Fantasy Texts Novels & Stories

Anyway, while this book becomes the first book for dragon genre, it certainly wasn't my first book in the fantasy genre. The Dance of Fates: Bellatrix was my first fantasy book and I had finished it last year, 2020 so if you can go over my profile, you will find its completed version. I also have a Patreon account, you can find my name "Yeirah de Dieu" and receive trivia, character reveals and bonus chapters for all my books, including "The Dance of Fates" and "Bane of the Dragons". Hopefully, I can write more dragon genre and in time, become familiar with this trope. Until then, thank you for you support and love! Don't forget to leave a vote in this book and help it get to the ranking. Cia

Obviously the library. Frost wandered around the library. Trying to find a useful book to read. "World of Mages and Supernaturals. This one." "Royal Family of Esperanza Kingdom." Frost brought the two books she has found towards the brown couch. She sat down and started reading the first book she found.

I had a habit of writing diaries and making shayaris but I stopped that years ago. I opened my Shayris and started reading them. 'Hmm, I wasn't that bad. Maybe I should start writing again.' And the perfect inspiration popped in my head and my heart skipped a beat and got faster. I couldn't stop smiling. 'Ya Allah! I've finally fallen in love with Mr. Fancy Pants'

It was time for Freya to reap what she had sown, to taste the agony of loss and despair. In the depths of my desperation, I sought forbidden knowledge, ancient texts that whispered promises of power and vengeance. I delved into the darkest corners of magic, unearthing rituals long forgotten by the world. The price I paid was steep, as my soul grew darker with every step towards retribution.

A hum escaped his lips. "What?" I asked, eagerly. "What is it?" "The handwriting…it's unique. Unlike anything I've seen before. The writer had practiced an ancient style of calligraphy that precedes when this text was actually written. And the things they write about…seiges, battle between humans, supernatural elements…it's far from the world we know." My breath caught itself in its throat. There were more supernatural beings besides Kindred? I guess it made sense…but it was still surprising.

He knew that within these pages lay the answers he sought, the forbidden knowledge that could potentially grant him a momentary respite from the pain in his heart. As he delved deeper into the library's labyrinthine corridors, Offilies guided him to a secluded section, known only to a select few. Here, the most treasured and dangerous texts were kept under lock and key. Azrael's heart raced with anticipation as Offilies unlocked the door, revealing a room filled with shelves upon shelves of ancient scrolls and manuscripts. "These are the forbidden texts," Offilies whispered, his voice filled with reverence and caution. "Legends speak of their power and the consequences that come with seeking

“Amara, I’ve been delving deeper into the ancient texts, searching for any mention of similar visions, any clues about the nature of this… entity that might be threatening us.” He presented me with a worn, leather-bound tome, its pages filled with archaic script and unsettling illustrations. “There are mentions,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “of a malevolent force, a being of pure darkness that feeds on fear and despair. It is drawn to power, to strong emotions, and to individuals with a unique magical resonance.”

That was the mantra of the average palace worker, especially under this Emperor Vasil: Don’t ask questions, don’t get killed. “What should we do? Everything looks so exciting,” Ursa exclaimed, looking at the bustling street market full of life. It seemed as though everyone was out on the town today. Cecily and Ursa passed by many vendors, stopping by an elderly woman selling tapestries depicting scenes from the Texts of Himalia, the Goddess of Writing and the daughter of the planet’s patron God Hypnotite. Legend says that the Goddess wanted to gift mortals more knowledge, and thus she created the Texts to tell the story to explain everything.

“Yes, just like you, High Lord of the Mystics.” “So you’re saying these… these children’s tales,” Ryatt says with effort, his eyes narrowing with frustration as he waves down to the ancient books now littering the table, “aren’t tales at all?” “There’s always truth in fiction.” Ryatt’s nostrils flare in annoyance, but I step closer to the books, gently flipping a page. The text is in a language that predates Firestone. It’s looping scribbles–symbols I don’t recognize, and even Misty, who excels at this kind of thing, looks perplexed.

In that beyond the foggy hills From the ancient ages, from castles, to prisoner less dungeons Now that we're gone, before dawn, Even if you forget the warriors, let's remember, you golden sorcerer! Even the waves of magic. From the rays of the sun to the pitch black of the night, in which they have shaped many chalices, Harps of gold; Multiple songs Since the jewels, which are made there, without people hearing, From the ancient king, to the human, to the Elf or the dwarves, in which you only aureity them. When the glow of the daggers, in which they roared on high,