Tree Sentinel Farum Azula Novels & Stories

There is nothing else around me but the source. It's a long and winding whisp, a red breeze. It wraps around my finger, gently, crawling up my arm, breathing into my heart, filling up my head. It tightens on my ring finger, and I reach out to grab it. It pulls me, hard, and I cry out, shocked that the pain is real and not imagined. Bright colors rush back to me and I grab onto the first thing I see, and it is Imperator Seth. I know it is him before I see him by the smell of his sweet cologne, and when my eyes flit up from the floor, to see his mouth pierce my skin.

that flickered with a weak, violet light. ​"UNAUTHORIZED BIO-MASS DETECTED," the lead Sentinel droned. Its voice-box was cracked, sounding like gravel in a blender. "PREPARE FOR... FOR... 'AUDIT'..." ​The Sentinel’s legs buckled. The "Black Bloom" vines coiling around its ankles had finally reached the power-pack in its spine. The machine slumped to the floor, its violet light fading into a dull, peaceful grey. ​"The audit is over," Kaelen said, stepping over the fallen machine. "The account is closed."

"The South doesn't leave its heart unguarded, even in a graveyard." The suspense broke as the first "Sentinel" appeared. It was a massive, bioluminescent construct—a jellyfish made of golden wire and light-sensors, three hundred feet wide, its tentacles trailing like fiber-optic cables through the dark water. As its sensors caught the violet shimmer of Aethelgard’s shadow-bubble, it didn't pulse; it flared. "They’re launching the 'Solar-Torpedos'!" Silas roared. "Vane, the city’s thermal signature is too high! We're a bonfire in a dark room!"

The news about Sentinel’s new acquisitions spread across the shipping world within hours. Three major South American shipping companies now belonged to Elena Varga. Thousands of cargo ships. Hundreds of shipping routes. Billions of dollars in trade. Inside the hotel conference room in Santos, Cassian and his team watched the updates appear on the large screen. Tan shook his head slowly. “I have to admit… that was a brutal move.” Lucas looked worried. “With those companies, Sentinel now controls a large part of South American shipping.”

"Do you want my help transporting Ruben back to your family?" Selena rose from her seat and went to her brother, sprawled unconscious on the couch near the door. Azalea didn't even bid their farewell, and the three of them were gone. Dylan, Jerell, and Cynthia continued their Welkin language lessons. Titan and Zach left to take a stroll inside the Southern Garrison. Julia was left alone. Oliver and Osprey followed her out.

But we had the Foundry. Ten minutes later, we were in the motor pool. Julian was already hot-wiring an old, armored transport—a "Vance Vanguard" that had been stripped of its luxury and repurposed for hauling scrap. Selene was at the terminal, her fingers flying across a keyboard as she tried to intercept the Zenith’s flight path. "He's heading for the Aurelia Spire’s foundation," Selene said, her face pale in the glow of the monitors. "But there’s nothing there but a crater and the sea."

But that won’t happen; every important guest has to take the red-carpet walk. I don’t know where this IT Solution company gets its name from. The Quartet sounds more like a group of four people creating a singing group than an IT company. Kim and I have met the owners during an important event before, and they are the two Soriano brothers and their first cousin, Aliyah Torres.

He wasn't helping with the cleanup; he was staring at a small, silver object half-buried in the moss. "Kazimir! Elara! Come look at this," Jun called out, his voice vibrating with a Sub-Harmonic Distortion. As they approached, Jun held up the Bio-Mechanical-Syringe. It was empty, the glass casing etched with a serial number from the original Sentinel Initiative.

ROWAN ASHCROFT POV “My tracks are completely clean,” Kael says, his deep voice slicing through my panic as he drops his arm from my shoulder. “I left my transport with a sentinel a full mile away at The Velvet Fang. If any rival pack has a digital tracker on my scent, they will calculate my animal is buried inside a twenty-four-hour strip club.”

If the next generation keeps this up, Nephilim are going to have a headache for decades. — Can we speak with you, Zara? She still looks pale as paper and I fold my arms across my chest. — No privacy, priest. You know the rules. Zara steps up to the boy, barely a hand taller than her, and cups his face. Tears fall so fast she can barely speak. But his face is a block of ice. It hits me. Lenart. Zara’s son has become a Sentinel? My teeth clamp together for a second, surprised. I do one good thing and the universe kicks me in the ass?