روايات وقصص ضمن The Ashes Of His Name

He wobbled across the patio on unsteady legs, his cheeks flushed from the cold, giggling as he chased a stray leaf. I scooped him up before he could tumble into the snow. He was different from Adrian. Where Adrian was shadows and steel, Ash was light. He had my eyes and a laugh that could melt the iciest corner of a room. We had named him Ash because, after the fire that took everything, something had risen from the blood and the ruin. He was our rebirth. "Are you keeping your brother out of trouble?" I asked, kissing Ash’s cold nose. Ash gurgled, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

he asked sounding a tad weak. Ash hummed, "After my mo-the woman hired to play my mother was killed, I wished I could just erase my life, burn it down to nothing", he swallowed, "I didn't tell you the whole story, my grandfather killed or attempted to kill my grandmother when my father was my age, and it's apparently a family, initiation thing", he made a face as if he'd tasted something vile, swallowing he continued, "Obviously my grandmother survived probably using another decoy to protect herself, she, however, couldn't change the way her son ended up thinking, and apparently that man has wires in his brain screwed wrong", he said shaking his head. "If I can't erase who I am, or burn my p

“Ronan’s grandfather. The Demon King.” A slow smile curled his lips. “Please, call me Ash.” I blinked. “Ash? That seems a bit… literal, don’t you think?” He chuckled, rich and slow like wine spilled over velvet. “It’s meant to be. Easier for you to say than my full name. Mortals butcher it so horribly.” “What is it?” He pushed off the wall and began walking toward me, unhurried. “Glasya-Labolas.” I snorted. “Yeah, okay. Ash it is.”

Sat on the floor where my mother once bled for a cause she thought could be cleansed. And I wrote. Not orders. Not last words. But names. The names of every soldier who died because of this. Every ally betrayed. Every whisper that turned to a knife. I would carry them. Because someone had to. Because vengeance without memory is just blood. And I was done letting them forget who we were. --- Asher — POV Dusk fell fast. The wind turned strange—sharper, colder, full of static like a storm about to break. Then we heard it.

The clone fought it, scratched and clawed and fought, its black-silver blood boiling where the flames touched it, the smell of burning wrongness filling every inch of air. But it wasn’t enough. “You are formidable,” Asher said, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. His grip didn’t loosen. “But you are not the real thing.” The body crumbled. The head followed. The fire ate what was left until even the ashes were gone, and Asher was standing in the centre of the wreckage, adjusting his cuffs.

He put his palm on the back of her body and walked together with her to climb the hill. 'His father lived over there?' Ashley was confused. Her sight shifted up towards the hill. When they arrived up there, there was a flat land with a big stone placed near the cliff. Ashton came nearer the stone and she just followed him from behind. A few words were engraved on the stone. Ashley could actually read the name 'Christian Grey' on it and that made her realize that it was actually a tombstone. "He wanted to be cremated when he died and requested for his ash to be scattered into the sea. This is where I did it for him," Ashton said. Ashley slowly stood beside him and she could see his expression

Asher nodded in the embrace, and pulled Miranda out of the chair. "Get Miranda and the others out of here." Asher expressed to Joshua while locking his gaze on Damien's turned back. "What are you going to do?" Joshua asked Asher, while Miranda glanced the Alpha's way with a panicked gaze. Asher's dark domes and yellow rims suddenly filled with an air of malice while he strictly focused his vision on Damien, like a velociraptor hunting prey. "I have a promise to keep." Asher expressed, referring to avenging Anise's death.

“No. But I should have. Guys like you usually bring them with you.” I smirked. “Guys like me?” “Leather, tattoos… gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You scream of trouble.” He wasn’t wrong. “And you don't want any of that?” “Name’s Ash,” I muttered when he didn't reply and finally regretted it. Where were we? Tenth grade? I was watching him move around the small room tending to my wounds with precision. “Noah.” He finally said, not looking up. “Thanks, Noah.”

"I stay with my two younger brothers” “What's your name," she asked. Ruke, yours? Let me guess Diana? “Nope," she said, looking unamused. My name's not Diana, it's Hermione. “Wow! That's fitting. It suits you”. Ruke could hear his brothers coming towards the kitchen. “Here comes my brothers”. She becomes somewhat tense and he tries to reassure her that they were harmless. “Who do we have here, ruke?” asked Raphael with a roguish smile.

His fingers brushed against the edges of the frames, his touch gentle as he traced the outlines of her face. He reached for a bottle of wine and uncorked it with a practiced ease. The sound of the cork popping echoed in the room, a stark contrast to the weight of the silence that hung in the air. He poured the wine into a glass and lifted it to his lips, the liquid offering a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling within him. "Fuck Jota," Samuel muttered under his breath, the words escaping in a mix of frustration and resentment. The name held a weight of disappointment, a reflection of the trust that had been shattered in the wake of impulsive actions.