Burning Crown Novels & Stories

“The witch is dead, her blood is gone, my father’s lab is next, we burn it, we break the rest of his work, you get your minds back.” Murmurs. Hope. Draven steps to me, careful. “The crown,” he says. “Can you take it off.” I touch it. It burns. “I don’t know.” “Try,” he says. “For me.” I pull. Pain rips through my skull, and the crown comes away, blood on the tines. It crumbles to ash in my hand. The ferals gasp, some falling, some crying, as if a string got cut.

A simple sword. No jewels. No decorations. No elaborate design. Just a blade. Silver. Ancient. Perfect. The weapon hovered above the ground. Silent. Waiting. Then every Crown immediately returned to its owner. One by one. The Third Crown. The Fourth Crown. The Sixth Crown. All intact. Everyone froze. Then Valen blinked. Then: "My Crown..." The Fourth Crown still burned within him. Then: "It didn't disappear." The old Guardian stared at the sword. Then: "Impossible."

At the same time, some crowns that gathered around the big crown became dark, and dark smoke exited out of them. As they surrounded the big crown, the big crown resisted them, but it could not win against all of them; all the crowns had a very certain amount of power in them, and they all came against the big crown. The big crown fought on all sides, but it could not win. It suddenly gave up, and all the other dark crowns covered it up and piled it up. They buried the big crown by pressing it against the earth, and not long after that The other crowns disappeared at the same time.

She screamed and stumbled back, trying to claw it off. Vincent desperately pulled at the silk with his burning hands, but it wouldn't catch fire, instead, the threads glowed even brighter and twisted into a crown upon her head. Her vision blurred to red as voices pressed into her head: “Bride. Bride. Bride.” The First Bride emerged from the dark, getting closer with her ruined face just inches away from Camela’s. “There. Perfect. Every bride wears a crown.” Vincent roared, his flames erupting high enough to shake the walls as he grasped the silk crown with both hands, searing his palms in an attempt to yank it off her head.

I announce that Nathan Crowther is being removed from the title of crown prince, now he becomes a traitor, he must be sought and isolated, his name never to be heard again, Thomas Crowther, my second son will inherit the throne when the time is right, and before the entire nation I announce that the winner of the Diamond Crown will be revealed. - Celine moves in the row next to her father, he is the richest noble after the king, he probably believes he will receive the title, I show a scathing smile on my lips, as soon as the news is given she will be in shock. Now it's silence that fills the hall as the king pauses to wipe tears from his eyes that I know are fake. He pretends to be sad for

A cold feeling settled heavily inside my chest. No. No way. Jack zoomed into one of the burned warehouse pictures afterward. “And boss…” I looked closer. Then my stomach dropped violently. The fire patterns. Jesus Christ. The flames didn’t look normal. Black scorch marks spread unnaturally across the ground almost like something alive burned through the buildings intentionally. Not random. Not explosive. Targeted. Almost intelligent. “What started the fires?” I asked quietly. “That’s the problem,” Jack answered immediately. “Nobody knows.” My office suddenly felt way too cold.

I echoed. He gestured toward the horizon. And there it was — the throne I’d glimpsed before. It floated at the center of the Gate’s light, carved from living flame, runes spiraling up its arms. Above it hovered the crown — a perfect ring of white fire spinning slowly, whispering with the voices of every soul that had worn it before. “The Crown of Light,” Auren murmured. “It chooses the vessel for the First Blood. It makes them eternal.” My pulse quickened. “You said if it takes you, you’ll destroy everything.”

In my previous life, it had survived the onslaught of the Haunts, and my brother had lived. I hoped to find more of those infant spirits there, to amplify my strength. Yet, before I could make my move, a fierce blaze erupted in the distance on the mountain. "This is bad..." Ambulances zoomed by, a blur of bright red and flashing lights. My heart broke into irreparable pieces. A sea of flames engulfed the forest, thousands of acres alight. The wooden swords I sought were no more, reduced to ashes and charred remains. "No..." I tried to dash into the woods, but Jim held me back with an iron grip.

But as she approached, she could smell the rot emanating from beneath its jeweled surface, could see tiny insects crawling in and out of gaps between the gems. When she reached for it, the crown moved. Not lifted—it flew to her head of its own accord, slamming down with force that cracked her skull. Immediately, agony beyond description flooded through her as the crown began to melt, molten gold and superheated gems flowing down her face, over her eyes, into her mouth. She opened her throat to scream and liquid fire poured down, burning away her vocal cords, her lungs, everything inside her that made sound possible.

Then, slowly, he tilted his head, the motion deliberate, and his eyes burning with the fire of centuries of restraint met mine. "From a blade forged not by mortal hands," he said, low and slow, each word a growl that vibrated through the room. "Silver." The word hung between us, sharp and metallic, more venom than sound. "They tried to end me," he continued, his voice hushed now, yet threaded with something harder, darker, a fire tempered by time. "And they failed. But the wound... it never fades. It burns, even now."