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.

When it spoke, its voice was a thousand whispers folding into one. “You freed my husks. You brought me back whole.” Mia’s stomach dropped. “No… I sealed you—” “You sealed yourself to me. Every piece you freed returned to its maker.” The realization slammed through her like cold water. All the fragments she’d released, the echoes she’d purified—they hadn’t vanished. They’d followed their origin. They’d fed it. Lightning struck the ridge, bathing the plateau in crimson fire. The serpent’s ashes stirred, re-forming into wings around the creature’s body. It unfurled to its full height, blotting out the sky.

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.

This was just because he was a fragile rabbit beastman, while I was the clan’s only strong Spirit Fox with nine lives. My parents preferred him, and even my fiancée felt sorry for him. I was the one who had to shoulder all their grievances. Stung by the scorn in my eyes, Rowena snapped, "Just think about what you've done. You don't have any other choice, anyway." After she left, I wandered downstairs, lost in thought. Suddenly, I received a love token from the serpent clan. It was a crystal flute from an auction I had not won. Warmth filled me.

Magnificent black wings that were neither the wings of a dragon, nor the feathers of a bird, but a combination of both. Tarragon’s cry pulled my attention from the marvel of my wings to where she lay, pinned below the monster, and fought to keep the mandibles from closing around her, one arm already pinned, but valiantly jabbing for the creature’s eye with her free hand. She managed to gouge the sticky, many-faceted orb, so that the creature shied back, wounded and wailing, thrashing against the portal that still held it as it squirmed back into its own world, the sharp leg that pierced Tarragon’s thigh dragging her back with it.

Hovering in the air before she shrieks again, her wings erupting into red and gold flames, she dives towards us. Serana!