City Of Ember Author Novels & Stories

What is this menacing aura? ***Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed the crossover of Ember, Toni, and Gabriel. There will be more to come. Let me know what you thought of Ember's parents and her younger sister.

“Please come in and have some tea.” Sister Mila escorted her inside the building and brought her straight to the visiting area where she immediately served Ember tea after she sat down. “Thank you.” Ember picked the cup and took a sip, enjoying the warmth it brought to her body. Ember's eyes shifted to Sister Mila and noticed her watching her with a smile. “My bad, I forgot to introduce myself.” Ember's cheeks flushed. “I'm Ember Heart,” She began by introducing herself. “I came to the city to attend a wedding and decided to pay the orphanage a visit while I'm here.”

Ember demanded from the two-faced bitch who it was obvious came to destroy her. "You, I came for you." Ellie retorted, "You're not going to go scot-free, why do you keep parading yourself as the best when it's obvious that you're the devil's spawn? Tell me what you intend to achieve. Do you have any conscience at all?" Ember sighed, she hadn't come for any fight just to make her know that her plans weren't going to work at least not where she was concerned.

"I'll dig another chamber nearby, bigger than this one. We'll plant crops underground. With the sunlight we channel in and the water supply, the heat during the apocalypse will actually help things grow. We just need a month of food stored up until the crops start coming in." We divided up the work and got everything ready just in time. Tomorrow, the heatwave apocalypse would arrive. That night, I curled up on the big bed in the cellar, holding Blazewing close while waiting for the apocalypse to begin. When I woke up the next morning, I could already feel the difference. The cellar was warmer than yesterday, rising from damp and cold to a cozy, comfortable temperature. Blazewing stretched on

Outside, Lagos rearranged itself—ruin and beginning, ash and ember. Ashes are not endings. Embers remember. And from embers, whole cities rise again—burning brighter, unafraid.

I was no longer recognizable, yet I still managed a faint smile at the camera. “Today,” I said, “I buried eighteen skeletons. Exile Island was never some romantic place. It’s a graveyard for boys.” Then, the scene shifted to me sitting beside piles of stark white bones. I wasn’t the only one brought here. There were far too many. At that point, I paused, then raised my hand and waved at the camera. “Hi, Agnes. Long time no see. I wonder, by the time you see this video, will I already be dead? But even if I am, my body will stay here, just like these bones. So, Agnes, don’t forget to come and collect my corpse.”

Carla and Travis watched from the sidelines, hands clasped. “We did it,” Carla said, her voice steady. Travis nodded. “And we’re just getting started.” The scars remained, but they were no longer wounds. Dave, Carla, and the other victims were healing, not just surviving but thriving, their journeys a testament to resilience, love, and the unyielding power of talent reclaimed. ----- This marks the end of the Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire. Compiled short story arcs now made their way to their ends.

Her name was Ember, and she had traveled from the burned lands in the far south, where the gold flowers grew through the ash. "The watcher called me," Ember said, standing at the garden gate. "It said there was healing here for me." Mira studied with her. There was a rawness in Ember's gaze, a grief that had not yet found its shape. The watcher had called her, yes—but not to teach. To be held. "What healing do you seek?" Mira asked. Ember's voice was steady, but her hands trembled. "I was a child when the fire came. My family died. My village burned. The gold flowers grew through the ashes, and the watcher showed me this place. It said I would find rest here."

Because the reality was more uglier than anything I had uttered: I didn’t know how to love her without shattering her. I had dedicated a lifetime to carving away at my soul to construct a realm that Tobias couldn’t invade, and somewhere within that empire of blood and steel, I lost touch with my humanity. Emery brought me back. Each gentle laugh, every subtle challenge, every night she nestled beside me as if unaware she was lying next to a man burdened with more secrets than scars. And now she was aware. She recognized the fractures. She stepped right through them. I stood up slowly, moving towards the floor-to-ceiling window that offered a view of the city. The lights blurred as I blinked,

From stories told softly over dinner, from the way people pause near the oldest stones, and from the warmth that always seems to linger in the Hollow’s quietest corners. I am the granddaughter of healers. The child of firemakers. And the apprentice of Kael’s last student. They call me Ember—not because I burn, but because I carry what’s left of a long, bright light. And sometimes, late at night, when the wind shifts and the moon hangs low, I ask myself: “What did it feel like… to carry the flame when no one believed?” On the Day of Emberfall, we light the lanterns. Each of us carries one.