Romans & histoires Circular Gallifreyan

It stretched upward into the gloom of the vaulted chamber and I realized only then we weren't in town hall's basement anymore. Fergus stopped half way to the Gate, old eyes drifting over it with a loving but anxious expression. "Safe," he whispered. "And just in time." Liam and I exchanged a relieved smile. We'd actually done it. Galleytrot chuffed beside me, sinking to his haunches. Liam approached the old portal, not quite touching the surface. Emboldened by his act, I stepped forward for a closer look. My gaze followed the beautiful artwork etchings of fairies and monsters chasing upward from the bottom of the framework, the intricate carvings clearly not created by mortal hands. The wood

Was this where the Vampires stayed during the full moon? There was a grey gargoyle statue in the center of the room. I walked over to the statue to analyze its details. The gargoyle crouched and had its mouth open. A pair of large fangs extended out of its mouth and its bat-like wings were spread out as if it was ready for flight. This gargoyle didn't have horns instead its ears elongated out of its head. Was this what Rachel referred to when she spoke about Vampires' transforming?

“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?”

The god of dreams dipped his fingers into the cup drawing a weird symbol on his face, Lilith felt like she had seen it somewhere. He did the same for Lilith. "Is this something vampires do?" He asked making Lilith laugh. "You're an idiot." That was something Adrian could agree on. "Says the person who wants to have a sleepover you're over a hundred years old." She rolled her eyes. "It's going to be fun." Dailon smiles. "If you say so." He moved on to Adrian making the symbol. "Join hands." He told them and they did, "Ancestors Gãelsíu tú zyitíl axürié." He said in his native language, which was Duudeesh and he was Daxnacian.

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.

On the stone four statues: Gallus—green-black, wolf-headed, hooked beak bat-winged, tentacles coiled feet; a thin scorched seam still burned along its base. Abnegazar—pale stone veined with dull gold, crowned and angular, eldest in the way mountains are. Rathos—kiln-red and hairline-cracked, warped like clay that remembered fire. Ghast—bone-smooth, hollow-eyed, a scream made permanent. Between Abnegazar and Gallus sat a curl of golden coral—no story, no pedigree. Just a pretty reef relic that caught light and gave it back without promise.

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.

I roared, charging after them, but they were gone, leaving only the faint scent of ash and a lingering sense of dread. “Gale!” Autumn’s voice pulled me back. She was kneeling by the tree, her fingers brushing the bloodied parchment. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “The symbol… it’s glowing.” I rushed to her side, my heart pounding. The crescent moon and arrow on the parchment pulsed with a faint, eerie light, like a heartbeat. The blood around it seemed to writhe, forming new lines, new shapes—letters that spelled out a single word: Callisto.