Archies Mysteries Novels & Stories

"It would seem that something has snapped in my mistress and she is on the verge of a breakdown. Understandable really, as I'm sure you've heard Salax tell the tale of her life. He eavesdropped on her and Zuko when she left." "You seem omnipotent," Len mused. "Only in matters concerning my mistress. Please, proceed with caution," Charity opened Nyx's door and they saw her leaning over on the bed, looking down, holding her head in her hands. "My life is a lie… I know nothing… Who am I? What am I? Where do I belong?" "Oh my," Len sighed. "Nyxie." Erys walked in and sat beside her. "Nyxie, you know who you are. And where you belong."

I think I need to find him… but if I do, how can I find him when I don’t know what he looks like? Will he come to my rescue? Will he end these mysteries?

"The Archive Sanctuary was sealed after the last rebellion. The Seer only reopened it for one reason." “To find answers,” Marisella replied softly. “Before the Queen returns.” The Archive Sanctuary was unlike any place she’d seen. Vaulted ceilings towered above shelves lined with scrolls, tomes, and relics that pulsed with faint magic. Whispered chants drifted from unseen corners—unintelligible, ancient, warning. They descended three levels below the surface, passing glyph doors that unlocked only with blood and intent. The final chamber was circular, hollowed from obsidian and bone. At its center stood a lectern forged from rune-branded stone.

I let out a sigh of relief the moment I left her presence, she was really intimidating. I finally relaxed as I walked patiently to my laboratory while thinking about what just happened. I couldn’t deny the joy of achievement I was feeling as I thought about how the success of such a mysterious project will be. But that joy was short-lived when the image of Miss Simpson being afraid interrupted my thought. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear as I hoped that everything about the project would be alright. “I really hope I am not setting myself up for failure!”

Like a status sitting in the thrown forcibly I might seem, with no regard of consequences that will follow, tirelessly looking for not any particular reason, out of boredom, starting playing with my extinctual foggy self, enjoying some kind of feeling of control while moving forward toward the hazy future, hoping that my abominable past would not wait ahead of me. Searching to seek anything that will gives me some feeling or make me interested, but only my aura accompany me who gives me feed back to what it found which is nothing until it stumble upon a mater that make my self shedder silty from the impact, this matter is so dark , compere to the darkness that surrounded it feels like light

“Why does every story in history start with a war?” “Because peace is boring,” Fianna said simply, standing. “Fine. I’ll take you. But if we get caught, I’m blaming both of you.” “Deal,” I said. The Arborum Archives were hidden within the roots of the Sacred Tree — vast halls carved into living wood, filled with glowing scrolls and tomes bound in crystal. The air shimmered faintly with the hum of ancient mana, and the scent of old ink and moss filled every breath. It was magnificent.

Together with my mysterious companion, we delved deeper into the heart of the mystery that had captivated us from the beginning. Our journey led us to ancient ruins, hidden passages, and forgotten tombs. We deciphered cryptic symbols, pieced together fragmented clues, and slowly unraveled the truth that lay concealed within the shadows. The stakes grew higher with each discovery, as powerful forces sought to keep their secrets buried, their hidden agendas protected.

When I do, I can see that there are two coming our way. I look at Drake and hold up two fingers, pointing in the direction that the two are coming. He and I take off in the opposite direction. When we’re far enough away, I stop, turning to check behind us. “They must have some sort of alarm when someone passes through the barrier,” I say quietly. We double back toward the scent of magic and find an old castle. Drake’s creepy castle has nothing on this one. It has vines growing up the walls, and huge turrets with gargoyles on the top. It’s dark and dank looking, with torches burning in the front.

“She hoarded it. Gods like her always do.” *** The lower archives smell like dust and cold stone. This part of the castle was sealed during the Game, not locked, just forgotten. The shelves are carved directly into the walls, stacked with brittle tomes, loose scrolls, fragments of writing etched into bone, metal, and crystal. I work until my fingers ache. Looking for the names that I recognize first. Nyxara. Nythene. The Nightmare and the Dream. There are myths. Plenty of those. Stories told by mortals who feared them, worshiped them, blamed them.

Ancient tomes, black sealed ledgers, scrolls bound in silks the color of dried blood, enough dangerous magic to get them both executed in a dozen kingdoms, spilled across the map. I arched a brow. “Please tell me you didn’t get caught.” Tarin’s smirk widened. “Please. We’re ghosts. Besides, the Restricted Archives barely noticed we were there.” Thessaly snorted. “A librarian noticed.” “Barely,” Tarin said with a wave. I set my tea aside and pulled the nearest tome toward me. Black Court: Lineage and Rise. The cover alone radiated old, foul magic, the kind that whispered if you listened too long. “How much of their shit did you take?”