Fenrys Throne Of Glass 소설 & 이야기

Third Person POV Five Years Later A pack of ten children tore through the gardens of Eradrakor. Hatchlings, pups, witches, and hybrids—their small feet padded softly against the earth, and their melodic giggles filled the warm summer air. Leading the charge was Renata, the natural leader of every mischief, followed closely by her brother, Fenris. Even at five years old, Fenris moved with a gravity that suggested he already owned the world. He was, after all, the child of prophecy—the strongest creature ever born. The "Golden Boy" often received special treatment from the court, much to Mira’s lingering displeasure.

Vivienne Laurent had learned long ago how to disappear in plain sight. She stood at the far end of the ballroom, beneath a crystal chandelier that glittered like a frozen constellation, holding a champagne flute she had no intention of drinking. The glass tower of Laurent International loomed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its mirrored surface reflecting the city lights below. From a distance, she looked like exactly what she was supposed to be: a poised billionaire heiress, draped in silk, her dark hair swept into an elegant twist.

That sly old fox. Couldn't blame him though. I had a knack for getting into trouble almost every time I left the house. The council had even once threatened to confiscate my talisman as punishment for breaking laws. Like I would ever let them. My talisman was an anklet with an emerald stone and strange insignia. Every registered vampire received a talisman from the council which enabled them to walk in sunlight without burning. Every council had a special witch to create talismans for the vampires they oversaw. I was different, I knew it. I never knew my mother. I was found in Lycan Woods by Tiberius who was hunting. Lycans and Vampires maintained a treaty, so far neither disrupted the peace

The memory crystal glowed again, flooding the chamber with golden light. Seraphine shielded her eyes as the scene formed, her mother, Selene Emberlain, bound in silver chains, standing before the Thrones. The great hall shimmered with divine energy, the air trembling under the presence of the gods themselves.

Gildeon could feel it in his bones, a pressure that made his claws twitch even more. The landscape around them froze, the air thickening unnaturally. The ground beneath their feet turned into what looked like solid glass, cracking under an unseen force. The fractures spread rapidly, jagged lines racing outward until the entire surface shattered. Instead of falling into shards, the glass dissolved into the blanket of fog that brought them back into Drusden’s throne room. Above, he could hear Dragon Zylas growling and thrashing violently against the restraints again. “Let’s find the answer together, shall we?” Drusden said, and Gildeon felt himself wrenched into another memory.

The room was filled with the scent of old leather, woodsmoke, and a sharp, copper tang that made Elara’s eyes sting. Fenris was standing by the window, his back to them. He was dressed in ceremonial black leather, his long dark hair tied back with a silver cord. On the table beside him lay a long, curved blade—the ritual athame. Its edge gleamed with a wicked, blue-white light. "Is she ready?" Fenris asked without turning. "Dressed and basted," Silas replied, his tone mocking. "Though I still say she’s a bit light on the bone, Fenris. The elders are already sharpening their teeth."

Until you are reduced to a whisper. He growled. "Nyla, you are not a god." "No," I said. "I am a queen." I held up my hands. The pendant of bloodstone, fractured but still glowing, hung in midair. At Fenris, I tossed it. The light burst into flames. The sky trembled with his scream. The earth gave way beneath my feet. Like glass, the spirit realm broke. I slipped into the light. And I heard the sweet, clear voice of Fenris shortly before I passed out.

His silver hair gleamed as he rose, throwing back his shoulders to fill the cloak. Finn's messy chestnut brown hair fell rakishly over his brow as he scanned the room. The goblins' eyes were still locked with us, caught between awe and caution, but I ignored that. I grinned confidently when I locked onto the empty throne at the far end of the hall, a massive seat carved out of bone and iron, draped in dark crimson furs.

However, Jack is almost as big as my father, and I don't believe that Henry or Lucas would fare well in this situation. "Fine," Henry replies. "It's this way." The citadel, a hulking tower of rusting metal in the middle of the Rig, is where I used to live. We turn around and head in that direction, following Henry. Inside, it has been transformed into a palace fit for a pirate king, with loot strewn about like a dragon's lair. The walls are covered with paintings of biblical subjects, some of which have faded over time due to saltwater exposure. I notice three omegas with their feet shackled to the floor as we pass a sitting area with a fire roaring in the fireplace.