Crown Of Blood And Ruin 소설 & 이야기

It always happens whenever I'm scared. "Calm down, Cara, lest you reveal your powers to him," Hana whispers angrily. "If that happens we can kiss this place goodbye because we'll be thrown out as bad bloods." Bad bloods. Otherwise known as the Ruined, or the Cursed. The spoilt apples.

"This one didn't." She unfurled the scroll, careful not to tear the crumbling edges. Soot fell like black snow, dusting her lap. Most of the map was gone, but one section remained. The outline of Kaer Nyx, a jagged crescent of the world before it was torn apart. And beneath it, inked in blood that shimmered darkly: Trial IV , The Crownless Queen: When blood forgets its own name, the flame must burn truth from silence.

“Speak it plainly, Valerian. If the rite is forbidden, tell us why. Is there no path but silence? no way forward unless we stain our hands in chains already broken?” Valerian’s clawed fingers drummed once against the arm of his throne. The sound cracked the stone, “Because the rite was his.” The circle stilled. A breath, collective and sharp, rippled through the chamber. Even the flames in their sconces bent as though recoiling. Nyra was the first to break the silence, her voice low, melodic, and dangerous. “You mean the Crown That Bleeds.” The words slithered into the cavern and clung there, heavy, undeniable.

I had only seen it once in a forbidden archive buried in the bone libraries of the Shadow Fangs. The Crownless Wolf. A bloodline long thought purged. A royal line that walked with spirit beasts and commanded ancient magic. And if he has returned, and if he is hers, then Zenith is no longer just a sweet artist with gentle eyes. She is standing in the middle of a war.

“Then trust me. I’m done being a pawn.” Behind them, the ruins whispered secrets of fallen queens and broken men. And in the distance, a new storm was gathering. One that would either drown them all… or wash them clean. Elara sheathed the Crownslayer slowly, her gaze never leaving Vesper. “Your warning… sacrifice,” she said quietly. “What price are you talking about?” The Witch Queen stepped into the flickering light, her silver eyes gleaming with something ancient and unreadable. “The crown demands a blood debt. Every time it’s touched, a piece of the wielder’s soul is claimed. The longer you carry it, the more it consumes.”

Before I know it, the King tucks out a blade and slashes my front torso slantwise; from my left shoulder to a point near my right hip. The sudden pain causes me to wince as I nearly choke on the blood spurting from my mouth. It is a good thing I always could endure pain. If not, trying not to flinch or act like I’m going through one would have been a massive failure. As blood gushes out of the wound, most flowing down my legs and filling the dents, I watch the Umbra Crown slit his left palm to let his blood drip into the sword dent too. The rock, meant to react to blood, releases components that mix with the blood and gradually stiffens the latter.

Her crown fell to the marble floor with a clear clang, there seems also to be a clanging sound of someone's sword falling to the ground outside the palace gates. The deep red gem on the crown shattered and scattered. Warm blood down the steps on the cold ground, slowly spreading, reminiscent of the shallow creek she used to play in barefoot as a child. This golden hall of Avalon became her grave, swallowing her bones, burying her life. Outside, the sun shone on the snow, melting it bit by bit…

CHAPTER ONE: THE YOUNG LADY RUINED THE MEETING ROSE AMARA'S POV Kingdom, throne, blood, gold, and power. You have nothing if you don't have any of these. It involves more than just being at the top. No one can touch you or others nearby if you are high enough. Nobody looks at you because they are afraid of being blinded by the non-negotiability you reflect back at them when they do. That’s why I don’t and will never stop.

One with my name. My blood. My crown.

Each blow echoed with years of loss. “You destroyed our name,” John rasped. “You turned it into a curse.” “You fool,” the Blood Father spat, lurching up. “I saved this place, I gave it fear, strength, power to survive.” “No,” John growled. “You caged it in your madness.” John reached for the gleaming black crown on the Blood Father’s head and tore it free. The Hollow trembled. The crown pulsed in his grip, golden veins twitching like they were alive. The moment he touched it, heat surged up his arm, raw magic biting into his skin.