ASHES AT THE GATE
- Reads 60
- Votes 6
- Parts 5
MatureOngoing47m
Last published Sat, Sep 20, 2025
He left for just a few days, only to return to a nightmare.
His wife, Mireya, pregnant with his child and full of light, had been accused, condemned, and hanged at the city gates for loving someone not quite human. Her body, left for the crows, was the message: she was never meant to carry his blood.
Grief turned to fury. What followed was fire.
He started a war-one that tore through nations, fueled not by politics or power, but by heartbreak. His enemies called him a monster. The world called him a curse. And he would have burned it all... until the prophecy came:
"She will return. Not as she was-but as she must be."
So he stopped. Vanished. Waiting through centuries, through silence, through sorrow. And now, in a new age where legends are forgotten, he feels it- her soul waking again in a stranger's body.
But can he love her without the past?
Can she love him without remembering who she was?
And will the world let them live, this time?
A tale of eternal love, wrath-born war, and a promise that defied time itself.
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!STORY IS IN ENGLISH! --very rarely going through and editing out some of my awful grammar and just making it more readable.-- I've no more inspiration/motivation for this story. This will not get anymore updates. Stories aren't great, I wrote them when I was like 16 or something. [[My Quotev story that I moved here @ThatSleepyBoi]]Complete
They said he was a curse made flesh - a man whose words carried the taste of endings. His name was Erevan, though few who spoke it ever lived long enough to whisper it twice. Wherever he walked, silence followed. Lamps flickered, birds fell still, and even the wind dared not breathe. Yet despite the darkness that wrapped him like a second skin, people could not look away. There was something magnetic in his grief - the kind of sorrow that felt almost holy. Erevan's mission was not to kill, but to express. To make the world understand what death truly felt like - the emptiness, the surrender, the quiet beauty of finality. Each person he met saw a reflection of their own pain in his words... and in understanding him, they unknowingly invited their own demise. Every word he spoke became an omen, every step a requiem. And somewhere between despair and destiny, Erevan began to wonder - was he the messenger of death... or death itself learning to speak?
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