The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, Vaelion moved through it with a grace that could belong only to the immortal bloodline of Elf-kin. His glowing blue sword flashing, every motion precise, every strike measured. He was fury made flesh, a storm that refused to bend. Orianne's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She had trained in herbs, healing, and the small, safe miracles of Hearthvale. She had never felt the kind of hunger, the kind of pull, that now coiled in her chest. He was fire. He was chaos. He was the kind of apocalypse she craved. The beast roared, shaking the cliffs and splitting the night, and Vaelion's silver eyes-storm-laden, ancient-flashed with a light that was almost magical. Almost vulnerable. Almost... like he needed to be seen. Her heart stuttered. She longed to step forward, to throw herself into the fray, to feel the same dangerous, intoxicating pulse of survival thrumming through him. Somewhere, the sea hissed its own warning, waves clawing at the rocks, echoing the terror and the promise of what was coming. Orianne knew, in the marrow of her bones, that she could never go back to ordinary life. Not after this. Not after seeing him fight, not after feeling the pull of destiny, grief, and desire tangled together like threads of stormlight in her chest. The night had chosen them. The sea had chosen them. And the world-if it survived the coming darkness-would remember the night Orianne of Hearthvale first saw the Elf-kin prince who was both her reckoning and her salvation.
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Aryn Bats is a Canadian author of horror, psychological thrillers, serial killer crime fiction, dark gothic fantasy epics, and relentless suspense. A self-publishing indie writer, Aryn began releasing work publicly at age 48, though the passion for storytelling started at sixteen. After decades working in the trades, a severe back injury and long recovery shifted the course of his life. When the depression lifted following successful spine surgery, the urge to write returned stronger than ever.
Bats dusted off an old manuscript written as a teenager, expanded it into a full saga, and has not stopped since. Known for twisted serial-killer crime sagas like Grey Kong, Bah Bah Blacksheep, and Cry Little Sister, as well as Dark Fantasy Epics such as Brackengloom, also atmospheric stand-alone horrors such as The Coroner's Daughter, 1313, Marlowe's Grin.
Bats blends psychological depth with dark, immersive storytelling.
Readers who enjoy the unsettling tension of Stephen King, the psychological sharpness of Gillian Flynn, or the stylized darkness of shows like Hannibal, Dexter and Mindhunter will find a familiar chill in Aryn's work.
Bats has more than 30 new stories in development... proof that sometimes a second chance at life ignites a fiercer voice than the first.
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
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Paperback. Etat : new. Paperback. The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, Vaelion moved through it with a grace that could belong only to the immortal bloodline of Elf-kin. His glowing blue sword flashing, every motion precise, every strike measured. He was fury made flesh, a storm that refused to bend. Orianne's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She had trained in herbs, healing, and the small, safe miracles of Hearthvale. She had never felt the kind of hunger, the kind of pull, that now coiled in her chest. He was fire. He was chaos. He was the kind of apocalypse she craved.The beast roared, shaking the cliffs and splitting the night, and Vaelion's silver eyes-storm-laden, ancient-flashed with a light that was almost magical. Almost vulnerable. Almost. like he needed to be seen. Her heart stuttered. She longed to step forward, to throw herself into the fray, to feel the same dangerous, intoxicating pulse of survival thrumming through him. Somewhere, the sea hissed its own warning, waves clawing at the rocks, echoing the terror and the promise of what was coming. Orianne knew, in the marrow of her bones, that she could never go back to ordinary life. Not after this. Not after seeing him fight, not after feeling the pull of destiny, grief, and desire tangled together like threads of stormlight in her chest. The night had chosen them. The sea had chosen them. And the world-if it survived the coming darkness-would remember the night Orianne of Hearthvale first saw the Elf-kin prince who was both her reckoning and her salvation. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798233697302
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Paperback. Etat : new. Paperback. The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, Vaelion moved through it with a grace that could belong only to the immortal bloodline of Elf-kin. His glowing blue sword flashing, every motion precise, every strike measured. He was fury made flesh, a storm that refused to bend. Orianne's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She had trained in herbs, healing, and the small, safe miracles of Hearthvale. She had never felt the kind of hunger, the kind of pull, that now coiled in her chest. He was fire. He was chaos. He was the kind of apocalypse she craved.The beast roared, shaking the cliffs and splitting the night, and Vaelion's silver eyes-storm-laden, ancient-flashed with a light that was almost magical. Almost vulnerable. Almost. like he needed to be seen. Her heart stuttered. She longed to step forward, to throw herself into the fray, to feel the same dangerous, intoxicating pulse of survival thrumming through him. Somewhere, the sea hissed its own warning, waves clawing at the rocks, echoing the terror and the promise of what was coming. Orianne knew, in the marrow of her bones, that she could never go back to ordinary life. Not after this. Not after seeing him fight, not after feeling the pull of destiny, grief, and desire tangled together like threads of stormlight in her chest. The night had chosen them. The sea had chosen them. And the world-if it survived the coming darkness-would remember the night Orianne of Hearthvale first saw the Elf-kin prince who was both her reckoning and her salvation. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our Sydney, NSW warehouse or from our UK or US warehouse, depending on stock availability. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798233697302
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Paperback. Etat : new. Paperback. The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, Vaelion moved through it with a grace that could belong only to the immortal bloodline of Elf-kin. His glowing blue sword flashing, every motion precise, every strike measured. He was fury made flesh, a storm that refused to bend. Orianne's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She had trained in herbs, healing, and the small, safe miracles of Hearthvale. She had never felt the kind of hunger, the kind of pull, that now coiled in her chest. He was fire. He was chaos. He was the kind of apocalypse she craved.The beast roared, shaking the cliffs and splitting the night, and Vaelion's silver eyes-storm-laden, ancient-flashed with a light that was almost magical. Almost vulnerable. Almost. like he needed to be seen. Her heart stuttered. She longed to step forward, to throw herself into the fray, to feel the same dangerous, intoxicating pulse of survival thrumming through him. Somewhere, the sea hissed its own warning, waves clawing at the rocks, echoing the terror and the promise of what was coming. Orianne knew, in the marrow of her bones, that she could never go back to ordinary life. Not after this. Not after seeing him fight, not after feeling the pull of destiny, grief, and desire tangled together like threads of stormlight in her chest. The night had chosen them. The sea had chosen them. And the world-if it survived the coming darkness-would remember the night Orianne of Hearthvale first saw the Elf-kin prince who was both her reckoning and her salvation. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798233697302
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Taschenbuch. Etat : Neu. nach der Bestellung gedruckt Neuware - Printed after ordering - The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, Vaelion moved through it with a grace that could belong only to the immortal bloodline of Elf-kin. His glowing blue sword flashing, every motion precise, every strike measured. He was fury made flesh, a storm that refused to bend. Orianne's breath caught. Her pulse raced. She had trained in herbs, healing, and the small, safe miracles of Hearthvale. She had never felt the kind of hunger, the kind of pull, that now coiled in her chest. He was fire. He was chaos.He was the kind of apocalypse she craved.The beast roared, shaking the cliffs and splitting the night, and Vaelion's silver eyes-storm-laden, ancient-flashed with a light that was almost magical. Almost vulnerable. Almost. like he needed to be seen.Her heart stuttered. She longed to step forward, to throw herself into the fray, to feel the same dangerous, intoxicating pulse of survival thrumming through him. Somewhere, the sea hissed its own warning, waves clawing at the rocks, echoing the terror and the promise of what was coming. Orianne knew, in the marrow of her bones, that she could never go back to ordinary life. Not after this. Not after seeing him fight, not after feeling the pull of destiny, grief, and desire tangled together like threads of stormlight in her chest.The night had chosen them. The sea had chosen them. And the world-if it survived the coming darkness-would remember the night Orianne of Hearthvale first saw the Elf-kin prince who was both her reckoning and her salvation. N° de réf. du vendeur 9798233697302
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Taschenbuch. Etat : Neu. Arkhearth | Aryn Bats | Taschenbuch | Englisch | 2026 | Bats | EAN 9798233697302 | Verantwortliche Person für die EU: Libri GmbH, Europaallee 1, 36244 Bad Hersfeld, gpsr[at]libri[dot]de | Anbieter: preigu Print on Demand. N° de réf. du vendeur 134488556
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