Fingers Of The Mountain Oblivion Novels & Stories

A bottomless, hollow sorrow welled up inside me. Oh, Alexander. You look so pathetic, drowning in your own lies. That night, three years ago, as you were boarding your private jet with Oliver, I was chained in a damp, dark basement. Vivian's five rogues circled me. One of them was slowly, meticulously, carving the Luna tattoo from the back of my neck with a silver knife. "Heard the Luna loves her little pup," the lead rogue sneered, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "Too bad. Can't even save herself, let alone her daughter."

The ground beneath everything else, solid and permanent and not going anywhere regardless of what moved through it. I was standing on the floor. Even sitting on the ground, even exhausted, even with twenty years of power moving through me in ways I hadn’t begun to map, I was standing on the floor, and it was holding. I let my eyes close. Just for a moment. Just to be in the dark behind my eyes with the stone warm at my back and the sound of his breathing beside me and the land breathing beneath me and the complete Moonseal sigil on my arm burning its quiet gold.

But I clung to Ava's voice, fighting through the darkness with every ounce of will. Her touch was like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of oblivion. I convulsed, my body arching back in agony as I screamed out for my father and Ava. The pain was overwhelming, a tidal wave of suffering that threatened to consume me. But even in the midst of the pain, I felt Ava's arms around me, holding me close. Her voice was in my ear, whispering words of comfort and love. I clung to her, my anchor in the storm.

Izobel arched her body, gasping in pleasure, and I could not help but smile as I felt her fingers turning into claws and gripping on the tent and the quilt of the camping bed. My mouth glided to the other mound, giving the same pleasure, sucking, and nipping on it, which made Izobel grab my hair and moan, which surprised me because I was expecting claws to dig into my scalp, but she seemed to have controlled herself that it went back into a delicate hand.

The ascent of the Frostspire Mountains began under a bleak, overcast sky, the clouds a thick, churning gray, their edges tinged with a faint blue, the air frigid and sharp, each breath a stinging jolt in the lungs, the wind howling through the peaks with a relentless ferocity, its gusts carrying the scent of ancient ice, wet stone, and a faint, acrid tang of dark magic that clung to the air like a shadow, the temperature well below freezing, the chill seeping through layers of clothing, numbing fingers and toes, the mountain’s slopes a stark expanse of ice and rock, their surfaces slick with frost, streaked with veins of obsidian that shimmered faintly in the dim light, the ice reflecting th

He took a deep breath, to calm his nerves and gave me a smile that was more sure this time around. I held his hand and dipped it into the bowl of water, and with a deep breath started the recital. “Blood to blood, earth to earth - by the power in me and with the moon and universe bearing me witness - I, Mica Silvers hereby hand over that bestowed unto me to Richard Mocco.” The moment I said the last word I felt something leave me with such a rush that it had me gasping. Suddenly, I felt…empty - and cold. This is it.

My skin began to glow with a white-hot brilliance, my eyes turning into two miniature suns. "Emma, vent it! Vent the energy!" Nathaniel screamed. I looked at Félix. I looked at the twins. And then I looked at the Heart of the Mountain beneath our feet—the place where the World-Eater was still biting its chains. I didn't vent the energy into the sky. I slammed my hands into the obsidian floor of the summit. The solar-fire shot down through the mountain, a golden lightning bolt that bypassed the mines and the Root-Veins, heading straight for the Abyss.

The Forbidden Peaks did not welcome visitors. They were a jagged crown of obsidian and ice that pierced the belly of the sky, a place where the air was too thin for lies and the wind screamed with the voices of a thousand forgotten winters. Kael led the small party upward, his breath hitching not from the altitude, but from the slow, rhythmic pulsing of the darkness in his blood. He kept his gloves on, the leather hiding the black, spider-web veins that had now reached his elbow. Every step felt like he was dragging a mountain behind him. Through the pack-link, he could feel the distant, muted distress of his people, but he had shuttered his mind, wrapping his intent in a sheath of iron will

the old man replied, he snap his fingers, and the large pot, clay stove, and wood disappeared in front of them. “You mean I’m still not inside the mountain?” Niffa asks in confusion. “Yes indeed,” the old man replied and beam a smile, it wasn’t a creepy smile anymore. Niffa can sense that the old man doesn’t have any bad intentions at all. The old man walked towards her and snap his fingers, a bandage appeared as he wrapped it around Niffa’s bleeding hand. He walked passed her and entered the small hut made of wood. “Then tell me the way to enter this mountain,” Niffa said as she run to catch up with the old man.

Far away beyond the fortress walls— Deep beneath the northern mountains— Silver eyes opened in the darkness. And for the first time— Something smiled back.