pulling free. "It's what I am."

They stumbled out into the storm, mud sucking at her boots, rain stinging her face. Lightning ripped the sky, and Sienna froze—there, near the cliffs, a figure stood, key flashing in his hand as he turned, slipping into the dark. Ezra. But it wasn’t him that stopped her cold. Another shape loomed by the trees—taller, wider—eyes glinting mean and yellow, fixed on her like prey. “Who’s—” she got out, but Roman’s hand clamped her arm, dragging her back. “Move,” he said, voice hard, and the ground shook again, the cliff cracking, sliding into the sea with a roar, half the house tumbling after it.