Uzumaki Crest Novels & Stories

Immediately, the chaos ensued. ***presently*** Now, I remember from whence I saw this tattoo. No, it’s a Crest. This drawing is a crest for an organization. Maybe cooperate assassins. Now, I’m filled with curiosity to find out who heads this organization. “Pakhan!” Akim’s voice blares through my ears. I veer toward him and see him holding up a bloodied boy who looks to be sixteen. Blood gushes from his chest and other parts of his body down to the ground.

"In a fight, if your opponent is stronger, your best bet is to start with defense. However, in Romano Crest, we do not train you to be the weaker wolves in any fight. Am I clear?" The young wolves howled in unison. My wolf, Raka, swelled with pride. Romano Crest does not train weaker wolves, he affirmed, and I hummed in agreement. Even more than I did, Raka found great contentment in the pack's dominance. Zuko was a hidden gem. Zuko had proven himself since I made him head warrior. He was loyal, disciplined, never giving me reason to doubt. I beckoned him, remembering the reason I had come to this field.

“And now Evander’s given them blood to feast on.” She wanted to say something, anything, but words tangled in her throat. Instead, she studied him, the hard lines of his jaw, the way his hands trembled though he tried to still them. She could see the battle inside him, man and wolf both clawing for dominance, neither yielding. After a long pause, he spoke again, softer this time. “Do you know what the crest is?” Her head jerked toward the table where the emerald stone rested. Its veins pulsed faintly, alive even in stillness. “I… I only know what I’ve felt. It called to me.”

One was Morrigan's, sharp, familiar, and unmistakable. The other was unfamiliar. Older. Its lines were more primitive, almost brutal, as if carved by claws rather than tools. It looked like a symbol meant to mark ownership, not identity. Tobias stared at it for a long time. This crest did not belong to Silvercrest. It did not belong to the council. And yet it was here, hidden behind the Blood Seal’s heart. His throat went dry. The scout’s report from the border flashed in his mind. Unfamiliar tracks.

The gown was midnight blue, silver thread sewn into the neckline in the pattern of crescent moons. I stood in front of the mirror and immediately understood what it was designed to do. "You look like a queen," Noor said softly. "I look like bait," I muttered. Zara fixed the last pin in my hair and stepped back. The birthmark sat fully visible against my skin. No powder. No attempt to soften it. In this light, with this dress, I looked exactly like what Lord Faris needed me to be. A symbol. A prize. Something worth reaching for.

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the entire observatory, turning the shadows to silver white. In that split second of brilliant, unforgiving light, my eyes tracked the trailing end of the scar as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his sleeve. Right at the base of his neck, partially obscured by the white line, was an old brand. The skin was puckered and raised, forming the distinct shape of a curved, broken crescent intersecting an iron crown. My stomach dropped into a freezing void. It wasn't a random injury. It was a symbol. The exact same historical crest I had seen stamped in black wax on the chained Blackthorne scroll.

The ancient crest carved into the center of the white stone was glowing. At first... Only faintly. Thin silver lines awakened beneath the surface like moonlight trapped inside marble. One priest stumbled backward. "The crest..." Another stared in disbelief. "It has accepted her blood." Whispers erupted throughout the Assembly. "I've never seen this." "Neither have I." "What does it mean?" The chief priest didn't answer. His eyes never left the glowing crest. The silver light spread through every carved line of the ancient Moonfang emblem. It pulsed gently. Once.

I said, breaking the chain he planned to put on him. That was the opportunity I needed, I immediate grabbed Eryx as I gracefully put a crest on the persons forehead. The snow beneath us still reminding us that we were at battle. The figure paused, calculating his steps, I felt he could see through me, that he already knew what I had done. But the crest was supposed to lower his energy, yet nothing, this was unusual, that crest was crafted by my father, my father never misses, so how. Unless… no it couldn’t be what I was thinking.

I don't trust Lyra, and I don't think I ever will, but trying to refrain myself from wanting her so badly is an urge I can't fight against. "It's the curse, isn't it?" Damien asked. My fist clenched, knowing that he was right. I hated the part where he knew everything. Clause and Axle aren't aware of the curse that Lyra acted up a few weeks ago. The Curse of the Unbridled Alpha, an ancient affliction that strikes the most powerful pack leaders, renders them helpless against their primal instincts, driving them to surrender to their basest desires and act on impulse. Their control over their actions is fragile as the moon's phases dictate their fate.

Cracked clean through the snout. Elliott kneels beside me, his eyes going wide. “What the hell is this?” I lift it slowly, turning it over in my hands. The inside is smooth with age, worn where it must’ve once fit snug to someone’s face. The outer edge bears a faint design. Three overlapping crescents forming a ring. I know that mark. I know it like my own name. “It’s a crest,” I whisper. Elliott glances up. “Yours?”