Golden Wind Requiem Novels & Stories

Ash spoke the words that Winter had written for her own funeral—a short poem about silence, about presence, about the watcher's love. Kaelen stood at the edge of the grave, her hand on Solenne's arm, and watched them lower Winter's body into the earth. "She wanted flowers," Kaelen said. "Gold flowers, like the ones in the garden." Solenne nodded. "The witnesses will plant them. They will bloom by spring." Kaelen looked at the sky. The sun was rising over the towers, turning the stone to gold. "Winter would have liked that." --- The story was not over. The story was just beginning.

The loss falls entirely on my shoulders as if it were my hand that ripped her throat out. The moon is almost to the peak of the sky directly above us. Crisp air nips at my exposed back in the midnight blue material that hangs from my body. Upholding the traditions of Golden Summit it is to be that at midnight Lorelei's body shall be burned to release the soul and wolf spirit held within her body. A strange idea to think the souls are trapped when in reality it was freed after her last breath. Had she been sent to the underworld I would have been able to find her even without entering it. Luckily she is in the sacred land at peace. Silas, Kain, and Gwen hang back behind the line my mates and

Rowan’s blade ignited, his silver magic weaving into the mix, and Agnes’s voice rose, not in a chant but in a single, unbroken word: “Enough.” The golden key shattered, its fragments dissolving into the chasm, and the heart above pulsed once, twice, then exploded. The storm collapsed, the presence screamed, and the crucible shook, not with destruction but with creation. The stone beneath them reformed, the sky cleared, and the drumbeat—their drumbeat—became a song, soft and steady, a rhythm of choice made whole.

One who was longing for kindness, and one who was full of kindness from people around him. The wind blew and dandelions flew in the air. The feelings lingered and the memories brought warmth and peace. Just like a kiss in the wind...

The temperature dropped drastically, the wind that blew felt colder, piercing the skin's surface. The trees swaying in the wind dance a dance of death that is both beautiful and magical, their dance accompanied by the sound of dry leaves, and the leaves singing as the wind blows them. The hoarse singing was muffled, their singing was like a muffled screams. It was like someone who wanted to scream with his neck choking hard, someone who was in a transitional period between life and death. They sang and danced as if it was the end of the world. The last day that humanity can taste before everything is destroyed with nothing left

She replied with some good questions. “It’s too early to tell if there is to be another war, I knew this would be hard for you due to you dad’s passing in the last one, I would listen to Sapphire if she has advised that there will be then this might be the case and you will be ready. You are strong and powerful in your own right and the goddess always has a plan. I think she might be the only golden wolf; this could be a great thing being very rare or could be bad as some might seek you out for selfish reasons.” I explained as she nodded along with my answers.

They revealed the mourning decorations hidden beneath, woven from silver-blue moon grass and the shed fur of our pack. My mother, Cecilia, stood before the main hall. She tore off her celebratory dress, revealing the silver mourning robes underneath. The entire courtyard was bathed in silver moonlight, and the sound of a funeral dirge rose up. The celebratory drums fell silent, replaced by the rhythmic tapping of wolf bones, a funeral beat to guide the soul. The pack members lit the sacred pyres, infused with Wolfsbane, and formed a circle, chanting in unison: "May the moonlight guide her! Send our warrior, Sloane, to the Eternal Hunt!"

Morning in Dawson’s house has learned how to be gentle, but it still walks on tiptoe. The sun comes through the blinds in thin pale strips and lands across the bed like quiet warnings. Dawson wakes with a careful inhale, like his ribs are a door he has to open slowly so the hinges don’t scream. He doesn’t complain, not out loud. He just goes still for a second and lets pain pass through him the way he was taught to let weather pass: by refusing to fight the sky.

However, before she could hide it all the way, Lucy was already by the bed, grabbing for her arm. "Give me the phone!" Tania held on to the phone for dear life and would not let go. Lucy did not think Tania, who had been drugged, would be so strong. She pulled hard, lost her balance, and stumbled toward the big window. Tania could not let go in time and got pulled along, smashing into the glass. "Crash —" The loud sound of breaking glass filled the air, and Tania felt like she was floating as she fell backward.