Metal Urns For Human Ashes Novels & Stories

"Don't blame us for that, Zephyr. We both know that my blood is running inside you. And, ruling above everyone else is a trait you got from me that you would never, ever get to abolish deep inside you." Dionysus clenched his jaw but never said anything again. He patiently waited for Wallace and after three to five minutes, the chief butler came back with an elegant, cremation urn in his hand made from an artistically designed, brass metal. Dionysus froze on his spot. The coldness brought by the rainwater still drenched his whole body and brought chills to his mind, even though it was really the main sight of his grandfather's ashes that made him feel that way.

"There’s a cistern. It’s an old drainage line from the era before the Silver Moon terraformed these lowlands. It feeds out into the Ashlands, but it’s flooded, narrow, and reeks of death. It wasn't built for humans, Aiden. It was built for waste." "I don't care if it smells like the abyss itself," Ignis snapped, his fingers digging deep gouges into the wooden crate he was leaning against. "I’m not burning alive in this tomb because some bureaucrat wants to keep her hands clean. Aiden, if we stay here, we're just waiting for the flame. Is that what you want? To die as a footnote in a report?"

"No." "She'll wear it someday." "Yes." "Keep it hidden." "I will." I turned toward the small wooden coffin in the center of the room. Empty. The Keeper had left ashes. Magical residue. A fragment of silver that looked like Astraea's destroyed anchor. Enough to convince anyone examining the grave. The box still felt too small. Children should never have coffins. Even fake ones. Kazan entered. He stopped when he saw it. His expression went dead. Not emotionless. Dead.

Inside, visible through a lattice of rusted iron, rested a dark crystal sphere churning with inky water and thick smoke. “It was nailed to the center of the ancient altar,” Kael reported, head bowed. “Three of my trackers suffered necrotic burns just touching the stone. We could only move it with forge tongs.” I took the urn. The cold radiating from it was wrong — not winter cold, but the absolute, crushing dark of the deepest ocean trench, where sunlight had never reached. I carried it to the walnut table. Maya came to stand beside me, barefoot, placing her hand upon my forearm to steady me.

The woman behind the counter gave Cassie a gentle smile, as though she already knew who she was. “Take your time,” she said kindly. The store was small and quiet, filled with urns of all shapes and materials—ceramic, marble, brass. Some were modern and sleek. Others looked like something from another century. Cassie ran her fingers along a silver one with soft etchings of leaves. “Mom always liked nature,” she murmured. Emily stepped beside her. “She’d love that one.” Cassie nodded, and something tightened in her chest. The laughter from earlier dissolved, replaced by a hollow ache. She stared at the urn, the reality finally, fully sinking in.

Instead, they hurled insults through the doors. Three days later, my dad carried our ashes to the crematorium. When he returned, he held two urns—one small, one large. He chose a quiet, beautiful spot for me, a place where peace finally felt possible.

Kit said, not wanting to think about that at all. “I decided instead of a service for June we will have her cremated and do the blown glass with her ashes in it. I will have four things made. One for each of them, one for us, and one to bury with Mark.” Mitsuhide said softly. “That way, she is always around the people who would have made her happy.” “That is a beautiful thing.” Kit said as she looked at him and smiled. She thought that it was a great thing to do that so she could always be around them.

Stella goes quiet, then lays down, a little white circle on the sand, her eyes closed, her tail tucked over her nose. Around her, where there once were bodies of our fallen enemies, there are now small piles of golden ash, still faintly glowing with the starlight energy she called down. Reverently, Layla steps forth and gathers one of the piles in her hand. Arnold appears at her side with a simple ceramic urn, which she gently pours the ashes into. They repeat this process until all the ash piles are gone, and we have a row of little ceramic jars on the sand where the bodies used to lay.

His lips trembled. “No…” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not true. She can’t be dead. She can’t!” Martins didn’t flinch. Instead, he lifted his hand, snapped his fingers. Two men, dressed in black suits, stepped into the hall. Their heads were bowed, their expressions grim. In their hands, they carried a small polished urn, brass-colored, with carvings that looked ancient, its lid sealed tightly. The flicker of the chandelier reflected on it, making it gleam like a cruel jewel. They walked slowly, until they stood beside Martins.

She picked it up and then walked beside Xavier to the direction where the beach was supposed to have lower levels of water. They stood in the water as Cara held the urn and opened it and stared at the moon in the sky and then looked at the vast expanse of sea bathed in moonlight and gradually let the ashes drop from the urn into the water and the waves gradually took the ashes away from them and when finally the urn was empty she dropped the urn in the water as well. “You don’t wish to keep that?” “No…I don’t wish to keep her remains with me. She will remain in my heart and memories forever.”