Novelas y relatos de Mistwraith Mistborn

“She is My Lord,” Crystal stretched out her hand, and a chain made out of Chaos was conjured from her hands and latched onto the chains binding the Wraith. The eyes of the Wraith were filled with hatred, and she stared at Crystal intently, as though she could kill her with nothing but her gaze. And why wouldn’t she hate the one who trapped her; especially when she was so close to getting away.

I whined at him. He smirked coolly and even pouted a little. "What's wrong with what I did? That's exactly what I wanted, Miss Selvestre. That is part of your job description. I expected you to do worse than that... " I looked away and clenched my fist. My breathing became heavy, and I closed my eyes tightly. Yes, I have mortgaged my soul to a minion of Satan. And now I can do nothing but play with fire. I mustered up my courage before facing him again.

Staring at the sky as I wondered if I was so dazed from pain and exhaustion that I was imagining all this. What if Veline isn’t here at all? What if this is all in my head and the torture is slowly making me lose my mind? I bit my bottom lip. “Calm, Girl.” Veline said soothingly. Waving a hand over me. As she worked on me, I saw hazy outlines appear over every stone in the Mending Vale. Women which looked to be working on wounded, though there was no one on the other stones. It almost reminded me of a recreation of something which had happened during war time. When these spirits had, had to heal multiple wounded at one time.

Something hunted them something old. “Don’t look into the mist,” Saelith warned. “It feeds on memory. You’ll see people you’ve lost. Or wish you had.” But temptation whispered. One night, Elizabeth wandered from camp. The mist swirled and her mother appeared, dressed in the white robes of the Order. “Lizzie,” her mother said gently. “You can rest now. Come with me. Let the war end.” Her wolf whimpered. But Elizabeth’s eyes burned gold. “You’re not my mother.”

"Everyone. Don't move." The air changed. A thick, oppressive black mist rolled across the ruined streets. The First Guardian's warning echoed heavily in their minds: *Morgathra feeds on regret.* The mist wrapped around Killian's feet, then Seraphina's, then Kael's. One by one, their surroundings disappeared into absolute darkness. ### Killian He stood once again in the royal courtroom five years ago. Seraphina was in chains—pregnant, terrified, and looking at him with tears in her eyes.

The world blurred around me, but Theo’s face was burned into my vision. The look in his eyes when I admitted I didn’t know what I wanted—it haunted me. Hurt, fury, desperation all tangled together. And worse? A hunger that mirrored Damien’s, only less controlled, less predictable. I tried to bury myself in books at the library, pretending I was invisible. Pretending the whispers weren’t still following me. But I felt it—the weight of his gaze. When I finally glanced up, there he was.

Around the center of the Wraith, a circle of bright red, silver, black, and crimson sparks formed. I yelled, "NOW!" and put all of our strength into the Wraith's heart. It was very bright in the forest, and the shadows were moving around wildly. It was a storm of chaos and unity as the molten sparks hit each other. The Wraith screamed as its body, energy, and corruption began to fall apart. Love, ties, and Moonbound power all added to its weight, and it broke apart. After that, there was quiet. The smoke went away. Ashes float in the silver-red light of dawn as the forest shook. The Wraith was gone, though. It had been broken, and its shapes were gone like dust in the wind.

She argued that with vampirism, witchcraft, and senses of werewolves combined, we will be indestructible. “Niklaus was made with witch powers! Powerful with powers at that! And you think a bite from him would produce the same results?” Lucianna screamed once again, seeking for the attention to be diverted to her. I hid my claws when I saw my aunt averted her gaze to my cousin, Lucianna. I immediately sat beside Natyaramona and assisted her into standing up. Her breaths were heavy and sharp, panting and almost begging for the last of it.

While a being that can’t be seen, at least in the eyes of the living, the color of his foggy self changes it’s bloody color to gray than black that kept becoming darker and darker, until he wake up from his beauty sleep, he doesn’t feel her soul that he is attached to it, he didn’t panic but surprisingly felt calm, especially when foreign memories rushed in his being, gives him some feed back of what he was doing off his menatoring and controle, although his happy feeling slowly vanish because despite that it is a helpful ability but uncontrollable so he must descover how its work and when its work to avoid misups. While his mind kepts daydreaming for a while, he felt tight and trapped all

“Then this isn’t just a clearing. This is where they changed the story.” The words settled over the group like a curse. The mist thickened, swirling into shapes—half-formed silhouettes that moved just beyond recognition. The pendant warmed again, this time in sharp, rhythmic pulses. “They’re here,” Mia whispered. “The ones who rewrote it.” Fog shivered, and from its shifting folds, three figures emerged. Not flesh and blood, but woven from the same pale mist that filled the clearing. They were featureless at first—just tall, imposing shadows—but the longer Mia stared, the more they seemed to solidify. Robes stitched with silver threads. Crowns shaped like broken halos. And eyes, glowing fain