Obsidian Books Novels & Stories

Bemrylcad’s magenta eyes gleamed. “Obsidian has its uses, m'lady. It absorbs heat, steadies magic, and heals when used right. I’m not saying you should give up your wards, my Queen. But with obsidian worked into them, they’d cut deeper and hold longer, it could turn a fight in your favor. It should be used as a shield, a blade and a charm.” He spoke with calm assurance.

~ SIERRA's POV ~ It was a warm summer day in New York City and Sierra was spending the afternoon reading her favorite book with her trustee sidekick, Winnie the Poodle. Although she had been living here all her life, the city with millions of people outside her doorstep, Sierra was always homeschooled and she never had many friends. She never went partying or even had dates with guys. She didn’t mind it, though. Winnie and Rosie were all she needs.

His knees buckle and drop to the ground. The media and police call me silenzio, while the others just call Silenzio. I'm a serial killer and I work for the country's most notorious and dangerous dark Italian organization known as The obsidian Syndicate. I work in the organization merely to quench my blood thirst after the unfortunate incident that occurred in my life which has scarred me and turned me brutal, I was given several therapy sessions but none ever worked to bring me back to the man I used to be before the incident.

What if? I groan internally. This is exactly why I don’t like going out—because my brain just refuses to let things be simple. No, it has to make everything seem like a conspiracy. After a while, I get lost in the pages of my book, trying to drown out the worries gnawing at me, but then, of course, something shifts. The world around me feels... off. It’s too still. Too normal. Yesterday, it felt like I was living in some high-stakes thriller. Everyone in that room—everyone—was glaring at each other, like the slightest wrong move would set off an explosion. Maybe a purge. Who knows? Definitely not the kind of vibe I want to relive.

'''' ''''what would you do if someone would lock you up somewhere? '''I didn't lock you. You were free to go. Remember.'''' ''''But You didn't tell me where was I and where's my phone??? Why did you hid it???'''' '''Your phone is in cupboard but its broken. Remember that day when you fell. There wasn't any repair center here so I had decided to give it back to you after repairing it.'''' '''And what about Your phone????'''' ''''Its in the study with my laptop and other files. But it won't work here. The weather here is too bad and I heard the network would be too slow even I couldn't call anyone. Otherwise, I would have given you my phone to talk to anybody you want.''''

They lived down in the Unders, in the toxic lower levels of the northern realm where nothing grew and no one with any sense went. There was apparently a lot of research done on them, but no one truly knew how they came to be. They were beastly enough to almost make even the stories about Xahen's wolf pale in comparison. Almost I thought, rubbing my arm. Nala tapped both palms on the armrests. "That's how the name Obsidian came about." I looked at her. "Is it true Obsidian was founded before any of the other three kingdoms?"

I ignore him and try to grab the book. “You’re too short. Let me,” Noah says, this time closer, his voice soft, almost placating. I suck in a breath. The artist side of me was always drawn to the colors I saw when he spoke, shades of gold and gray, one side of him sunny and easy, the other part wrapped in fog and smoke.

Two Weeks Later — Obsidian Ridge Obsidian Ridge had not seen this many wolves gather in centuries. The land itself seemed to know it. Basalt cliffs rose like the ribs of an ancient beast, black stone veined with silver mineral seams that caught the sun and fractured it into shards of light. The air hummed—thick with anticipation, old magic, and the restrained power of thousands who understood they were about to witness something that would be spoken of for generations. This was not a children's ceremony.

Albert Obsidian Hall wasn’t on any map, not the kind you could find in daylight. It lived beneath the city, beneath the lies and glitter, wrapped in velvet and sin. From the outside, it was just another warehouse by the docks, glass walls tinted so dark you couldn’t tell if the lights inside were candles or something more infernal. I had spent five days tracing the network of names and addresses from Emon’s notebooks, memorizing the codes, and weaving a story that would let me walk through the front door instead of sneaking through shadows.