Cloaked Novels & Stories

"This is for you." She draped it over my shoulders. The material was thick and warm, perfect for traveling. But there was something else. A faint shimmer in the weave. Magic. "What is this?" I ran my fingers over the fabric. "A concealment cloak. Ancient craft. Very rare." She fastened the clasp at my throat. "It won't make you invisible, but it will mask your scent. Blur your presence. Make you harder to track or detect." I stared at her. "This is... this is too valuable. I can't—"

"I won't let them harm us." Aunt Cleo's voice sliced through the air like a warning bell, her words laced with urgency and gravity. "Aqua, you need to grasp the true threat of the coven. They're not just ordinary casters. Each possesses unique abilities, ranging from unnaturally swift regeneration and inhuman strength to the sinister power to manipulate creatures and even people, turning them into spies. Some even boast of an unnerving form of immortality, extending their lives far beyond the natural order. And worst of all, they have the terrifying capability to absorb the powers of other casters."

Gianni replies, and I just sit on the end of the bed with my elbows braced on my knees. All of us are dressed in black combats, vest tops, black boots and utility belts. The same as his guards. We also have black berets to wear with masks and goggles. I reach behind me for my gun and do my checks. This is war and the only ones that will leave alive are us and my family. The rest will die. “How long until the next shift?” I ask from the bed whilst I check the rest of my guns and ammunition. “Two hours. I have access codes but we need the access passkey. Take down the guards silently and take an access passkey. The ones we need to take down are here.” he points to the trees that surround the c

Inside the room, she dialed a code on the wall using the tiles as the buttons and a hidden compartment came out from the walls. Inside was an outfit that seemed to absorb the very light around it, perfect for Claud’s stealthy fighting style. The cloak was made of a dark, almost inky fabric that flowed like liquid shadow. It was lightweight, allowing for swift and silent movement, yet it had a durable weave that could withstand the rigors of battle. The exterior was matte black, preventing any light from reflecting off its surface and betraying Claud’s position in the darkness. The cloak's design was intricate, with an array of hidden pockets and compartments for carrying essential tools and

“The way you move in the court effortlessly is amazing.” “Thanks.” Liam smiled, taking off his tank top. He brought out a clean shirt from his locker and threw it on. “No wonder you're on sponsorship.” Aiden rambled on, “You think you could teach me a trick a two.” “Yeah, sure.” “Really?” Aiden squealed, “Oh my God, thank you!”

Not the poison cloak. Another cloak looked identical—only one key difference: runic thread faintly gilded. Elara started. “Then the real one is still out there.” A heavy silence. Rhys stood, gesturing to the cloak. Rhys: “So we have one saboteur still inside.” Lerder agreed: “And they’re skilled. Only someone with Treaty access could replicate it.” Eluna whispered: “Someone here wore it for purpose.” Aryn: “Yes. The true cloak was purposely hidden. Two cloaks—one decoy.”

Blue for students, green for faculty, violet for magical constructs. And there, just beyond the scrying history terminal, red. A single strand. Faint. Almost translucent. But there. Red meant cloaking. Someone had masked their signature while moving through a monitored zone. Not erased it, that was harder, nearly impossible without consequence, but distorted it enough to avoid standard detection. A cloaked visitor in the upper archive wasn’t necessarily criminal. But cloaked and unlogged? That was something else entirely. I followed the red strand as it snaked between the west stacks, circled the north wing, then doubled back, a

In his right hand, he held his runic obsidian blade, its black edge humming with anti-magic lightning. Locked securely against his left hip was Clara. She wore her form-fitting midnight-blue combat gown, reinforced with dragon-scale mesh along her torso. Her dark hair was braided tightly back, and her amber eyes glowed like twin suns in the dim light. In her arms, wrapped in a pressurized, thermal-shielded void-cloak, was Silas. The ten-month-old prince was completely calm, his silver-gold eyes gazing out at the dark storm outside with quiet, curious fascination, totally immune to the fear that would grip a normal infant.

Damien asked, leaning over the wooden table. “I stood up to check, sir,” the guard gasped out, swallowing hard. “I saw a tall figure standing near the end of the aisle, wrapped in a long dark cloak with a deep hood covering their face. I shouted for them to identify themselves, but before I could draw my sidearm, my eyes went blurry and I passed out flat on the floor.” A cold, familiar dread settled deep in my stomach as I listened to the description. A tall, cloaked figure moving through high-security corridors without triggering alarms... it matched the exact profile of the mysterious watcher who had funded the northern research labs and hired Ronan’s trucks

Aeirmish stroke a pounce at the door, and then pushed it open; causing it to screech from the threshing it made on the stone ground, as he launched each leave to the opposite direction. The door led to a big hall; dusty and gray. A barely functional chandelier hung sloppily from the ceiling, with enough candle light that drew out long shadows from the disarrayed chair, broken statues and sculptures, and upsidedown tables, which darkened the light even further. All the windows around were shut, and so did the door behind them. Ailith moved forward in fear, but Aeirmish's confident march was a bit reassuring. Her eyes quickly went in search for anything aside nonliving old items, and it stoppe