Baca Novel Magic Hour Novels & Stories

I stole it from him because he forbids me of touching his things in his workplace. The book title was "Beauty In Immortality", I wondered what is it all about but my forehead wrinkled when nothing was written inside the book. All of the pages were blank. I throw it in my bed and days passed. I opened it and started to see some words slowly written on the first page. It was magical like it was a book of magic. It was also creepy but I was interested and there I read a weird story that I realized was talking about me.

"Every fairy tale, every myth, every legend. It's all here, waiting for you to read it." I felt a shiver of excitement. "The only rule is that you can only open the book for one hour," the man said. "When the hour is up, the book will close, and you won't be able to open it again until you find it in the library again. Do you understand?" I nodded, and I took the book in my hands. I opened it, and I was amazed by what I saw. The pages were filled with beautiful illustrations, and the words were written in a flowing script. I started to read, and I was transported to a different world.

Every scene has to feel alive—the characters, the tension, the moments that make you hold your breath. That's why I will not rush the process. I want Edith and Drake's story to unfold in a way that feels authentic, immersive, and deeply emotional—not just words on a page, but a journey you experience with them. So, when I return to Finding the Heart of Magic, it will be with my complete focus and creative energy, ensuring that every chapter is worth the wait. Stay patient, dear readers—"Finding the Heart of Magic" will be back soon! Until then, thank you for being part of this journey. I look forward to bringing Edith and Drake's story back to life for you! Much love, Mirto

I folded my hands around my chest, watching as she brought out a pale orb of hazy reddish light and kept chanting, the orb changed into a crimson-red glow before changing into a black light that displayed Asher’s castle. She took out a dark book of magic, flipping through the pages while I watched her in silence. The pages looked paper-thin as if held together just by a spider web thread that would tear at any instance. She closed her eyes and seemed to be doing something with her mind. Her hand hovered over the book while she held one of it in her other hand and began chanting again.

But Avery was insistent. But now, the story was starting to take an ugly turn, because Witching Hour was when a witches powers was said to be at the strongest, and if that was the case, then it could very well mean that Ashton and Maggie never stopped practicing the magic from Harmona’s spell books. But if that was the case, how did using black magic not taint their auras? How did Ashton avoid being detected? The more I thought about it…the more it felt like we had made a huge mistake bringing Ashton and Maggie into the pack.

Far down the pass, an explosion ripped through the snow, and the air filled with the scent of scorched flesh. From the smoke, more figures emerged — but these weren’t Bloodforged. They were guild fighters. Harlow was at the front, sabers gleaming. “Step away from him!” Varrow’s smirk didn’t falter. “Ah. The cavalry.” In the chaos that followed, Killian caught a flash of Daryl’s hand — slipping something small and dark into Varrow’s pocket before stepping back. A seed of magic. Timed magic. Killian realised it just as Varrow’s cloak flared, blocking his sight — and when it dropped again, both Varrow and Daryl were gone.

He insisted on going there with me, so I let him. I spent hours going from one book about magic to the next. There was no other way to describe what was happening. It was magic, simple. “What are you doing?” I heard Alpha Moretti call out, making me jump in my skin. I slammed the book I was holding closed, although there wasn't any need for that considering the numerous books that were sprawled out on the table with their titles on display. His eyes settled on the biggest book there, and my cheeks burned in embarrassment. “The Art of Magic,” the topic read.

It wasn't long before she found out that she could read everything despite very slowly. It was a poem, which read as follows: 'It was the Coming of the Midnight Sun, A daughter of the Sacred Wood, Lay in a chamber of the House of the Moon, And thus shall wither like a dying star Til the touch of a virgin at dawn.'

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It was one of the many reasons I loved him. The curfew went into effect as the sun dipped below the horizon. The pack house grew quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by an uneasy stillness. I returned to the library, determined to make more progress with my magic. If there was one thing I’d learned today, it was that control was key. Magic was a delicate force, one that required focus and precision. I practiced for hours, testing my limits and pushing myself further. By the time I finally closed the last book, my body ached, and my mind was foggy with exhaustion.