Elves Mirkwood Novels & Stories

She said as she came out of her closet “I guess I am up for a treat” They were both ready to leave “Less I forget, the pool. I have to check on my borders and their section” She added “The school must be extremely large” It was “Not so large” Ok she was just being humble here, the school was large. *** AT EMPIRE ACADEMY “I thought you said it wasn’t large” Octavia was mesmerized as the car entered into the school compound. Was there really such a place in Canada? Why didn’t she know about it?

Professors who had buried their knowledge in tradition and were now desperate to use it before the pen wrote their endings. They came with weapons improvised from classroom equipment, with spells half-remembered from lectures they had slept through, with courage that had no source but the absolute refusal to become what the story wrote for them. “Lumira!” a voice called, and Emberlyn emerged from the crimson light with her fire-mage nature manifesting in sparks that danced around her fingers, that refused to be extinguished by the dissolving boundary. “We follow you! We fight with you!” “And I,” Thassala said, her gills flaring wide, her webbed fingers trailing patterns in the crimson light

It was rawer, hungrier. The whispers recoiled, hissing. This is not enough. You cannot protect them all. You will only prolong the suffering. Mirra opened her eyes. They glowed faint green, bright even against the canopy’s dimness. “No,” she whispered, steady now. “But I can protect what remains.” She rose to her feet, cradling the ember of life she had drawn into her chest. The whispers pressed harder, louder, but she no longer bent beneath them. The forest around her writhed as tendrils of darkness lashed from the soil, trying to choke out the sapling, to drag her back into despair. Mirra lifted her hands, and the ember flared.

The morning sun filtered through the dusty windows of the small apartment, casting golden rays across the worn wooden floorboards. Elara Blackwood stood before the cracked mirror, her fingers tracing the crescent moon birthmark on her left shoulder—a permanent reminder of the life she had left behind. "You are going to be late again, Elara," she whispered to her reflection, her heterochromatic eyes—one amber like her wolf, one emerald green like her human side—staring back with a mixture of resignation and determination.

MONGREL. Sera stood very still, staring at it, and felt the old familiar pull rise hot and dangerous under her ribs, answering not to fear this time but to something worse, something closer to shame. It wasn't the ugliness of the word itself that got under her skin. It was what it meant, what it was built to mean, that whatever fire lived in her hands didn't count the way theirs did, that hers was dirty where theirs was inherited and clean. She had to breathe, hard, the way Oren had taught her, before the flame in her own chest could decide to answer the insult on its own. "I'm going to find whoever did this," Mira said, already moving to sort her belongings back into some kind of order, han

However, it wasn’t the same as to what I'm seeing now. There was a boy. I can’t recognize his face because of the weird blurry effect of the dream. The only thing I saw clearly were his eyes. His emerald-colored eyes are still engraved in my mind. Even though it’s already been a year since I last dreamt of it, I still can’t forget his eyes. The scenes may be different to what I'm seeing now, but they were both peculiar and still not on earth.

I sat on the edge of a river with my feet in the water. A waterfall was directly in front of me dumping water into this river that runs thru a peaceful forest in my head. This is where I go. Sitting by the water watching it flow down past me carrying sticks and debris. I can see fish swimming past and I wish that I had a fishing poll with me. Its peaceful in this place, and I love it here.

Not when she whispered, “Start in California. The Emberroot... grows only where the forest remembers fire.” So here I am in Redwood National Park. Following ancient coordinates written in her grandmother’s handwriting. The first of five. “Heartwood Emberroot,” Inferno mutters inside me. “Rare. Sacred. Once used by moon priestesses to stabilize a healer’s core during awakening. But dangerous to retrieve. The forest tests the one who seeks it.” Perfect. Exactly the kind of nightmare I have grown used to.

She smirks, "Blaze like I said, suits you, Alpha Archie." That's what she wanted, to see my wolf's eyes. She didn't even flinch when even other Alphas got scared. My eyes are naturally hazel, but my wolf eyes are deep orange with copper flakes. They even freaked me out sometimes, but Emerald looked at me, at Blaze, like he was expected. Maybe even beautiful. "What's the truth?" I find myself asking without thinking about the room for the first time. She takes a sip of her water and looks over at Declan. They aren't communicating. It seems like an everyday gesture she got accustomed to over the years. Taking a peak at a guy she is interested in, he offers her a soft smile and nods, "Tell him

--- Two Days Later — Edge of the Wyrmwood They stood at the boundary of death. The Wyrmwood was a stretch of land where nothing natural survived. The trees were blackened husks, their bark split and oozing red sap. The soil was cracked and lifeless, humming faintly with necrotic magic. A thin fog clung to the air, thick enough to mute sound and distort light. Lucien knelt and touched the ground. “This place is wrong. We’ll have to be careful. Step wrong and the land itself can twist your mind.”