Black Book In Tel Mithryn Novels & Stories

Miyal's hand hovered over the etched sigil on the heavy iron door. Perfera. Who are you truly? He pressed his palm to the glyph. It throbbed — once, then cracked open like a dying breath. The scent within was dust and bloodroot ink. Piles of parchments. Scrolls concealed in iron tubes. Books bound from monsters unknown in generations. He lit a lantern and acted quickly. His time was short. He opened the first book. Genealogies of Bloodlines in Exile. The Spade crest — a serpent eating its tail — was emblazoned on the spine.

The floor is pure white stone, cold as winter snow under my bare feet. In the dead centre sits the obsidian table. On top of it lies the black book. It is massive, bound in iron and dragon-hide, requiring the strength of two alpha lycans just to shift it from the stone. But only royal blood can break the seal. I place my right palm flat against the cold leather. "Adriel of the House of Luperca." The iron clasps snap open with a loud click. The pages begin to turn on their own, flipping through centuries of dead kings and forgotten wars until they stop at my own generation.

Alina whispered, voice shaking but unyielding: “From false blood. From traitors. From greed—let the truth remain unseen.” The runes ignited. Silver light flooded the chamber. The shelves glowed. The archway began to close, stone knitting together like living flesh. “Back!” Casius barked. They retreated as the vault sealed completely—smooth, flawless, gone. Silence followed. Alina pressed the three books to her chest. “Only Shadowmere blood can open it again,” she said. “Me. Talia. Or our heirs.” She looked at the guards. “No one speaks of this.”

"That crappy orchard your brother bought. It’s got quite a bit of rosemary in it. Ha! Not only has that dump never made a single dime, we still have to pay a crew to maintain it every year." A thought flickered in my mind. I knew that place. The orchard sat on a ruined silver mine, its trees drawing on the soil and the breath of silver for years, gaining a power to ward off evil. The Haunts came with the wind, but silver tamed the wind. Those trees were worth far more than my mother and brother could ever imagine. If my infant spirits had wielded weapons made from that wood, they would have been unstoppable.

"After spending my whole life thinking I had no family at all." The Priestess watched our exchange with a knowing smile before her expression turned serious once more. "The joy of new life gives us even more reason to prepare for what's coming. The eclipse approaches, and the entity will not surrender so easily." "Have you discovered anything new?" I asked, noticing the ancient texts spread across the library table. "Perhaps," she replied, gesturing to a particularly weathered volume. "This chronicles the original binding ritual that sealed the dark twin away. The first Blackthornes, twins themselves, like you and Lucious, combined their powers with the goddess's to create the barrier betwee

At the end, a rusted iron door bore the mark of three crescent moons and an inverted cross. He unlocked it with the brass key he’d worn around his neck since 1987. Inside, dust choked the air. Shelves held old scrolls, bones of heretical priests, and on a stone table, one object sat under a black shroud. Merrin lifted the cloth with care. A massive book lay beneath it—its cover made of human skin, still faintly warm. A symbol glowed faintly at its center. The Black Record. He opened the first page. Names of brides.

Something older. The Council Elders stirred, faces twisted in fury. Selene Blackthorn pushed herself forward, blood streaking her pale cheek, her silver eyes gleaming with venomous fire. “Abomination,” she hissed. “Do you think yourself untouchable? You cannot fight what is written in the stars.” She raised her hands, chanting in a tongue older than the moon’s first rising. Symbols of light spun into existence, searing bright against the darkness. They formed into a weapon not of blade or fire, but of chains—links of silver flame, ancient and terrible, known only in whispers.

I rounded a corner, turned left down a tighter row, and— Stopped. There, nestled between two massive grimoires, was a book that didn’t belong. It was smaller, wrapped in black hide, no title. A circular crest gleamed faintly on the cover, a silver wolf’s head bisected by a black sword, the same we saw in the tunnel the other day. I knew that crest, its Blackwood sigil. My lungs tightened. My hand moved before my brain could catch up. I pulled the book free. Dust billowed, I coughed hard.. My heart beat faster.

It splattered across his face like war paint. The second man was shaking now. He stared at his companion's body as it lay twisted, steaming slightly from the silver that had burned in the wounds. “I-I’ll talk,” he croaked. Eric approached slowly. “Names. Locations. Everything.” “There’s... there’s a camp,” he stammered. “North of Blackpine Temple. Hidden beneath the mountain lake. They’re calling it The Cradle. Vincent,he’s gathering blood mages. Rogues. Shadow wolves.”

This room held everything the Council ever feared might be used against them. I lit the first lantern. Then the second. And the third. The light filled the room like quiet fire. I moved to the far wall and ran my hand across the stone. Whispered an old command. A hidden panel slid open. Behind it? A black book wrapped in chains. The Blood Registry. The real one. Not the copy the Council approved. This one had every bloodline. Every connection. Every buried truth. I set it on the table and broke the seal. Raymond’s name wasn’t in it.