Novel & Cerita Silver Sparrow

My shout echoed in the barren space. Rain held a finger to her lips and shushed me. “Don’t wake the others.” I hadn’t realized until then that there were several other nests like the one I had sprung out of. Each nest had two or three sets of breaths coming from them. “You also don’t want to attract the attention of anyone upstairs. Trust me. Apparently, there is some big prophecy that revolves around one of us, or so I gleaned from passing conversations that I listened in on. They say that the Silverwolf is the alpha of all alphas and that if they can mate her and control her, then there would be no one to stop them." She glanced up at the sliver of light from the door, fear sliding across

Seele stones ringed the ceremonial clearing, their glow soft and steady, humming with approval as if the land itself had decided to bear witness. I stood at the heart of it all, my hands trembling only slightly as I held Archer's. His eyes were on me and mine on him. He was dressed in silver and black, the mark of his lineage woven into his cloak, but stripped of the West's regalia. No crown or chains. Just the Silver Alpha standing before his mate.

I wondered. “Nowadays, sparrows are believed to symbolize joy, community, teamwork, protection, simplicity, hard work, or self-worth. This hasn't always been the case, however. In Europe's Middle Ages, sparrows were believed to represent peasants and the lower class. In old Celtic tradition, sparrows were thought to be keepers of ancestral knowledge.” I became engrossed by her words and dared not interrupt her.

The car was already waiting in the driveway. Sleek, dark, and quiet—its engine a low purr, like a predator at rest. Elara had never ridden in anything like it. Her father called it a courtesy—“the least the Valtoris could do.” She suspected it was more of a message: We’re watching now. She belongs to us.

⛏️ Chapter Twelve: The Descent into the Silver Veins ​The air in the disused mine shaft hit us like a physical weight—damp, metallic, and cold. The familiar scent of earth and granite was overlaid with a strange, subtle hum that made the hairs on my arms rise. This was the source of the Silver Wolf Pack’s ancient magic—the ground itself was rich in trace lunar metal, a faint echo of the Shard's power. It was protection, but it was also a homing beacon.

Life in the south was better than I could have imagined. I was put in charge of the Silver Moon Pack’s most sacred sanctuary, home to rare silver foxes, snow wolves, and the legendary moon-stags. My innate bond with the wild finally had a place to thrive. Whenever I walked through the sanctuary, the animals would approach me on their own. Silver foxes would brush their fluffy tails against my palm. Snow wolf pups would roll around at my feet, begging for attention. The pack members looked at me with open adoration.

“I guess I will have to cover that part for you. Listen up cause I’m only going to go over this once. Silver dragons are silver in color however, when the light shines on them they tend to shimmer a pastel rainbow color which makes them look exceptionally beautiful. They can control all the elements and they are the only dragons that are able to transform into humans and have the ability to teleport. This is due to the original silver dragon’s mother being human. Silver dragons are also only able to give birth in human form and they have live births rather than laying eggs like the rest of the dragons. During this time, a female dragon is most vulnerable because she cannot transform for six

Her silvery voice feels like it softly caresses them, and the sound is as beautiful as the woman herself. The bird takes off from the low hanging branch and flies straight into the hollow sphere around her. As the bird passes the surface, it wobbles slightly as a shimmer of all the colors of the rainbow spreads across the thin film. Rana extends her hand so the bird can land on one finger and she pats it gently on the head. "My bird's name is Siberia, because she's a Siberian Jay, she giggles amused by her own creativity. Siberia has been my companion for millennia." The Mistress of the forest looks up at Indra and studies her with interest. "Why have you taken possession of my Siberia?"

The easily six inch wide wreath of monkshood surrounding the bird is what has set my beast off. “Well?” she asks, her voice muffled by the pillow and her arm. “Right here…” I trace the sparrow, “is a sparrow.” “Like what you call me?” her delight is evident in her voice. “Yes baby. The greeks believed it to symbolise deep love and connection.” My finger drifts to the deadly wreath encircling the little sparrow.