Jahanra's Writing Corner

 Chapter 4 Sabel didn’t rise. Her body belied her raging heartbeat at the arrival of the intruder. She knew who it was the moment the doorknob turned. Elias lingered near the door, cloaked in silence. His eyes swept the room, cataloging every rune, every flicker of her warded candle, before returning to her face. Sabels eyes locked on to his dark ones, the hood he wore covering his face is a dark shadow. He smiled, teeth gleaming in the dim candlelight. “I’m aware this is unorthodox,” he said softly, stepping forward. “But I know what you carry. And I know what it’s starting to do to you.” Her pulse ticked in her throat. “You came into my room uninvited. That alone should answer whatever question you think you have.” “You’re not safe here,” he continued, unbothered by her coldness. Another step. “You think you are, but... the Temple has changed, Sabel. Changed while you were gone.” “And you think slipping into my quarters like a thief proves your point?” He stoppe...

 Chapter 3      The Temple air still smelled of incense and parchment. It had been decades since Sabel last walked these corridors. It wrapped around Sabel like old prayers—familiar, comforting. The stone beneath her feet was smooth from centuries of footfall, inscribed with the runes of protection etched by the first witches who had built its halls. The courtyard had changed little. The same old moss crept along the walls, ivy grew unchecked between carved serpents and silver-leafed saints. The fountain still trickled with enchanted waters, said to hold glimpses of fate, though Sabel never believed it. A pair of younger witches sat beside it, giggling behind their hands. They were barely older than apprentices, all silver braids and too-bold lipstick.  Sabel allowed herself a smile. After days on the road and the weight of the Blade pressing into her hip like a stone, it felt… good. Good to exhale. Good to hear laughter that wasn’t immediately silenced ...

Chapter 2      The ebony blade had been forged in the fires of his brother’s breath. The Onyx clan was not known for making deals; yet when Zalum, the eldest son, crossed paths with a shunned demigod Gannuk, he was offered a bargain too tempting to refuse.      Azrael still remembered the night his brother betrayed him. The mountain winds had been fierce, snowfall heavy and relentless. His wings strained against the storm as he fled— still a fledging, barely strong enough to fight back. Then came the dagger: obsidian-black and hungry for power, sinking into his side, forcing him into his more vulnerable human form. A battle between brothers followed, a clash of blood and fury, ending with young Azrael dangling off the edge of a cliff.      Zalum had never cared for Azrael. He hadn’t marked his birthe, his first shift into humanoid form, or his first flight. Perhaps, as the eldest, he’d grown weary of the endless ritual and reverence surroundi...

  Chapter One      Outside a tavern in a small village called Midland sat a poor beggar man of quite an old age. Accepting coins from whoever gave him pity, but other than that, he kept to himself. The town folk didn’t know what else to do with the silent man and mostly ignored his stench.      It was a rainy day when the town’s witch came to the tavern. Dressed in her usually muted garb, she looked nothing like the old crone she should have been. There had to be a primordial power keeping her look youthful, for the old man had not seen her age since he was young. He didn’t know why she ventured this far from her cottage; she was not known to converse with many people in the village besides those who sought her out for healings or potions.      It was not a few minutes later that she stepped back outside, her feet covered in blood, holding the same black dagger the Master’s son had been sporting just a few days prior. The old man looked ...