City Of Ember Author Novels & Stories

"Can you read any of it?" "Some." He turned another page, and another, and then stopped, his breath catching audibly in the quiet library. "Here. This survived." Sera looked where he pointed, and even in the dim light, even with half the page scorched black and unreadable, one line remained clear, ink dark and certain against the ruin around it. The old fire does not burn the world. It burns the lies. "What does that mean?" Sera's voice had dropped to barely more than breath. "The old fire, that's what you called mine before, isn't it? The Founder's fire?"

Whatever the cause, I found myself gasping for air as my surroundings slowly appeared to me. Lance’s voice was panicked. “Esmerelda! What happened? Are you alright?” He took my face in his hands and, then, positioned his so that it was only inches away from mine. “Look at me.” The oh so familiar sense of well-being and safety that swept over me when I felt the firm warmth of his strong hands and I looked into eyes that were filled with concern was such a welcome sensation after seeing the unfriendly evilness of the magician and who I assumed was his uncle that I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung like a child would to her protector. He made no move to pull away, but he also did

The rain came harder now, a relentless downpour that drowned out everything but the crackle of the fire. We’d barely escaped the subway alive, and the creatures chasing us felt closer with every gust of wind. Even here, hidden away in the ruins of a forgotten city, the weight of the hunt pressed against my chest. I glanced at Ember. She sat cross-legged near the fire, her fiery hair casting a faint glow in the flickering light. Her golden eyes darted to the window now and then, her body coiled like she was waiting for something to go wrong. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

Ember Who am I? She asked. " I'm Ember Maze. Human woman. Born and raised in Tallahassee. My parents are human. I'm pretty sure I am too, though I have never started to exhibit powers until I came into contact with all four of my mates ", I told her. "That is because there is more to you than meets the eye, Ember" she says. Yea sure there is.

CHAPTER NINE Ember took a slow, steady breath as she walked out with Isaac. Past memories surged without warning. Amalia City. Blood Moon Pack. She was back. She paused briefly at the foot of the stairs, her sunglasses hiding the flicker of emotion in her eyes. The memories of betrayal still lingered, sharp and vivid, as though everything had happened only yesterday. The pain. The humiliation. The suffering she had endured. Shaking her head, Ember forced a bright smile onto her lips.

It was a video, grainy, like it had been recorded in haste. Ember stared into the lens. Her face was bruised, but her eyes burned bright. “My name is Ember. I was created by Ash Phoenix as his final weapon. But I am not him. I don’t want war. I don’t want destruction. I want truth. I want family.” She paused. “Alma Sterling if you’re watching this, I need your help.” Ezra exchanged a look with Alma. “This could be bait.” Roman agreed. “Or a trap.”

In the corner of the room, a single ember in a wall-crack flared, then guttered, like a witness flinching. Then, slowly, he let his grip ease. His thumb dragged along her lower lip, smearing a crumb away. “This intruder,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “is brave.” “Or stupid,” Adelaide muttered, barely audible. “Or Emberborn,” he added. Her gaze flickered uncertainly. “What’s an Emberborn?” Apollo paused.

The more she learned, the worse it seemed. “It is elegant,” she admitted one night. “Whoever created this knew exactly what they were doing. They wanted to erase us without killing us.” Three months later, half a million people were infected. Then Ember caught the plague. She woke one morning confused and frightened. “Who am I?” she asked the attendants. “You are Ember. Leader of Sanctuary.” “I do not remember that.” The attendants tried explaining her life, her achievements, her beliefs. But Ember looked at them with suspicion.

The ember tunnels beneath Emberhold were not built for the living. They wound beneath the city in patterns even the oldest maps failed to chart, tunnels carved by flame, reshaped by generations of unseen hands. There were no names carved above the arches, no markers or shrines, no songs sung to comfort the roots or drive away the darkness. Only echoes clung to the walls. Sometimes, if you listened with the right kind of fear, they whispered of choices made in secret, of a bloodline twisted not by ambition, but by memory and the desperate hope to protect what should never have been left behind.

--- Burning Empire Chapter 1 Matteo’s heart hammered like a drum as he slipped through the crowded streets, clutching the small leather pouch tight beneath his coat. The city buzzed all around him — neon signs flickering, voices shouting, music pounding from nearby bars. But Matteo barely heard it. All he could focus on was the pounding in his chest and the sharp, cold weight in his pocket. This was it. His first real score.