January Embers Novels & Stories

However, it wasn’t the same as to what I'm seeing now. There was a boy. I can’t recognize his face because of the weird blurry effect of the dream. The only thing I saw clearly were his eyes. His emerald-colored eyes are still engraved in my mind. Even though it’s already been a year since I last dreamt of it, I still can’t forget his eyes. The scenes may be different to what I'm seeing now, but they were both peculiar and still not on earth.

It hasn’t rained in at least a week, the forest is very dry. For a moment the flames dance in a way that makes me think they are trying to tell a story. I shake my head but the flames continue to form the shape of people. Suddenly the people begin the run from a darkness that makes the flames disappear for a moment. What is going on? The smoke fills my lungs and I begin to gasp for air. I look up, the smoke in the sky is black and thick. The smell of burnt pine is making it hard to breathe.

" I forced myself to look away from her breathtaking body and focus on the hand she had outstretched to me and then raised my eyes to meet her gaze, which held no trace of her smile. Her eyes tell a tale opposite the proper, posh princess she was trying to portray. Her eyes, a beautiful shade of emerald with brown honey flakes, told the truth. They radiated hatred, anger, and anguish. They showed shimmers of the need for an adventure, the hope for a new beginning, and when my gaze fully met hers, they showed a flicker of desire, of want. They lit a flame deep within me, an inferno that only she would be able to extinguish if I let her close enough. "Hades," I reply, ignoring her outstretched

Leo asked. I thought about the fire that had broken through my binding, the ancient fury that had opened its eyes inside me and refused to be extinguished. I thought about Marcus, out there somewhere, still burning with whatever twisted rage drove him, and about how different that kind of fire was from what I wanted to build here. "Ember House," I said slowly, testing the words. "Because an ember isn't the destructive part of a fire. It's what's left after everything burns down — small, but still warm. Still alive. Still capable of starting something new if you're patient with it."

The study was a heavy, suffocating mix of cedar, ink, weathered parchment, and the thick, dominating bite of Alpha pheromones. A fire worked itself in the massive stone hearth, fighting back the winter afternoon. Outside, the snow choked the rooftops of Embermoon, burying the fortress in brilliant, blinding sheets of white and silver under a dead, pale sun.

“Hi, Agnes. Long time no see. I wonder, by the time you see this video, will I already be dead? But even if I am, my body will stay here, just like these bones. So, Agnes, don’t forget to come and collect my corpse.” The air fell into a heavy silence. Even breathing seemed stifled. Then, the crowd erupted again, louder than before. “Don’t say that, Jacob! We’re sending people to look for you right now!” The video kept playing. I looked straight into the camera, speaking each word clearly. “I’ll record everything on Exile Island in my own way—to record how I walked toward my death and to record how the Yule family walks toward destruction. This video might never make it out, but I’ll find a w

Then I looked at our daughter, who opened her eyes and didn't cry and looked at me like she already knew what I was. From the ashes and the fire, something beautiful was born. "Ember," I say. Jolie's breath catches. She knows immediately—I can see her take the shape of it, hold it up to the light, understand everything in it. The element of transformation: coal that becomes fire that becomes something that outlasts both. The thing that stays lit after everything else has burned. The beginning that looks like an end until it doesn't. "Ember Ash Kane," she whispers.

About Ember. The air itself seemed alive with laughter, clinking cups, and the hum of voices weaving together like music. My nose twitched as wave after wave of aromas reached me—roasted meats, fresh bread, honeyed fruits, and spiced wine. Ember stirred within me at once, pressing against my consciousness, her excitement flooding me like sparks dancing along my skin. Meat, she purred, her hunger mixing with mine until I almost laughed aloud.

It was a video, grainy, like it had been recorded in haste. Ember stared into the lens. Her face was bruised, but her eyes burned bright. “My name is Ember. I was created by Ash Phoenix as his final weapon. But I am not him. I don’t want war. I don’t want destruction. I want truth. I want family.” She paused. “Alma Sterling if you’re watching this, I need your help.” Ezra exchanged a look with Alma. “This could be bait.” Roman agreed. “Or a trap.”

And the Mer were moving to intercept the enemy, not to attack the town. He decided to take the information back to the Emissary so that her meeting could be cut short and she could seek shelter. As he rose again above the cloud cover, he saw a flicker of flame. It was far away but he knew and immediately changed direction. He could see from Ember’s flight pattern that she was exhausted. Her wings and hair looked dull, extinguished, and her face pale. Her clothing was ragged, and the exposed skin was bruised and scraped, and unhealed. He caught her to him as soon as he could, and she sobbed as she gripped his neck. There was something strapped across her body that was lumpy between them.