Wither Storm Novels & Stories

Looking at Bethany being consumed by her own madness, all I could feel was sorrow. Before leaving, I finally managed to formulate my first sentence after seeing Bethany. "You've plotted everything to the last detail, Bethany. Did you get what you wanted?" Bethany said nothing, and I could hear her sobbing from behind me. I left the precinct. It seemed like fate had played a cruel joke on me. If I could redo things, I would never fall in love again.

She knew it was because of Lucy—they were getting back at Sarah for her. Unable to get a taxi, she began walking home on foot. All around was silence except for the howling of the bitter wind. Sarah had underestimated both her physical condition and the night's cold. After walking for who knows how long, she began to feel a dull pain in her lower abdomen. At first, she could just barely endure it, but gradually it became so intense she could hardly take another step. She knew if she kept walking, something serious would happen. Fighting through the pain, she clung to her last shred of hope and called Nelson.

Aros, my wolf, stirred violently within me, his growl rising into a snarl. “She’s weakening. Something’s wrong.” I was on my feet before the words had fully registered. My drink crashed to the ground behind me. The music faded into background noise. The buzz in the air shifted from celebration to dread. “She’s burning out again, isn’t she?” I muttered, already moving. “Feels like it,” Aros replied. “It’s deeper this time. Heavier.” I tried to focus, tried to reach through our tether, but all I felt was cold. Cold and fear. And something else—like the earth itself was holding its breath.

With that, Emereah's gaze frozen, her body coiling in wait for what was to come. The wind wailed its mournful melody through the trees, its ghostly cry a warning knell, and yet she did not move. At her side, Vladimir's white-knuckled clenched grip on his sword whitened, his eyes bulging with increasing comprehension of the storm that came. The air chilled, the trees themselves distorting as Morgane's hunger leaked out, a black corruption spreading down channels of land and tree.

Her flames are hotter than anything I’ve ever felt, and every Wendigo that gets close disintegrates in an instant. Lightning splits the sky, crackling arcs of pure energy slamming into Wendigos, incinerating them where they stand. Verena, a storm-witch hovers just above the battlefield, lifted by swirling winds, her eyes glowing white as she calls down the storm. Winds howl, forming razor-sharp cyclones that rip through the enemy, flinging blood and bone like ash in a storm. Esme’, small, and delicate, stands at the eye of the storm. Her hair whips around her as she controls the very air itself, using it as a weapon.

The wind tore across the ridgeline, bending the pines until they looked like they were bowing to the storm. The Kaelith stronghold stood against the gray fury, its stone towers shuddering as thunder cracked above. The scent of ozone and wet earth filled the air—an omen of what was coming. Draven stood at the courtyard’s edge, rain slicing across his face. His coat was open, the black fabric whipping behind him. Every muscle in his body was wound tight with a barely contained rage. The storm mirrored it perfectly.

The storm makes the choice. It surges into the maw, tearing. --- **The Aftermath** The heart collapses. The green stars implode, their light sucked into the storm's vortex before it slams back into me, reeking of rot and regret. The marsh floods, washing away the garden, the roots, the echoes. Kael's shadow lingers, nuzzling my hand once before dissolving. Eden crouches in the mud, retching void and starlight. "It's not over."

“Promise.” I nodded once, even though promises felt like fragile things lately. “Promise.” Dawson came out forty minutes later looking… hollowed. Not worse, exactly. Not broken. Just stripped. Like he’d opened a door he’d been holding shut for years and the wind that rushed out had taken something with it. His eyes met mine. Storm grey. Tired. But there was a strange steadiness there too, as if naming the darkness didn’t feed it, it just made it visible. Liberty stood immediately, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “So? Did you hate it?”

The dawn broke over the desert like a whisper of blood, casting the world in a crimson hue that seemed to burn with the intensity of what was coming. Sena stood at the edge of their camp, the wind blowing softly through her hair, her eyes fixed on the horizon. In the distance, a storm was rising—a storm that wasn’t made of sand or wind, but of fate, and of the inevitable clash that would determine the future of the wolves, and the land itself.

"There are plenty of people pursuing me. Who does he think he is? Listen up—Ryan and I are over. None of you is allowed to contact him again. And it'd be even better if he died somewhere out there!" With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. A cold gust of wind greeted her at the entrance, and she suddenly felt very cold. She recalled how, after nights out with friends, Ryan would always be waiting at the entrance with a coat in his hands, ready to take her home. Shaking her head, she blocked Ryan on WhatsApp and deleted his number as well. She couldn't help thinking how dramatic he was being this time, even changing tactics—dragging it out and refusing to come back.