Book Still Breathing Novels & Stories

“Bring it to me.” “Uh… okay. Okay, sir.” When she returns, she hands me a small, leather-bound book. The cover is worn soft, the pages faintly warped from being handled so often. I open it, and her handwriting spills across the pages—small, neat, and impossibly full of a tenderness I never let myself see.

"Do you hear how absurd you sound? Isn't Andrea too delicate for IVF? Or is the mortgage crushing you now? Cruise ship losing its sparkle? You need me as bait to keep him hooked?" The bank's collection calls had clued me in. Steven had been quietly footing their house payments for years. They'd never relinquish such a lucrative catch willingly. Genuine remorse would never be in these self-serving souls. Turning to Steven's ashen face, I said, "Modern medicine is a marvel. Get your issue sorted by pros. I'm no miracle worker." Brent jabbed a finger at me, his chest heaving. Blood drained from his face, and he looked as if he'd collapse in the next second.

Barely breathing. But alive. And the world wasn’t finished with him yet.

Every breath she takes sounds ragged and stolen. But she’s breathing. That’s the only truth I let myself hold. Ingrid skids to a halt beside me, I can see her wolf just below the surface. Itching to tear something apart with all of the adrenaline running through her body. Ysabeau stumbles several steps farther before bracing against a tree, coughing up stone dust from her lungs like she ripped it straight from the mountain’s throat.

Stronger. Their screams never came. Only silence. Then ash. --- Present Day – Viremonthe Cris Orven shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. Same dream. Same flames. Same voice. His hand gripped his chest, where it always burned after waking. Not pain exactly—just an emptiness clawing to be filled. Outside, moonlight bathed the castle of Viremonthe in silver. A raven perched on the balcony rail, staring at him with eyes too knowing for a bird. Cris hissed at it.

" My heart felt heavy. What was he talking about? Had he been reborn, just like me? Suddenly, a weak voice came from behind. Sheila Baker entered, her eyes red and teary. She whispered between sobs, "Mr. Lewis!" Elliot saw her and quickly moved away from me to rush over to her side. "Shouldn't you be resting? Why are you here?" Sheila looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. "Mr. Carter was worried about Ms. Carter going out alone while she's pregnant. He sent me to find her…!"

What if the information we needed simply wasn't there? I reached out and touched the cover. Instantly, golden light burst from the pages. Micha and I both froze. Then—something that had never happened before happened. The book spoke. Its voice was ancient, layered, and echoing like someone whispering from a distant chamber. "Dearest reader, this book chose not to open earlier because the time was not right. Do not be shocked—I can speak. I am called the Living Book for a reason." Micha and I exchanged stunned looks but nodded quickly.

Something ancient and sour. And in the centre of it all— Sipho stood alone. Breathing hard. His chest rising too fast. Too uneven. Dark vapor slipped from his mouth with every exhale. Bodies lay scattered around him. Not torn. Not mauled. Just empty. Villagers sprawled on the ground like discarded clothes. Eyes open. White now. No black. No shadow. No life. But not exactly dead either. Their chests moved faintly. Slow. Barely there.

June simply tilted her head up at me, her eyes gradually reddening. After so many years apart, neither of us had expected our reunion to happen like this. Out of basic kindness, I still took June to the hospital. To me now, she was nothing more than a pitiful stranger. After the examination, I learned that her body was covered in old injuries. This time, she had also broken two ribs. The child had been lost long ago because of alcohol abuse and prolonged emotional distress. After imaging scans, the doctors discovered large shadows covering her lungs. The preliminary diagnosis was late-stage lung cancer.