Iron Gates Book Novels & Stories

“You must run… do not let the Council use your bond… The medallion… it is a trap.” “I am not leaving without you, Father,” I replied firmly, gripping the heavy iron chains that held him. The heat in my lower belly erupted again, sending a wave of silver energy straight to my palms. I squeezed the links with my strong hands and, with a strength I did not know I possessed, pulled them apart. The mystical metal, corrupted by the magic of the Dead Lands, creaked and split in two with a sharp crack. “Impossible! That iron was blessed with silver poison!” the old witch shrieked, stepping back in horror as she watched the broken links fall onto the snow.

Far from Vesper City's glittering towers. A metal door slowly opened. A hidden room. A forgotten place. Dust floated through the darkness. A man stepped inside. Without hesitation, he approached an old steel safe. The lock clicked. Then opened. Inside sat a worn black book. Old. Aged. Covered in years of dust. The Black Ledger. The man picked it up carefully. Opened the first page. And smiled. Because one name appeared again. And again. And again. Written throughout countless entries. One name connected everything.

Micha nodded in understanding and we continued searching through thousands of ancient books. Then we saw it. Another book—this one titled: "WARS OF THE REALMS." We looked at each other, excited. But we braced ourselves, afraid it would be blank like the first. I opened it— And the book didn't open. The cover was iron mixed with wood, heavy and old. I tried again. Nothing. Micha suggested we burn it. Maybe melting the metal would open it. So we threw it in the fire. Nothing. Not a scratch.

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 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.