Snow Wraith Novels & Stories

On Christmas Eve, my bestie, Yara Charlton, came to me, her cheeks rosy with a mix of excitement and nerves: "Nicole... Can you do me a solid and come over on Christmas Eve? I need a wingwoman to help me sneak some time with Keith." "Huh?" I stared at Yara, puzzled. Blushing deeper, she nibbled on her lip and spilled the beans, saying, "I'm scared my dad will catch on to Keith and me. If you're there, you can help distract him..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I haven't had a chance to be close with Keith in forever... You need to help me!" I could not say no to Yara, so I agreed, albeit with a bit of trepidation.

At the center of the treeline, a figure stepped forward, black cloak billowing around him, the air thickening as he moved, darkness clinging to him like smoke. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver eyes glowing in the darkness, the cruel curve of his mouth sharp as a blade. The Wraith. He lifted his hand, and the wolves fell still, their growls dying into silence. His gaze swept over Shadowstorm’s defenses, the barricades, the warriors standing ready, the archers on the roofs, Thorne’s wolves standing shoulder to shoulder with Raven’s. Then his eyes found Raven. “You’ve built yourself quite the little kingdom,” The Wraith called, his voice carrying across the cold air, smooth and poisonous, too cal

energy of the planet’s core. “Mommy, the chair is breathing,” Hope whispered, clutching my hand. Her emerald halo was reflecting off the glass floors, turning the shadows into a dance of light. “It’s not breathing, Hope,” Leo corrected, his indigo runes glowing with a terrifyingly sharp clarity. “It’s Syncing. It’s waiting for a heartbeat to match its own.” As I approached the throne, a figure manifested from the shadows beside it. It wasn't a wolf, and it wasn't a machine. It was a Wraith of the Old North—the collective memory of the Alphas who had chosen power over the pack.

“They’ve locked the Node in a self-destructive feedback loop. It’s absorbing its own energy and burning out from the inside. We can’t transmit the sterilization cancellation code to the atmosphere until we break the obsidian and free the crystal to resonate at its natural frequency.” ​But as we stepped tentatively toward the dark pillar, the shadows at the very edge of the hall began to lengthen, detach themselves from the stones, and move toward us. They weren’t the bio-mechanical soldiers of the Vane Corporation, and they weren't the mercury-mutated Hollowed. ​They were the Wraiths of the North.

All around us, wolves screamed and howled. Nyra’s pack held their ground, but barely. They moved in their groups, coordinated like teeth in a biting jaw. They took down a Wraith, then moved to the next. But the Wraiths were built for death, their hide unnaturally thick, their bloodthirst too much. Two wolves got crushed under a single stomp just behind me. One was flung into a tree so hard the bark cracked with him. Another unit circled a Wraith whose leading leg was ripped off by Nyra.

The wind howled through the narrow, snow-choked streets of Snowridge, as if warning anyone who dared to venture out into the deadly storm. Asha Frostheart, her face partially hidden beneath a fur-lined cloak, moved swiftly through the thick snowfall, her white wolf companion, Ghost, at her side. The blizzard's icy bite pierced through her layers of clothing, but her focus remained unbroken.

The sky burned blinding white, the game’s rendering engine struggling to process the sheer volume of particle effects flooding the zone. "Wraith! The absolute shield is regenerating!" Kara yelled over the squad comms. Her avatar, the rogue hacker known as Jinx, was glitching violently on a floating slab of debris. Her hands were a localized blur of motion as she cast disruption hexes, her fingertips trailing glowing green strings of raw code that lashed out to slow the boss's impenetrable defense matrix. "You have a three-second window before the wipe mechanic triggers! If we wipe now, we lose the twelve-hour progression!" Ren Walker—known to millions across the global leaderboards simply as

A basic graduate degree seemed to carry very little weight among these wolves. Thalia waved her clawed hand dismissively, letting out a sharp bark of laughter. "Let them stack their academic scrolls until they touch the timber rafters; not a single one of those scholars could map half the runic paths your mind commands. Your wolf is Nighthowl’s absolute secret weapon!" The Wraithfang Recon Unit blueprints my mind had calculated five winters past had already paralyzed the rival borders.

“The Syndicate’s cruel—they’d kill her. But his relic… it’s tied to the anchor. Voren’s close.” The altar pulses, a low, guttural hum, and the air splits. A shadow-realm wraith erupts from the stone, its form a writhing mass of black tendrils and hollow eyes, its scream a blade through my mind. My crescent mark blazes, and I shift, claws extending, wings unfurling, lunar light and primal fury merging into my Convergence form. The wraith lunges, its tendrils slashing, and Cassia dives in, her flames meeting it head-on.