From Blood And Ash Book Set Novels & Stories

My breath caught as the shard’s pulse merged with my own heartbeat, binding me tighter to the vision that unfolded. I stood on soil not of Dark Hollow, but of an older land where banners dripped in crimson firelight. Before me stretched a kingdom built on stone and blood, its high towers collapsing under waves of flame. Soldiers screamed as their armor melted, and at the center of the inferno stood a woman with my face—Ashara—her eyes molten gold, her hands drenched in fire and blood. I staggered back, heart hammering, yet the vision pulled me closer, commanding me to watch.

At the center of the cover lies a raised symbol: a drop of blood, intricately detailed, as if about to trickle down the cover, appearing almost alive. The clasp of the book is a masterpiece of brutality and symbolism. Made of heavy metal, it is adorned with tiny skulls and bones, reminders of the lethal power contained within the tome. The clasp seems to demand a blood pact to be opened, with a small blade embedded, ready to make the necessary cut. When I finally open the Bloodbound Codex, I feel the temperature around me drop abruptly, as though the very air had been sucked into the book. The atmosphere becomes denser, heavier, as if the essence of the book were absorbing the vitality aroun

"Avril, have some water and calm down. I know you're holding a grudge against me now, but you shouldn't be so rash next time." I didn't accept the cup of water. However, Peggy got burned by the hot water in the cup and ended up splashing the water onto my arm. "Oh! It burns…" The hot water scalded Peggy's finger. Vernon hurriedly led her to the tap and placed her finger under the running water. As for me, I was dressed lightly. The hot water had soaked through my chiffon top, scalding my arm instantly. I went to the restroom to handle the burn on my own. Very quickly, red blisters began forming on my left wrist.

When I first started writing Kingdom of Ash and Blood, I never imagined how far this story would carry me. What began as a spark — a single image of a woman standing in the ruins of her past — became a journey that taught me more about strength, love, and survival than I ever thought a story could.

And once I found it, wounded and weak, its eyes already changing colours and life almost draining out of it, my heart had clenched. And so I crouched low to its level, brushed my fingers over it and with much gentleness, I carried it to my hands like it were some child before I walked over to a low pavement I could climb. I laid him down gently and then sat beside it before I opened the book in my hands to read. It was titled, “SPELLS AND CHANTS.” As one of my best books, I never stopped reading it and to my younger self, it felt very useful, although many thought of it as fiction.

Ashen shook her head, She coughed ink, Then pressed a piece of her page the one she’d hidden into Liora’s hand. One word on it: Bind. Liora frowned. “Bind to what?” Ashen’s hand rose, trembling, and touched Liora’s forehead, For a second, Liora saw it all: Every fragment of Ashen’s lost story, Every possible ending she might have had, The rage, the hope, the unspoken names. Ashen closed her eyes, And whispered, “Bind me to your blood.” Liora gasped. “No—Ashen—”

Asher had crashed into a building, bringing it down instantly. As he got up, he stared at the people in front of him and then he heard the voice in his mind. ‘Yes Asher, go on, kill them, kill them all. They killed her, they took her from you. Kill all of them, show them what you are made of.’ His eyes were pitch black and raising his hand, more buildings set ablaze. Screams of pain filled everywhere and although Edward tried to quench the fire, more buildings kept burning and with each passing second, countless wolves fell to their death.

Toward. Toward Ash. Toward Cove. Toward the kid about to explode. “Mother!” Wrath shouts. “Don’t!” I hit the vines. They don’t grab me. They part. First Blood knows First Blood. Ash is on her knees. Burning. Cove is on his. Smoking. Vines connecting them. Feeding. Killing both. I drop between them. Bone knife’s in my hand. Again. Always. “Stop,” I tell them. To Cove. To Ash. To the Tree. “Both of you. Stop.”

I followed my ruined corpse all the way to the mass grave. My limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, my body covered in crisscrossing bruises, my face drained of every drop of color—like a weed that had been stomped flat by a hundred boots. Soon, a pack of mangy stray dogs caught the scent of fresh meat. Their eyes glowed hungry and green in the darkness as they circled in. At first, they just tugged at the edges of my clothes. Then one bolder mutt sank its teeth into my calf and ripped off a chunk of flesh.

I answered, holding her until the silver mark on her wrist flared again. Ashina’s voice cut through the courtyard before my sister could answer. “If you want the first book, Daciana, then follow me before Father takes the child and closes every door.” Every wolf went still. Adolphus’s blood smoke recoiled slightly, and that told me more than any promise Ashina could have made. The first Blood Feather book mattered. Maybe it mattered enough to make fear honest. (Ashina POV) I ran through Blackfang’s lower passage with Daciana behind me, and every step felt like walking deeper into the mouth of my own grave.