Realm Of Ash Quotes

It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.

why won't they leave me alone? don't they realize I have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?

The curse was broken. Manon just stared at them, her breathing turning jagged. Then she roused Abraxos, and was in the saddle within heartbeats. She did not offer them any explanation, any farewell, as they leaped into the thinning night. As she guided her wyvern to the bit of blasted earth on the battlefield. Right to its heart. And smiling through her tears, laughing in joy and sorrow, Manon laid that precious flower from the Wastes upon the ground. In thanks and in love. So they would know, so Asterin would know, in the realm where she and her hunter and child walked hand in hand, that they had made it. That they were going home.

Well, all right, Ash thought. Maybe freeing the dragon wasn’t such a good idea.

Hey". Meghan's fingers on my arm nearly made me jump out of my skin. She smiled up at me, though her eyes were puzzled. "You seem awfully nervous this morning. Is something wrong?" Now or never, Ash. I took a deep breath. "No", I replied, turning to her, "Nothing's wrong, but I did want to ask you something. Come here a moment." Taking both her hands, I backed away to the middle of the floor, to an open space in front of the curtains. She followed, still wearing a bemused expression, and I paused a moment to gather my thoughts. "I don't...know how it's done in your world", I began, as she tilted her head at me. "I've seen it before...but, I'm not sure how to ask. It never really comes up in the Winter Court." Meghan blinked, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?" "I know my role here," I continued. "Whatever happens, I'm still your knight, and nothing will change that. You are queen of this realm, and I have no desire to rule. That said, fighting your enemies, standing with you no matter what comes at us. But I'm no longer satisfied with just being your knight and protector. I want something more". I stopped and took a deep breath, then slowly released her hands, stepped back and sank to one knee. "What I'm trying to ask is...Meghan Chase, will you do me the honor of marrying me?

No, Hanson, this is not the scene where the girl puts on a skirt and some paint and her schoolmate, who’s a little thick, suddenly realizes that she is his true love.” “Oh,” Ash said. “Good to know.

Banish her husband’s youngest brother back to his realm.

She takes my arm like an old friend would. “Welcome to the Waiting Place, the realm of ghosts. I am the Soul Catcher, and I am here to help you cross to the other side.

I am afraid for you!” His voice was vicious. His pulse burned beneath her hand. “If anything happens to you here and I live, I will read every book, every tome, I will trick death itself to bring you back. I will become something terrible, not for your sake, but mine, because I cannot live in a world without you in it.

To be honest, I thought of you as an amateur - a spoiled, entitled, runaway princeling bent on revenge who would get caught and then complicate my elegant scheme. I figured the less you knew, the better." "I hate it when you sugarcoat things," Ash said.

I am someone who has faced the darkness and found the beauty it had to offer. I am someone who can create stars in the void when the light has gone out. I am someone who cares for those the realms have forgotten. I am someone who can bring beauty from brutal ashes. I am a fucking Queen.

why won't they leave me alone? don't they realize i have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?

We are invited to drink the the king's health." To his good health or bad health? - Ash

He’s a good horse,” Bellamy said, a bit defensively. “He was always willing if you knew how to manage him. Oh, you know, like most horses, he’d get away with whatever he could, but he was never mean-tempered. Not like this.” Ash liked the fact that Bellamy stood up for his horse. “How long has he been off his feed?” “Couple weeks.” “What’s his name?” “Crusher.” Ash raised an eyebrow. “Crusher?” At the sound of his name, the gelding’s ears pricked forward. Bellamy grimaced. “He’s a warhorse, all right? Man doesn’t want to ride into battle on a horse named Daisy.

You don’t have to come with me,” Ash said. “I only brought you along because you’re good with a knife. And got us the uniforms. And the explosives.” Lila snorted. “Sorry I’m not pulling my weight.

You don't have to come with me," Ash said. "I only brought you along because you're good with a knife. And got us the uniforms. And the explosives." Lila snorted. "Sorry I'm not pulling my weight." "This may not be your idea," Ash said doggedly, "but it's what we're going to do." "Is it? Are you really going to start playing the prince card after all?" "Don' start in about my mother the queen, because I don't want to hear it." "All right, then, as your peer and absolute equal, I can't help thinking this is a really bad idea.

Wild eyes were another sign. It is something I have seldom seen — the expression of an ecstatic state — though much is foolishly written of them, as if they grew like Jerusalem artichokes along the road. The eyes are black, right enough, whatever their normal color is; they are black because their perception is condensed to a coal, because the touch and taste and perfume of the lover, the outcry of a dirty word, a welcome river, have been reduced in the heat of passion to a black ash, and this unburnt residue of oxidation, this calyx, replaces the pupil so it no longer receives but sends, and every hair is on end, though perhaps only outspread on a pillow, and the nostrils are flared, mouth agape, cheeks sucked so the whole face seems as squeezed as a juiced fruit; I know, for once Lou went into that wildness while we were absorbing one another, trying to kiss, not merely forcefully, not the skull of our skeleton, but the skull and all the bones on which the essential self is hung, kiss so the shape of the soul is stirred too, that's what is called the ultimate French, the furtherest fuck, when a cock makes a concept cry out and climax; I know, for more than once, though not often, I shuddered into that other region, when a mouth drew me through its generosity into the realm of unravel, and every sensation lay extended as a lake, every tie was loosed, and the glue of things dissolved. I knew I wore the wild look then. The greatest gift you can give another human being is to let them warm you till, in passing beyond pleasure, your defenses fall, your ego surrenders, its structure melts, its towers topple, lies, fancies, vanities, blow away in no wind, and you return, not to the clay you came from — the unfired vessel — but to the original moment of inspiration, when you were the unabbreviated breath of God.

She had been molded and erased and silenced for safety. She had been denied the truth for safety. Her history had been cleaved almost in two, for safety. They had almost broken her, for the sake of making her safe, for the sake of their love for her, and she would carry the wound of it all her life.

You’ve grown so tall, Mageling, in these four years,” she said, as if she hadn’t really looked at him for a while. “And handsome. Are you taller than your father was?” “So I’m told. It’s hard for me to remember now.” That was a lie. He remembered—exactly—the measure of his father’s arm around his shoulders, the distance between them when he leaned down to speak at Ash’s level, even the scent of him—leather and sweat and fresh mountain air.

There's a custom in the Ghost Realm where if a ghost has a special someone, they entrust their ashes to that person.

And she fucking fought an entire stronghold wearing a unicorn raincoat and rocked the shit out of it too.

I have always made myself into what was required of me. I have always belonged to someone else. My father, my mother, my husband. And I think I want something- someone- that is mine.

From the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm. A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end. ‘And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.

Goddess Rising This is for the women Who have walked with hidden shame Stirring like all is well Though weighted down in pain. This is for her Inner Child Who longs to forget Her innocence stolen Body, soul and spirit rent into pieces- fragments-broken-bent This is for the Maiden Longing to belong -To another - In hopes to make right the darkened wrongs Not realizing-blinded by oozing wounds Her own innate delicious power Thick within her womb This is for the Mother Breaking eons of fettered chains For the children she has birthed Through blood and breaths of change She calls them Redemption Regardless of their names This is for the Crone Who called her shattered pieces Home To herself- To all her luminous bodies Where she never dared to feel Making strong her bones Crushing~ oppressors With the swaying of her hips Her hands soaring like doves Honey dripping from her lips This is for the Wild Woman Who traversed the Underground Leaving her footprints While taming the Hellhounds. Like a seed breaking fallow ground Emerging fruitful garden No longer bound By the nightmare of the past Awakened from the Dream- Of Separation SHE. IS.- merging realms between. This is for the woman, for the Goddess For me For you Rising from our ashes Making ALL things new~

First of all, I’m not saying it’ll happen. I mean, Jesus, Ash. We just moved in together. I’m saying that it’s not outside the realm of possibility, because with Dex, I can see us having a family. Besides, you plan on being a THIRDS agent all your life?” “Fuck,

Family life, which is the Ashrama of the householder, can also take you in His direction, provided it is accepted as an asrama. Lived in this spirit, it helps man to progress towards Self-realization. Nevertheless, if you hanker after anything such as name, fame or position, God will bestow it on you, but you will not feel satisfied. The Kingdom of God is a whole, and unless you are admitted to the whole of it you cannot remain content. He grants you just a little, only to keep Your discontent alive, for without discontent there can be no progress. You, a scion of the Immortal, can never become reconciled to the realm of death, neither does God allow you to remain in it. He Himself kindles the sense of want in you by granting you a small thing, only to whet your appetite for a greater one. This is His method by which He urges you on. The traveller on this path finds it difficult and feels troubled, but one who has eyes to see can clearly perceive that the pilgrim is advancing. The distress that is experienced burns to ashes all pleasure derived from worldly things. This is what is called ‘tapasya’. What obstructs one on the spiritual path bears within itself seeds of future suffering. Yet the heartache, the anguish over the effects of these obstructions, are the beginning of an awakening to Consciousness.

Hardly any glow remained in the winter sky. Not the color of gypsum anymore. Ashes now, and poor soot in the east. The falling snow was much brighter than the fading realm above, as if these were flakes of light, the last bits of day shaken loose and cast out by and impatient night.

don’t they realize i have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?

Nasir wilted into silence. Oh, child, Arwa thought, as she walked. She felt suddenly rather old. You will never soften that family of yours, though you may break yourself trying.

She had blamed Mehr because she had been ignorant. Because she’d known nothing.

When you're unreasonable, the only way to make you understand is to the fuck the stubborn right out of you,

You kiss anyone else like that, and I’ll fuck you on their corpse after I’ve ripped their spine out through their fucking throat, Aria Primrose.

You are not a weapon made of your blood. You are a scholar and a solider who has not broken herself upon her cause--only grown stronger and stronger with every blow the world has dealt her.

PAST, n. That part of Eternity with some small fraction of which we have a slight and regrettable acquaintance. A moving line called the Present parts it from an imaginary period known as the Future. These two grand divisions of Eternity, of which the one is continually effacing the other, are entirely unlike. The one is dark with sorrow and disappointment, the other bright with prosperity and joy. The Past is the region of sobs, the Future is the realm of song. In the one crouches Memory, clad in sackcloth and ashes, mumbling penitential prayer; in the sunshine of the other Hope flies with a free wing, beckoning to temples of success and bowers of ease. Yet the Past is the Future of yesterday, the Future is the Past of to-morrow. They are one—the knowledge and the dream.

In the end, I will become the ghost I always feared. When the fire I kindled in my mind reaches my heart, I will start turning everyone I meet to ashes. So, I speak less and less, withdrawing more and more from the outside world. I navigate a realm that seems devoid of other human beings. I have become isolated in my mind, knowing that I will no longer encounter others, even in my thoughts. I love the solitude, so far below, so far away from life...

You butchered another warlord’s escort?” Lyre repeated incredulously. “I also maimed the warlord.” He frowned. “Or maybe I killed him too. It got kind of messy at the end.” “You …” Lyre cleared his throat. “This isn’t … concerning for you? Won’t there be consequences?” “Obviously.” Ash gestured in the direction of the searching soldiers. “But Samael won’t kill me. He’ll just send me back to the bastille again.” “You’re awfully casual about impending torture.

It was not a purer realm that loomed vastly over the city. Smokestacks punctured the membrane between the land and the air and disgorged tons of poisonous smog into that upper world as if out of spite. In a thicker, stinking haze just above the rooftops, the detritus from a million low chimneys eddied together. Crematoria vented into the airborne ashes of wills burnt by jealous executors, which mixed with coaldust burnt to keep dying lovers warm. Thousands of sordid smoke-ghosts wrapped New Crobuzon in a stench that suffocated like guilt.

There is a custom in the Ghost Realm where if a ghost has a special someone, they entrust their ashes to that person." "I didn't know the Ghost Realm had such a romantic practice." "They do." "But, not many dare practice it." "It certainly is painful to think about, to have given everything for love and lose everything in return." "What's there to be afraid of? If it were me, I'd have no regrets giving away my ashes. Who cares if they want me to disintegrate or just scatter the ashes for fun!" ................................................................................... And dangling from the chain, there was a crystal-clear ring.

I have never heard that story," Arwa said. "Not once. I would remember it." "And yet, it has not truly been forgotten. Its ghost squats within us. We place it in grief, our walls. We seed it in our women. There is nothing finer, after all, than being a sacrifice. Stories have great power. Give a story blood, let its roots settle, and any tale can bear fruit.

Ami sniffed, then cooed at the baby. “You are the mostest beautiful, aren’t you? So precious, my darling. Where’s Ash? Ash, I need to have another baby.” Ash, still wrestling Astar the bear cub while Stella clung to his back, her arms wrapped around his neck, throttling him as she chattered merrily, called back. “Right this minute? Because I’ll need to get undressed.

When Ash said nothing, Lila growled, “You broke her heart, you know. The least you can do is talk to her.” “I have talked to her. I tried, anyway. I told her up front that I wasn’t looking for a long-term sweetheart. I thought we both agreed to that.” “Did you make her sign a bloody contract?” Lila laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. “‘I promise that I won’t fall in love with the moody, mysterious Ash Hanson. I will enjoy his rangy body, his broad shoulders, and shapely leg, all the while knowing it’s a lease, not a buy.’” “Shapely leg?” Ash thrust out his leg, pretending to examine it, hoping to interrupt the litany of his physical gifts. But Lila was on a roll. “‘I will not fall into those blue-green eyes, deep as twin mountain pools, nor succumb to the lure of his full lips. Well, I will succumb, but for a limited time only. And the stubble—have I mentioned the stubble?’” Ash’s patience had run out. Lila was far too fluent in Fellsian for his liking. “Shut up, Lila.” “Isn’t there anyone who meets your standards?” “At least I have standards.” He raised an eyebrow. “Ouch!” Lila clutched her shoulder. “A fair hit, sir. A fair hit.” Her smile faded. “The problem is, hope is the thing that can’t be reined in by rules or pinned down by bitter experience. It’s a blessing and curse.” For a long moment, Ash stared at her. He would have been less surprised to hear his pony reciting poetry. “Who knew you were a philosopher?” he said finally. “Now. If you’re staying, let’s talk about something else. Where’s your posting this term?” “I’m going back to the Shivering Fens,” Lila said, “where the taverns are as rare as a day without rain. Where you have to keep moving or grow a crop of moss on your ass.” Good-bye, poetry, Ash thought. “Sounds lovely.

You don't have to come with me," Ash said. "I only brought you along because you're good with a knife. And got us the uniforms. And the explosives." Lila snorted. "Sorry I'm not pulling my weight." "This may not be your idea," Ash said doggedly, "but it's what we're going to do." "Is it? Are you really going to start playing the prince card after all?" "Don't start in about my mother the queen, because I don't want to hear it." "All right, then, as your peer and absolute equal, I can't help thinking this is a really bad idea.

I walked into Haven Falls, knowing that one of the Hecate women would be powerful enough to become the new high queen.” His mouth brushed over my ear, nipping at the delicate lobe as he growled roughly. “I found her, except she turned out to be this ethereal, beautiful little spitfire who rattled and purred. Her scent drove me insane with need, and every part of her called to every part of me. It was supposed to be easy. Walk into your life, end it, and force the rest of your family to return so I could murder them on my land. I changed gears after meeting you. I have wanted no one or needed anything as much as I do you, Aria Hecate.

I always wanted before you.” A tremor ran through Ash, and I knew it had nothing to do with the Primal rage building in Iliseeum and spreading into the mortal realm. “Liessa…” “I wanted to be known,” I whispered, needing him to hear this. “I wanted to be accepted.” Another shudder rocked Ash. “I wanted to be included.” I slid my hands free of his hair, drawing them down the cool skin of his neck. “I wanted to be talked to and touched.” “Sera,” he breathed. The tips of my fingers grazed the hard line of his jaw. “Most of all, I wanted to be valued, to be needed and cherished and wanted for who I was and not who I was supposed to be or what I could do for someone. I wanted to be seen.” A surge of emotion clogged my throat as the ground trembled once more. “You gave me all of that, Ash. I’ve lived because of you.

from the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm.’” She took a deep breath. “‘A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end. And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between,

Even in the dry heat of summer's end, the great forest was never silent. Along the ground – soft, bare soil, twigs and fallen branches, decaying leaves black as ashes – there ran a continuous flow of sound. As a fire burns with a murmur of flames, with the intermittent crack of exploding knots în the logs and the falling and settling of coal, so on the forest floor the hours of dusky light consumed away with rustlings, patterings, sighing and dying of breeze, scuttlings of rodents, snakes, lizards and now and then the padding of some larger animal on the move. Above, the green dusk of creepers and branches formed another realm, inhabited by the monkeys and sloths, by hunting spiders and birds innumerable -creatures passing all their lives high above the ground. Here the noises were louder and harsher –chatterings, sudden cacklings and screams, hollow knockings, bell-like calls and the swish of disturbed leaves and branches. Higher still, in the topmost tiers, where the sunlight fell upon the outer surface of the forest as upon the upper side of an expanse of green clouds, the raucous gloom gave place to a silent brightness, the province of great butterflies flitting across the sprays in a solitude where no eye admired nor any ear caught the minute sounds made by those marvellous wings.

Out of all green ends and correlated mystic blend underlying the wholesome beauty only one note could speak and flow when nothing else on the barren wet streets she laughed at my grin speaking of what I missed. How is the realm so lovely when the rain tells me how perfect the self organizing smooth system far less attracted so please the muse to the scene, swirling in utter beauty turn away from conversations of horrific overwhelming tension your sublime nature forces half naked bare legged bathing in geometrical arrangements; a future rebelled, tame and dominate your blessed frightened glass ceiling, breath or goodness spells glitter rains down on your laced chest, taking off your shades and notable note from off your written thoughts on the reality page of mirrored candy smile hair twisting, back alone chasing drinks with cheers toward all we saved in the red ashes; smiling how perfect we feel tonight, I could end any beings or spirit. A sucker for the matter found without presence in unlimited rising smoke you weep and invent forms, or nature reflection internality on how few nerves you leave me squirming producing works of utter biting beauty art works off afternoon body gasping at whatever is near or afar, look how smart you get when you cant always get what you dreamt of, on time naughty morning sun baking eyes in mine.

Without warning, she punched him in the gut. Hard. He dropped to his knees with a keening noise. both hands on the carpeted floor. He coughed with what little air he was able to draw into his lungs. “Does that feel real enough to you?” she asked too sweetly. Ash held up his hand, but she knocked it away. She didn’t hold back, her voice hard like a razor’s edge. “You are the Prince Regent of the Magnus line, heir to the realm of the Veil, and the only one apparently who can keep my home . . . our home intact from the evil that’s rising

from the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm.

Barrabus shielded himself as much as he could, not even daring to look as the flow rushed beneath him, nearly reaching him. He felt the intense heat, as if he was sitting with his face inches from the hot fires of a blacksmith’s oven. The bridge shook, and he thought it would surely crumble to pieces and drop him to his death. On and on it went, the thunder and fire, the falling fireballs, the ultimate devastation of an entire city. Then, as instantly as the first wave of sound had roared in his ears, there was silence. A dead, muted silence. Not a scream, not a groan, not a wail. A bit of wind, but nothing more. After a long while, an hour or more, Barrabus the Gray dared crawl out from under the Herzgo Alegni Bridge. He had to put his cloak over his face as a filter against the burning ash that permeated the air. Everything was gray and deep, and dead. Neverwinter was dead.

Everything was tangled while we kissed. Our legs. Our tongues. Our thoughts. We were tangled together, the need to get closer, driving us past reason.

he kissed me as if he might die if he didn’t.

You and me, we’re not created for dreams. We’re created for nightmares, and we’re okay with that.

That monster is mine, and only mine.

The past is made of memory, the future of imagination. Neither has any existence outside the realm of thought.” Rupert Spira, from The Ashes of Love

I’m going to escape you, eventually. You can never love me, and I deserve to know what it feels like to be loved. I deserve to have someone look at me as if I am the moon and sun in their sky. I deserve to have someone willing to look past my flaws and see my strengths and weaknesses, accepting me for who I am.

She traced her fingers along the title of the book in her lap. When all else failed, she would read. It was the only way she knew how to deal with the world around her. Every time she got lost in the pages of a book, her mind drifted away to a better place, a realm beyond her own.

wanted to set the little bitch on fire and watch as she burned; to see what the fuck stepped out of the ashes when she rose still covered in the dust. I wanted to set her world on fire and fuck her in the ashes of it, watching as she realized just how ruined she was when I was finished with her.

She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it. Worlds where the sun was not a watery trickle through the ash-clouds, but a golden stream of warmth.

Your breed, the Hecate line, is the only one that matters at the moment. Kill the head of the snake, and the rest will fall easily.

You are mine, now and forever more, woman. Without you, I will become the monster this world fears you to be. You’re my light, and I will always fight for this thing between us. And no, I no longer think monsters wage war. Love makes them because it’s something that we become as we fight to keep it, and in the end, it is what will destroy us. I know that now because I’d bring this world to ruins and claim you within the ashes if you ask it of me.

In the realm of boundless skies I soar, With the fire of beginnings, I implore, Though thorns may pierce, and darkness may loom, I'll test my strength in thunder's fierce boom. For high above, I seek my place, In the heavens, a name to embrace, Yet every breath fuels my might, As I brave the storms, take flight in the night. In the face of dust, my resolve remains, Despite the wounds, and life's crushing pains, I stand unbroken, my spirit's ablaze, In the crucible, I'll burn and amaze. Though I may stumble, and falter, and strain, In my heart, the desire remains untamed, With sparks in my eyes, and hope in my veins, I'll rise from the ashes, through trials and gains. For I've etched in my fists, a star's radiant gleam, In the city's uproar, I'll conquer, it seems, Though darkness may fall in an infinite stream, My end won't be falling; it's more than it seems. On my face, I may wear the marks of the fight, With a broken resolve, a fractured light, But within my core, strength takes its flight, And from the embers, I'll emerge in the night. Though breaths may shatter, and heartbeats may sway, In the depths of my being, I'll find my way, With fiery gaze, and a steadfast say, I'll conquer the tempest, come what may. I've woven a star in the palm of my hand, Let the drums of the city resound, understand, Though shadows may gather, like grains of sand, My fall is not final, I'll rise and expand. In the realm of boundless skies, I roam, With a heart unyielding, I'll find my home, Through trials and triumphs, I'll ceaselessly roam, My end isn't falling; it's where I'll become.

By and large, you are born into an extravaganza of fixed variables that you do not control. You must accept this. At the same time, you also must believe you are the master of your own future. You can take responsibility for the outcomes in your life. You can achieve virtually anything you set your mind to, as long as what you set your mind to is within the realms of possibility for you, based on your strengths and assets (your unfair advantages).

The Lands of the Gods, that realm,” Casteel answered as his hand wandered to my upper back and slid under my braid. “It’s called Iliseeum.” “Iliseeum?” My breath caught as what Jansen had said finally came back to me. “Jansen mentioned a place called Iliseeum—and a place called the Shadowlands. I thought he was making stuff up.” I glanced around the room. “Both are real?” “They are.” Casteel reached over, straightening the collar on the robe. “Iliseeum is the Lands of the Gods. The Shadowlands are where the Abyss is located and how the Vale is accessed.

He also…he also said that Nyktos was known as…the Asher? He said he was called the One who is Blessed, the Bringer of Death, and the Guardian of Souls,” I said, frowning. “And he said that Nyktos ruled over the Land of the Dead and that he was the Primal God of Common Men and Endings.” “Technically, Nyktos is those things,” Jasper answered. “As the God of Life and Death, he rules both the Shadowlands and the realms of the living, but he is not the God of Common Men. And I never heard of him being referred to as the Asher or the One who is Blessed.” He looked over at me, brimming with curiosity. “Although, weren’t you called that? Blessed?” I nodded. “Interesting,” he murmured. “I think Jansen told some truths and then made things up to sound more knowledgeable and important, just like the Unseen were often known to do.

I almost marked her. I almost just claimed my enemy.

...the spaces... between matter… do matter… tremendously. It’s here within the realms of the unseen, that the stuff that holds everything together exists... ensuring everything in the cosmos works somehow...

What is written in your histories about the gods, Primals, and Iliseeum is not always accurate. Some Primals’ age would shock you.” “Because they’re so old?” “Because they’re so young in comparison,” he corrected. “The Primals you know of now didn’t always hold those positions of power.” “They didn’t?” I whispered. Ash shook his head. “Some gods have even walked both realms far longer than the Primals.” If I weren’t already lying down, I would’ve fallen over. What he said sounded unbelievable. And he was right. I had no idea how old the Primal of Death was. He, like Kolis, the Primal of Life, had never been depicted in paintings. “I have so many questions,” I admitted. “I can only imagine.” His gaze flickered over my face. “But I’m sure the questions you have cannot be answered now.

Do you remember when you told me you were powerless? Look at you now, Veyka. You are no longer the Queen of Secrets. You are Queen of the Void. Queen of this realm, and every realm, should you desire it.” I watched her as I spoke, the words pouring out of me easier with every syllable. A crash sounded from the direction of the rift, and I was aware of another wave of elementals crashing through it, heard Elora’s voice in the background. But every sense was tuned to Veyka—the scent of her exhaustion, the tangible crackle of her magic against my skin. She glowed brighter with every heartbeat as I went on: “The entire world is at your fingertips. Worlds that I cannot even imagine, beyond what the rest of us can see and hear and dream. Immortal? No, not next to you. You are not the elemental queen, or the void queen. You are an Ancestors-damned goddess. And after this, everyone in Annwyn will know it.

The stuff of life, in other words, arose in places and times somewhat more accessible to our telescopic investigations. Since most of us spend our lives confined to a narrow strip near Earth’s surface, we tend to think of the cosmos as a lofty, empyrean realm far beyond our reach and relevance. We forget that only a thin sliver of atmosphere separates us from the rest of the universe. But science continues to show just how intimately connected life on Earth is to extraterrestrial processes. In particular, several recent findings have further illuminated the cosmic origins of life’s key ingredients. Take the element phosphorus, for example. It is a critical constituent of DNA, as well as of our cells, teeth and bones. Astronomers have long struggled to trace its buildup through cosmic history, because the imprint of phosphorus is difficult to discern in old, cool stars in the outskirts of our galaxy. (Some of these stellar “time capsules” contain the ashes of their forebears, the very first generation of stars that formed near the dawn of time.) But in a paper published in December in The Astrophysical Journal Letters, a research team reported that it had measured the abundance of phosphorus in 13 such stars, using data taken with the Hubble Space Telescope. Their findings highlight the dominant role of so-called hypernovae, explosions even more energetic than supernovae that spell the demise of massive stars, in making the elements

...but at the gateway’s centre was a light that shone like a thousand suns, and she felt it, the energy that was Hunter...

His eyes were blued steel, lined in coal and cut through with silver. They were like clouds and storms and all the things she’d never understood about poetry and romance novels.

...and then, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself, added, “Can being claimed really be that bad?

That Blythe had offered herself to save us, and she had found us again. Righting our homes, aligning our dark souls, and igniting inside us who we were meant to be and what we were all meant to be together. Because of love, and because of Halloween, it had always been her. And it would always be her, and us, and October in Ash Grove, for all of time, in every realm. Forever.

Manon just stared at them, her breathing turning jagged. Then she roused Abraxos, and was in the saddle within heartbeats. She did not offer them any explanation, any farewell, as they leaped into the thinning night. As she guided her wyvern to the bit of blasted earth on the battlefield. Right to its heart. And smiling through her tears, laughing in joy and sorrow, Manon laid that precious flower from the Wastes upon the ground. In thanks and in love. So they would know, so Asterin would know, in the realm where she and her hunter and child walked hand in hand, that they had made it. That they were going home.

You should have gone with them,” she said, lifting her chin to look at Taristan. The smoke grew so thick she could hardly see him through the shadows, the strange realm burning around them. But she could still feel his arms, wrapped around her as they were, holding them both together until some kind of ending came. “To what?” he answered, his voice raspy with smoke. Erida heaved another choking breath, the heat of the flames buffeting her back. Tears slipped from her eyes and Erida curled into him, as if she might disappear into Taristan entirely. “To anything but this,” she cried out, looking back to where the Spindle used to be. “There is nothing for you here.” Taristan only stared. “Yes, there is.” The fires spread, so close now Erida feared her armor might melt off her body. But there was nowhere to go, nothing to do. They had no blade. They had no doorways. There was only Taristan in front of her, the long years of his life welling up in his eyes. She knew them as much as anyone could. An orphan, a mercenary, a prince. A discarded child ripe for the picking, set on this terrible path for so terribly long. Did it always lead here? she wondered. Has this always been our fate? The steps shuddered behind her, one of them crumbling entirely. What Waits hissed with the cracking stone, closer by the second. The demon within called to the demon without, the two of them connected like a piece of rope pulling taut. Erida swallowed against the sensation, feeling her control slip. She gripped Taristan tighter, blinking fiercely. My mind is my own. My mind is my own. But her own voice began to fade, even in her head. She saw the same in Taristan, the same war raging behind his eyes. Before it could seize them both, Erida seized her prince by the neck, pulling his face to her own. He tasted like blood and smoke, but she reveled in it. “Does this make you mine?” Taristan whispered, his hand against her jaw. It was the same question he once asked so long ago, when Erida could give no answer. It felt foolish now, a stupid thing to hesitate over. Especially as another took over her head, conquering her mind as she tried to conquer the world. “Yes,” she answered, kissing him again. Kissing him until the flames pressed in, until she couldn’t breathe. Until her vision went black. Until the first footstep landed on the grass, the dirt going to ashes, beneath Him, and all the realms shook with the weight of it.

He’d burned the world for her. He’d torn through realms, killed hundreds of thousands, made deals with Hell, and collected so much blood he’d created horrors. All for my mother. All to get her back. He’d asked me earlier if I would do the same for Blythe. The honest understanding dawned on me, watching this proud, ancient, evil man quiver before his love. I would indeed do the same for Blythe, or for Ames or Wolfgang. They were the loves of my life, and like my father, I was no good man. The earth could burn into cinders of ash if only I could have them. Like my mother said, they were my family. The family I’d searched for clutched me now. They’d had me all along. They were each bloodied and bruised for me. And I knew then, looking at each of them, that I was just as crazed as my father. I’d be their Dracul and their Dragon. I would become a beast to keep them safe. I’d roam the realms for all my days chasing their love. I would bleed my heart dry for them.

I am someone who has faced the darkness and found the beauty it had to offer. I am someone who can create stars in the void when the light has gone out. I am someone who can cares for those the realms have forgotten. I am someone who cares bring beauty from brutal ashes. I am a fucking queen.

No one would come to save me because I’d pushed everyone who could, away.

Being happy doesn’t negate your worry or concern.

From the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm. A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end.’” She paused, looking up with eyes as bright as polished sapphires. “‘And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.’” She exhaled unsteadily. “That’s…that’s it.

Diplomacy increased by two. New total 0.

What I don’t understand, though, is how anyone would get soil from Iliseeum. How would they know where it was located and how to get there?” Casteel stated. “Especially when only those with godly blood can travel between the realms.” “That’s not exactly true,” Jasper said. Casteel’s and Kieran’s heads jerked in his direction. “Come again?” his son said. “Iliseeum doesn’t exist in a realm that only the gods can enter,” he said, setting his empty glass on the table by the doors. “And a few do know where Iliseeum is.” He looked at the Prince. “What do you think exists beyond the Mountains of Nyktos?” Casteel’s hand stilled on my neck. “There’s nothing but mountains and land unsuitable for building or supporting life.” “For thousands of years, that was repeated over and over until it simply became something known and never questioned. But it was a lie to sway those who were too curious,” Jasper responded. “Iliseeum lies beyond the Mountains of Nyktos.

You should have seen him! I didn’t know he could move that fast! But, I guess when you have a two thousand pound cow chasing you, you find motivation that rivals the gods.

From the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm. A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end.

One born from a grave misdeed, of a great and terrible Primal power, with blood full of ash and ice.” Her words rattled her entire body, raising the tiny hairs all over mine. “The Chosen who will usher in the end, remaking the realms. The Harbinger of Death and Destruction.

It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye

...essentially, the spaces between matter… do matter… tremendously! It’s here within the realms of the unseen, that the stuff that holds everything together exists, ensuring everything in the cosmos works somehow. Even during what we may consider to be destabilizing events, to bring about connectivity, continuity, balance and harmony.

Running amok, just like a phoenix you obtain this new life arising from the ashes of the old one.

Not me,” Lore snorted, shaking his head. “It’s real, her scent. I feel it in my balls. Her noises? I have heard nothing like them, and I can’t get enough. I’m not even ashamed to admit that I pulled up a bed roll and slept next to your tent just to hear her sweet-ass noises.

To everyone just trying to tread water, you got this. Your chaos shines brightly, don’t dull it for anyone. Let your flames burn wildly and rattle the world with your inner beast. Set the world on fire, and rise from the ashes smiling. You are brutally beautiful in your own way.

As if the thought had summoned it, his mind’s eye conjured a map of the place, moving in and out so that he could see the jungles and the wastelands, the glassy spaces burned by dragon fire and the ash. Then the map became lines on an arm, a tattoo…

Lochlan, though, held her eyes. Lyric’s heart flew forward, just as it always did, whenever she allowed herself to look at him. And in all these years, the power those eyes held over her never faded. The longing she felt was enough to burn the entire realm to ash.

She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it. Worlds where the sun was not a watery trickle through the ash-clouds, but a golden stream of warmth. Worlds where green existed.

...helplessness would not win Vasily a war. Helplessness had to be turned to rage. The kind that could topple mountains, the kind that could dethrone kings, the kind that could burn a whole realm down to the ground. The kind that never, ever went away. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, many said about men of power. But Vasily knew a different kind of truth. Heavier still, was the hand that wields the sword.

Whatever you need, Ash, I will give it to you. I will steal the stars from the sky and hang them on your neck. I will melt every spec of gold in The Capital and forge something new. I will battle entire armies and lay their swords at your feet. I will do anything for you, if you only let me.

I was the God of Death and bones were my currency, but when it came to hers—when it came to seeing them broken like that? I could have reduced the realms to ash.

A portal into a hell-realm. A door now thrown open. Aelin was still smiling when she closed the archway into the gods’ world.

And shoved him through that gateway behind them. Back into their own world. Roaring, Dorian fell. As the Wyrdgate’s misty realm vanished, Dorian saw Aelin take his father’s hand.

Somehow, clad in her nightclothes, surrounded by ashes, Erida still played the part of imperious queen. "Even I know immortals can burn," she said. "So long as you burn with me, I die well.