Novelas y relatos de The Cradle Book

November 27th My name is Leyanne Cruden, I have graced these lands for what feels like an eternity, although compared to humans I guess I have lived that. I have persevered through some of the worst and best decades and now I find myself in present day, the 2020’s. I keep this journal wherever I go to record my thoughts and feelings, my memories, so that my mind can let go of the mundane yet never lose a way to reminisce because I have lived hundreds of lifetimes. I hope that one day all that remains of me are these memories and I would have finally found peace in death, although it seems unlikely.

True to Gabe’s word, they left the Crampton’s home without many people knowing. The few servants who assisted packing and loading the carriages also went with them. To Emmie’s surprise, they all left early in the morning. It was quite comical to see Mrs. Crampton, and especially Rebecca, sluggish and having puffy, sleepy eyes. Even Anna acted like she didn’t want to get out of bed that early. Irritation for the maid’s actions of late stung Emmie. How long had Anna been the maid? Yet now—after only a few short weeks—she was performing like a pampered, spoiled little rich girl. Emmie was put out, especially when she had never acted in such a way.

Selene stood at the edge of the crowd and Elias was clinging to her side, her face pale but unreadable. I didn’t care. I lifted Kael into my arms; his weight was actually nothing against the fire in my veins and I met the pack’s eyes. “Anyone who wants to challenge me can do it after I save him.” No one moved. The elders opened a rift in the air, a shimmering tear that smelled of ozone and old magic. “Go now,” they said. “The Mirror Hunger feeds on doubt. Do not linger.” I stepped through. The Cradle was a cavern of impossible scale, its walls veined with silver ore that pulsed like a heartbeat. At its center lay a pool of liquid starlight, still and deep.

Sarah's POV I sauntered into the living room. My gaze swept across the space before I quietly tiptoed toward Lander’s room. My finger brushed over the doorknob as I opened the door slowly before slipping inside so he wouldn’t hear the creak. The sound of running water confirmed he was indeed in the room. I straightened my short skirt before yanking the door open. “What the fuck?!” He snapped as his eyes met mine. My gaze locked onto his cock as he peed.

“I—I don’t know. But it feels… like something’s calling. Deeper. Beneath everything.” The standing stones flared to life, runes blazing like blood and starlight. The ground cracked, splitting open at our feet. A gust of Aether-laced wind rose, swirling around us with a howl that tasted like forgotten names. I braced myself, but Clara’s hand caught mine. “We have to go,” she said, her voice trembling with power and certainty. “The Cradle’s heart isn’t just a place. It’s a door. And it’s opening.”

replaced by simple, white linen robes. ​In the center of the clearing, the Cradle sat under the shade of a massive, golden-leaved Willow tree. The infant was quiet now, its amber and green eyes watching the wind move through the branches. ​"He’s gone," Elia whispered, her hand touching the grass. "He’s... he’s everywhere." ​Nora stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes. She looked at the horizon. There were no Siphons. No Authors. No Readers. Just a vast, beautiful, un-written world.

The ancient library was a tomb of forgotten knowledge, its towering shelves heavy with dust and the faint metallic tang of old paper. Freya had always preferred the night shift. The quiet wrapped around her like a lover’s cloak, letting the shy 24-year-old lose herself in books rather than people. Her pale skin glowed under the dim lamps, dark curls framing wide green eyes that hid a secret restlessness--a hunger she didn’t yet understand. But only 'Yet' Tonight, the storm outside howled against the tall windows. Lightning flashed as she carried a stack of restricted occult volumes toward the back. A presence filled the air, cold and ancient, making the hairs on her neck rise.

"Who are you?" "I am the First." "The first what?" "The first Crimson Priestess." My knees nearly buckled. "You carry both bloodlines." "I don't understand." "You will." She lifted her hand. Behind her... The mountain split open. An enormous underground kingdom stretched farther than I could see. Thousands of wolves. Ancient temples. Crystal rivers. Libraries. Gardens growing beneath glowing stones. "This kingdom sleeps." "What kingdom?" "It waits for you." The woman touched my forehead. "When your mate remembers..."

Her voice echoed oddly, splitting into two tones—hers and something lower, almost answering. She moved forward. The floor beneath their boots was a mosaic of glass and metal, depicting a lunar shape cradling a sun. Where she stepped, light bloomed underfoot and faded again behind her. The walls curved inward at the top, creating the impression of being inside a colossal sphere. At its center hovered a column of light rising from a pool of dark water. Zevran approached the pool’s edge. The surface reflected nothing. “What is it?” “The Cradle,” she said. “The Moon’s resting core. It holds what was left behind when the god fell.”