Find The Helm Of Winterhold の小説・ストーリー

Her hand slowly moved up, touching her lips that still felt warm from Zean's kiss, before her fingers went down and tightly gripped the silver pendant around her neck. Out there, the political and military storm of Neophile City might be burning, driven by Sebastian Norwich's madness. However, standing inside this impenetrable Wilder fortress, with protection from the matriarch and absolute ownership from the supreme wolf, Helga knew her position and mentality now stood tall. She was no longer a frightened runaway girl; she was a part of this dynasty, and she was ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring.

Do not be late. I forced myself to swallow the terror rising in my throat. I couldn't help Seren if I was locked in a cell or exiled from the territory. I had to play my role, secure my standing as a true Whitlock heiress, and use my new power to track her down. I mounted my carriage and instructed the driver to take the high road through the Alpha Dominion District. The city was packed with wolves from every surrounding territory preparing for the winter solstice. Giant banners bearing the Thorncroft wolf crest and the Whitlock moon-fang emblem hung from the towering stone arcades.

But knowing we got what we came for, and that it’s going to help us defeat my horrible biological father, Assanan, makes time fly. So, we arrive at the Winterhelm castle in no time. King Snowthorne greets us at the gates with several soldiers, who take control of the prisoners we’ve captured. Silver shackles flicker with a shimmering mist as his guards lead the prisoners out of the wagons. “The Temple has provided us with chains that will prevent them from shifting,” the king explains. “We can handle them in our dungeon, unless you plan on questioning them, Alpha King.”

“You want to know where our faith in Celeste comes from?” Victoria gripped his arm, tension tight in her fingers. “Silas…don’t. They don’t need to know…” “They do,” he said, his gaze locked on hers, steady and resolute. They need to know. And it will shut Blair down for good. He faced the council again, his voice deep and deliberate. “Her name is Celeste Winters. The last Winters heir. The one chosen by the Moon Goddess herself. The bloodline you all thought was gone.”

The man had half-white, half-black hair, and his deep gaze dragged Guillermo back to memories he wished he could forget. Guillermo remained wary as he said, "There's nothing between us anymore, so what are you here for?" The man was none other than Christopher Fillmore, or as the world called him, Wyrmhelm. He had rushed from the far western lands. In the martial world and the political halls of Holtrien, he was hailed as one of the last true legends.

I whispered, the name surfacing from a memory that wasn't mine. “The first of the Winter-Callers,” the woman said, her voice a vibration that shook the ash at my feet. She walked toward me, her movements fluid and predatory. She stopped a few feet away, her gaze raking over my simple wool cloak and my trembling hands. “You look like a flicker of a candle trying to claim the sun, Elara.” “I’m the only one left,” I said, my pride flaring despite the terror. “The North is at the gates. They have the Rot. They have the Silver-Mercenaries. If I don't find the Key, the mountain falls tonight.”

“You’ll tear your core completely!” “I won’t—” Fenrir gasped. “Let them—take me.” One of the hunters recovered quickly, raising his spear. “Prince Fenrir of House Aelthar. By decree of the High Council, you are to be returned to the capital for judgment.” “Over my dead body,” Winter snarled, launching himself forward. The fight erupted. Winter moved like lightning, blades flashing as he cut through the first hunter’s defense. Oragon followed, his strikes precise and devastating, forcing two hunters back at once.

One thing Winter's weakness is, she easily forgets spells. “No, I want to sleep here.” “All right, then go to sleep, Winter, I want to find a map.” “You want to find the Forest of Death, right? You won't find it on the map,” suddenly Winter said. Helena looked at her confused. “Then how do I find the Forest of Death?” “Come with me.”

“What does that mean?” My wolf became restless instantly. Kaelen’s expression sharpened beside Nyra. “What are you saying?” I demanded coldly. Helena pointed toward Kaelen with trembling fingers. “He was never supposed to lose everything,” she whispered brokenly. “He was the real heir.” The room fell silent again. Then slowly Elder Rowan turned toward the gathered wolves and in a grave voice declared. “Alpha Kaelen Blackthorne is the rightful heir.”

The northern heir’s banner snapped in the icy wind atop the gatehouse, its blue wolf’s head stark against the snowstorm. From their position on the inner wall, Eolan could see the enemy’s front ranks clearly now—mercenaries in mismatched black armor, shields painted with the jagged claw-mark insignia. Behind them, a siege tower crept forward, its wheels crunching through the frozen ground, flames licking from the tarred hides stretched over its frame. “They’re trying to take the wall, not just the gate,” Eolan said. The heir herself appeared at his side, helm under one arm, her copper hair a halo against the grey sky. “Then we stop them here.” She snapped her gaze to the nearby troops. “Arch