Wings Of Fire Series นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Of course, she is a hybrid; she has the power of both her parents. We fly closer to the palace and hover with every powerful flap of our wings. More fire is directed at the palace. More pikes and large boulders are thrown at us. We fly higher out of range. We pick up speed and freefall backwards, our wings wrapped around us as we torpedo towards the palace. The wind and smoke twirling around us as we open our wings again, pushing more flames out as parts of the palace crumble and explode under the intensity of the heat.

“Why? Is it because of-“ Movement behind him caught her attention and she saw huge wings in the sky, right before the sky exploded with fire. She didn’t think, she pushed him to the ground, covering his body with hers as the fire rained down on them.

They flare on either side of me and when I stand, the points arch to encompass a wide scope of the ground, causing the others to back away in shock. Because I have wings. Wings of fire.

His large grey wolf growled and snarled at Damascus. Damascus threw a quick glance at Amara who was still unconscious on the side of the road. Damascus looked back and took in a deep breath, his body readied itself and unleashed an inferno on the grey wolf as it tried to charge towards Damascus. The animal whelped in pain as its fur caught fire like kindling. Damascus didn't wait for others to join their pack members and instead, Damascus grabbed Amara with his Dragon claws and took to the skies in a matter of seconds. He would fly the rest of the way to the airfield. They had no other choice.

My vision spins, but I push myself back up. I can’t stop now. The beast comes at me again. I close my eyes and dig deep. I feel the power inside me…the light, the fire, the part of me that’s growing stronger every day. I let it rise. My body lifts off the ground again, and this time, wings made of silver flames burst from my back. They shimmer like moonlight. I fly straight at the beast, dodging its claws and slamming a ball of fire into its head. It screams and stumbles, but still doesn’t fall.

His presence was steady, unyielding, even as his voice cracked with urgency. “Don’t let it take you, Xenia! Stay with me!” The Architect only watched, hands folded inside their dark sleeves, their hood angled as if this was all… entertainment. My anger burned hotter than my flames. “You think this is a game?” I roared. I got a response from the fire. After stretching and twisting, it took the form of wings extending from my shoulders and a flurry of sparks encircling me. The wolves stumbled, hissing where my wings touched their smoky bodies.

They had a plan. Reyes turned slowly in place, taking in the scorched earth, the silence. The evidence was gone, scrubbed clean with fire and time. He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. Not defeated. Just angry. He raised the camera. “Bramley Lot—burned down. No signs of occupants. No heat. They’re gone.” A beat of silence. Then quieter: “They’re cleaning house.” He stood still a moment longer, then turned and walked back to the car.

When the audio ended, she spoke with calm resignation, “I tampered with his car because I wanted Jack to win the championship. That led to Lewis’s crash and death. “Lewis treated racing with devotion. To him, a race was his life’s calling. “Jack and I framed him to escape blame. “Without me, Lewis would have won. He would have had a bright, dazzling future. “I am the sinner. I betrayed the one who trusted me the most.” Then, as comments exploded across the livestream, Alanna struck a lighter in the gas-filled room. … Fortunately, someone watching the stream lived nearby and called the police. Firefighters arrived quickly and put out the flames. But Alanna had stood at the center of the explo

The scale of him forced the eye to adjust, to recalibrate what counted as a threat, what counted as a weapon. His wings unfurled behind him. Not in a single, theatrical sweep, but in a measured expansion that claimed the space as its own, the membranes stretching outward in layered arcs, catching the rising heat and bending it to his will. The edges burned in deep, smouldering crimson, not bright but dense, like coals banked beneath ancient ash, pulsing in time with the fire beneath his skin. Drifting ash caught along their span, then burned away in curling wisps, leaving no mark. These were not the wings of any bird. They were banners torn from an infernal altar and set ablaze. That fire wa

He looked at me with eyes full of terror—the look of a man who knew he had failed. ​“The West Wing is a furnace, ma'am!” a firefighter shouted, his voice muffled by his mask. “The fire started in the crawlspace—it went up like tinder! We can’t get a team inside yet!” ​I looked up. The West Wing. The stone was blackened, and orange flames were licking out of the windows like greedy tongues. ​That was Finn’s wing. He was supposed to be napping. I left him sleeping. ​“Finn!” I screamed, the sound tearing my throat raw. I tried to run toward the heat, toward the screaming orange light, but a pair of strong arms caught me around the waist.