Circular Gallifreyan Novels & Stories

"I'd planned to keep it myself. And then I gave it to you instead." I held the pendant and looked at it. The small circle. The fine intersecting lines. A pattern I had looked at dozens of times without having the framework to read it. "What document was it?" I said. "I don't know," he said. "We couldn't date it accurately. The language specialist I consulted said it was a very old form of the formal Lycan script. Pre-Council." He held my gaze. "I filed it in the archive and didn't think about it again until..."

At that exact moment the clock turned 7PM, and the bell, now identified as the castle's heartbeat, chimed again and the Great Hall went silent. *DONG* With the final of the chim, or beat, an eight meters wide dark blue magic circle appeared a few centimeters above the floor between the four house tables and the great hall entrance doors that went out of the castle. The magic circle was just like the one that was used by the Ghostly Council for the summons. It was circular (duh?!) and had two squares inside of it dislocated 45º from each other, followed by a 10 points star. The circle had a lot of small runes etched on its borders and four big ones in each cardinal direction. In its center, s

Only endless black water under a starless sky, and Dacia. She’s not the calm, crowned queen I’m used to. Tonight she is terrifying: eight feet tall, armor of living blood, hair moving like liquid obsidian, eyes twin dying galaxies. The 10 pieces I’ve collected orbit her like planets afraid to fall. Dacia (voice that vibrates in my bones): *It is time, child. No more games. There are no more pretty treasures hidden in caves and mirrors. They were destroyed. Long ago. By my own hand, when I saw what the Circle would do with them.*

God-markings. My blood ran cold. “It was hidden behind a false wall,” Cassius continued. “We wouldn’t have found it if Cardan hadn’t ordered the entire place torn apart stone by stone.” Harley leaned forward. “What does it say?” Cassius’s jaw tightened. “We’re still translating, but we recognize some of it. It’s old. Very old. It references… the Primordials.” My heart stopped. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That’s impossible. They were sealed away. All of them—”

My eyes squint, my body moving closer as I notice a gold circle at the position of her heart. Against my better judgement, and knowing the walls are laced with wolfsbane, I press it. Nothing…. until I hear movement of stone floor tiles behind me, the ground opening up and some kind of rock lifting out. It was like something out of a neolithic time period…similar to the large stones humans used to bury their dead during the stone age. It was angled at 45 degrees; metal large hoops poorly drilled into the sides….as words littered the body of the stone. Words that I do not understand…they do not even look

“And thin.” As wide as her thumb, but as thin as her nail, each cuff of silver held a pearlescent sheen of magic in it. “Yes,” she took the one that she held and put it around his wrist. “I’ve left it open, see,” she ran her finger around the seam. “It can be closed,” she squeezed it closed so that it sealed without seam. “To release just say Thaelen Gulgane.” “Thaelen Gulgane?” He repeated looking up at her. “What does that mean?”

I pulled him into my arms, letting him grieve for the mother he had barely known. After a long moment, he pulled back and wiped his eyes. "Is there more?" I turned to the final journal. This one was different. Older. The pages were yellowed and fragile. "This is not Elara's handwriting," I said. "No. It is much older." Miriam leaned closer. "That looks like ancient script. Pre-kingdom era."

"My wolf can’t smell the Grave-Weavers anymore. He smells something cold. Something that doesn't bleed." At the center of the brass-bound cavern stood a colossal, circular vault door, sealed with three massive, interlocking gears of solid gold. As we approached, a deep, grinding click echoed through the floorboards. The giant gears began to slowly rotate, their heavy brass teeth scraping together with a deafening, metallic shriek that sent a shower of bright spark-embers across the stone.

Saraya said and came down the front stairs to stand by my side. Adalwulf, Gloringreag Horncoat and the pale guy, opened a rolled-up fabric and unveiled a hand-woven symbol of a head of Lycan done with black thread. The fur was white but the rest of it was black, and embedded in it was a distinctive shape of a dwarf, a witch with a pointy hat and bats.

Then, suddenly, the tunnel opened. Into the Circle Room. No one came here anymore. Not since the tethering began. Not since the bones of the First Ones stopped crumbling—and started whispering. But I’d been here before. Long ago. Before I’d learned to draw fire. Before I’d broken my first sigil. The circular chamber was lined in twelve statues. Each representing a founder of the Old Orders. Their names were etched in gold, flaking now. Forgotten. Except one. Nareth of the Veil.