Smoke Symbolism Novels & Stories

I can not wait to end this battle so that I can be with you. It is a sign that they finally saw and met the leader of our enemy, the traitor and the masterminds. Zipporah suggested that we use their smoke guns to inform one another since we won't be together for the whole fight. A black smoke is a sign of their leader, red smoke if you find yourself in danger and yellow, for victory. I should be the one to face whoever that bastard is. I will put him in his place and I will kill him for doing this to my people and to his kind. I just wish that the person who finds him is safe, I know that the enemy's leader is not just someone.

The sky transformed into a swirling abyss of black smoke, surprisingly not as repugnant as one would expect. Gazing at the thick, inky smoke, it seemed to hold a foreboding presence, anything but a harbinger of good. Zikk's eyes fixated on the barrel, filled with a putrid concoction, leaving him curious about its purpose. What could this vile liquid be used for, he wondered, his mind brimming with anticipation. The answer to his query would soon reveal itself, like a hidden treasure waiting to be unearthed. The air reverberated with the ominous flapping of hornets' wings, as they prepared to descend upon the bountiful crops, leaving destruction in their wake.

LYRA The smoke never really left my lungs anymore. It was always there a reminder of what I had been through. When I was standing on the battlefield, when I was behind walls that were falling apart, even when I closed my eyes at night the smoke stayed with me. It was like a ghost inside my chest a reminder that this war had found me just like storms find the coastline.

She wrote to remember. Even when smoke fills the house— If the foundation is truth, it can be rebuilt. Let the smoke rise. We are not afraid of it anymore. We are the ones who walk through fire—and still stay standing.

Trees blurred into a tapestry of green and brown, speed my only ally as I pursued the smoke. The world burned around me, the air thick with heat and the unmistakable scent of ash. I skidded to a halt at the pack's territory, the scene before me a living nightmare. Flames danced and twisted, casting flickering shadows across the chaos. Wolves fought frantically, struggling to push back the tide of darkness sweeping over our home.

It was at this time the golden eyed demon blew out red smoke out from his mouth. The smoke traveled towards the edge of the still lit hexagram but was obstructed, as though there was an unseen veil preventing it from moving out. This however seemed to agitate the red smoke even more. The eyes of the golden eyed man began to glow as the red smoke began to pound hard against the ‘veil’ more furiously, over and over. The flames in turn flared up even more fighting back hard to prevent the red smoke from moving out.

Smith nodded slowly, his expression making it clear he didn't buy it. Suddenly, the air in the room shifted. Without turning around, I knew Takoda was moving. The soft scuff of his sneakers echoed as he stepped down the stairs. He stopped near the end of the front row, his shadow falling across the desk as he stared down at the yellowed paper. Smith noticed him too, leaning back against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms. “This symbol shows up in a lot of regional myths. Most of the stories describe ‘guardians’ tied to blood agreements.”

“And to the one who listens. You’ll know the rest when we arrive.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. The wind shifted and brought the smell of smoke from the valley—dry, bitter, like bread left too long in the oven. Not Rodriguez’s smoke. Not the Nest’s either. More like signal fires along the border—lit by those who still believed that flame could circle a territory and monsters would not cross the ring of light.

If I don’t get out of here… I’ll die. The thought hits me like a slap. I turn back to the stairs door and throw myself at it again. I slam my hands, my shoulders, everything I can into it. The heat claws closer. My skin feels scorched. The smoke is everywhere, suffocating. I can’t see, can’t think. I just cough and push, my muscles screaming. The smoke burns deeper now, fills my lungs like liquid fire. I can’t stop coughing. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m drowning in the air.

Nonetheless, the aftermath bore unmistakable reminders of the violent conflict that had waged. The aroma of smoke lingered, a bitter memory of the flames that had burnt the land and left their mark on the core of the forest. The weight of victory and tiredness weighed in the air, a heady mix that draped over the once-battlefield. As the flames died down, the forest exhaled a sigh of relief, the echoes of the fire fading like a distant memory.