Oblivion Standing Stones Mga Nobela at Kwento

The basin was cold, sigils around the circle dimmed. Lerder stood in the doorway, breath catching. “Elara?” She turned slowly. Her voice was hollow. “The gods have stopped listening.” The Western Stones Bleed, Scout reports flooded in by morning. The far western boundary stones—relics that had stood silent for millennia—were cracked. One was found leaking red mist. The other hummed like a tuning fork in a dead wind. No footprints. No invaders. But the symbols carved into them were… new.

“Or it’s bigger than us and pretending it isn’t would get us killed faster.” I didn’t answer. --- Midday We found the first sign of them just after noon — a set of standing stones, worn smooth by wind and sun. They were arranged in a rough circle, each one etched with symbols I didn’t recognize. “This is it?” Asher asked. I shook my head. “This is a border.” “Border to what?” “Somewhere that doesn’t want us in it.” The air inside the stone circle felt… heavier. Like stepping into water up to your shoulders. Every sound dulled. Even the crunch of our boots on the dry earth faded to nothing.

Without saying a word, I nodded. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, I walked through the maze of graves, my eyes scanning the inscriptions on each and every stone, my mind filled with curiosity and a sense of reverence. My emotions were a jumbled mess of sadness and anticipation as I drew closer to the place where Megan now rested. The stone monument was a haunting reminder of her life, with a large headstone standing as a testament to her existence, elegantly adorned with her name in an ornate font. Every beat of my heart felt like a reminder of her absence, intensifying the pain and causing it to clench tightly in my chest.

Perhaps by the giants that father said had built this place. The procession fanned out around the standing stone, the young beating trails for their elders. Riona found herself in the middle of the pack, looking about herself. At the stones perched upon others to ring this sacred place, with snow and ice sticking to their sides and mounding atop them.

When the storm broke at dawn, we answered it. The journey took us through lands we had only glimpsed in visions. Deep gorges where rivers sang ancient melodies. Forests where trees bowed as we passed, recognizing the guardians who had helped heal their kin. On the seventh day we reached the mist-shrouded peak. The air here hummed with raw, unfiltered power. At its summit lay a perfect circle of standing stones older than any we had seen, surrounding a still pool that reflected not the sky above, but countless other skies from countless other worlds.

“We gather all the stones in one place. Force the power to concentrate.” “That’ll take hours. Maybe days. And we don’t know if it’ll even work.” “It’s the only option we have.” They worked through the night. Wolves and soldiers hauling stones, piling them into a massive cairn at the settlement’s center. The stones resisted, trying to roll away or sink into the ground. But weight and ropes held them in place. By dawn, every stone was gathered. The cairn stood fifteen feet high, a monument to something that shouldn’t exist.

The mark went from warm to burning the moment we crested the hill above the site. Kael felt it through the bond. He signaled the vehicles to stop. We got out. The site below was a wide flat space between four large standing stones, ancient, covered in the same script that ran along the knife blade. The grass around the stones was flat and still in a way that had nothing to do with wind. Veyne was there. Small at this distance. Standing in the center of the stones with his arms extended and his head down and the air around him doing something that was not visible exactly but was present. A pressure. A frequency being built.

At the base of the amphitheater stood the Moon-Stone. Unlike the raw shard in the archives, this was a massive, jagged obelisk of celestial crystal, nearly seven feet tall. It pulsed with a cold, pale light that felt entirely devoid of warmth. It was said the stone could sense the exact purity of Lycan blood; it would sing for royalty, but it would shatter the mind of an imposter by feeding their worst nightmares back into their skull.

"You don't have to fight alone, Alpha. I’m with you. Together, we’ll make them pay." * * * * * * * * * * At the Ritual Site The sun began its slow descent, casting the sky in shades of crimson, orange, and deep violet. The ceremonial site known as the Stone of Oaths stood atop a hill at the heart of the Greenwood territory. The massive circular platform of white granite was veined with streaks of deep green, the color of life itself. Runes carved into the stone pulsed faintly with an otherworldly glow, thrumming with ancient power.

Left without titles, without memory. Without dignity. She dropped to her knees. Her hand brushed a nearby stone. It pulsed. Flickered. Whispered. She froze. The power here wasn’t dead. It was waiting. “Elara…” The wind called her name again, like it had in the Forbidden Forest. She turned. And saw it. At the grove’s edge, beside a toppled pillar, stood a grave unlike the others. One lone obelisk of obsidian, tall and worn, marked with silver runes nearly lost to time.