The Crone Of Midnight Embers Novels & Stories

“What’s in that?” Emma’s good mood vanished as she turned solemn, “Blood.” She gulped looking queasy, “it’s for Damion if he is uninterested in the girls they bring him.” Yuck. Vampires were monsters and Damion just proved my view on them. “Can you help me move my stuff?” I shivered thinking of sleeping in the same room as Eric. Emma looked apologetic, “I heard. I’m sorry Val lucky for you Eric usually leaves at night.”

"Although, Ember, yours is a little lighter. Have you been blessed?" "Yes, by an original dragon. She blessed me with her ice magic." I told her. "Why does Ember have two colors?" Sam asked concerned. I looked at myself again noticing the darker red around my stomach. "That must be her baby's color. Although it looks darker than it should." She approached me as my heart stilled. She leaned down in front of me stretching the color around my stomach. "There." She murdered as she pulled at something inside the color. "She was being cursed, but it seemed to have stopped before it was completed. I'll fix it. Sam, give me a feather."

The only other sound's the break, Of distant waves and birds awake The silver necklace is beautiful, unique and deep, But she has promises to keep, Until then she shall not sleep. She lies in bed with ducts that weep. She rises from her bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in her head, She idolises being dead. Facing the day with never-ending dread. ~~ Theodora Twitty <><><><><><><><><> Readers, you will understand what I am talking about in this poem in the next chapter:)

The Verdant Hollow’s library is a labyrinth of living shelves, vines curling around ancient tomes and crystalline tablets that hum with stored knowledge. Moonlight filters through a domed ceiling of translucent stone, casting silver patterns across the floor. My crescent mark pulses in rhythm with the sanctuary’s heartbeat, grounding me as I sit at a rune-etched table, surrounded by texts Sylvara deemed essential for understanding the First Ones’ rituals. Cassia lounges nearby, her fiery aura a low glow as she flips through a scroll, muttering about “overcomplicated Veil nonsense.” Renn, the Tideborn courier, hovers at the table’s edge, sorting reports from the eastern rift with a nervous en

But reverence. The lead Knight, Orren, bore the medallion granted by the High Mother—a living compass that pulsed not just with location, but with proximity to the Seed’s twin resonance. Every few steps, it twitched. Emily’s fragment was near. Clara’s flame was blooming. Orren turned, his helm rasping as he surveyed the others. Their thoughts were one, but still he spoke. “We reach the hollow root by dusk tide. Prepare for merge.” The others bowed slightly, then began their rite.

“This is eternal.” Elena smiled against his chest, the ring glinting in the morning light. The legacy threat had been defeated. The empire was secure. And their flame — born on a tropical island and forged through fire — now burned brighter and steadier than ever. But their story was far from over. New adventures, new challenges, and new depths of surrender awaited them. For now, though, wrapped in each other’s arms after the longest, most passionate night of their lives, they simply basked in the warmth of the eternal flame they had created together.

(Caelum Ashborn) Caelum lifted his hand and summoned a thin thread of his Emberborn fire. It flickered between his fingers, the colour of banked coals—darker than Adelaide’s golden blaze, older than Apollo’s infernal red. He pressed it gently against the rope at her wrist. The smoke hissed.

Alina stepped forward because everyone expected her to, because her feet remembered what her mind wanted to refuse. Inside, the Crown chamber was circular and close, its walls curving inward like the inside of a shell. Smoke-darkened stone rose to a vaulted ceiling. The floor bore the marks of centuries, worn thin at the center where people had stood and waited and hoped. At the heart of the room, on a low plinth of blackwood, rested the Ember Crown. It looked smaller than Alina remembered. Or perhaps memory had made it heavier. Up close, the metal was darker than iron, threaded with faint ember-red veins that did not glow so much as wait. At its center sat a single stone, dull and opaque, t

Unexpected Allies Before Luna could react further, smaller figures emerged from the shadows near the rift’s edge—creatures cloaked in molten energy, humanoid in shape but flickering like molten embers. “They are called Emberkin,” Mira explained. “Ancient spirits tied to the Moonfire. They’ve awakened to assess the Moonbearer’s resolve.” One stepped forward, extending a hand of molten gold. “Moonbearer,” it said, voice like flowing magma, “we are bound to the rift. Your mastery of the moons has been noted. To proceed deeper, you must accept our guidance and prove your unity with the Moonfire.” Luna’s heart raced. “Guidance… how? What must I do?”

The study was a heavy, suffocating mix of cedar, ink, weathered parchment, and the thick, dominating bite of Alpha pheromones. A fire worked itself in the massive stone hearth, fighting back the winter afternoon. Outside, the snow choked the rooftops of Embermoon, burying the fortress in brilliant, blinding sheets of white and silver under a dead, pale sun.