Cold Bloodedness The First Descendant Novels & Stories

Asena's Pov. Light rays hit my eyelids and I fluttered my lashes open to be able to adjust to the light in the room. Soon enough, it was no longer hard for me to see so I immediately surveyed my surroundings. This place doesn't look anything like my room. The coldness I was receiving from the ground beneath and eww what's that sour smell? I wondered sniffing the air. How did I get here? Am I dead and somewhere between heaven and hell?

Instead, she sighed in relief and caressed Xander’s face. She faced me, waving her hands at me. “I am still alive, Aurora, I didn’t die,” she said, her eyes glimmering in happiness. I forced a smile into my face and hugged her. I glanced at my sisters who seemed to be in shock too. “Why isn’t she dead yet?” I asked one of my sisters silently. “Perhaps, the descendant dies and leaves the body it is living in. Elena is different from the descendant. The descendant only took up her body, just like the beast took up Xander’s body,” one of them explained to me.

"Your uncle had a reason for not telling you who you truly are until Madam Ann informed you of the little you know. Now let me ask you. What do you know about yourself?" I hesitated before finally answering him. "Firstly, I am an orphan. I am a descendant of the primordial wolves and also the last bloodline. I discovered at quite a young age that I could run faster than other werewolves, was stronger than other werewolves and could do a lot more things. The most frightening discovery was when I accidentally killed a man by draining his energy. This was what led us to leave the outskirts of Kenvy and move to where I lived with my uncle in the city."

Sebastian found the first one three weeks later. I was working with Maya in the infirmary when he burst in, his violet eyes wild with urgency and something that might have been excitement. "I found one," he said without preamble. "A Shadowborn descendant. Young. Untrained. Completely unaware of what she is." My heart stuttered. "Where?" Northern territories.

He was pale as a ghost, and his heart had stopped beating. He was already cold as ice. Meanwhile, the sounds of bragging from Wayne's room hit me like a sledgehammer. "Ms. Stewart! Shouldn't we have the doctor check on Frank, just in case?" "Josh’s son is as worthless as his life. He won't die that easily." Jessica's voice was soft, but it cut through me like ice. "Just take care of yourself. If he dies, the Stewart family will have one less problem to deal with.

The absolute trauma of seeing my mate tortured, my son turned into a flesh-bridge, and my lineage exposed as a cosmic lie broke something hardcoded inside my DNA. The ancestral seals inside my blood didn't just unlock; they violently combusted. I entered a legendary, long-lost anatomical state that hadn't been recorded in the archives since the first full moon, The Eclipse Feral. My midnight-black fur didn't grow; it turned a pristine, blinding, winter white, but my eyes didn't possess the Moonstone silver or the Crescent gold. They became two solid, absolute voids of pitch-black space that began to physically vacuum the light out of the room.

“I’ve always known it.” Kael grabbed my arm, gently but firm. “You don’t have to face this alone.” “I was born for this,” I said, my voice trembling. The creature tilted its head. Come forth, Daughter of the Fire Line. Alexander inhaled sharply. “The Fire Line… that bloodline was destroyed.” “No,” I said. “It was hidden.” Pieces fell into place like blades aligning. I wasn’t just Alexander’s daughter. I was the last descendent of the First Line—the one birthed in fire, forged by the original Alpha’s fury. The one Derrick was trying to resurrect.

From fang and flame, let the curse be undone, Now rise—ancient one! I continued chanting, and when I opened my eyes, it glowed in a bright blue light, my voice no longer wavered. It echoed with a harmony of past lives—every descendant before me was speaking through my bones. I didn’t just wield power. I became it. The legacy of the First Wolf had returned. The air grew still as the final words of the chant left my lips—“Byen sol’kai—rek’tor valen!”. The ground trembled softly beneath my bare feet, and a low hum echoed in my chest, like something ancient had just woken inside me.

Out past everything, stretching across the horizon of the frozen wasteland, was the apocalypse. The first-born didn’t move like soldiers. They slid forward like a silent, unnatural sickness. There were thousands. They looked humanoid, sure, but they were entirely corrupted by old ice. Their flesh was a translucent blue, and their eyes were empty pits filled with glowing white frost. No weapons at all, just those long, jagged, icy talons that felt wrong, like winter had grown teeth. They didn’t have body heat. They didn’t have heartbeats. Nothing human left in them, not really. And they were aiming straight for the badlands.

“Shall I prepare the descent?” “Not yet.” He turned away again. “The world must not burn too quickly. It must cool. Gradually.” He lifted one arm. And at his command, a section of the floor retracted—revealing a pit of frozen runes so deep they had no visible bottom. From it rose a single structure: a sarcophagus of translucent frost etched with spells so ancient they predated blood. Within it slept the first sovereign-knight—a creature not forged, but frozen in the first war between warmth and void. A titan made for finality.