Arcane Artbook Novels & Stories

She had already gone through the bookshelves, torn through drawers that hadn’t been opened in years, even lifted the corner of the ancient rug covering the stone floor—but nothing felt useful until now. Her hand pauses over an older scroll, different from the rest. It isn’t sealed, just loosely rolled and tied with a frayed red string. The parchment is brittle, the edges browned with age, but when she unrolls it, her heart skips. It's an old scroll their coven used to discern things unseen... She draws magical signs on it with her finger dipped in animal blood. One name appears a second later. Arwan. Written over and over again. Some of the letters trail off, others bleed into one another. S

Zarina exhaled deeply and said, “Alright, then. I will seal the bond. If anyone wants to step out, now is the chance. Once the spell is cast, our lives will be bound together. We can’t hurt each other till we find the ‘Heart of Magic.” “Meredith, if you don’t want…” I started saying but she placed her finger on my lips. “There should at least be one more person who can represent us.” “True… ‘Code Red’ is based on fair agreement. I will act as a mere binder in this process. Aslan and Tyson will represent the dragons while Caleb and Meredith will represent the werewolves.” Zarina said and closed her eyes. Her lips trembled like flower petals in the wind as she chanted the spell. Golden light e

I turned around to glare at him and move away from him but as usual he pulled me closer by my waist and whispered in my ear in an intimidating tone "Be good" Those words were enough for me to stop moving away from him and without knowing I started moving to the place where I had to get the things. We went to the hidden magical market that was named after a famous wizard Alvin, Alvinelly. I bought all the things I would require to prevent anyone from recognising me and then I bought the things that I would require to escape from James without him noticing. He didn't understand my reason for buying so many things and as he knew nothing about them, I could easily buy them without much questioni

So Krystal made a visit to the pagoda to check on her problem or this wonderful opportunity. After going through a number of books, he was so depressed. She couldn’t find anything at all so she spoke out loud hoping to check if the pagoda can automatically give her an answer. Luckily for her, a book floated right in front of her. She paid a crystal for the book and took it back to her suite where she began to read. According to the book, a person possesses roots or a certain body physique. There were all kinds of roots that a person can possess like fire, water, earth and metal.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

But hope, like magic, has a price, and I am increasingly aware of that price. The book itself is a work of macabre art. The cover, made of dark leather that almost appears black, pulses with a life of its own, as if it were breathing. The leather is stained with deep shades of red, almost as though it has been soaked in blood over the centuries, giving it a sinister and throbbing appearance. Along the edges of the cover, aged silver chains are interwoven in complex patterns, depicting ancient runes and seals of protection, symbols only an enchantress could decipher. The title of the book is carved into the leather in rustic letters, subtly glinting with ruby, as though the words had been wri

He paused briefly, then gestured toward the parchment in Raven’s hand with great reverence, “This is the only thing we retrieved, an ancient book made from animal hide, preserved through extraordinary means. We didn’t dare open it carelessly and brought it straight to you.” Raven lowered his gaze, fingers tracing the coarse surface of the book, his eyes flickering with both suspicion and curiosity. To his surprise, the handwriting on the aged pages remained sharp and clear, the ink as dark as though it had been freshly penned. Not a trace of fading or decay, surely preserved through some unique method. “Magic Array.” That was the book's title. Inside, each page revealed intricate drawings, t

“I know it sounds batshit insane. Like the caller’s hallucinating or screwing with me. But he knew things—details no one should. And if there’s even a chance…” Lysander held up a hand, stopping me. “It doesn’t sound insane. Not entirely.” I blinked, caught off guard. “What?” He pushed off the table, walking to a bookshelf in the corner crammed with art books, sketchpads, and a few dusty tomes that looked older than the school. He pulled one out—a thick, leather-bound volume with faded gold lettering: “Mythos and Metaphor: Ancient Lore in Modern Art.” He flipped through it, landing on a page with illustrations of snarling wolves under full moons, runes etched around the borders.

“You don’t know that yet either.” He didn’t argue that one. We kept searching in silence after that, the only sound the scrape of old spines against old wood and the occasional cough from disturbed dust, until my hand landed on one bound in cracked white leather, thinner than the rest, tucked sideways behind books twice its size like someone had wanted it hidden rather than shelved. “Alaric.” He crossed the room before I finished saying his name. The cover bore no title, only a wolf stamped into the white leather, its edges worn smooth by generations of hands. I opened it on the small reading table between us, and the first page nearly stopped my heart.

Bruce asks me. I shake my head. "I could use a ride if you don't mind. I am not sure I am ready to drive today," I say. I know I am not ready to drive. "I can take you, but first, I have to tell you something. I made some calls while you were sorting through some things. I wanted to give you some space. I found both of your uncles. They own a little magic shop in New Orleans. It is called Elemental Magic," Bruce says.