Fantasy Ink Novels & Stories

“Because the ink that would be sent to the Scholar-Dome is different from the ink that we use here to write ordinary book.” Irina stepped on the upstairs with face full of questions. Seeing her face, Lucas continued. “Sometimes they need an ink that can only match with the spell they created. Or, the school, or for daily use. The point is the only place that granted the permission to create various kind of ink is here.” “Oh.” The room was filled with many large rolled of papers. In one of the upper walls, there was a thin rectangle shape hole that blew fresh air into the room. A string with no end hang loose with sheets of paper upon it.

The Child Grows POV: Nya (Narrated Epistle with Interwoven Scenes) Somewhere Beyond Time—The Ink Between Ages A warm quill glides across aged parchment. The ink does not smear—it pulses faintly, the color of volcanic gold, shifting between hues like a living ember. The hand that holds the quill is steady. Deliberate. Young, yet ancient. And the voice that speaks is quiet. Soft as a lullaby. “To the One Who Comes After…”

“Nothing. He has written nothing, even a single drop of ink.” “Ha?” “He’s a complicated type of person. His plans, words, and actions were always unexpected. He’s that kind of person.” “Then there has to be a meaning behind that blank paper.” “Bingo,” he retorted and snap his fingers. “The paper wasn’t blank after all. The ink he used was out of the moonlight fluid and it will only show up once on every full moon.” “What does it say?”

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Cassana might as well be just rambling to herself right now, the drow mage is preoccupied with her work that she's sure she never heard anything she said. "And do you know what ink is made of?" Or maybe she was listening. The drow raised her head as she's holding a piece of parchment and looked up at Cassana who by this point had returned to her original spot before she started rambling. "Charcoal." It is now too late for her to notice that Cassana has just finished a motion with her hand. She chanted a word and a blazing pillar of flames roared around her. Unbeknownst to the drow, Cassana used her toes to render an arkogram on the carpeted floor around her while she was walking in a circle.

He began working with his ink infusing his ability into it “You’re a mage?” Declan asked although he knew he was from his aura. “Yes, my tattoos are a little different,” the man said proudly, “Yes more expensive but no two will be the same, and they will seem to be alive under the sun, I have minimum fire magic, but I can manipulate it into my work,” Layana turned slightly a pout on her face, wishing she could get one too… her gaze running over Declan once more, she blushed and turned away quickly before Declan caught her looking again.

The point was that I got them correct. Slowly and carefully, I went over the strange words, letting them roll off my tongue and flicking them toward the glowing pentagram. With each one, the glow grew brighter. It was the color of moonlight with just a hint of the blood red that the ingredients in the ink added to the glow. Altogether, the effect was quite creepy, but I ignored that. After all, we were killing a demon. It wasn't like this was pretty or light-hearted magic. When I finished, Lisa came over and took my hand.

She whispers, running a finger over one of my fae ink tattoos. “We add special additives to the ink so that they glow in octarine light, but only fae and other species who can see in that spectrum of light can see them. Witches usually aren’t one of them, but you sparkle like a snow fae of the high court, thanks to your fae ancestor,” I explain, sucking in a breath as her soft hand glides over the sensitive skin on my inner arm as she follows the delicate lines. “They are beautiful and your skin has copper sparkles, can I see more?” she asks, shyly.

Fantasy fodder for late-night scrolling. But the card felt real between her fingers. And the ache it sparked low in her belly was very real. She went. The address led her to an unmarked steel door in an alley downtown. A man in a tailored black suit checked her name against a tablet, eyes lingering appreciatively on the dress she’d chosen—deep crimson silk that clung to every curve, slit high enough to flash thigh with each step, neckline plunging just enough to make her feel dangerously exposed. He nodded once. The door opened.

The sky stayed indigo so the stars remained faint, rather than twinkling against an ink-black sky. It would have been even more fairy-tale perfection if a block of tension hadn’t fallen between the both of them. She had wanted him to kiss her….loved it in fact. It had raced through her, blanking her to everything except the primal flex of his shoulders and neck, his raw, masculine scent and the lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue. Her butt still felt the imprint of his hand. The intimacy of kissing him refused to be ten as she set delicate morsels of duck soaked in orange liqueur into her mouth and chased them with a shred of clove-spiced beet and a sip of a full- bodied red wine..