Novelas y relatos de Claggor Arcane

Ragnar stood up and hurriedly walked over to meet the old lady. — Mor, mor, have you seen like me, my runes that were there? he asked eagerly. — Runes? — Yes, runes ... I wrote runes on the floor and they have ... —… been accepted, answered the old lady calmly. Ragnar stopped and looked at the old lady. She had her back arched, wore a modest cape, tapering in places. Her cape covered her face and he could only see her mouth whose lips seemed to have been blackened. An amulet hung from her neck. She was leaning on a staff she was holding with both hands, and Ragnar soon realized that her hands were shaking. The old woman must have walked for a long time, he told himself.

The darkness shuddered violently, tendrils flailing wildly as the creature's form flickered and blurred. A deafening crack echoed through the cathedral as the shadowy mass convulsed, pulling back from the strike, as if wounded—yet still alive, still malevolent. Craig’s chant grew louder, words spilling from his lips in an ancient, guttural tongue. The air thickened with energy, shimmering with arcane power. The rune-etched blade in Zane’s hand pulsed brighter, resonating with Craig’s incantation, creating a shimmering barrier of light around the creature’s core.

It didn’t take long before he reached the clearing. And there, on a stone slab, lay Vargr—eyes shut, still as death. His arm was torn open, a massive wound where flesh had been ripped away. The injury was too severe for any normal healing. The sight of it made Cedric’s breath catch—Vargr, a werewolf, was not healing. "I can’t believe this," he murmured, stepping closer, only to be slammed backward by an invisible force. The clearing was sealed—Arcana Involutus—a binding spell designed to block entry.

“Who?” “We—we’re uncertain at this moment,” the warrior stuttered. “But the magic feels ancient. And tainted.” Liora froze in place. Tainted magic could only signify one thing. The Forsaken. Aric advanced, his power surging so intensely that several young guards staggered backward. “Secure the perimeter. No one enters the hall. Liora remains inside with the elders.” “No,” Liora immediately countered, stepping closer. “I will accompany you.” Aric turned to her, his expression filled with pain. “Liora, you just experienced a memory that wasn’t even yours. You’re still trembling—you require time to recuperate.”

Yet, what I beheld within caused my jaw to drop in astonishment as if it had detached from my face and plummeted to the floor below. [You have acquired the Arcane Tower blueprint] “Huh?” [Arcane Towers, also known as Arcane Turrets, are Constructs forged from Mana ore, crafted to safeguard cities within ancient civilizations. Immobile and formidable, these towers serve as sentinels, relentlessly targeting any creature that dares to approach.] [Armed with potent abilities, Arcane Towers unleash antimagic rays that pierce through any form of physical or magical defence, rendering conventional barriers futile in the face of their onslaught.]

A cluttered table was pushed into the far corner, next to a old mantle and a large old mirror, covered with a drape so that only the bottom left corner reflected in the light. A large design was painted in white on the floor. The circles and sigils looked familiar, like the ones from my summoning spell. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I knelt down and held a hand out over the painted lines. Power pulsed from them, sending the waves out and through me like a tidal wave. I looked out across the designs on the floored. They weren't like the ones in my circles. They were the designs. The exact same sigils, in fact.

The Whispering Crags—a jagged, treacherous place deep in the no-man’s-land between packs, saturated with old magic and bad history. “We draw her out by presenting what she wants,” Kade said, his voice all detached calculus. “Aria. In the open. At the crags, under the blood moon. The bond will be a beacon.” “Absolutely not,” Lucian growled, the possessive instinct flaring. “It’s the only play,” Kade countered, meeting his gaze without challenge, only cold logic. “We surround the crags with every warrior we have. Blackmoon and Nightfang. We let the bond shine… and when she reaches for it, we cut her hand off.”

I glanced at the flickering candles, illuminating a sinister grin on my weathered face. In the dimly lit room, a cauldron simmered with a mysterious concoction. My eyes sparkled with knowledge and power as I reached for the small vial containing the essence of an Araknos, an ancient and malevolent creature that was going to follow my order to the T. My trembling hands held the vial with reverence as I whispered incantations passed down through generations. The words danced on my lips, their ancient melody mingling with the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

Elder Alaric immediately said, let's attack Blood Crest when they least expect and avenge our slain brothers. Elder Amarok was quiet and slowly he said, can I ask a question? Go ahead I replied. He said, we have been at war with the Blood Crest pack for years and we are enemies but do we have evidence that this was an attack from them? What do you mean to say I asked in anger. Elder Alaric interrupted and said, maybe you're too cowardly to defend your home but Blood Crest is the only enemy capable of attacking us unaware. I just dont want us to make a mistake so soon before making findings on the attack and therefore giving the blood crest an edge over us before the war insisted Elder Amarok

And a man stands before an arcane storm. A man with silver hair. Eyes like dying stars. A smile like a blade. The architect—alive, human, and crowned. Kael’s voice pierced her mind from somewhere distant. “Alessia! ALESSIA!” She couldn’t answer. The vision swallowed her. She saw the architect reaching toward the sky—pulling luminousness into his palm. The city trembled. The storm cracked. And Arcana fell. Not destroyed by war. Not swallowed by sea.