The Vale Asoiaf Novels & Stories

Kol muttered in disgust. Vale nodded slowly. “On one condition.” Aria’s voice broke. “Sending her here.” “She didn’t know,” Vale said. “We… wiped her memory. Everything. Redwood, the experiments, me. I signed the order myself. They made it all look like I had no sister.” Kol slammed his cane down. The crack echoed through the room. “You sent her into our territory. Near my son.” Vale jerked at the sound. “It was the safest place. The farthest from Redwood. And if she ever… erupted again, the Lannisters were the only bloodline strong enough to survive the fallout.”

" The torches of which we were round flicked and their flames curled in alarm. He said the name as a curse: "The Vale of Former Souls." Ice flooded my veins. That place did not appear. It summoned. "I'm going after her," I snarled. You enter the Vale, not knowing what was awakened within her, and you will both die, Valerius said. I bared my teeth. "Then teach me to survive it." Valerius didn't smile. He didn't argue. Once he nodded, the nod men give when they are going into war to which they do not expect to return.

The grand gates of the Vale estate loomed ahead, their intricate ironwork glinting in the late afternoon sun. Elyra Sol’s heart pounded with each step she took along the manicured driveway. She had imagined many things about this day, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer magnitude of the Vale mansion. The sprawling estate, with its pristine lawns, fountains, and marble pillars, radiated an aura of power and wealth so intense it made her feel both awed and completely out of place.

My fingers flexed, tracing invisible lines in the air, mirroring the powerful runes on the wall. Behind me, Vale stood silently, a dark, stoic figure, arms crossed. His gaze was fixed on me, a complex mixture of unwavering loyalty and a deep, unsettling unease warring in his shadowed eyes. He’d seen me pursue many paths, but this… this felt different. More dangerous. More final. “You’re sure this is the path, Alpha?” Vale asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a faint tremor of doubt lingered beneath the surface. “You know what the price is for such… direct intervention with fate. The old laws are clear.”

Breaking. “Lyra… please.” Vale. Her eyes fluttered open. The world swam into focus—vaulted stone archways, blue torchlight flickering, sigils carved into the walls. Not a battlefield. A tomb. Frostveil’s catacombs. Vale knelt beside her, both hands cupping her cheeks, his forehead almost touching hers. His eyes—sharp, disciplined, unshakable Vale—were red-rimmed, fractured by terror he couldn’t hide.

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'Once you fall down there, your physical body, soul and mana energy will fall apart due to the nature of the barrier set in there. '. . the mana flowing in you will be attracted to the closest compatible vessel. . .' Is it going to happen anytime now? Oh yes, he is going to be a significant part of the second destruction of the Kingdom, what an honour. "Thea. . Johann. . " he whispered to himself, facing up from where he believes he fell from. 'I guess this marks the end of it. . .' Having no other choice but to surrender himself, he inhaled the heavy air he grasps, and closed his eyes.

She wondered who it was for—a version of herself someplace downstream, or maybe Vale, if he one day grew curious about the mother who raised him with so little sentiment, so much raw belief. In the dead heat of Henbit Summer, a wolf was spotted on the edge of the city’s green ring. Not a child, not a boy, but a literal wolf, gray and rangy and collared in a way that suggested someone’s failed science project or an escape from the east end’s splicing pits. The Market feeds ran with it for days, some swearing that it stalked Vale’s path through the city, some saying it meant rebellion, some branding it a bad omen. Vale said nothing. But on the last night of the month, when she found him home f

The Shattered Vale stretched before them, a scarred plain of ruined villages, blackened trees, and rivers turned to molten veins. The wind carried the smell of ash, blood, and smoke, a bitter reminder of Malakar’s cruelty. Ashenrealm’s army had gathered at the Spire’s edge, soldiers lined in rigid formation, banners flapping in the acrid air. Magic and fire intertwined in the sky, flickering with anticipation.

Aetherion Academy towers above me. It's carved into the cliffs like it belongs there—stone and iron and something older woven through it. Massive archways stretch toward the sky, banners snapping in the wind, dark against the gray-blue backdrop. Flickering golden lights spill out of the windows and all around. Like you can literally see the magic alive here. It's beautiful.