Silver Bloods Skyrim Novels & Stories

'happy'. They were then interrupted by the presence of the Aurors. They had just finished their job with the silver knick-knacks and the office desk, and were ready to report. "Report, Auror Moody." Director Bones said, putting down her now empty cup of tea. "The silver items are all monitoring items made with blood magic. They are a combination of health monitors, life monitor, tracking and status monitor. All of them are made with the use of blood magic." Auror Moody reported. Amelia groaned and raised a hand to her head, starting to massage her temples. The headache was coming back.

Kyle reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small pinecone—its tips dipped in silver. “The trees here carry a strange sap, one that runs silver in winter. Calira called it ‘moonblood.’ And over time, those who drank from the pines, who stayed, who bore children here, our hair began to change. Our wolves turned pale. Our eyes took on the color of ice and twilight. We were no longer just a pack. We were reborn.” He placed the pinecone in Daniella’s hands gently. “And so we called ourselves Silverpine. Not because of our hair, though it marks us. Not because of the winter, though it surrounds us. But because we chose this place as sacred. Because we vowed to carry the stillness and s

yet it had been a moment in my life I'd chosen a path to save a life instead. However, the fact that rogues had two of these in their possession was crazy in itself. The silver that was used to easily poison, restrain and kill our kind was no ordinary thing and was referred to as silver 'kissed by moonlight'. Its properties included being able to stop the inflicted from being able to use their abilities; whether that be silver handcuffs to stop shifting and strength, or a knife to stop healing. The way the ore was handled before being crafted was a closely guarded secret and I'd heard was also very difficult to execute; knowledge reserved strictly to Elders and a select few only.

With the speed of a viper, Serefy reached out and grabbed Floreighn’s wrist, yanking the sleeve up. "Let go!" Floreighn cried out, but it was too late. The blackened, weeping ring of a Silver-Burn was exposed to the light. The hall went silent. Alpha Kenneally stood up, his chair screeching against the stone. "Silver?" the Alpha roared. "Only high-rank warriors or hunters carry silver. Floreighn, who did this to you?"

She cries out, body contorting, the light around her squeezing tighter, like it means to wring the life from her bones. Inside me, my wolf thrashes against my ribs, panic and rage burning together. Fix it. The demand pulses through my blood, primal and fierce. “I’m trying,” I rasp, lungs raw, reaching for the silver. It flickers in the air, lurid and alive, surging forward—only to freeze, trembling midair. It doesn’t wait for my command. It waits for something deeper, something older. Judgment.

The book was flat, with only a few pages, and that intrigued me even more. I opened the first page and began to read; “The Silver Bloods are a rare breed of werewolves, descended from the moon goddess herself. It is a line of only female wolves. Not that males are born from these females, but they never seem to inherit the qualities of their mother.” Interesting. There were special wolves out there that were more powerful than the norm. I turned a few more pages and stopped; “Characteristics: They appear fairly normal in their human form, except for their silver hair.”

I had to struggle to suppress a laugh. The Silver Myst was an urban legend, a pure silver wolf who showed up when things looked at their worst. He first appeared near four years ago, shortly after the war began, and has, supposedly, been seen numerous times since. It was always out of the corner of someone’s eye, or seen by a friend of a friend. Chris and the others were too old to believe in fairy tales.

The air vibrated with power so ancient it felt older than the world itself. And then, he saw them. Figures cloaked in silver light, their faces indistinct, their eyes burning with knowledge and sorrow. Voices overlapped, weaving into a chant that was both prayer and curse. He couldn’t make out the words at first, only fragments, whispers slipping into his bones. “Blood of fire… born of betrayal…” “The Sundering… a wound unhealed…” Kaelen staggered forward, desperate to understand. “What do you mean? Who am I?!”

The sixth dawn since the truce broke silver across the Ridge. Frost glistened on pine needles, and breath rose in quiet clouds from the nostrils of riders moving in pairs-Ridge and Luna, russet and silver side by side down narrow trails between ancient trees. Their bannered cloaks hung low, dulled by mud and wear, but their pace was steady. The forest watched in hush.

Well, even more reasons they should die, no one should know my face or gender, yet. By the time Jonah came to me, the last warrior was being held in a chokehold and I slammed him on his own sword. “I feel useless.” He sighed. “Wanna be useful? Help clean this up. This place is close to a market and people will flip seeing this much blood.” I noted. Jonah folded his hands. “What are you doing around here?” I narrowed my eyes at him, and marched to him, my both hands covered with blood. “Don’t ask, Jonah. I’m Your Silver, I can be anywhere.”