The Throne Of Fire Novels & Stories

That was the only way to describe it. The walls expanded and contracted in slow, rhythmic pulses, veins of fire running through them like a living circulatory system. The ground shimmered with heat, yet it did not burn Lucas’s feet. The flames that coiled around the pillars bent away from him, stretching outward as though desperate to avoid contact. At the center of it all… The throne. It was not built—it existed. A monstrous structure of fire and shadow intertwined, shifting endlessly, never settling into a single form. It exhaled embers, inhaled darkness.

Ruby read and was belwirded by each and every word, and she turned the pages, reading and processing every single word. After the Flames extinction, a prophecy was predicted that when the time is right. A Flame will rise from the ashes, A Hybrid, a flame and werewolf, born from a human bloodline. A Queen to both Witches and Werewolves. The Last Flame in existence shall rise and be reunited with her Ignis for they shall lead the wolves and the witches. Like a true King and Queen. She stopped reading and looked at the ceiling in amazement, "I am a freaking Queen?"

The Choice of the Throne The Throne had chosen. Not Cassian. Not Eryx. Not any of the other heirs. Thomas. The truth struck harder than any battle. Harder than any Crown. Harder than any loss. God. No. Fair. Absolutely not. Reasonable honestly. The Seventh Crown burned brighter. Golden light flooded the collapsing sky. The remaining fragments of the Bastion trembled. The prison was breaking. Fast. Too fast. Then the giant eye roared.

“Because I want what was stolen from me. The throne. The packs. My mate. You.” Kael growled, stepping between them. “She belongs to no one.” Theron smiled coldly. “Then she will die with you.” He lifted one hand. And the entire throne room exploded in black fire. The court burned. Guards screamed as shadows swallowed them whole. Wolves shifted mid-air, only to be slammed into the walls by invisible force. Aria was thrown backward, crashing into a stone pillar. Kael caught her before she hit the floor. “Are you hurt?” he barked.

The staircase climbed impossibly high into the darkness. Leading nowhere. Or perhaps somewhere far beyond the world. At the very top stood a throne. The throne from my vision. The Throne of Stars. The throne hidden beneath the kingdom. The throne every ancient power was searching for. And seated upon it was a figure. Motionless. Silent. Wrapped in chains made of silver fire. A prisoner. Still asleep. Still bound. Yet somehow more terrifying than anything we had seen so far. The golden eyes immediately focused on it. The thirteen fortresses turned toward it.

And in the center, floating above a bed of flame — a single, sealed tome, bound in flame-scorched crimson leather. Seraphine stepped forward. And the air bent around her. The tome opened on its own. Not pages — memories. Flashes of her mother. Of fire. Of a throne that *wasn't taken,* but *sacrificed.* > “The Hollow Throne was never meant to be ruled,” whispered her mother’s voice through the flame. > “It was meant to be broken — by the one who could hold fire and mercy both.” The vision deepened— She saw Elira fleeing the tribunal with Seraphine in her arms.

"You’re feeling it, aren’t you? The shift. The pressure. Like your skin doesn’t quite belong to you anymore." I didn’t answer. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "The fire inside you is waking up. The old kind. It wants to be used, Raymond. It wants to burn." My throat went dry. I tried to stand, but his voice dropped to a whisper. "You saw the throne, didn’t you? In your dreams." I froze. "The broken throne. The one made of iron and flame. The one that shouldn’t exist." I swallowed hard. My hands were starting to shake.

An old man, clad in tattered robes, stepping forward with slow, measured steps. He stopped a few paces away, his gaze settling on Elior. “I know you,” the man rasped. “You are the one who shattered the Throne.” The man’s name was Orris, one of the last survivors of Dawnfire. He had seen the sky break, had felt the change ripple through the land. “The First King built the Throne for a reason,” he said. “It was never just a seat of power. It was a cage.” A chill ran through Elior.

“The throne burns hotter than any crown can bear. Step down before it consumes what little is left of you.” Her fire surged one last time, painting the throne in molten light. But even as she tried to cling to it, she felt the truth in his words like claws against her heart. And for the first time, the fire did not feel like power. It felt like chains. The court watched, breathless, as smoke swirled toward the ceiling, blackening the gold. The throne itself glowed faintly red, its carved wolf heads seeming to snarl through the heat. Ruby sat rigid, hands shaking, eyes wild. She refused to answer, not with words. Instead, she let the fire linger, a wall between herself and the man who threate

They didn’t even raise questions. Our country, Crest country was a diplomatic one ruled by the government under one president. We lived in the state’s capital, in the richest estate in the city. I studied in Van private academy , the most expensive private academy in the city and I was currently on my tenth grade. Due to our high status, there was absolutely no way I would simply miss the blood test. This was just jumping into a crocodile’s mouth and testing if it would bite you