Novel & Cerita The Poet Warrior Youth

I stalled myself and walked out. When I got to my room, I sat on the couch, first angry that Julian didn't shut my door as I asked, then frustrated at how all has turned out. I rested on the chair arm only to fall into a trance. I saw a youngster, probably in his teens. He was of average height — let's say five feet. His hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black. He was dressed in a warrior's armour that seems too big for him but he was fighting a war— and fighting skilfully. Suddenly he got stabbed in the heart. Then he fell to the ground, and miraculously used his last ounce of energy to stab h

The only thing I could tell from him was his fury and fear about how the wrong move could turn the gathering into a bloodbath. Alpha Miles warriors were already spreading out even more, their heavy boots—that I wondered how they moved effortlessly with such weight strapped to their feet—scraping against the floor as they positioned themselves like predators surrounding prey. It didn’t take long before Derek’s men also rushed into the hall, mirroring Miles' warriors silently. Seeing that it had become clearer than ever that the ball was indeed in my court, I straightened my shoulders as I met Miles’ smug gaze head-on. “How do you intend to show that poetry doesn’t win wars? Do you have a chal

And not for the life I had almost believed I could keep. Night came slowly and the torch outside the bars burned lower, with shadows stretching long and thin across the cell floor. I sat in the dark, listening to the distant sounds of the pack settling—doors closing, voices fading, and footsteps dying away until only the quiet drip of water remained. A key turned in the lock and the door opened quietly. A young warrior stepped inside—tall, lean, with a face half-hidden under a hood. He carried no torch, only the faint moonlight from the corridor behind him.

Allistar POV Today is my 18th birthday and i cannot explain how excited I am to find my mate, i've been waiting for her since I first found about about mates, which was when I was 10 years old. So, yea I have been waiting for a long time and all I can hope for is that she is kind and maybe just maybe a good fighter. The last one is mainly becasue I am the Top Warrior of my pack, the Opal river pack, and it would be a dream come true to train with my mate. I became Top Warrior of my pack a few weeks after my 16th birthday. I had always been an amazing warrior since i started training when i was 12 years old per the request of my father Alexander to ensure I make myself useful to the pack. Nor

“You can drop the formalities.” Helion leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his white tank top. He’s one of the young ones–twenty-five–full of spite and fire. I was like him once. Ready to burn the world at the slightest inconvenience. That type of man is actually the kind of warrior I want in my ranks. They’re the hardest to break but the best in situations that require immediate action, when the body must separate from the rational mind. What kind of monster have I become?

Kade asked his mother once, “Do we have to be like them?” She had not answered. She had only touched his face and told him to keep his heart quiet. But a heart like his could not stay silent forever. When he was thirteen, he was chosen for warrior trials. It was a rite of passage, conducted deep in the forest where no one could interfere. The younglings were left for three nights without food or weapons. Only those who returned with a trophy were allowed to rise in rank.

Our warriors surged forward, fueled by determination. Eden fought valiantly alongside our seasoned warriors, his youthful spirit shining through as he engaged the enemy. I could see the courage etched on his face, and my heart swelled with pride as he stood strong amidst the chaos.

The tent Phanos had assigned me wasn’t far—just a few feet away. As I moved, the camp pulsed with restless energy. Warriors sharpened their blades, secured their armor, whispered prayers to gods who had long since turned their backs on them. Their tension mirrored my own. I wove through them, listening, watching. A group of young warriors sat huddled near a fire, their hushed voices barely rising above the crackling flames. They stiffened as I approached. One of them—a boy, no, barely a man—lifted his gaze to meet mine. He couldn't have been more than eighteen.

My life's a feat though I've tasted defeat. I have fought so true as my heart beats. Go away memory, go away, go away! Leave with my soul as my body falls in the hay. Let there be strown on my lonely grave. Honor me as a friend, a warrior so brave. Tis, my last words shall be brought forth. As the deadly solstice forest embraces my fate. Remember me. Remember me, with or without grace...

I then lower my eyes and continue, “He didn’t get a chance to release, but you are right. After all my fighting and struggling against him, I failed you. I am not your little warrior anymore. I am useless…” “That is not true…” I snap my eyes to his as he places his fingers under my chin. I am surprised to see Zachariah’s intense grey ones. He moves his fingers from my chin to slide along my jaw until his hand was flat on my cheek. He uses his thumb to wipe away the tears as he says, “You are not useless and you will always be my fiery little warrior. You could never fail me, Yasmine. Even with the pain you were in, you kept fighting. I saw that you kept fighting, and that is what a warrior d