The Citadel Novels & Stories

At first, he thought it would’ve looked the same as Casterfall City, had it not fallen into ruins. The Stone Glacier Citadel rose high at the center of the city ruins, surrounded by abandoned houses of broken stones with thick snow upon the roofs. The citadel seemed the most damaged among all the structures of the city. The entire West Wing had fallen … pillars had been destroyed in the Glacian Temple … even the Statue of Glaceus; an enormous white deer with a thousand horns made of ice, had been broken down into stone fragments.

I’ve never trusted anyone so completely. He’s right. I muse, finally admitting the truth, even if it is only to myself. Caspian is my mate. _______________ Mordred’s POV The Nightshade Citadel lies at the base of the austere rift valley which cleaves Asterion in two. Hundreds of feet below a suspension bridge connecting the two halves of the city, a stone fortress houses all those deemed unworthy of mixing with the pack.

Three months had passed since the flames of the Eclipse Cult were finally extinguished at the Rift of Echoes. Where the barren, red-dust expanse of the borderlands once signified fear and division, there now stood the foundation of a magnificent new landmark: The Citadel of Concord. Built at the precise geographic intersection of the Northern mountain passes and the Southern agricultural valleys, its soaring white-granite towers and midnight-obsidian ramparts embodied the permanent, unified future of the Twin Realms.

Elara was conquering through strength and sustenance. By the afternoon of the fourth day, the western plateau rose before us. Greystone Citadel stood like a colossal black fist thrust upward through the frozen mist. Built centuries ago of seamless basalt, its outer walls rose sixty feet from a natural moat of jagged limestone crags. High battlements bristled with iron ballistas, and from the central keep snapped the banners of the rebellion: the silver crescent of Moonvale, the dark wolf of Shadowfen, and the golden wheat sheaf of Ashwood Valley.

I could feel the intense, rapid beat of his heart—and the violent, territorial thrumming of his inner wolf. “You’re mine now,” he growled under his breath, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a dirty, delicious shiver all the way down to my toes. “And whoever set you up is going to bleed for it.” Three hours later, the heavy iron gates of the Ashcroft Silverclaw Citadel slammed shut behind us. The Citadel was a massive, ancient fortress carved directly into the dark granite of the Northern Mountains. Snow dusted the towering spires, and the air here smelled of old pine, heavy magic, and raw wolf territory.

ELARA'S POV The turning of the world upon the High Ridge brought no sudden terrors, only the steady, majestic deepening of the roots we had planted in the blood-soaked soil of the old realm. By the twenty-eighth year of our unified reign, the Citadel of Seasons was no longer referred to as a fortress of war, even in the oldest song-cycles of the distant Western Isles. It had become the anchor of the continent—a grand, sprawling sanctuary where the cold of the Northern Wastes and the burning hearths of the Southern Basins met in quiet, eternal balance.

However, Jack is almost as big as my father, and I don't believe that Henry or Lucas would fare well in this situation. "Fine," Henry replies. "It's this way." The citadel, a hulking tower of rusting metal in the middle of the Rig, is where I used to live. We turn around and head in that direction, following Henry. Inside, it has been transformed into a palace fit for a pirate king, with loot strewn about like a dragon's lair. The walls are covered with paintings of biblical subjects, some of which have faded over time due to saltwater exposure. I notice three omegas with their feet shackled to the floor as we pass a sitting area with a fire roaring in the fir

"At first, many thought it would be over quickly—either he would break through, or General Christopher would drive him back. No one expected this... stalemate." They turned a corner, and the street opened up to reveal the central heart of the imperial city—a massive fortress of gleaming white stone, its towers reaching skyward like defiant fingers. Unlike the practical, military construction of the outer walls, this inner fortress spoke of an older, more elegant time—a reminder of what the imperial city had been before war transformed it. "The Citadel," Myst announced, gesturing toward the imposing structure. "Heart of the imperial city, and current headquarte

The Vance Citadel loomed over the city like a spear of black glass, piercing the clouds. It was the most fortified structure on the planet, protected by a trillion-dollar security grid that could vaporize a bird at five hundred yards. To the world, it was the headquarters of the future. To Elena, it was a slaughterhouse.

Lucien sat on the edge of the transport’s ramp, unwrapping a bloodied bandage from his arm. “She’s just a child,” Seraphina said beside him. “She’s a weapon,” Vincenzo replied. “So was Lucio. We didn’t ask for that either.” Anton looked up from the confiscated map. “The Citadel is north. Deep in the highlands. Almost inaccessible. No air routes. No ground vehicles. Only one trail.” “And how do you suggest we get in?” Lucien asked. Elian’s voice crackled through their comms. “I’ll arrange it. But there’s something else.”