Hold My Hand And Take Me To The Ashes Mga Nobela at Kwento

“I’m basically a fungus on your tree.” “So sexy.” “Thank you.” A laugh escaped me, small and loose, my head tipping toward his shoulder before I even realized it. Below us, the sea swallowed our footprints. Ash’s fortress vanished without ceremony, shells drifting with the pull of the tide. Up here, on this slick rock, the most infuriating man in my life held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world while the paranoid part of my brain counted quietly: whoever out there was holding the knife still had no idea what kind of war they’d just bought.

"Avril, this is Dylan Walker." I reached out to shake his hand. He did the same and gently held my fingertips. "Welcome home, sweetheart." Dylan flashed me a smile. My cheeks instantly flushed at his words. Mom and Dad beamed at us. Without hesitation, they shoved me to Dylan's side. Dylan grabbed the luggage I had been wheeling with my left hand. As he was very observant, it didn't take long for him to notice my scalded left wrist. "What happened to your wrist?" Dylan asked.

As if she had already chosen the world she wanted to live in. I rose. My knees left prints in the mud, half filled by the river’s edge. When I stood, the cold air pulled me back into myself. The moon trembled across the surface, broken by current. The ash began to move downstream, slow and gleaming, as if the river itself was carrying the dead toward whatever waited for them. I turned away and followed the sound of fire rising in the distance. Kael (POV) The ash came first.

My chest felt heavy, like every heartbeat was dragging me closer to a choice I didn’t want to make. Then Knox stepped forward. “We can’t wait. They’re laughing at us and we won't have that.” His gaze slid to me. “Unless someone here wants to talk peace.” I met his eyes. “I want to think before I bury another brother.” “Thinking doesn’t stop bullets,” he shot back. “You gonna write them a letter, Ash? Ask them nicely not to kill us?” A few brothers snickered, uneasy laughter mixing with anger. Griff slammed his fist down. “Enough! Ash, you in or out?”

I turned to Justin. However, he instinctively pulled Priscilla into his arms and frowned at me. "Stop causing trouble already. Just hand over the tickets, would you?" My mouth was filled with blood from the previous slap. With all my strength, I grabbed my fallen phone from the ground and held it high. "Who really lost them? See it for yourselves in this video!" In that instant, Priscilla's face drained of all color.

"A long time ago." "Then what do I do?" his voice was filled with despair. "Tell me what to do, I'll do anything." I put down my knife and fork and looked at him. "You don't have to do anything. Just live your life, Kaelen. And forget everything about us." "I can't." "Then learn to." I stood up. "Eat your food. This is the last meal we'll ever have together." One month later. I received a letter written in blood.

So I did the best I could to extend my hand, hoping that if someone grabbed her back, she would reappear. “No! Iris!” I cried as tears trickled down my face when I saw that almost half of her body was gone. I pushed forward and extended my hand more, even if it seemed impossible. I was able to coil my hand around her ankle, and I did my best to tug her back, but nothing was happening. She was still slowly dissolving, disappearing before my very eyes. I watched as the ashes slowly ate her legs, and it was reaching her ankle. “Please... Take me. Take me with you!”

Phoenix arisen stronger from ashes where weaker spirits perished. I serenely held Scar's wavering psyche in my open palms, time suspended around us. "You still know me, beloved. We stand surrounded by worthy allies who believe we may yet win free. What say you?" Love and steely faith rang in my plea. "Will you take my hand this final span where I cannot walk alone?"

Ash drifts through the air like falling snow. Cain’s hand finally finds mine. I grip back, steadying, heart burning. “Alright,” I whisper to the gods, the moon, the memory of a witch who loved me enough to die. “I’m still standing.”

His head is tilted at a side, studying me from head to toe. I smirk at him which seems to intrigue him. My hands reach inside the pocket of my trousers. I pull them out, my fists closed, containing the ashes. Keeping my eyes fixed on him, I put my hands before me, levitated in the air before my fists open and grey ashes fall off them, coating the snow black where they fell. For a moment, both of us stand still and look at the ashes before he growls lowly. “What is this?” He growls pointing to the ashes.