Guren Owari No Seraph Novels & Stories

“Oops, my hands slipped, hope the almighty Luna wouldn't mind a small fry like me?” A smug smirk graced my lips. Oh my, this felt soo good. Seraphina’s eyes widened, her fist clenched as her body trembled. She glared at me, the venom spewing in her eyes could disintegrate me instantly if it was allowed. “Luna… you have to change your dress before the offensive odour gets onto your skin” Jennie reminded, making Seraphina's eyes widen again. “I will deal with you, just watch and see”

They were not talking but I could see their expressions change, mind link, a common phenomenon in werewolves, to talk to through their minds. Their worried expressions change into a smile after a minute as they both finished it off with a nod. ‘This is just temporary dear, we don’t want you to lose the name your parents have given, we know it holds a deep meaning, so until you are comfortable, we will call you Seraphina Green, it means to have the personality of fire, never giving up,’ she explained. ‘Seraphina Green’ I spelled by name. It had a nice catch to it. ‘I love it’ I smiled, their expectant faces bloomed in an instant.

The air in the Great Hall of the Crescent Moon Pack was thick with the scent of pine, sweat, and anticipation. It was the night of the Mating Ceremony. Every eighteen-year-old stood in a line, their hearts thumping against their ribs like trapped birds. I stood at the very end of the line. My head was bowed, my oversized, tattered grey hoodie hiding my frame. To everyone here, I was Seraphina, the "charity case." The nameless orphan Omega who scrubbed the floors and ate the leftovers.

Around her, the celestial thrones of the five Seraphims stood tall, as if the echoes of betrayal were but a farce. Each throne was a reflection of its master’s essence, forged from the first lights of creation — now dimmed beneath Luna’s cold dominion. On the right of Luna’s dais sat Sariel, the Seraph of Discipline and Secrets. His throne was carved from obsidian glass veined with silver light, the glow of distant constellations flickering faintly across his armor like the trapped breath of the cosmos. His gaze was sharp and detached. The eyes of one who had seen too much and judged too little. The lunar brilliance traced the severe planes of his face, his folded wings like midnight forged

"My Moon, you didn't leave, you didn't abandon me!" Aren says all very excitedly hugging her. The auras of both emerge again and mingle with each other. Seraphim and Nara look at each other, now there is nothing they can do, their divine souls have united forever! Aren, quickly covers himself, then sets his eyes on her parents. Before she can do anything, she turns into Oto who growls furiously at them with red eyes. "Oto!"

Twelve figures emerged from the fog. Cloaked. Crowned. Bare-faced, and older than gods. The Hollow Tribunal. High Oracle Miren raised her hand. > “Seraphine of Elowen. > You stand before the Seat of Flame, summoned to answer for the awakening of the Crown, > the destruction of sacred relics, > and the *death* of a Tribunal emissary.” Seraphine stepped forward. Her voice did not shake. > “I was not summoned. I *arrived.* > And I will answer only one thing:

“Is Auri sad?” Seraphine brushed his hair back gently. “She’s overwhelmed,” she said. “And I’m going to help her.” She slipped a small charm into his palm — silver, etched with a crescent rune. “If Aurelia ever seems frightened,” Seraphine continued softly, “give this to her. It will help her calm down.” Lucas nodded solemnly. “I promise.” Seraphine stood. At the door, she paused. “Oh,” she added, smiling over her shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone about this. It’s our secret.”

We stood on the fifty-yard line, side by side. Me: platinum waves loose under a black beanie, ruby eyes catching every flame. Seras: red streak glowing like a fuse, black-garnet eyes steady, maple pendant blazing crimson against her collarbone. Both of us wearing identical lockets that pulsed in perfect sync—森羅 kanji now permanently burned into a flaming maple crest on Seras’s, silver spiral on mine. The marching band had stopped. Cheerleaders frozen mid-pyramid. The entire crowd held its breath.

A ruin beneath the sands, where legends said the first Gate was opened by a girl who had no name. Seraphina walked at the front, her gauntlet humming with purpose. As they approached the ruins, whispers rose from the ground. Not in words. In flame. It parted for her. Inside, the stone pulsed with light. And in the center— Another Gate. Dormant. But not dead. Seraphina touched it. And the Warden appeared. Not flesh. Not memory. A being of armor and ash. “You return,” it said. Seraphina lifted her chin. “I never left.”