Novel & Cerita The Crone Of Midnight Embers

“Come back not as fury alone, but as the Queen we lost. - Darkness was rising in the south. Iron Claw Pack was restless, sniffing out bloodlines and seers, making pacts with creatures that didn’t bleed. Ember saw it in the flames, wolves with human faces, eyes like coals, consuming magic like wine. The Crimson Watchers. They were waking. And if Aria reclaimed her crown too soon, it would be a beacon to every nightmare waiting in the dark. She climbed toward the Moonspire ruins, where frostbitten vines clung to crumbling stones, the air thick with memory.

Workers unearth a buried chamber, stone doors groaning open. Deep within, a pedestal holds another artifact, a twin to the obsidian orb, but pulsing with crimson light, mana crackling like a storm. A cloaked figure, one of the masked lord’s surviving elites, watches from the shadows, a sinister grin spreading. “The story continues,” they whisper, as the artifact hums, awakening. Cillian, lost in her harem’s embrace, remains oblivious, her new world moving by her making, but not alone.

The girls had chosen this spot for its energy—a natural convergence point where the earth’s magic pooled like water. Freda lit the black candles with a whispered word, their flames burning unnaturally blue. Pru scattered a circle of salt mixed with crushed obsidian, the grains glittering like crushed stars. Rita laid out the parchment—yellowed with age, borrowed from Gogo’s private stash—and the silver dagger, its blade etched with runes. "Ready?" Freda asked. Rita nodded. Pru grinned.

Rhett coughed out. Aislen shook her head and jumped to grasp the top of the wall and pull herself up. The bricks were warm under her skin, almost enough to burn. Within the courtyard, there was a scorch mark radiating out from a central point, where Ember stood utterly naked, wings spread. The wings were not wings as Samuel’s were, like those of a bat covered in black membrane, rather Ember’s wings were those of fire, the flickering flame generating enough heat to lift the ends of her long red hair.

*Ember* It was time. The full moon was at its peak. Standing naked in the moonlight, I could feel it beneath my skin, as though it was alive in my veins. The clearing around me hummed with energy as the Moon Maidens chanted and burned fragrant incense around the perimeter where the grass met the towering old pines of the darkened woods. Chastine, who was facing me within the circle, recited something in a language that I didn’t recognize, but could feel deep in my bones.

"What does it mean to be a custodian? And why had the moon goddess chosen me? I muttered to myself as I yearned for answers. Watching me close the book, without a word, Mr. Grant clicked on the file and stepped back, allowing me to watch. He looked older than I remembered, his face was lined with worry and exhaustion. But there was a steely determination in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine. “Ember," he started “if you’re watching this, it means that something has gone terribly wrong. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to protect you, but you need to know the truth. Our family... the Knights... we’re not ordinary people. We belong to a clan—a deviant clan, as they call us. Our bloodline c

I’ll shatter it before dawn, and I’ll make her thank me for it. ═══════⊹⊱♚⊰⊹═══════ What Awaits Author’s Note: You’ve met the firebrand. You’ve seen the king fracture. Now—watch the tower burn. Midnight Crown is a dark romance built on crime, obsession, betrayal, and slow-burn war between two people who should have destroyed each other—but didn’t. Because control is never clean, and neither is love. You’ll drown in silence and secrets as the story unfolds through four arcs:

"If I don't have her soul then how do I have her essence inside me?" "When a crone dies she can take her powers to the grave or she can make someone her successor. A true crone is born in a millennium and not many survive the birth. So if a crone senses a soul worthy of her powers then she makes the soul her heir to lead her kind and you Amber are Charlie's successor and her heart beats within you but not her soul." "I have her heart?" Amber's lips parted.

The winds had ceased. Snow fell softly against the mountain's rim outside the cave. Icicles hung on the overhang like rows of teeth, shining in the pale light of the morning. But within, the secret refuge shaped by ancient hands throbbed warm and still, its walls soft with protective runes scratched in gold. Vera stirred the potion beside the hearth, the smell of herbs and crushed moonblossom filling the air. The fire burned quietly. Emereah sat on the ground, surrounded by dusty volumes and rolls of parchment, her legs crossed under her growing belly. Her fingers followed a worn sigil on the page, her forehead creased in concentration.

The Ember Hollow lay hidden beneath a spiderweb of sandstone arches, its entrance concealed by a curtain of ivy and shadows. As dusk settled, lanterns carved from fossilized bone glowed in clustered alcoves, guiding Vera and Lucien along the winding tunnels. Rebel artisans—defected Sentinels, half-blood scholars, and smuggler-turned-miners—labored around workbenches strewn with resonance crystals and spool upon spool of dream-silk thread.