Iron Gates Book Novels & Stories

he challenged, his voice a low, raspy velvet. I didn't reach for it. I just looked at it. I felt the iron’s history the years it had spent in damp pockets, the locks it had turned, the stubborn, unyielding nature of the metal itself. I felt the heat of its creation and the slow, inevitable creep of its decay. I pushed.

Something older than a smile. "Yes," I said. He held my gaze for a moment. Then he looked back at the country. We stood at the door of the stone building on an autumn morning. Below us were the hills. Beyond the hills was the road. Beyond the road was Ironmoor, where the work waited. Ironmoor, where the record's enforcement lived in forty eight pages. Ironmoor, where the restaurant had a corner table, where the vine bloomed without announcement, where the four moons rose every night over the city's volcanic walls.

I pouted, and the little shit actually rolled his eyes at me. Dante’s lips parted like he was about to say something before the blue of his irisis instantly sharpened to slits as he stared at something over my shoulder. Before the small squelch of something hitting the gate thudded. It should have been small.. Inconsequential. Shit rolled up to the gates from the darkness all the time..flying glass… a carriage..hell, even a felled tree had slammed into our gates at one point, but the reinforced silver-blessed iron always managed to bounce that suit right the fuck back.

The muffled roar of hundreds of voices bled through the thick oak. "Are they going to stare?" I asked. "Every single one of them," Mina said. She gave me a bright, completely unapologetic grin. "Let them." She stepped back. She looked at the two massive Ironmaw guards flanking the entrance. One of them, a man with a jagged scar cutting through his thick beard, gave me a look, He didn't sneer. He reached out, grabbed the heavy iron ring, and hauled the door open for me.

Then Nine. I stopped.My breath caught.A large iron cabinet stood against the far wall.It looked completely out of place.Everything around it was covered in dust.The cabinet wasn't.I approached slowly.There was a small lock on the front.My fingers hovered over it.The key I'd found earlier felt heavy in my pocket.For a moment, I couldn't bring myself to take it out.What if I was wrong?

I close my eyes and reach with my mind into the desk, feeling out the locking mechanism. Iron. My magic goes cold as soon as I reach for it. Of course he did that. Pure iron puts a stop to any magical tampering. If it was a steel lock—a blend of iron and carbon—I’d have a chance against it. But Lord Enorio’s first move for anything he wants to keep private will obviously be to lock it in iron. But he hasn’t beaten me yet.

The Return to the "Gilded Cage" They reached the gates of the Hawke Estate by midday. The "Iron Silence" here was heavy, weighted with the "Tension" of decades. The massive wrought-iron gates, once powered by a "Zero-Point" security grid, were now rusted open, choked by wild hawthorn and "Independent" ivy.

The bond thrummed between them, raw and jagged after Jorah’s death, after the forged note, after the certainty that the trap at the mill had been only the opening move. They reached the bottom. A heavy iron door, rusted but still strong, barred the way. Runes covered its surface, spiraling patterns that looked like interlocking claws. Kael pressed his palm to the center. The metal groaned; the runes flared silver, then dimmed. The door swung inward on silent hinges.

“You will only hurt yourself from doing that and nothing is going to happen to that door; you will only get yourself tired.” I don’t want to hear your logic, I just want result, so am not stopping, kay! I Want to save our people. And I don’t want to know how to. “Do you know what this are made of? You not saving them, you are killing them,” “What do you mean?” I asked The doors are made of monolith of black iron; its surface engraved with ancient runes that repels force. Everything shattered against it, it is as solid as the bedrock beneath the earth, it defied leverage, defied magic, defied will.

He will attack anyone or anything that gets in his way. As we reached the clearing, The main gates of Ironside came into view. They were an imposing sight. Thick wooden doors reinforced by metal plates and long spikes, with a latticed metal grille. Flanking towers that control access stand on either side guarded by the sentinels, and a 30ft high and 10ft thick stone wall encases the village. I often wondered who or what my father was trying to keep out.