Path Of The Sword Novels & Stories

Hello, Future Generations. My name is Saber. I’m the current Queen-to-be of the Fox Skulk (Foxes have Skulks like wolves have packs). I understand if this is a new concept to you or if you think that this book you have found can’t be real. I mean, Fox Skulk? Fox Shifters? Magic? If you’re a normal human living your mundane life, I’m sorry, but I’m about to blow the lid off everything you know.

In my previous life, it had survived the onslaught of the Haunts, and my brother had lived. I hoped to find more of those infant spirits there, to amplify my strength. Yet, before I could make my move, a fierce blaze erupted in the distance on the mountain. "This is bad..." Ambulances zoomed by, a blur of bright red and flashing lights. My heart broke into irreparable pieces. A sea of flames engulfed the forest, thousands of acres alight. The wooden swords I sought were no more, reduced to ashes and charred remains. "No..." I tried to dash into the woods, but Jim held me back with an iron grip.

“Hand over the docks, or today, you’ll die right here!” I stepped forward, placing myself in front of everyone, my hands clasped behind my back and chin lifted. “These docks belong to the Morettis. If you want them, you’ll need our permission.” “Oh, is that so?” Lorenzo laughed. “I don’t care. For my niece, Giovanna, these docks are mine today!” With a wave of his hand, the men charged. “Go!” I shouted. Instantly, gunfire, shouting, and the clash of steel filled the air.

Cameo asked from behind me as I stepped into the air-conditioned space. I ignored him. My fingers drifted lazily over the weapons. Metal kissing my skin, while one name burned through my mind. Abel Roshid. “Sir?” “Cameo, do as I’ve said.” My voice cut in, cold and final. His heavy sigh followed, then the sound of the door closing behind him. When I was alone, I picked the flick blade with serrated edges. Unsheathed it and ran my thumb along the ridges, feeling every bite of it. A dark smile curled on my face.

"The tiltyard. An hour before dawn." Without another word, she collected the swords and walked past him, her stride eating up the garden path. He didn't turn to watch her go. He stood in the mist, feeling the residual warmth of her grip on the sword hilt, and the unsettling sense that the carefully ordered chessboard of his life had just been swept clean, replaced by a game with rules he did not yet know. --- The "old tiltyard" was a forgotten rectangle of packed earth between the mossy back of the armory and the high, blank wall of the monastery. Weeds pushed through the cracks in the viewing stands. It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude.

The long wait was over; the final battle had begun. Veyra stood at the front of her army, her cloak billowing in the gusts of wind that whipped around her like the fury of the storm itself. Her hand rested on the hilt of the Sword of Zevi, its blade shimmering with moonfire—a weapon that had seen countless battles, but none like the one she was about to lead. The sword was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of everything they had fought for. Of the sacrifices that had been made. Of the blood that had been spilled.