Hiraeth Sentence Novels & Stories

Etched in gold, faded and old a scripture reads: Máthair an tite agus ceartais na síochána pas le bronntanas na fola. “I couldn’t read the language,” Oliver tells us dropping my hand now we have passed through the invisible barrier. The fighting still taking place behind us. My free hand moves to trace the words. In my mind's eye, the words scramble, becoming clear and readable. “Mother of the fallen and justice of peace pass with the gift of blood,” I mutter as the script deciphers itself. “It’s what the tree called me. Mother of the fallen.” I whisper more to myself. “Odeia… Ashe told me I was justice…” Rhett adds, in just as quiet as a whisper as me. “That’s why it was my quest.”

"And say it." "Yes," I say. Her name is Tira. She makes us more tea. We stay for the afternoon. And Reneth — the river city, the valley city, the city whose anchor was below the riverbed the whole time that Ilden Vray thought she had suppressed it — hums. The full five-point system. Warm and present and held. For the first time in two years. *This,* it says. *Yes,* I say. *This.*

Lyra POV The wind carried the scent of rain and something older, metal, ash, and memory. I stood at the threshold of the ruined hall, the air trembling between what had been and what was coming. Eira’s eyes gleamed like fractured moonlight, her voice low and cutting. “You think the bond defines you, Lyra. But the bond is just a chain, one forged long before Cain ever found you.” My throat tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The ash-shouldered girl stood in the rain we had wanted all our lives and did not bow. Silver leaked in lines—a grammar of belonging we’d swallowed for years. Aetheria showed the ladder we’d been told to climb—and the empty space beside it where stairs always fit. “When the veil splits,” Sister Rhene said, kinder now, “you learn which promises keep you—and which you keep.” We didn’t kneel. We breathed different air and admitted it. --- POV: Mortals We used storm-words badly. Glass sky. No thunder. Not noon, not night—a third thing.

Concordia, Seven Hundred Years Before Harithen lay between Thaelen’s thighs, his cheek on his chest, their wet c-cks trapped between them. They had f-ked themselves empty, f-ked themselves to the point of contented somnolence, and they lay listening to the rain striking the canvas in the peaceful lull left behind the satiated lust. “I should go,” Harithen sighed eventually. “But it’s miserable out there.” “Stay,” Thaelen invited immediately. “I would like for you to stay.”

~~~ IN THE HOLLOW — LUCIEN’S POV: The wind howls like a beast through the trees. It’s darker now and feels thicker. The Hollow has started folding in on itself, fraying at the edges like a dying dream. And in the middle of it, I am standing on a cliff of fractured glass and bone. Elira is gone. She hasn’t returned since I said Rhea’s name. Since the Hollow itself shook and spat her back into the shadows. Something inside her snapped when I remembered. Something inside me is still snapping. I don’t know what I am anymore or what I'm doing for that matter.

Again, a pack of tormenting sadness and straining misery carried on striking the quagmire of Erito’s mind and feeling. Again, a series of straining pain and tormenting sorrow carried on assaulting the quay of Eriwan’s thought and perception.

That’s what Iridian is about; chances and odds. Even though my shoulder stung, and my chest ached with the effort to breath slow and quiet; I pressed forward through the stacks. I moved faster than I would’ve previously. Helena was quite literally drawing all of the librarians to her, taking away that stagnant smell. I could hear the receding hisses and groans as they abandoned their rusted carts and joined in on the chase. “Alright, let’s do this.” I huffed in amusement, eyeing the carving nearest to me.

“Lose my hiraeth? How the hell do you know about him? Do you have anything with the mark on his shoulder?!?! And what on earth are you going on about, set our people free? From who, from what? Our people are free!! You make no sense woman!” “Shaylin, our time is short… The goddess only gave me this brief moment in time but our people are under a curse. They have been for a millennium now, we all have. Your hiraeth’s mark is a sigil given by the two cunning goddesses themselves and its emergence is a direct proof of the approaching hour of the Prophecy. You on the other hand, you are destined to break that curse. You my daughter are no less than the next Queen of the forest, much like your mo

The Silence stirred faintly, its reply soft and ancient. > Then the cycle is no longer a circle. It has become a spiral. Ereya’s light pulsed once—like laughter made of peace. > Good. --- The Final Note In the realm of Kareth, Sareth stood again upon the mountain’s peak. The stars above him shimmered out of rhythm, their pulses unpredictable, alive. He looked up, breathed in deeply, and whispered: > “No perfection. No end. Just being.” And the Heart—scattered yet alive—answered with a pulse that shook the void.