Novel & Cerita The Runesmith

After the jostle in the car, he finally halted the car in front of a huge building in the woodland. No one would imagine the building was there except they were too curious. It's actually a sanctuary home which Raven had built for refugees that were attacked in a remote town by the werewolves or any places they had escaped from. They were able to get treatments and free food to survive on while most of them seemed to have their sons work with Raven since she was their life saver. Even females were volunteers for this kind of job.

Fast and swift, I sprinted across the forest that had been dominated with trees of all kinds. I ran until my consciousness began shutting me out. I ran until I was at the verge of passing out. I ran with my eyes set on a goal. I ran for what seemed like forever until I was before the huge door of my manor. My frantic, weak fingers punched in the code and I slipped in. I moved forward, my body shook. I struggled to reach for my phone, but my bones wobbled. I moved again. I crashed. Thick haze of darkness clouded me.

Silver flames burned along the walls without heat, casting eerie light across hundreds of kneeling figures below. Hollows. Thousands of them. Their heads bowed in absolute silence. And at the center of it all. me. No. Her. The first Queen of Ruin sat upon a throne of obsidian, draped in dark armor lined with glowing cracks. A silver crown rested upon her head like it belonged there. Like it had never belonged anywhere else. Her face slowly lifted. And I was staring at myself. Same eyes. Same face. Only colder. Older. Broken in ways I couldn’t understand.

"Runes..." Happy Smith clenched his fist when he saw the item in the other hand of Caspian. Caspian smiled at him and said, "There are more than one runes which could record sound." Caspian spread out his palm, revealing a thick stack of runes. "I used to think that your voice was too attractive and your tone was so righteous, so I couldn't help recording it with the Wind-heeding Stone and runes at the same time." "Despicable." Happy Smith repeated the word.

Just another two hours on this road and I would reach the destination where The Run would take place. The Run has been around since the original pack was created. The first Alpha king and leader of all wolves around the world created this event when she wolves were created and in limited supplies to the population of werewolves. The species needed to survive and the strongest genes needed to be passed down, hence The Run and the claiming of a mate. After the success of the first run the tradition carried down. Something about taking a female by force seemed like the ultimate manly thing to do and during those time periods where the male had to be strong and their offspring stronger to surviv

“ and the runes will do the rest.” I hesitated, the weight of choice pressing on me. “This will damn me,” I whispered. “This will save your pack,” Varyn countered. “Your father understood such sacrifices. Now it’s your turn.” The legacy. Always the legacy. Centuries of Draven who ruled with iron and blood. Now it was my chance if I dared. My hand shook as I lifted the blade. The runes glow brighter at my touch, warm and beat against my palm. I pressed the edge into my palm. The silver stung, and blood welled up. The runes took it in eagerly, glowing hotter, brighter.

Finally, the runes were attached to a pair of ordinary-looking silver wrist guards. The wrist guards were forged using silver ores. Tyr didn’t pay much attention to the Balchs’ treasures because typically speaking, the wrist guards used to protect the wrists were generally made of relatively hard metal. The items made of silver are unquestionably worthless. Hence, Tyr didn’t give it much thought. Now that the book’s runes had taken the initiative to fly out and attach themselves to the wrist guard, it was clear that the wrist guards were truly extraordinary. Tyr picked up the pair of wrist guards and took a closer look. He discovered that the wrist guards were engraved with a large number of

“You are not taking my family. Not while I breathe.” He smiled the smile of a man who has seen too many promises break like twine. The witches surged. Shields buckled. A warrior screamed. The smell of iron and burnt leather and something fouler filled my nose. My heart beat a terrible drum under my ribs. The rune across my palm flared and then dimmed, hungry. We were swallowed by the night.

Rhobart said nothing, and Ayla soon drifted to sleep. It was almost dawn when she woke up. Without getting up from her furs, she looked around the camp. Rhobart was close to the fire, training with his sword. He was only in his trousers. His back was to her, and Ayla could see his tattoos better. Runes. Not the ones used in the Common Tongue. Ayla had seen the ones Rhobart had on his back in a book—the runes used by the Gods. They covered his entire back.

Without a word, we followed the warrior through the fog. “What is it?” I asked, quickly matching my pace with him. “Something buried beneath the ruins of the battlefield. It’s… not natural.” The ground squelched beneath our boots as we walked past fallen bodies and scattered weapons. My heart tightened when I recognized some of the warriors who had talked with me the night before. Now, only their empty eyes were staring at the gray sky. When we reached the clearing, I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. At the center of the bloodstained earth, a dark crimson circle of ancient runes lay there, faintly glowing as if feeding on the life that once stained the soil. It pulsed like the slow beat of a