From Ashes To Power Mga Nobela at Kwento

“I can’t control it.” More riders landed around them, forming a circle. Ashen walked through the flames as if they parted for her. “You see?” she said to everyone watching. “Her power is already slipping.” Rowan stepped forward, shaking. “Stop twisting everything! I didn’t choose this!” “You were born wrong,” Ashen snapped. “A mistake of fire. And I will correct it before you burn us all.” Kai growled. “I won’t let you lay a hand on her.”

The ground trembled beneath Asha as she struggled to rise to her feet. Her breath came in sharp, painful gasps, her body drained from the immense effort of unleashing the Soulbone’s power. The air around her still hummed with the residual magic, a tremor of energy that seemed to pulse from the very heart of the Spire. She could feel it deep inside her, the echoes of the Ancestral Spirits and the remnants of the Blood Pact, still struggling to cling to existence.

*Crackle* Sparks appeared around the Asherah Pole, and the ground around it turned into lava as it failed to endure her power. The magma spiralled and turned, ascending and rushing towards Asherah who accepted its baptism wholeheartedly. It seeped into her skin and invaded her organs and blood vessels. Her heart that had known wind up until this moment, was forced to accept the earth and fire of the phoenix, and she was pushed to her very limits. Her eyes were fully clouded by the fog of fire and smoke, and ash slowly began to rise out of her open pores!

“I will go find him.” “Don’t,” Aliyah grabbed his hand and shook her head, “it’s obvious he doesn’t like you.” Asher gritted his teeth, “the feeling is mutual.” “I think it has to do with Aspa’s power in you, I think they have a history.” “Your mother is right,” Edward replied in shallow pants, he was fighting to stay awake while also wondering why a damn spear has the power to drain his life energy.

POV: Ash Ryder "Is it supposed to feel this quiet, Rhea? Or is the world finally just dead?" Ash stood at the epicenter of the charred remains of the Under-Whisper, his voice sounding disturbingly smooth, devoid of the gravelly rasp that had defined his Alpha's roar. The bioluminescent roots were gone, replaced by a crystalline grey silence that stretched for miles. He looked down at his hands. They weren't blackened or charred anymore; the skin was marble-pale, perfect, and terrifyingly cold. There was no pulse in his wrists, only a steady, low hum of violet power that vibrated beneath the surface of his veins.

Greg asked. “Witches hate fire, the only way to kill a witch is to burn them alive, making sure that they have blue flames in it to burn them into ashes, their ashes are also powerful, so if I possibly burn him alive, his ashes would be gathered and sealed in a vase that can’t be broken” I explained gently. “His ashes could recreate him again, if the ashes were not sealed?” “Yes,” I warmed my palm, I was cold yet, I was sweaty. “What’s the problem with you?” Greg noticed my restlessness.

The power he wielded was a double-edged sword, cutting him off from the warmth of human relationships. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the window. The moonlight cast long shadows, a reflection of the night, a glimmer of hope flickered. He realized that he had the power to break free from his self-imposed solitude, to rebuild the bridges he had burned. In the distance, the echoes of his anger still lingered, a haunting reminder of his own imperfections. But he also knew that he had the capacity for change, for growth, for healing.

But she wasn’t the girl Nathaniel had tried to destroy. No. That girl was dead. And in her place stood the storm he never saw coming. Everything that had happened in the last few years felt like a fever dream stitched together with pain. The fire. The betrayal. Damien pulling me back from the brink of death. The surgeries. The bandages. The new face. The therapy. And then the planning. So much planning. They thought I died... Well, let them keep thinking it. Ashen Group wasn’t just an empire—it was a weapon. My weapon. Born in the ashes of my old life. Fueled by betrayal and designed to give power back to women who had been crushed, controlled, discarded. Like me.

The bloodlines were never meant to stand apart. Flame buried beneath ash. Fang bound by duty. Roses bleeding in shadow. Stars lost to the dark. Generations fractured by fear and pride. But blood remembers. When the Four stand whole, the ground trembles. What was broken rises. Power forgotten reclaims its name. Unity or ruin. Choice or fate. Balance does not wait. If I could not stop the war, then it must be you who ends it. Rise from the ashes of six. Find the heirs of my dearest friends, the ones who stood beside me when the world began to break. With them, fulfill the prophecy. Restore what was lost.

Let everything go back to normal. Normal. The word tasted like ash. I turned the water off and stood dripping in the quiet. Steam swirled around me thick and heavy. But I didn’t want normal, all I want is her. And that scared me more than any slap Ethan could throw.