Slow Burn Glass Novels & Stories

Malick’s POV The smell of sulfur and burnt cinnamon clung to the vaulted classroom like a curse that wouldn’t lift. The air hung thick, weighed down by chalk dust, residual magic, and the faint tang of sweat from long hours of practice. Malick leaned over the blackened cauldron, watching the slick purple liquid churn lazily. Potioncraft had never held his attention—too precise, too reliant on patience. Today, though, it wasn’t the brew that had him distracted.

The air around me burned with sudden heat, crackling like lightning. I opened my eyes just a fraction, through my tears, and saw the silver light rushing out from my body in a massive, swirling ring. It wasn't just light. It was raw, unyielding power, heavy and unstoppable. CRASH! SHATTER! Every single glass pane in the giant greenhouse dome shattered simultaneously! Millions of sparkling glass shards rained down from above like glittering stars, catching the silver glow as they fell.

The silver liquid didn't just pool: it etched. It ate into the black glass floor with a hungry, acidic hiss, carving deep grooves that glowed with a sickly yellow light. I stared at the frost, my breath hitching in a chest that felt like it had been hollowed out with a hot iron. Fenra.

Please. *Answer me.* The Scorchmark *cracked.* Not breaking. *Opening.* A seam appeared in the black glass. Widening. And from within— *Light.* Not silver. Not red. *Both.* Intertwined. Spiraling. *Beautiful.* The light surged upward. Coalesced. And when it faded— A blade remained. Hovering above the crack. Waiting. It was *magnificent.* The metal was dark—almost black—but traced with veins of silver and crimson that pulsed like a heartbeat.

The shield is made of flaming glass, curved to enclose my entire body within its protection. My tattoo’s light up in reaction and I wonder how the hell this is happening. In a sea of fiery red, I stare in amazement at the sight before me, and my attacker grunts in anger and puts more force on his powers. My arm trembles due to the pressure and heat of the fire against the glass, and I try my best to hold it in place when it becomes clear I might not be able to do so for much longer.

It’s as if it holds the answer to all of her questions. The melted glass rested on the ground, beating, as though something that had been given life. It had certain sluggishness and softness that gave Z the desire to touch it. Unconsciously, her knees hit the ground, her arms slowly reaching for the beating glass. The moment the tip of her finger touched its hot surface, a heat like no other traveled to her cells. There was a loud creak, and the next thing she knew, she was already leaning on the headboard, her heart and head pounding like there’s no tomorrow.

​They were glowing. ​The black veins on their wrists were pulsing with a brilliant, golden light that pushed back the green shadows. Sula was standing in the center of the crowd, her spear held high, the solar glass tip burning like a miniature sun. The emerald glass crawled toward her feet and then shattered, unable to cross the circle of the nomads’ natural heat.

Three curved monitors flared to life, bathing the dark room in a sterile, electric blue glow. Global market graphs flickered across the screens—jagged mountain ranges of red and green, rising and falling in a frantic, never-ending pulse. My hand reached for the heavy crystal glass at the corner of the desk. The amber liquid inside swirled as I gave it a slow, deliberate tilt. CLINK. The sound of ice striking glass was a gunshot in the silence. I didn't drink. I simply held the glass, letting the numbing cold seep into my palm and travel up my arm, anchoring me to the present.

He didn't have much time. Jack ventured another glance back through the window. This time the office door was closed and dark. The light from the hall gleamed beneath it, reflecting off the tile floor of the office. He bit the middle finger of one static suction glove, removing it as he pulled his head to the side. He lay the naked hand against the cool glass and summoned the hot fire that coursed through his DNA. The glass started to glow red, orange, and then white hot. It melted away from his palm. He continued until the hole was big enough for his body and then pulled himself easily through. The noise canceling tech masked his movements as the molten glass dripped on the floor.

Once he caught up with Alex, Uri slowed his steps, quietly bowing his head behind him. The palm of his hand was still constantly infused with a sharp pain that made Uri's grimaced face never relax. He looked down at his palm, around the shard of glass that had appeared bruised blood. The shard of glass was neither large nor small, about the size of two fingers, and seemed to penetrate quite deeply into the palm. Uri knew it was necessary to pull it out quickly. The longer it was left, the more susceptible it was to infection. But just touching the glass shard's head felt extremely painful.