Oblivion Standing Stones Novels & Stories

They reached the Ironroot Standing Stones at dusk. The final ridge curved upward like the spine of a sleeping beast, lined with jagged rocks and wild grass. Beyond it lay a flat, circular plateau, and in its center—tall, silent, and weathered by time—stood twelve stone monoliths. Each bore a sigil etched in gold and ash. Some glowed faintly in the waning light. Others pulsed with unseen energy. Racheal stopped just short of the circle, her chest tight, her wolf whispering beneath her skin.

A place that remembered without insisting. She walked steadily, the hours arranging themselves without drama. Hunger arrived gently. She ate. Thirst followed. She drank. Nothing demanded escalation. Near midday, she noticed a shape ahead that did not belong to the ground. At first it was only contrast—a vertical interruption against the plain’s low horizon. As she drew closer, it resolved into stonework. Not a building. Not a ruin. Markers. A line of standing stones, unevenly spaced, weathered into softened forms that suggested intention without precision. They ran east to west, not straight, but guided—adjusting subtly to the land’s rise and fall.

Kael said, his voice firm and filled with a peace he had never known, "we go home. Not to the Citadel of Thorns. But to a pack that deserves its Luna." The Standing Stones remained, but the history they held had been rewritten. The forgotten bloodline hadn't just returned; it had risen. And as the Nightfang column began the long walk back toward the valley, the moon remained visible in the morning sky—a silent, silver promise that the night would never be that dark again.

"I stayed. That is the short version." I did not push further. ††††††††††††††††††††††††† We had been in the valley for perhaps an hour when I found the stones. Seven stones stood at the center of the Vellmoor, half swallowed by moss and creeping vegetation. Each one reached roughly to my waist. They were arranged in a pattern that was too deliberate to be accidental, and too worn to be anything but ancient. They were different from the surrounding rock. Darker. Almost black, with a faint iridescence that caught the light at certain angles.

Not with the elders standing at the front—six robed figures forming a cold, unmoving circle around the ancient claiming stone. The stone itself was a massive slab of black obsidian, cracked from age and etched with deep claw marks left by past Alphas. Some stains on it would never wash off. They were built into its history. Draven stood closest to it, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched just under his ear. He kept looking toward Jason’s balcony like he expected something to go very, very wrong. He was right. Because today was not peaceful. Today was not sacred.

We kept climbing. The pass opened onto a high plateau, windswept, barren except for a few stubborn pines clinging to cracks in the stone. In the center stood a circle of standing stones—tall, weathered, arranged like silent sentinels. Moss clung to their bases; runes spiraled up their sides. Genesis slowed. “This is sacred ground. No blood has been spilled here in centuries.” I stepped forward, drawn, almost against my will. The stones hummed. Not sound—vibration. Deep in my chest, like a second heartbeat syncing with mine.

And she simply wasn’t here. Walking aimlessly, with no particular plan for where I wanted to go, I found myself following the old dirt road that led to the only place that I could think of that was secluded and rarely anyone went to. The standing stones. Time did not seem to alter the stone in the slightest. They looked now, as they ever did in the past. The surrounding stones sitting on angles that shouldn’t hold under gravity, yet they did. The central stone, fallen and sitting proud in the middle of them all. Heather, gorse and bracken covered the ground in great swathes, making it difficult to pick my way through the undergrowth.

She looked around and saw no one. Instead she came face to face to the street view. She held onto the bannister and lazily leaned on them as she gazed at the dark silhouettes in the night. Their apartment building is located in a secluded part of their town and on the far front is the Alterax woods. The trees lined up in front with some infested with fireflies making them look shimmering.

He didn't want her to battle with trivial shit that he could take care of. With steady and determined steps the trio headed in the direction of the standing stones. They loomed up ahead, their presence ancient and imposing in the shimmering moonlight. The scene was both awe-inspiring and humbling, a reminder of the passage of time and the weight of history. "I thought they'd be bigger," Matt murmured under his breath. Camden felt a flicker of amusement at his remark, but the gravity of the moment prevented her from laughing.

"It's close. Very close." The path wound down through wind-bent trees toward a hidden cove, and as they emerged from the tree line, the whole party went still. A ring of standing stones rose from the pale sand at the cove's edge, weathered by centuries of salt wind but unmistakably deliberate in their placement — seven great stones arranged in a wide circle, each carved with symbols that made Ilsa draw a sharp, astonished breath the moment she saw them. "I recognize some of these markings," she said, moving closer with careful, reverent attention. "Old coven script, yes, but layered with something else. Pack markings. Old wolf-clan symbols, predating even the oldest records Blackthorn or Ash