The Fourth Wing Novels & Stories

Odin shouted out as he pointed behind me. I pulled away from Traian and walked over to the floor-length mirror. My eyes were jet black with gray swirling vortex instead of white, and it looked as if I had storm clouds circling my pupil. I turned to the side slightly and saw my new wings, they were stunning, not their usual white opaque sort of look, no, now they were a dark ash gray with a blue, green and purple sheen, like on a magpies wings. They were a lot larger than before and much more magnificent.

This was the silence of everyone in the room understanding, simultaneously, that the thing beneath them was aware of them. “Define fourth bloodline,” I said, because someone had to, and my voice was the steadiest thing in the chamber. Edric’s eyes were still fixed on the floor. “When the original Accord was written, there were four founding bloodlines. Four packs who agreed collectively to the framework governing all others. Three of those bloodlines are represented in this room.” He looked up. “The fourth was declared extinct two hundred years ago after a conflict the histories call a territorial war. The official record says they were eliminated. The real record,” He stopped. “I always sus

⸻ 🌙 Not Victory The guardian looked toward Ilyaan. Then toward the Null. 🖤 ⸻ And finally toward everyone else. ⸻ His next words changed everything. ⸻ “The Fourth Path is not about winning.” ⸻ Silence. ⸻ “It is not about defeating the enemy.” ⸻ The stars brightened. ⸻ “It is not about choosing a side.” ⸻ The doors of possibility opened. 🚪✨ ⸻ “The Fourth Path is understanding.” ⸻ The universe shook.

The other curved backward in a brutal sweep, thicker than Apollo’s and ridged along its length, as though designed less for ceremony and more for impact. His wings were folded tight behind him, but even restrained, they carried weight. They were not the flexible, membranous stretch of Apollo’s; they were denser, layered in plates edged with serrated bone. Each ridge caught the firelight and fractured it, casting sharp shadows across the stone. In battle, those wings would not glide. They would cleave.

Her wings fell back into her body, screaming. Covering my mouth, a sob wrecked through me. I had forgotten she would feel the pain, too. Too worried about watching Mortus breathe his last breaths. The warrior, his eyes solemn with pity, gently gathered her in his arms, picked her up. Her head leaned into his chest, gripping his uniform. “Leave me,” she cried again. Wings sprung forth from his body, shaking his head. His wings hummed in the pattern of a hummingbird and took flight to the palace.

She felt so out of place. Like she was the impostor here or the intruder - she was, and she knew it. This particular forge was well regarded among the R and the Royal Guard. For it was run by the Wingless. An unfortunate among group Raven Harpy kind, and the reasons for that misfortune varied, it was a cruel fate — some of them were those who had been born without wings. It was known as a sorrowful ancient quirk of harpy blood; others were punished by having them severed, leaving only jagged scars on their shoulders.

They are your saviours, your judgement and your damnation. There were four of them. Four huge creatures, each with twelve wings of fire that burned so brightly it was difficult to look upon them. Their skin shone with coppery scales and their serpent tails, stretched long behind them, twisting and curling together as they flew, spinning a never-ending maelstrom around the empty Throne of the Angels.

The Fourth Elder finally knelt on the ground. “Speak.” Andrius looked at him coldly. “Where are the people you bought from the Black Kiln Sea?” “Heh...” The Fourth Elder sneered disdainfully. However, before he could speak... Spurt. Andrius swiftly chopped off his arm. “Ahhh!” The Fourth Elder screamed in agony but still gritted his teeth, refusing to talk. Andrius was not surprised. With a whistle, countless insects flew out and burrowed into the wound.

I gripped Ronan’s axe, my knuckles white. "You don't build it with light. You build it with the debt." Adaeze’s emerald glow began to flicker as the Widow’s red mist pressed in. "Every wolf the Council killed. Every mother they burned. Every child they orphaned. They are the Fourth Door. They are the pack that cannot be rejected." Kael lunged. He didn't attack like a wolf. He didn't go for the throat. He drove his salt-heavy shoulder into my chest, throwing me back into the white dust. I hit the ground hard, the wind leaving my lungs.

he said. “Wings,” I confirmed. “She absolutely has wings in her repertoire now.” “Technically they were a manifestation of—” “Wings,” I said firmly. “My best friend grew wings in a battle. I’m calling them wings.” Marcus made a sound that was probably not supposed to be a laugh and was. Kael’s hand rested on the door. The almost-smile stayed. “She’s strong,” he said. “Yes,” I said. “She is.” KAEL’S POV