Mistwraith Mistborn Novels & Stories

And from it, things began to fall. Not soldiers. Not beasts. Wraiths. Dozens of them—some with wings of bone, others with claws like knives made from stars. They did not scream. They hissed, a sound of time unraveling. The Veilborn War had begun. Jayden shifted before anyone could stop him, his beast form erupting from his skin in a flash of silver-furred fury. He leapt into battle, cutting down the first wraith before it could land. Maelis summoned chains of molten gold, lashing them at another that swooped too close.

“The fire in your chest is waking things older than dragons.” Rowan’s breath caught. “Older than dragons?” Mistara tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You think you are hunted because of what you might become. But you are hunted because of what has already been.” Whispers erupted through the room. Rowan stepped forward despite the weight in her legs. “What do you mean? What’s waking?” Mistara’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though her eyes remained distant. “When fire and storm, earth and sky tear each other apart, something buried deep will rise again. And when it does, Dragonheart… choice will be the first thing you lose.”

They thrust the Nexus forward, its light colliding with the crystal in a blinding explosion. The crystal cracked, its dark energy spilling into the Rift. Morgana’s form appeared, her face twisted in rage and fear as she was pulled toward the Nexus. “You’ll never be free of me!” she screamed, her voice echoing in the collapsing plane. Alex’s body trembled as the Nexus consumed the last of the crystal’s energy, pulling Morgana inside. The whispers in their mind intensified before falling silent. The plane began to collapse, the colors around them spiraling into darkness. Elysia shouted, “Alex, we need to go! Now!”

"But it's completely crazy! A few days ago, I was quite normal, and now I live with vampires and I am... what am I exactly?... a sort of... witch?” Draven raises an eyebrow mockingly. "Just a witch. There aren't many kinds." "I'm going to wake up, it's all just a bad dream!" "You can deny the obvious, I understand that it's difficult to take in, but I'm sure of myself, I know very few people with the gift of telekinesis." A gift of telekinesis? If what Draven say is true, if I'm really a witch, then everything I thought to be true up to now falls apart. I don't know anything about that world. Is that what made me come here? To this university?

[Elara's POV] [Lost her memory of past few days] I backed away as the creature launched its attack. Clutching the sword from the temple, I struck at it, but the blade passed through its misty fog as if it were nothing. I knew it wasn’t my mother. The Echo Wraith always appeared as a familiar face—a loved one, a long-lost friend, or a figure from the victim’s past—only to grotesquely distort and morph into a disturbing mask of anguish or malevolence. The expressions on its face are exaggerated and twisted, reflecting the lies and deceit it preys upon. One moment it might seem sorrowful, and the next, it could sneer with malevolence. Its misty form occasionally shimmers with an eerie glow that

“Pick wrong, and maybe you’ll walk in circles for eternity. Or fall into a memory. Or wake up someone else.” Cayla’s lungs burned as her innards rattled and blood boiled from within. The poison was patient, almost gentle. It didn’t kill—it wore her down. Making it harder to concentrate. *** **Somewhere in the Mist — Raven** Raven’s eyes burned as she stumbled forward. The air was thick, pressing against her like invisible hands. Every ragged breath tasted of rust and rot. She tried to draw her sword, but it wasn’t there. “Hello?” She rasped.

asked Michael while rubbing her paralyzed legs. "You're a crippled woman, Gwen, a crippled woman! Can't you see how pathetic you are right now? Don't you want to know what makes you like this? It's due to karma! Gwen, A Karma!" screamed Michael at the end of the sentence. Gwen, who heard this, could only shake her head weakly, and before she could say anything, Michael immediately preceded her. "Don't you find it strange? A beautiful Gwendoline Ferguson, the only daughter of a wealthy businessman, could suddenly get a serious illness after marrying me?

The creature opens its mouth to talk, and its voice echoes, beautifully so, but it seems to vibrate the dream world. “Hazel!” the mist says, their eyes glowing. “The threads of destiny are being woven, and you have been chosen to be the weaver. A war is looming, invisible to mortal eyes. Only you can untangle the mess that your people are in!” The urgency in the voice of the mist jars me. What is it talking about? Frowning, I try to understand what I have been told. “My people? War? I don’t understand!” I flail my arms around. “And even if so, why me?" I question, my voice echoing as well.

A moment later, a scream echoed from the lower halls. Kaelen burst into the chamber. “We’re under attack!” The Nightborn fortress had never fallen. Its walls were thick, its warriors legendary. But this was not a conventional enemy. Figures cloaked in shadow—wraiths, twisted remnants of the Vale—rushed the gates. They slipped through cracks like smoke, slicing through steel with talon-shaped magic. Aria ran to the tower balcony with Varek and Kaelen. What they saw chilled them. A red mist rolled over the hills—blood fog, summoned by Dreadshade priests. In its midst, a silhouette loomed—horned, skeletal, surrounded by chanting figures.

She had told him about their scary and terrifying figures and their names. The one who was a tall and had gaunt figure with sunken eyes that glowed like smoldering coals was named Morgrath. Her black robes hung loosely around her skeletal frame, giving her an air of ethereal menace. Morgrath was a master of necromancy, capable of commanding the spirits of the departed to do her bidding. Seraphina had told him was said that she wore jewellery made out of the bones and cursed artifacts, which were remnants of her twisted experiments.