Ringworld Throne Ebook Novels & Stories

There standing in front of me is a tall white throne, one equal to the size of the throne in the court halls but different with the design. This throne has arch curves carved in to the seat and there are frost blur gems buried in each curves, gems the color of my eyes. The arm rests of the throne are also white but white flower designs crawl around them. The seat id wide enough for me, as if it's molded only for me and me alone.

His wings were now asymmetrical—one violet-lead, one burning red-fire. He looked at his hands, his fingers trembling. "The Debt is settled, Zora," he whispered, his voice sounding like a thousand people speaking at once. "But the Shadow has a condition. It wants the throne. And it doesn't want to share it with the Light." Suddenly, the Spire’s primary elevator dived down to our floor. The doors opened, and our five-year-old son—the Stone King—stepped out. He was no longer stone. He was flesh and blood, golden and glowing.

she whispered. Vincent stood close. Too close, his eyes gleamed like smoke. In his hand—another ring. Silver, glowing with a heat that is painful to look at. "This one is yours," he stated. "If you are ready." She blinked at him, holding her breath. "Ready for what?" "To make it real," he explained. "The Throne. The fire. Your mother's legacy." He stepped forward and extended the ring. “Place it on the throne, Camela. Or we all burn.”

Time slowed as her heart rate increased. In her vision, the golden interior of the throne was woven into threads that could potentially be tied around her throat. Willow stood in the middle of the room, not to be scrutinized in this manner. The golden throne room exuded an aura of opulence and grandeur. The walls were adorned with intricate golden filigree, depicting mythical creatures and elaborate patterns that catch the light and cast a warm, inviting glow. The centerpiece of the room was a majestic golden throne, elevated on a dais and embellished with precious gemstones. Its tall backrest is adorned with golden motifs, creating a sense of authority and power.

He held a sword in one hand, the other clenched around the back of his throne as if he meant to rip it from the floor and hurl it at whoever dared approach. His eyes were wild. “Traitors,” he snarled when Kael and the others burst through the doors. “Always more traitors.” Around him stood his last, tight ring of elite bodyguards—men and women in the best steel the treasury could buy, faces set and drawn. A few priests lingered near the cauldrons, hands twitching near chains and levers that would tip their contents if given the order. “You’ve brought your rabble to my gates,” Rowan said, voice ringing off the stone. “You think you can tear down a kingdom with mongrel blood and old stories. Y

⸻ THE THRONE ROOM It wasn’t a room. It was a cavern that stretched beyond sight, lit by rivers of fire that ran along the walls like veins of molten gold. Floating platforms of obsidian drifted lazily in the air. Pillars of bone spiraled upward, disappearing into darkness. And in the center— A throne of shimmering black stone, edged with smoke that curled upward and vanished. It was both beautiful and terrifying. Alive yet ancient. Calling me and warning me at the same time. “The throne of the underworld,” Malik said quietly. “No demon has sat here in thousands of years. It rejects all who touch it. But I think…”

There, guarding the rings were three spirits. The three spirits shimmered like moonlight on water, their presence filling the throne room with a warmth that felt like a mother’s embrace. They didn't speak with their mouths at first; they signaled with graceful, translucent hands toward the rings. It was as if our bodies moved on instinct, guided by an ancient rhythm. Sol reached out and took the Wolf Ring, his touch reverent as he slid it onto my finger. It felt like a circle of ice and starlight clicking into place. I followed, my heart hammering against my ribs, taking the Dragon Ring and sliding it onto his finger. The metal felt like a living pulse of heat.

“I know what you did. I know you burned them.” Rowan stepped into the small space between the shelves. He didn't look angry. He looked bored. He reached down and snatched the folder out of my grip. I tried to grab it back, but he shoved me down with one hand. “I did what I had to do to keep this pack alive,” Rowan said. “The Thornes were weak. They were obsessed with old magic and true bonds. They would have led us into a war we couldn't win.” “You murdered them!” I yelled. My voice sounded thin and pathetic.

“Debt. Memory. Potential. You broke hierarchy now shape what replaces it.” --- Araya — The New Throne The black flame pulsed, then breathed. Ash swirled and fused bone white lines veined in gold and shadow rising into a seat from ruin. Fresh runes inked themselves along its base, whispering in a new tongue. Dorian’s light caught its edge in a clean halo. “It’s alive.” “It’s listening.” Nyxara prowled, tail lashing. Every throne waits for a name. Give it none. Make it guess.

“This place is full of people you can’t trust. You can only trust me, at least for now. Not Damien. If he knows you’re not yet a wolf, he is going to fight to claim the throne and probably claim you are an Omega, and we don’t know that yet. If he decides to try and claim the throne, everything is against you. You don’t have any fight abilities, you’re not yet a full wolf—you’re going to lose. And you lose the throne along with it.” I nodded, understanding what he meant. But I thought to myself. Do I even want this throne? It seems like a deadly thing to fight for. Was I ready to fight for something so deep and important to these people? I just wanted to shut him out. I would think about it.