Remnant Of The Past Novels & Stories

Ivy I used to think the past was like an old photo album—something you could close, tuck away on a shelf, and only pull out when you felt nostalgic or brave enough to revisit. But I was wrong. The past doesn’t stay in albums. It lives in your bones. It shows up when you least expect it. In quiet moments. In loud ones. In love. In fear. In the cracks between who you were and who you’re trying so desperately to become.

“You have had a hard road so far, but everything can be remade stronger. Roots can grow deeper. Paths change and grow.” “Your home is…” “Gone but not gone. What you see now is just a memory burned into the very ground I worked with my blood and tears. The runes, the husk, are what is truly left. A sad testament to the love that burned here.” “What happened to it? How am I on a cliff by the sea, hundreds of miles away from the pack house?”

"Now that you're out, just forget about the past." With that, he sighed once more before driving off. I watched his car disappear into the distance. My fingernails dug into my palms until they drew blood. Forget? How could I ever forget?

All the moments I tried to place in the back of my mind came out as a fervent reminder of the past, ones that opened like a book to show me its pages. It was a moment when I was completely paralyzed. I didn't know how to interpret what glittered as if it were the most important thing in his collection, that he had that trophy in a place that many consider significant left me in a complete transience because for a person like him, a prize for eating meat in a forgotten town in nothingness, should not be something to be proud of above all things. It didn't fit with anything on its façade.

And even through his arrogance and his memory loss, he was still watching me. ​Mateo offered me a future. But Luke... Luke was the only one who held my past.

The past was always there, just beyond his reach, tugging him back, reminding him of everything he had lost and could never reclaim. Vincent let out a heavy sigh, the sound escaping from deep within him, as though the weight of his emotions had become too much to bear. His shoulders slumped, the tension that had been building in his chest finally spilling over. He knew, deep down, that his past with Isla was over—that chapter of his life had been closed, sealed shut by time and circumstance. But the pain of it, the lingering heartache, refused to let him go. Even though he had tried to move forward, to rebuild his life, the shadow of Isla’s memory still loomed large, and he couldn’t shake th

A hum, slow and steady, curling around his spine, settling at the place where flame and thread had woven together in his chest—where he had once been empty, now alive. Kael noticed the shift instantly. His hand closed around Azriel’s, firm and grounding. “What is that?” Azriel’s voice barely left his throat. “It’s older than the Remnants.” Behind them, Velan fell to one knee, a reverent hush on his lips. “It’s beneath the Fold. Beneath the Pattern. This isn’t a god…” His eyes lifted, wide with realization. “…It’s what named gods.” The Remnants—those faceless echoes of forgotten power—stood frozen, trembling under the weight of the name Azriel had given them. Remnants. Seen for the first time

I need to push on they need the medicine. You’re not going to make it, the fever will kill all those effected all because you weren’t quick enough. That’s why they abandoned you the first time, isn’t it? You weren’t quick enough, It’s all your fault they left you. My subconscious speaks like I am a five year old in need of a scolding. My uneven breathing grows harsh as my throat closes up with memories rushing back from my subconscious’ taunting. My fingers automatically go to the left side of my forehead to trace the ridge of the scar to its end just below my right eye.

For a person with a pathological idea it would always be the others. ‘Helen, do you remember when we talked about survivor's guilt? How hard it used to be for you to still be here, once they were gone?’ Left behind like a penny that had lost its value: a useless relic from a bygone era that no one else remembers. Dial telephones, gameboys, horse-drawn carriages: hardly anyone knows what to do with them anymore. Nowadays they serve no purpose. At most, they are being kept as souvenirs of a past that keeps fading before the eyes until the last piece of it dies.

In Natasha's case, she was diagnosed with Chronic myeloid leukemia. In the midst of her thoughts, Natasha found herself overwhelmed with emotions. Tears streamed down her face as she reflected on her life's journey thus far. Memories flooded her mind, starting with the loss of her mother and the loneliness she felt growing up as the only female child. She also thought about her close friend Imade Martins, whom she had lost touch with over the years.