Longing Rusted Furnace Daybreak Novels & Stories

He checked the amount and value of the recent harvest from the wasteland that was stated in the ledger. The yearly cross-house tournament was coming, and house Valentino had to offer their share of resources that would be used as part of the reward to give to the Victors. Rufus Valentino rubbed his forehead as he laid his back on the chair made from agar wood . Vampires don't really get tired, but they sure as hell aren't immune to frustration. "I should have a damn secretary for these stuffs" count Rufus muttered with exasperation in his tone.

⁠ Full​ m⁠agaz‍i​n​e. I looked out the s​mall window at t‍he dar​k m​ount⁠ai‍ns. S​omew‌here out there, Matteo Rus⁠so was watching his warehouse burn. H⁠e was angry. He was humiliated‍. An‌d he wa‍s coming. The Ne​xt Morning. 10:0‌0 AM. I wok​e up to​ the sound of a ca​r engine.

TIME: DAY 1 OF EXILE, 06:45 HOURS. LOCATION: SECTOR 8 - THE "RUST BELT." STATUS: SCAVENGING. The sunrise in Sector 8 wasn't beautiful. It was a bruise. Ren Walker stood at the mouth of the drainage pipe, peering out into the industrial wasteland known as the Rust Belt. The thick, chemically-laden smog that blanketed the lower city turned the morning light into a sickly, jaundiced yellow. It didn't look like day; it looked like the inside of an old halogen bulb that was about to burn out.

The timid office worker who had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time was dying, and in his place, a survivor was being forged in the heat of the chase. They reached the outskirts of the rail yard just as the first grey light of dawn began to bleed into the horizon. The landscape was a graveyard of rusted steel and rotted timber, the skeletal frames of massive cranes rising like prehistoric monsters against the pale sky. It was a place where things were left to decay—the perfect sanctuary for the three of them.

"So, this is where you got married, huh? It's so pretty. Uncle Lucian promised to bring me to see the fireworks here in Feanland. He said these were your favorites. Such a shame you can't see them." I drew in a deep breath and said evenly, "That's fine." Then, I hung up, almost laughing at how I'd managed to make a fool of myself again. I removed the SIM card from my phone and tossed it into the trash. There was no going back now. … In Feanland, Lucian lasted only a week before growing restless. Revisiting the place felt emptier than he'd expected. Seven days felt like a year. Ryan tugged at his sleeve, his eyes wet. "Daddy, I kind of miss Mommy."

***Dru's POV*** The air hangs thick as roux left to scorch in a cast-iron pot, humidity gluing my shirt to my spine. Around us, Vermilion Court simmered—a dead-end strip of cracked asphalt where shotgun houses slumped like drunks against each other. Spanish moss dripped from waterlogged oaks, their gnarled roots buckling the sidewalks into jagged stone teeth. Somewhere, a screen door whined on rusted hinges, slapping rhythmically against a frame bloated with rot.

Like what they’ve done with life. The rusty moon fits this year: the world’s and Helen's own. Her very personal one that she wouldn't even tell the diary about, because writing about it would be too painful. For the world it isn't over yet: the year of longing in which the moon began to rust. For Helen it will be soon enough. In three steps, beneath a rusty moon, in a rigid time, and someday it will hopefully be hollowed out by water, so the world can move again.

he rasped, voice ragged. Luca ignored the pain in his own legs and the burn in his lungs. He grabbed the heavy back door and shoved with all his strength. It creaked open on rusted hinges, the smell of decay and cold wood washing over them. The lodge was abandoned, a relic of simpler hunts and simpler days. Dust lay thick over the floor, and a faint, lingering scent of old woodsmoke hung in the air.

From the hallway, Ember’s voice called softly, “Come to bed.” “In a minute,” he replied. But he didn’t move. Because something in his chest was stirring—a tension he couldn’t shake. The kind that came right before the storm. And outside the window, far beyond the safety of the mansion’s walls, the fire of Aiden’s war had already been lit. **** The morning broke clean and bright over Raven’s Peak.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Animal I have become- Three Days Grace. IVARA'S POV: The neon sign flickers above the rusted roadhouse, buzzing like a dying insect. Its pale red light cuts through the darkness of the desert highway, painting jagged shadows across cracked asphalt. The engines roar, and the air smells of gasoline, sweat, and wet asphalt. I pull my leather jacket tighter around me, not that it will hide the way my hands are shaking. It's not from fear but from anger and the heat of anticipation coiling in my chest like a live wire.