The Serpent And The Wings Of Night Novels & Stories

Giselle sighs, massaging her temples. There's no other way she could survive this, so she shuts her textbook, organized her writing materials inside her pencil cases, and placed it all inside her bag. Giselle pulled her iced coffee and started sipping on it. She runs her finger on the leaked water from her cold cup. "No, I don't believe in them. We're no longer twelve," Giselle ridicules, rolling her eyes in absurdity. Her eyes trailed to her surroundings while Yvonne began to tackle more about bloodsucking demons until Giselle found something that caught her attention. Mr. Mercado placed newly made tiramisu crepe cake, the ones that she loves.

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.

The moon hangs faintly in the sky waiting for the sun's retreat. "Yeah, we don't have much time to lose," he responds. Stripping out of Flavius's shirt I hand it back to him quickly fazing. I lower my body allowing him to climb on. With that I lurch out into the evening sky, my wings beating against the crisp air.

“Do you even know whose curse runs through your veins? Do you know what you were made for?” “Stop.” My voice cracked. She tilted her head, curious. “You never told her, did you? That you weren’t born of love. You’re forged .” The clearing shuddered, trees bending as if her words had weight. Astrid moved before me, dagger drawn, voice shaking but fierce. “You’re lying.” The Serpent smiled. “I never lie. I weave truth.” Then she raised her hand. The air rippled. The ground turned black, veins of silver crawling through the soil like the roots of a dying god. Shadows twisted from the trees, forming faces—wolves with serpent eyes snarling and whispering.

The floor glowed with new runes, the twin‑crescent banner above flickered in torchlight. Serena stood at the dais, blade in hand. “Tonight,” she said, voice echoing, “the veil thins. What we fight lies beyond the border of our world. The Cult is the spear. Something else is the hand.” I watched faces shift. Fear. Resolve. Both. The winds came first. A low moan through the corridors of the valley, rising to a howl that carried ash and brimstone. It awakened the wolves. It pulled at the wards. It told us everything we’d been trying not to hear.

"I don't like questions that look like they can swallow a Spire, Little Bird. What does he want? Blood? Starlight?" "He wants the Choice," I replied. The serpent didn't strike. It let out a low, melodic vibration that shattered the Vesper’s shields and bypassed the hull entirely. Suddenly, the bridge vanished. The scent of hot oil and ozone was replaced by the smell of blooming lavender and fresh, mountain air.

There was children's laughter, the sound of propellers winding down, and the soft rustling of petals falling to the ground. The recording was still playing, and Zachary's hands started shaking.

The massive, immovable walls of the Obsidian Citadel groaned, shifting outward as the physical architecture obeyed a new master. The center of the courtyard split open. An explosion of golden, crackling electricity erupted from the chasm, and from the light, Sereia ascended. She floated into the pale dawn sky, her spectacular, translucent golden dragon wings beating slowly, casting a majestic, terrifying shadow over the entire battlefield. Her eyes were twin suns of pure gold, and the cracked iron collar that had enslaved her for five years was entirely gone, leaving only flawless, unblemished skin. She landed seamlessly beside me, the kinetic shockwave of her descent forcing Elder Vance to

A few of the Greymen stepped forward, wanting to swipe at such things, but their King growled to keep them back. The ravens landed on either side of the wooden altar and looked up at Drust. Their black eyes blinked in perfect rhythm with each other. He offered his forearms and each bird flapped a bit and landed on him. “Go now, Hugdin and Mundin, be my eyes and guides in this war and sacrifice. Be my arms of thought and mind.” He raised his arms and the huge birds fluttered into the sky, crying out as they ascended high and made a circle before moving to the west. Drust closed his eyes, smiled and then looked down at Gonar.