Novels by Amìnessa Vale

The day began with a low gray sky, soft rain misting over the streets. Aidan didn’t notice it at first — his focus was already belowground, where the hum of the city never stopped, even in the drizzle. He walked to the depot quietly, coat soaked at the shoulders, shoes splashing through shallow puddles, but the world above barely registered.Inside, the depot smelled warmer than the morning air outside, though tinged with the metallic scent of tools and oil. Rico and Kendra were already there, each absorbed in a small task, their movements careful, precise. Ortega lingered near the whiteboard, silent until Aidan approached.“C-line,” Ortega said. “We’ve got a new reading. Anomalous. In the midsection near the junction tunnels.”Aidan tilted his head. “Anomalous how?”“Fluctuations,” Ortega said. “Meters spike, then drop. Pressure readings shift without warning. And the hum… it’s uneven.” He gestured to a small tablet displaying graphs. “It’s like the city is screaming in pulses.”Aida

Morning came slow and hesitant, brushing the skyline with thin streaks of gray. Aidan walked to the depot, coat pulled tight around his shoulders, collar stiff from the night air. The streets were quiet, but the city was waking in its own way — a distant horn, the clatter of tires on uneven pavement, the faint metallic sigh of a tram gliding on worn rails. Every sound, though subtle, seemed amplified in the cold light.Inside the depot, warmth hit him like a slow wave. Oil, metal, and the lingering scent of yesterday’s coffee filled the space. Ortega was already at the whiteboard, marker in hand, sketching circuits and track maps that seemed to pulse under his gaze.“Morning,” Aidan said quietly.“Early,” Ortega said, without looking up. “We’ve got a problem.”Aidan set his bag down and leaned against the locker, feeling the familiar thrum of his own pulse echo in his chest. “Details?”Ortega turned, eyes sharp, almost accusatory in their focus. “C-line. Sensors unstable again. We tho

The depot at night was a maze of echoes.Metal doors clanged. Radios murmured half-sentences. Pipes hissed softly along the ceiling. The air was full but not crowded — like the city itself was clearing its throat before speaking.Aidan stood by the lockers, waiting for Ortega to finish the briefing. The others milled around — Rico balancing a wrench on one finger, Marlowe tapping a pen against a clipboard, two new recruits whispering about the smell of oil and rust.“North track’s still unstable,” Ortega said. “We’ll split teams. Wolfe, take the lead on C-line and run the diagnostics. I want clean numbers by dawn.”The words landed with quiet weight. No fanfare. No question.Aidan nodded once. “Understood.”Rico gave him a grin. “Look at that, boss man. Didn’t even need a speech.”Aidan slung his tool bag over his shoulder. “Then don’t make one for me.”The crew laughed — a short, honest sound that bounced off the concrete walls like something fragile learning how to live.The walk to

The noise came first.Not the usual hum of power lines or the distant rhythm of passing trains—this was heavier, unsteady, a deep metallic groan that didn’t belong.Aidan froze halfway through the service tunnel, lamp swinging against his chest. The sound rolled again, echoing from the next junction. Something was wrong.He moved faster now, boots striking sparks from damp stone. The air carried the smell of oil and heat, the kind that came before a short circuit. His hand brushed the wall—warm. Too warm.When he reached the junction, the source was obvious: a transformer box near the ceiling, rattling with trapped energy. The cables shimmered faintly, light bleeding from insulation that should have been solid black.Aidan dropped his bag and climbed the narrow ladder. The hum deepened as he reached it, vibrating through the rungs like a heartbeat out of rhythm. He shut off the main feed with a wrenching pull, the handle squealing in protest.For a moment, the world went completely st

The storm had been waiting all week.By the time it arrived, the sky tore open without warning, rain hammering the streets in thick, slanted sheets. Even the tunnels could feel it. Water bled through every seam, dripping from cables and running along the rails in thin, silver rivers.Aidan had been below ground since midnight. Ortega’s call came just after the first lightning strike: “Flood sensors on the north line are tripping. You’re closest. Go.”Now he waded through ankle-deep water, lamp beam fractured by mist. The air smelled of copper and ozone. Every sound bounced off the curved walls—the splash of his boots, the hiss of leaking steam, the distant crack of thunder filtered through tons of concrete.He checked the gauges along the wall: rising, but not yet dangerous. The pumps were fighting to keep up. Still, if they failed, the line could drown before morning.He keyed the radio. “Sector N-2, water level climbing to five inches. Request backup pump.”Static answered first, th

The tunnels always looked different after rain.Water seeped through the smallest cracks, streaking the walls in silver veins. Every drip caught the light from Aidan’s headlamp, a thousand tiny reflections moving as he walked. It was the closest thing to stars he saw anymore.He liked these nights. The damp carried a kind of calm. The dust settled, the air smelled faintly clean. Even the noise softened—a low, steady hum that folded around him instead of pushing back.Tonight’s task was simple: check the line lights along the eastern curve. Half of them had burned out last week, leaving the section black between trains. People didn’t think much about the lights that guided their commute, but Aidan did. Darkness in a tunnel felt heavier than darkness anywhere else. It had weight, texture, depth.He worked slowly, ladder balanced against the wall, new bulbs clipped to his belt. Each replacement flared to life with a faint pop, scattering yellow glow through the damp air. He moved methodi

Chapter 40The storm had not yet broken, but Kaelen could taste it in the air.He stood on the edge of the northern cliffs, the wind clawing through his cloak, lightning flickering in the distance like restless fire. Below, the black waters of the Varin Sea churned against the rocks, throwing mist and salt into the air.Behind him, the campfire sputtered under the gale. The few men who still followed him — veterans of the fallen Stormguard — moved quietly around it, repairing weapons, checking supplies, speaking in low voices. None dared disturb their commander when he stood like this, staring into the dark horizon as if searching for something unseen.He wasn’t searching. He was feeling.The storm had always been a part of him — a pulse beneath his skin, a current in his blood. It moved with his breath, whispered with his thoughts. But tonight, it felt… different.There was something — someone — moving within its rhythm.He closed his eyes. The thunder rolled, deep and low, like a dr

Chapter 39 – The Veil and the VowThe palace had never felt so silent.Princess Elara stood at the window of her chamber, watching dawn crawl across the roofs of Vanyr. The city below stirred to life — bells from the harbor, faint echoes of traders shouting from the lower markets. But inside the palace, silence ruled like an unseen warden. The kind of silence that grew heavy with unspoken things.She’d learned to live inside that silence. To breathe it. To survive it.Her reflection wavered faintly in the glass — pale, composed, the picture of serenity. But behind the poise, her eyes betrayed her. They burned with the weight of sleepless nights and choices she could no longer ignore.For days, she had felt the tremor of something vast beyond the palace walls — a change in the air, in the rhythm of the world itself. It wasn’t fear. Not entirely. It was recognition. As though some part of her had known, deep down, that the storm would return.And that he would return with it.She presse

Chapter 38 – The Weight of ThunderThe mountain air burned cold against Kaelen’s skin.He stood at the edge of the cliff, boots slick with rain, his cloak torn and heavy with water. Below him stretched the valley—dark, endless, scarred by the faint silver ribbon of a river. The storm still churned above, its edges gnawing at the dawn. Lightning pulsed across the clouds, raw veins of light that flickered with each unsteady breath he took.The thunder answered him, low and alive.He hadn’t meant to call it. Not fully. But the rage, the fear, the grief—all of it had surged through him until the sky had no choice but to respond. Now, as the storm began to fade, he felt hollowed out, emptied of something vital.For a moment, he wondered if this was how the gods had felt when they tore their gifts from mortal hands—drained, almost human.Kaelen flexed his fingers. Sparks still danced faintly along his palms, ghost traces of lightning. He could feel the hum beneath his skin, wild and waiting

Chapter 37 – The Whisper Beneath the ThroneThe thunder came before dawn.Princess Elara woke to it—not the gentle murmur of rain she’d grown used to in the palace gardens, but a deep, rolling sound that rattled the glass lanterns and trembled through the marble floors. It was the kind of thunder that carried intent, that seemed to speak.For a heartbeat, she thought she was dreaming. But when she sat up, the silken canopy above her bed shivered with each rumble. The wind had found its way through the shutters, tugging at the drapes as though beckoning her closer.Elara rose, bare feet silent against the floor. Her attendants would not come for another hour. That gave her time—time to be herself, not the carefully constructed image of grace the council paraded before the nobles.She moved to the window and unlatched it. Cold air poured in, biting at her skin. The storm rolled across the plains, heavy clouds bruising the sky. Lightning forked in the distance, striking somewhere beyond

Chapter 36 – The Sound of Distant ThunderThe night stretched long and silver across the plains. Kaelen rode alone ahead of his men, the wind scouring the ridge like a warning. He could smell rain before it came—sharp and electric—and in it, something older, something that remembered him.For weeks he had moved through shadowed villages and broken paths, gathering what remained of the old loyalists—hunters, deserters, those who had once knelt for him and still whispered his name in secret. Yet tonight, none of them followed. This part of the journey was his alone.He reached the cliff’s edge overlooking the valley below. In the distance, the lights of Aramoor flickered faintly—a wounded city under new rule. Once, its towers had sung with the wind. Now, smoke rose where song had lived.He dismounted, letting the reins fall loose, and stood there in the pale gleam of the stars. The air trembled around him, thick with the static hum that always came before the storm.“Still running,” he

Chapter 35: The Queens first lieThe message arrived before dawn.No seal. No crest. Only a strip of rough parchment, folded once, its edges damp from rain. The courier who carried it vanished before the guards could even ask his name.Elara found it waiting on the table beside her bed when the first light slipped through the tall windows. She was still half dressed from the night before, her hair unbound, her mind heavy with sleeplessness.She hesitated before touching it.Even that small act — reaching — felt dangerous.Five words, written in a hand she did not know, but one the palace scribes would have recognized instantly if she dared show them.The storm remembers the crown.Her breath caught.It was madness to think it could be him. Madness, and yet —She crossed the room quickly, shutting the windows, drawing the curtains. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the parchment again, reading the words a second, a third time. The ink had bled in the rain, but the meaning was unmist