Noble Sorcerer Ashes Novels & Stories

Each interaction was a fresh, dull ache in my chest. "You need to concentrate, Gen. I can't have you accidentally blowing up anymore of my stuff." Asher's voice, laced with a familiar exasperation, gently pulled me back to the present, yanking me from the murky depths of my thoughts. I looked down, startled, and immediately dropped my hands when I saw the raw, untamed magic swirling uncontrollably in my palms, a shimmering, chaotic light.

Cassius’s roar was a physical force, a shockwave that seemed to momentarily halt my violent journey. Gritting my teeth against the fire in my shoulder, I twisted, forcing a torrent of mana into my palm. I lifted my head just enough to see it: a knot of congealed night, a writhing mass of animated shadow with tendrils like whips of solid darkness. A Shadowveil. It was pulling me into its formless body. I aimed and unleashed a lance of amethyst light. The blast struck true, and the creature didn't just die; it unraveled, dissolving into a silent puff of black smoke.

Five pulses answered the question before any mouth could. Ashar looked at his hands as flame curled around his palms without burning him. “I am Ashar of Veydrin,” he said, but the name carried more weight than before. The air behind him shimmered with images of a civilization made of fire, stone, blood oath, and sanctuary towers built into mountains. Then those towers fell in silence, and the last flame entered him like a crown returning to its owner. “God of preservation,” he said, as if confessing to a crime.

She’d come to see the bastard in the ground for herself. Dorian Ashford’s coffin sat there, slick and shiny, all polished mahogany that hollered wealth even as it sank toward the dirt. The priest mumbled some nonsense about peace everlasting, his voice half-drowned by the storm, but Sienna didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were glued to that box, her jaw locked tight. Twenty-seven years of bile churned inside her. He’d left her mom to waste away in a rusted trailer, coughing up her last breaths, while he piled up his shipping billions—money built on the wreckage of the only person who’d ever given a damn about him.

He stands behind me, arms crossed, a shadow refusing to be drawn in. The old rogue begins to speak. “She came in the season between the moons. The one with no name. The one where wolves forgot their howls. She wore no crown. No mate-mark. No Alpha’s scent.” The hum continues beneath her voice, like breath rising from old earth. “She walked alone into the Bone Lands, where no pack claimed the soil. Her hands bled spiral. Her eyes burned red. Her name was ash. Her tether already severed.” A shiver ripples through the pack. No one looks at me.

“What do you mean?” Asher took a deep breath, his expression darkening. “You’re not just a normal woman. You’re the heir to the cursed bloodline of the Arkanis—a lineage of sorcerers who wield forbidden magic.” Ivy recoiled, her heart hammering. “No… that can’t be true. I’m just—I’m just me. I’m just Ivy.” Asher’s eyes darkened with intensity. “You don’t get it, do you? Your parents were the last to bear the curse. They hid you from it, kept you away from your true power. But it’s in you, Ivy. The darkness is in you.”

My fingers loosened against NightSword and it clattered away from me. Eryndor’s eyes were dilated, his canines dripping saliva as he dove for the sword, picking it up with a feral grin. He raised it above my head as I watched in horror. NO!, NightSword screamed in my head, in protest at being wielded by one not bonded to him. My ears popped and my vision was lost again as a powerful sonic blast emerged from the ancient weapon, a beam of energy spiraling outwards and slamming into Eryndor.

Golden light spilled across the hospital grounds, bathing the trees in warmth. Almost unconsciously, her feet carried her toward the eastern observation corridor. She found Arman exactly where he always sat. The notebook rested on his lap. The forest stretched beyond the glass. He looked up when she approached and smiled. "Hello, Doctor." His voice carried the same warmth it always had. For a moment, Aisha found herself unable to speak. Because she was no longer looking at a psychiatric patient. She was looking at the boy from the drawing. The boy who had spent sixty years waiting for a family that existed only inside his own heart.

I hadn’t washed it yet. However, when I examined the collar, my fingers paused. The button was loose. The thread looked new, like it had been forcibly pulled. I crouched down and opened the shoe cabinet. My pair of hospital slippers sat neatly inside. The soles were clean. I remembered clearly that the last time I wore them, there had been a faint yellowish stain from disinfectant. Now, the soles were gray-white, as if someone had deliberately scrubbed them clean. My breathing tightened slightly, but my expression didn’t change.

"Then why would a perfectly good heiress run around building teams and pretending to be a nurse? What are you trying to do?" Did rich people all have this kind of eccentric streak? Ivy laughed awkwardly. "I'm not actually a nurse. I borrowed the uniform. I heard you were in a car accident and came specially to see you, but I was afraid you'd think it was too forward... "And I built this team because of you. I like you. That is why I entered this industry. "Ash, join Immortal Ashes. I want to build a team just for you. From now on, you will be second-in-command at our studio."