Cloud Strife Drawing Novels & Stories

Zephyr knew this was no ordinary drawing. “There must be a secret somewhere!” Zephyr was keen-eyed by nature; he was sure that this was no ordinary artwork. He studied the painting closely, observed it’s mountains, trees, birds, flowers, beasts… Suddenly, he felt his power swell up inside him, a hurricane formed within. His whole body shook vigorously, a small stream of blood trickled out the side of his mouth. The painting had changed, it no longer showed a scenic mountain view. No, it showed its true nature.

I draw the bow slowly across the strings. The first note vibrates through the clearing like sunlight through glass. The seam answers immediately. A ripple of pale light spreads through the air before me. I layer another note over it. Then another. The melody grows slowly, carefully, weaving together the same harmony I felt earlier through the bond. The barrier brightens. And then— The air clears. Emberhold appears faintly through the shimmer. Cliffs. Storm clouds. And a single dark figure standing against the wind. My breath catches.

The tragic loss of my wife, our Luna. Our land use to be covered with trees, wildflowers, and there was a vast amount of wildlife. Now we were surrounded by cliffs and dirt, one of the effects from the last war that happened five years ago. Felicity and Damen, two of our special ability members, have been trying to bring our land back to life. But I refuse to let them overexert themselves and possibly die. The war before that was thirteen years prior to the last. We've lost many members in over eighteen years and each death felt like I was reaching my end as well.

Sinking to the floor, she closed her eyes. The Black Cliff was plunged into the darkness of the night, illuminated by blinding flashes of lightning. The sea and the sky staged an unspoken battle: the opened whirlpool twisted a lone ship in its grip, high waves rolled noisily onto the shore, hit rocks and protruding reefs. The terrified sailors held on to the masts, but the raging elements flooded the deck, flowed down the cut-water onto a mermaid-amulet carved from wood. From the bright flashes, the face of the sea maiden turned into a grinning mask, and the tail was hidden by another wave, wanting to separate the "wooden mermaid" from the hull and pull it into its arms. Black, impenetrable

He pulled out the first canvas. It was the painting of the storm. Black clouds, jagged lightning. "Chaos," Cale noted. "High energy." "It's beautiful," Elion said. "Alex was talented." "He was observant. He captured the pressure gradient perfectly." Elion pulled out another one. The blue door. The prophecy. "This one goes on the mantel," Elion decided. "Front and center." "Agreed. It is the blueprint." They unpacked more. Landscapes. Abstracts. And then, the portraits.

The storm had not stopped for three days. Lightning clawed across the sky like the world itself was tearing open. The moon hung above the horizon, fractured with deep silver cracks that bled pale light into the darkness. Seraphine stood alone on the cliff overlooking the ruined valley. Wind whipped her hair across her face, but she didn’t move. Below, thousands of wolves, witches, and other creatures prepared for war. Fires burned across the plains. Weapons were forged. Old alliances were reborn out of desperation.

Gods. A pair of gryphons soar overhead, their bondeds laughing as they dive through the clouds. Direwolves and their humans moving in perfect sychronizon. One particulary unimpressed frost lynx lounges across a tree branch, glaring down at everyone beneath it like they are personally offending its existence. Further in the distance, Ironclad dragons train with their bondeds, bronze scales glimmering beneath the rising sun. Terrifying, but majestic. For a few silent moments, I simply watch. Because despite all else, I still love them. I always have, even though Aetherion Academy was not supposed to be my future.

They knew that the road ahead would not be easy, but they were ready to face whatever challenges came their way. Cliffhanger: As the sun set on the battlefield, a distant rumble echoed through the air. The ground trembled, and a sense of foreboding washed over the Gaia clan. They looked towards the horizon, where a dark cloud was forming, heralding the arrival of a new and even greater threat. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.

The thunder had barely faded from the mountains when Kael stood at the edge of the ravine, his boots digging into the rain-soaked earth. The clouds overhead churned with the remnants of the storm, casting eerie shadows across the land like long, reaching fingers. Behind him, the warriors of Silverclaw stood in tense silence, their gazes flicking between their Alpha and the horizon ahead — where the final confrontation loomed.

But his eyes were drawn immediately to the room's center, where the large canvas rested on an easel covered by a plain white cloth. Jonah walked to it, his back to Clarkson. He drew a deep, shaky breath, his shoulders lifting and falling. And then, going slowly and deliberately, he unwrapped the cloth. Robert Clarkson's breath was frozen in his throat. It was a whirlpool. A colour storm and emotion so heavy it was a punch. The sea was a nightmare of bubbling Prussian blue and viridian, slashed and gouged with a knife in paint into ridges more mountainous in their fragmentation than wavelike. The sky was a bruised, suffocating dome, heavy with unshed rain and despair.