Novelas y relatos de Built From Ruins

And I lay in the dark with my hand resting over the empty place in my body, trying to imagine a version of the future that didn’t end with one of them destroying whatever was left of me. I couldn’t see it yet. But the story wasn’t finished. Not even close. The wreckage had only started to take its real shape—and I was still standing in the middle of it, waiting to see which of them would reach for me first.

I slid into the back seat with graceful confidence, legs crossing smoothly, skirt riding up just enough to tease. The drive through the bustling city felt like crossing into enemy territory. Flashbacks tried to surface again, but I pushed them down with iron will. This was no longer about mourning. This was war. Blackthorn Tower rose before me like a dark obelisk piercing the sky , obsidian glass and steel, a monument to power and dominance. The underground garage was pristine, filled with luxury vehicles. Security scanned me thoroughly at the private executive entrance, their eyes glazing slightly under the influence of my controlled aura.

The world was broken, but it was not beyond repair. I stood at the edge of what had once been a thriving city, now nothing more than a graveyard of rubble and ash. The buildings had been reduced to skeletons, their walls charred and crumbling, their roofs collapsed inward. The streets were littered with debris—shattered pottery, torn clothing, broken toys. The signs of life that had once filled this place were now silent, replaced by the mournful whisper of the wind. But even in the midst of destruction, there was hope.

Meanwhile, hell was already very chaotic. The buildings in the center of the hell city began to crumble. The walls of The building the city were already damaged. The cracks throughout the building were creeping up and starting to collapse one by one. Likewise, with the royal palace, the roofs of the Palace of Asmodeus' pride began to fall, from small shards to large shards. Many of the royal troops died from the ruins of the palace roof. The palace floor continued to sway, making Rail, Rafael, and Uriel unable to concentrate on the fight.

He doesn’t trust Jace. And a part of me wonders—should I? I force the thought away for now. There are more pressing matters. As we move deeper into the territory, the ruins of my old home come into view, and my chest tightens. The buildings are barely standing, nature having reclaimed much of what was once a thriving pack. Vines twist through broken windows, moss creeps along the stone walls, and the scent of damp earth clings to everything. But despite the destruction, there are signs of life.

Raisa and Helie said together, Raisa continuing lightly, "We will get there when we get there, sweet." "She's right," said Helie, sniffing one last time as she reached resoluteness. "Right now, we have to focus on finding—" I pointed ahead. "That?!" Raisa leaned forward and breathed, "Oh, my Goddess." A kingdom of ruins. That was the only thing I could think of to describe what was looming ahead of us, because that's exactly what it was. Like Dust and Nedra and Niburgh all combined, rows and rows of adobe and sand and wood buildings in four tiers, it was a wonder of architecture and mystery, a study of grim wonder of who would destroy what could have easily been a thriving city.

Ash still clung to the air like grief clings to memory. The Montrose estate, once the emblem of power, had become a mausoleum of shattered ideals. The world had watched it fall. Now, it watched as a single figure stepped from the ruins - not defeated, but reborn.

“Let’s rebuild. Not the business. Not the brand. Us.” He opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “You’re the only thing in this world that still feels real.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Then hold on to me. We’ll get through the rest, one day at a time.” Outside, the lights of the city flickered like tiny fires. Not all of them were bright. Not all of them were clean. But they were still burning. Just like us. Still here. Still fighting. Still choosing love after war.

But together. Just enough to matter. And maybe… just maybe… that was enough for now. Not a fairyta le. Not redemption. But a beginning was built from the ashes. A beginning born of wreckage. And this time—we weren’t running from the ruin. We were standing inside it. Together.

But his eyes. His eyes were holes. Literal voids in his skull where light simply ceased to exist. He stood amidst the wreckage, raising both arms. "He's not attacking," Silas noted, joining us. "He's building." The Architect began to conduct. The bone shards from the crashed Citadel lifted into the air. The legs of the walker detached and reoriented. The shattered ribs snapped together. He wasn't rebuilding the walker. He was building something new. A ramp. A massive, spiraling tower of fused bone began to rise from the Market District. It grew