Emblem Julian Hyper Mga Nobela at Kwento

a voice drawled from the darkness behind them. ​The pack spun around as one. Out of the deepest shadows of the corridor stepped a man they had trusted since they were children. He wasn't a grizzled elder or a battle-hardened general. ​It was Julian, the son of Elder Marcus. He was the Citadel’s chief scribe, the man who recorded their laws and managed their histories. He had played in the snow with the Thorne brothers; he had shared meals at their table. In his hand, he held a small, glowing obsidian orb that pulsed with the same rhythm as the cocoons on the floor.

The color drained from Julian's face. "That's... that's a fake!" he shrieked. "You forged that recording!" "Forged?" Killian sneered, pulling out a stack of photos. "Then are these fake, too?" The photos scattered across the floor. Each one was a clear shot of Julian meeting secretly with members of a human hunter organization. There were even bloody images of him killing a pup from his own pack. "Oh, my god..." someone choked out. "Prince Julian was working with human hunters?"

"The Cigna? You mean the lost signature of the Silas guild? The mark of the Swan?" Julian felt a cold sweat prickle his neck. He had underestimated her. She wasn't just a reader of books; she was a scholar of the very craft he lived for. "I... I have read of it," Julian said, trying to recover. "A mark that indicates a piece is not just made, but engineered. A sign of perfect balance."

Inside the cabin the atmosphere was thick with a heavy focused stillness. Julian sat on the leather banquette, his big frame hunched a bit forward as he looked at the copies of the newly secured European deeds. He had taken off his traveling sweater for a tailored charcoal-grey shirt; the top two buttons open, his sleeves rolled up to show his thick scarred forearms. His face was a mask of executive hostility. The excitement of the Alpine campaign had turned into something more dangerous: a quiet calculated determination to finish what his family had started fifteen years ago.

“There is no need to be so wary of Eren. He is from one of the ruling families of the Vampire Kingdom, and it is impossible for him to harm us in any way.” Lucien moved his head, and did not say a single word, except that his hands tightened on Emilia, who was sleeping on his back, while Lucas continued, looking away at the red moon. “He is also the first candidate to be her husband in the future, so there is nothing wrong with some transgressions, but not now, do you understand what I mean?” This time, Lucien pressed Emilia to the point that she moved on his back uncomfortably, but even so, nothing appeared on his face.

She had the same look as her father, and the broad cheeks were too obvious. “Did you say, avenge? Is Ferdinand dead?” Jidenna shared a confused look with his friend. “My queen.” He bowed, “I said, avenge. But Ferdinand? No. Who in the world of our ancestors is that?” “It is your father, girl, that’—.” Mary was saying before Godson cut in. “Actually, instructor. This one is a boy.” “Oh” Mary nodded, “anyway. Ferdinand is the name we gave to the man who bore this parchment.”

"They are not our enemies, Julian. They just don't understand us, and that's what I'm trying to do; make them see that we are not their enemies. Give me a chance to do so." "Ah, I see. So that is what this is about. Just because you found your mate in one of them, you are ready to discard us? To discard your sibling? I always knew you were this kind of person; I should have never trusted you," He spat out carefully, and her expression morphed into apprehension. Julian was a hybrid, one that came from the union of an Alpha and an Omega, while she was a purebred werewolf. Yes, you heard that right. Their Father had fallen in love with Julian's mother, got her pregnant, you know, the classic lo

Zikmund finally succeeded in his endeavor to find Julian in a group photograph. He glanced up at Jessie and Hestia, both of whom had their arms crossed and were looking down at him, and let out a nervous laugh "Julian doesn't talk to us much. He's a medical equipment specialist and a bit of an oddball in his thinking. He's like a lone wolf, and he didn't like to talk to anyone except Hesper." Although the photo had been taken some years ago, Hestia could still vaguely make out Julian's facial features, and he looked the exact same as the person she remembered.

She tapped her index finger against the armrest. "Strike him." Julian had been raised to be the next Alpha of the Pei Pack. Since he was a pup, his talent had been undeniable; at thirteen, his painting of a soaring hawk had stunned the Capital. He was the golden boy, destined for the Council, supported by the Great Packs. The Beta Prime, Marcus, had even betrothed his daughter Celia to him, seeing his limitless potential. He was a porcelain vase in a world of stones. A single scratch on him usually sent the healers into a panic.

"Here. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get you to the next trade-post. You saved us a winter of freezing, Mechanic." Julian looked at the pouch, then pushed it back. "Keep it. Buy some seeds from the next caravan. Tell them you want the 'Tokyo Hybrid.' It grows better in this soil." The captain looked at him, a flicker of recognition in her eyes—not of his face, but of his spirit. "Who are you, really?" Julian looked at Clara, who was walking toward him, her face tired but her smile radiant. "I'm a man heading home," Julian said.