Noble Sorcerer Ashes Novels & Stories

He found Theron. He sat on the edge of the tower. The morning sun washed over him. His body turned to shimmering, golden dust. "Theron!" Elias ran to him, but it was too late. "Take care of the clan, Elias," Theron's voice was a soft whisper. "I'm going to her." The golden dust danced in the breeze and vanished into the sky. With tears in his eyes, Elias collected Theron's ashes. He placed our urns together, reuniting us at last.

Glowing magical threads emerged from her ear, twisted around themselves, and formed a small sphere. It was the memory of the dream, and another memory about Zane. The stranger closed his hand around the memory and destroyed it. Lila’s body jerked for a moment, then went still.

And now I knew she was alive. Or at least, she had been. Her name was Dahlia Renner. She was somewhere in Ashford Hollow. “She’s alive.” The words came out barely above a whisper. I looked at Teo. “She’s alive. Ashford Hollow. My father knew where she was all this time.” Teo went still. “Ashford Hollow,” he repeated. He said it slowly, as if the name itself meant something. “Elias, listen to me.” I waited. “If your father wrote that name down nineteen years ago and never went after her himself, there was a reason. It wasn’t only because he was afraid of leading someone to her.”

"Operation Ashfall wasn't authorized by an Alpha. It was engineered by a coward hiding behind stolen administrative keys and forged signatures." Torin’s eyes widened, a sudden flicker of genuine panic cutting through his arrogant facade. He hadn't expected her to piece together the depth of the deception so quickly. He opened his mouth to rasp another retort, but Julian’s grip tightened just enough to cut off the air entirely, plunging the elder into a limp, unconscious collapse. Julian dropped Torin’s body to the floor with a heavy, unceremonious thud. The old man lay sprawled across the stone, chest barely rising as air painfully forced its way back into his lungs.

She knew that they would have to tread carefully if they hoped to confront such a powerful adversary. "Determined to protect our pack and the balance of nature, Alpha Magnus confronted Malachi, but he was no match for the sorcerer's dark magic," Asher explained, his voice trembling with emotion. "In the chaos that ensued, our pack was torn apart, and I was left for dead."

“I understand that the reason is it’s caustic abilities. But why not just call it Spelled Acid?” “It doesn’t sound as pretty, I guess,” she slid him a small smile. She should be exhausted, she thought, but in truth she was invigorated. She wanted the spell done and her enemy’s blood on her tongue. “It’s like Demonic Ash.” “True,” he picked up the bone ash he’d prepared. “An ingredient that I find somewhat distasteful. Less so, when your familiars are responsible for the sourcing of the ingredient then when I have to rob the grave of a murdered child myself.”

Beneath the glass-like surface of her skin, the Shadow Heir was visible—not as a child, but as a swirling vortex of violet smoke and jagged, infantile limbs that moved with a predatory speed. "I don't care about the risk, Rhea! I’m not leaving you to rot in this tomb!" Ash shouted, his voice thick with the desperation of a man who had already sacrificed his soul to reach her. He stood at the edge of the altar, his charred, skinless hands trembling as he reached into the violet flames. "I’ll burn until there’s nothing left if it means I can pull you out of this!"

“Good. Skepticism. The young in my day swallowed prophecy like milk. It curdled them.” Behind her, Scar muttered, “I like him already.” Luna did not take her eyes off the stranger. “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you?” He tilted his head. Something in that tilt—wary, analytical—echoed an old posture she had seen in the Moon Temple statues. “I am Ashar,” he said. “Once called Ashar of the First Circle. Alpha of Ashen Reach. Pact-holder. Gate-watcher. And very, very tired of being dead.”

And if a weak Gift is in a sorcerer, then they will drink strength from him. Ore poured into the ashes, flowed into the settled snowdrifts, leaving a crimson scattering, falling, falling words of a spell ... But the wind did not howl, the earth did not rear up, the Navi did not rush to the living. Three incorporeal shadows swam up to Tamir and his head rustled: "Peace to you." "Peace to you."

She whispered almost to herself. “There is nothing but dust, yet a shadow lies beyond. No, not a shadow. An army. An army of beasts and vile men has gathered around the sacred stone. I can see it. There is a guard of Dark Mages surrounding it, protecting it.” Astasha’s eyes looked to Calder, his face serious, yet placid. She knew he was already strategizing in his mind, the pieces moving as more information came to him. “And there are bodies.” Continued the Air Sorcerer. “Sacrifices amid a spell circle. I’ve seen the runes they bear before. Their throats are slit, a single slash across their chests.”