Faded Wraith Oblivion Novels & Stories

No sound of traffic, no distant hum of technology, nothing but a stillness that made her feel like she was walking through a forgotten graveyard. She looked around, her heart beating faster as the realization sank in: this was **Nyxterra**. The place she had only heard whispered rumors about, a world where lost memories supposedly went to die. It was said that those who wandered too far into the shadows of Nyxterra rarely came back. The city itself was a labyrinth of half-formed structures, their outlines blurred as though they were fading in and out of existence, forgotten by time and memory.

I nodded, I always wondered what those large serpent-like nightmare origins that sometimes pop out of the miasma, it seems that that nightmare origin was from the deep abyss and was trying its luck to hunt down a fresh stranded. "What about those stranded that they are discarding?" "Those are husks. They are what remains on a stranded with all its being, its existence, devoured by a nightmare origin. After arriving on the abyss floor, most of them would disintegrate, while a few would be imbued by the corrupting miasma, like an artifact that was given a soul resulting in a naturally occurring nightmare origin. They are the most troublesome to encounter in the abyss since they are near indest

Tears burned Astra’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered—to her daughter, to the bloodline, to the world. “I never wanted this for you.” The Winter Wraith’s voice dropped to a hiss. “You think this ends with you?” it sneered. “Blood remembers. Blood returns.” Astra smiled—sad, resolute. “Then my blood will be ready.” She spoke the final words. The seal completed. The Wraith vanished—dragged screaming into the Veil between worlds, bound by chains of moonlight and sacrifice.

it booms, “son of the fallen Guen Alpha. You are unmade and remade. Show me what remains.” I barely have time to think before the hollow world erupts into wind. Blades of storm slash across my skin. I drop to one knee, growling, calling my wolf but he doesn't come. Something else pulses instead. Wilder and quieter. Like a drumbeat wrapped in lightning. “Yield or be erased,” the Wraith thunders. And then- A cry. It sounds so small and frightened. Behind me, a Hollow spirit, no more than a child, cowers in the storm. Its shape flickers, nearly transparent. A fragment lost in the folds of this broken realm.

And I dont really know what am I missing. I force my chin higher. "Then explain it." The elder woman tilts her head, and for the first time I see it, the faint scar circling her wrist like a brand. "If you give your blood," she says slowly, "you don’t just claim us." Her eyes darken until there’s no white left at all. "You bind your life to ours. You bleed here… you belong here. Forever." Just like Atlas belongs at Black River, forever. And I may not be sure about many, many...many things, but one is clear as day. Atlas will never leave me here. He won't let us part.

Malachi, pointing at the dark figure, countered, "But first, we need to understand who or what that is. It's unlike any being we've encountered." The figure, sensing their confusion, chuckled, its voice deep and echoing, "I am the Nexus Wraith, the embodiment of discarded and forgotten realms. You've given me an opening, and I intend to claim it." Elysia, ever the warrior, stepped forward, challenging, "We won't let you destabilize the balance we've fought so hard to maintain." The Wraith, amused, retorted, "Balance? By restoring one, you've beckoned many. Your intentions, noble as they may be, have consequences."

“I’m just glad we haven’t been giving the new ones any wolfsbane. Who knows? Maybe they’ll learn to control it on their own.” Gray nods and offers Bo a wide grin. “Maybe. They’ll be a hell of a lot better than us if they do.” We all know the truth though. Lycanthropy is a curse. There is no way to control it. Not on the full moon. “Come,” Bo says, knocking me out of the dooming thought of our near future. He puts a hand on my back, lightly guiding me to start walking. “Alazaer is down by twin hills, waiting for the others to come back,” he tells us.

Fiona. My mind keeps drifting back to how she stood at the altar in that black dress, at how she exuded calmness and poise, yet radiated a deadly aura. As everything around her crumbled, she remained steadfast, choosing to walk through the chaos with her head held high. I destroyed the only good thing in my life. And now I sit here, a disgrace in my father’s eyes, a headline for the world, and a joke on every phone in this city, and I deserve every bit.

Darkness fades into blurry shapes as pain drums through my skull. White walls surround me, and I clutch at silken sheets that belong to someone else’s life. Who am I? Terror floods my veins at the simple question with no answer. My name, my past, my identity—all of it has vanished behind a wall of fog. Fragments of consciousness float like islands with no bridges between them. My body knows itself—knows pain, knows fear—but my mind has become a stranger.

My pulse thundered, too fast, too loud. "Sara?" Mrs. Evans' voice wavered in panic. My vision blurred. The walls tilted. The world spun. "Evans! Get the doctor!" she cried. "Sara! Sara!" A sharp ringing filled my ears, drowning out the voices. The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me whole was my name—one I wasn't even sure belonged to me. Voila! What do you think the bracelet means? Also, just a little reminder—this humble writer has a fragile heart, so please be kind with your comments!