Black Book In Tel Mithryn Novels & Stories

The runes ignited, one by one, in violet fire. The air thickened. Wind howled. The soil trembled beneath their feet. And then—the altar cracked open. A blinding surge of light shot upward, tearing through the mist. The ground split, and a small obsidian chest rose from within, glowing faintly red. Inside lay a single black-bound book wrapped in silver chains—the Book of the Damned. Kael stepped forward slowly. “After all this time…” He reached toward it— —and the forest screamed. A flare of silver light cut through the trees as figures emerged from the mist—The Order. Dozens of cloaked hunters, blades drawn, crossbows gleaming with runes.

Inside, the air felt colder. Thicker. Like every book here breathed a little on its own. Some were chained shut with silver locks. Some had covers made from materials I didn’t want to guess at—scales, bone, darkened velvet. Alaric reached for one specific volume. Thick. Heavy. Black leather with a sigil embossed on the front: a circle surrounding a cracked mirror. “This,” he said quietly, “is the kingdom’s only known complete record on necromancy.”

Silas dropped to one knee and placed the first item at the circle’s center. A length of black thread—soaked in blood. His blood. Then he pulled out a strip of parchment. Ancient, cracked, and yellowed. One of the last relics from the Blackmoor archive, bearing the family’s broken sigil. He laid it beside the thread. Then he turned to me. “Elena Blackthorne,” he said softly, voice steady. “Are you willing to spill memory for the bond?” I swallowed hard. “Yes.” “Then speak it.”

“And another on… scent binding rituals? Ugh. No thanks.” Iris moved slower, reverent. “Look for anything titled Chronicles, or Legacy,” she said softly, running her fingers along the bindings. Aurora drifted toward a central table carved from dark stone. Its surface shimmered faintly with symbols that looked like they’d been burned into the rock by claws. Sitting in the center was a single thick book—dustless and pristine despite its surroundings. The gold title glinted in the dim light: “The Bloodline of Kings: A History of the Lycan Throne”

The library descends into an uncomfortable silence, one I'm itching to break but I don't say anything, patiently waiting for him to speak. “Did you see the rift?” I nod. “It wasn't there when I left.” “And it's just the beginning. Even before you left, the shadows in our realm had intensified but we've been able to keep them at bay and prevent things from escalating. And now we have rifts.” Leaning back on his couch, fatigue washing over his face, he sighs, “Who knows what else will come? The human realm is collapsing, so is our realm but at a more obvious level.”

She ran her fingers along the spines, the gold lettering cool against her skin. Drawn in by the sheer volume, she hesitantly pulled a book from the shelf, a slim volume bound in dark blue leather. The title was etched in silver: The Royal Grimoire of Sacred Oaths. She opened it, her eyes skimming the ornate calligraphy, the intricate diagrams filled with arcane symbols.

I sensed a surge, Nyra's presence and pried it open. My fingers skimmed page after page until I found it. Tenebrium: The Path of the Hollow Flame. A forbidden rite calling upon celestial darkness—light tainted by loss, grief, and vengeance. This rite allows the user to trade part of their soul for immortality or control over deathless shadows. Once begun, it cannot be undone. I stared at the page, my head spinning as I went over the words again. My hand trembled as I closed the book. A cold sliver of fear slipped down my spine.

The title etched on the cover caught my eye, sending a chill down my spine: The Lineage of the Blackhollow Coven. Curiosity and unease warred within me as I opened the book. The pages shimmered faintly, a subtle glow that hinted at the magic infused within them. It wasn’t just a history - it was alive, recording the lives of those within the Blackhollow bloodline as they unfolded. My breath hitched as my name appeared in delicate, glowing script, right above Aurora’s. The sight made my heart ache and swell simultaneously.

The creature lunged. Chaos erupted. Elior’s blade met shadow, sparks flying as the creature absorbed the blow. Bram swung his axe, but it passed through as if cutting through mist. Myrra’s daggers struck true, yet the wounds sealed as quickly as they formed. Then its gaze locked onto Rael. A surge of heat exploded through him as the book’s pages flared to life, the ink twisting, forming words that burned into his vision: SPEAK AND CLAIM. Rael’s voice shook as he forced the words past his lips. “The Hollow Throne does not grant power. It takes.”

My eyes suddenly focused on one book, ‘The rare breed – how to train and guide new vampires’, it was called. New vampires? I thought, does that mean when they’re children? I wondered as I picked it up. Just as I pulled it out from its resting place, I heard a small thump behind it. I looked into the bookshelf to see an old black book had fallen behind the ones in front. Setting the one in my hand on a little wooden table next to me, I picked up the black book. I took in a sharp inhale of breath when I saw the same detailed pattern that was on the dagger Kyan had shown me. ‘The hunters’ was all it said on the front, the same book Kyan and Zekan had spent days looking for.