Iron Coffins Book Novels & Stories

The door made this awful grinding noise that echoed everywhere, then swung open super slow. The room was smaller than I expected. A stone coffin sat right in the middle, and just looking at it made my chest hurt. Books were scattered everywhere, on shelves, on the floor, some still open like Dad had just set them down. Weapons covered one wall, all different types, old but taken care of. This was his. Dad was here. Lived here. Got trapped here. "Dad..." My voice came out all shaky and quiet. I basically ran toward the coffin, my body moving before my brain caught up. My hand reached out for the stone.

The nails screeched. The lid popped open. I took a deep breath. I braced myself for the smell of decay. I lifted the lid and threw it back. I looked inside. The scream died in my throat. There was no skeleton. There were no bones. There was no dust. The coffin was filled with bricks. Red construction bricks. They were stacked neatly in rows to simulate the weight of a body. I stared at them. My mind tried to reject what my eyes were seeing. "It is empty," Kael whispered.

I give a curt nod of my chin, gesturing for his paws to lead my stride through the maze. The pack mortuary is buried deep in the lowest stone level of the prison bunker to keep the rot away from the living cells. After twisting through three blind turns and passing several iron-reinforced corridors, his keys click open a thick lead door. The moment the seal breaks, a freezing, gloomy stench of old blood and refrigeration chemicals blasts straight into my nostrils. To stop rogue corpses from decaying before the council can extract their memories, the cellar is packed with heavy cooling turbines that hum twenty-four hours a sun.

Lucien’s expression darkened. “What was taken?” The guard hesitated. “The First King’s coffin.” The entire hall fell silent. Master Orion’s staff slipped from his hand and struck the marble floor with a sharp crack. His face had gone completely pale. “That is impossible,” he whispered. Lucien frowned. “What was inside it?” The old scholar looked slowly toward the king. “It was never meant to hold a body.” A heavy silence followed. Master Orion swallowed before continuing. “The First King’s coffin was built to hide something far more dangerous than mortal remains.”

“Quick, inform the rest.” The Doom Race’s guards were utterly terrified upon seeing the coffin. This copper coffin had appeared thirty thousand epochs ago, and every time it surfaced, it appeared in perilous places, draining the energy from the surrounding area. Due to its mysterious nature of absorbing all kinds of energy, it earned the name “Death Copper Coffin”. Whoosh! At that moment, numerous beams of light descended from the sky, revealing Youri and the other powerhouses of the race. Observing the copper coffin outside the entrance, Youri’s expression turned dark, and he coldly shouted, “What the heck is this thing? This is the territory of the Dooms. Get out of here!”

This little old coffin looked like nothing more than a fish bait container for monster knights. Dawar, nevertheless, felt overwrought with wonder about the coffin. He couldn’t stand the stink of unbathed monster knights and always contemplated them to be a rather impulsive and dishonest warrior. But they were Redberg knights, so he appreciates and supports them as compelled. But something about this wooden coffin drew his interest. Was it the understated length and natural plainness? Or was it the elegant cross images on the lid? He could not say. And what was inside it? The first vampire? Why was he not out and let the humans and monsters knight paraded its glory? Was it dead? Or was the co

"My lord… Lady Gracie and the child… their life signs… they're gone." In that instant, Justin’s world shattered. ... Dragging my heavy body, I used my last ounce of strength to push at the coffin’s lid. But the moment it locked shut, the birth-suppressing runes flared, their crimson light weaving into a net. Icy power surged through me, a thousand needles piercing my skin and chaining the wolf inside. The baby sensed the threat. It kicked violently inside me. Each kick was a war against the runes, sending a fresh wave of agony tearing through me.

Elena shouted: “Because it is not a cabinet!” Roselyn inserted the brass key. A click echoed. Then another. And the entire back wall shuddered. Doctor Mirelle smiled. At last. Satisfied. “No one ever listens until architecture answers.” The wall split vertically. Cold air burst through. Behind it stood a narrow stone chamber— and inside that chamber rested a black coffin. Not wood. Metal. Sealed. Old scratches across its surface. No name. No date. Only one engraved symbol Aurelia recognized instantly from Clara’s hidden file.

They drag the bulky, strange-looking books off her shelf, and I watch the youngest guard in the unit wipe his hand on his pants after touching them, hoping nobody notices. And nothing suspicious shows up. That’s what starts turning the screw in me. Because every single object in this room raises its hand and explains itself. The letters are letters. The jewellery is jewellery. The books are strange, and strange is not a crime, and everyone under this roof has known for forty years exactly what those books are and whose they were. Ida’s. The peculiar old woman who came back off her long roads with peculiar old cargo and gave the best of it to the granddaughter who worshipped her.

“Come on. Follow me.” He heads toward the records hall, and I follow. Inside, the air is cool and old. Dust and ink cling to the stone walls… stone that remembers secrets. He stops at a locked shelf and pulls out a massive book. The leather is cracked with age, gold symbols burned deep into the cover. “The Pack Offense Record,” he says. “Ancient. Permanent.” My fingers itch to touch it. “Every crime,” he continues, “every betrayal, every punishment is written here. Once a name is inked, it can never be erased.”