Cinders Ashes Novels & Stories

The Beast within bowed too, not to a crown of ash, but to the bond that had carried them through. High above, the last sparks of Ruby’s flames faded into the ashen sky. The Cinder Queen burned herself into nothing.

"You didn't just burn the house down. You salted the earth." ​The Dawn of the Ash-Born ​As the sun rose over Neo-Tokyo, it didn't reveal a city of light and shadow. It revealed a city of Ash and Obsidian. ​The Republic of Cinders was no longer a secret. It was a global beacon. From every corner of the planet, the "Un-Subscribed", the laborers, the miners, and the ghosts of the old world, were looking toward the ruins of the Spire.

And yet instead of being comforted, coldness crept up and down her body. She shook her head and opened the paper bag. Her hand raised a black bonnet, in which she placed on her head until only a pair of cold blue eyes gleamed under the moon. She picked a lighter out from her pocket and lit the the paper bag on fire. A plastic scent filled her nose, but it was quickly replaced by the smell of smoke and the scattered ashes. She blew on the lighter, and the flame went out, then she looked back up to the sky and glared.

I was stunned and pulled Xander close to me. “What are you doing?” I exclaim. “I am not doing it. In fact, I can't do something as such” Xander responded in his defense.Then how the hell? My gaze flicked down at Ian and I gasp.His eyes are glowing a mix of red and blue, somewhat similar to fire. Did he do it? Before I could come up with another thought, the fire around us died down, leaving only the trail of ashes. Ian's eyes turned back to their normal shade and a smile adored his cute face.

His focus went back to what he held in his hands and that stirred up some questions in my head that I had to ask. He spoke calmly and that reduced the tension in the room. “Are you some type of a genie?” “It’s not a kettle, it's an urn.” “Do you live there?” “I just said I'm a wolf shifter, young girl?” He always has this 5-7 seconds of uncomfortable pause before he speaks, like he tries to formulate words in his head. “My ashes were kept there.” His throat worked Your ash? Please, Emmett, make everything you're saying make sense and be more realistic

The wood groaned in protest before yielding, revealing a small space lined with metal, a fireproof box built into the structure itself. "Smart," she murmured, carefully extracting brittle scrolls and bound texts. "They wanted to preserve these, whatever they are." The texts were written in a language I couldn't read, with a flowing script interspersed with symbols that gave me a headache when I looked at them directly. But scattered throughout were illustrations that needed no translation: a figure engulfed in flames, emerging reborn. A cycle of death and renewal, depicted in painstaking detail. "Phoenix Essence," Lena read from one of the texts, her finger tracing the words carefully. "The

She’d come to see the bastard in the ground for herself. Dorian Ashford’s coffin sat there, slick and shiny, all polished mahogany that hollered wealth even as it sank toward the dirt. The priest mumbled some nonsense about peace everlasting, his voice half-drowned by the storm, but Sienna didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were glued to that box, her jaw locked tight. Twenty-seven years of bile churned inside her. He’d left her mom to waste away in a rusted trailer, coughing up her last breaths, while he piled up his shipping billions—money built on the wreckage of the only person who’d ever given a damn about him.

Lira (POV) The air in the cleansing room isn’t just thick—it’s choking. The stench of incense coils through my nostrils like burning hair and spoiled meat. They’ve burned the same mix every time—wolfsbane ash, marrow dust, grave lilies. It doesn’t just linger. It infests. I can feel it creeping under my skin, nesting in the hollow behind my ribs. A curse-wearing perfume.

With heat. It spread through me like a slow, rising tide. My fingertips tingled, and when I looked down, I saw tiny sparks dancing over them. Gold. Always gold. I clenched my fists and willed the sparks to stop. They faded, but the burn didn’t. It pulsed in my veins, thick and molten, like lava trying to force its way to the surface.

Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the marble floor. I knelt on the balcony, applying a special herbal balm to the skin beneath my ribs—to the scars left by silver weapons thirteen years ago. They still ached. The scars always ached under the full moon, a cruel reminder of a past I fought to forget. "You're still using that balm." I didn't turn around. Kaelen's footsteps were loud on the cold marble. "I thought you'd forgotten that pain," he said. The anger was gone from his voice, replaced by something I couldn't quite place.