Novel & Cerita Gallifreyan Alphabet

Her iris dilated half a degree as her heart rate lifted, just slightly. "It is her. Aurora said that when the lily-of-the-valley within the crystal began to glow, her granddaughter would have returned." She drew a piece of parchment from her sleeve. A list. Four family names written upon it in the ancient wolf script. The ink had browned with age. The writer had used no ink. She had used blood—written with a finger dipped in her own blood, each stroke's finish carrying the faint whorl of a fingerprint. Luna turned the list over, holding it up to the morning light to examine the reverse side.

Around me, whispers began to stir, quiet and uncertain. Something was wrong. I stopped before him, searching his face desperately. For reassurance. For love. For anything. But his eyes were cold. Detached. And suddenly, breathing felt impossible. “You called for me?” I asked softly. For one endless moment, he simply looked at me. Then he spoke. “Freya Lunareth,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “I, Kaelen Varkor, Alpha of the Violet Pack…” My heart pounded so violently it hurt.

I asked, looking up at him. He looked at the pages of the book in concentration while I looked at him. I wondered what must be going through his mind as does his work. I lost my initial train of thought and found myself thinking about the last time we were together alone. The kiss we shared and how it made me feel. I imagined we would do it again this time on the kitchen counter when I heard him say something. “I'm sorry what?” I said, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. “It's the Theban alphabet. It's basically Latin but from an ancient script for witches” he said passively.

I never really believed they happened, I took them for just that, stories. When I came of age, and my wolf emerged, my father showed me what he had discovered on the trip I remembered. A book, hand-written in seven distinctive styles of writing. I recognised the alphabet instantly, having been taught to read, write, and speak Mycenaean Greek since my early childhood. The words on the page made as much sense to me as if they were written in plain English.

Harry began to protest before a butterfly, out of nowhere, appeared before their eyes. The Alpha couldn't suppress a grunt as he noticed the blood-red patterns on the insect's night wings. _ Bloody leeches," Till grumbled. Harry reached forward with one hand, and the insect seemed to let out a shrill scream before twisting in painful spasms and crashing into the young man's palm. Then, slowly, the wings stretched into the shape of black parchment where elegant gothic writing in red ink formed. _ Good evening, dear Alpha of the Red Moon, I beg you to excuse the absence of my offspring at your side for your arrival on our beloved Land.

"What does it say? That looks like Latin." "It's old Norse mixed with early shifter dialects." Tracing the words, the translation formed in my mind. The Alpha bloodline came with perks, including a genetic memory for the ancient tongues. "It's called *Nattbane*. Night-bane. It’s a synthetic hybrid of pure silver nitrate and concentrated wolfsbane." "Can it be cured?"

I roared, charging after them, but they were gone, leaving only the faint scent of ash and a lingering sense of dread. “Gale!” Autumn’s voice pulled me back. She was kneeling by the tree, her fingers brushing the bloodied parchment. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “The symbol… it’s glowing.” I rushed to her side, my heart pounding. The crescent moon and arrow on the parchment pulsed with a faint, eerie light, like a heartbeat. The blood around it seemed to writhe, forming new lines, new shapes—letters that spelled out a single word: Callisto.

The walls pulsed with its glow, and the floor beneath them vibrated softly. And then, from somewhere deep below, a grinding sound echoed upward—stone against stone. Ressa leaped to her feet, bow already in hand. “What the hell was that?” Kael’s hand went to his sword. “Something’s opening.” Thalen pointed to the far wall, where a circle of ancient runes had begun to glow. Aria recognized the symbols—they were etched into the map Vorran had shown her. A language older than the packs themselves. The tongue of the Voices.

The king was not letting her go any nearer as he studied the ceiling, which didn’t seem to be disintegrating anymore. Octavia made Pellethia stay where she was, and walked forward to retrieve the object. The consort handed it to the empress, and everyone gathered around her to see that it was a scroll. Upon unrolling it, foreign linguistic characters were presented before them, ones that no lycan could read. “Succoglyphs,” Xandar murmured. “Translation?” Greg reluctantly muttered, once again reliving his hate for history. Lucianne responded, “Ancient vampire writings.”

Keyla’s Mother and Grandmother Adeline Soril – (AD-eline SO-ril) Elmina Dorvan – (Ehl-MY-nah DOHR-van) The Alva’himar – (Alvah-him-AHR) (The Dark Mages) Raamija (Rah-MEE-jah): Sapha – (SAH-fa) Zalikhe – (Zah-LEEK) Acheya – (Ah-KAY-ah) Veniah – (Ven-AIY-ah) The Shujaari – (Shoo-JAH-ree) (The Minotaurs) Taurqon (TAHR-kon): Dhume – (Doome) Shujaar (SHOO-jar) – “Warrior” Cadwahl (CAD-wall) – “Captain” Kulavaar (Koola-VAHR): Kotchel – (KOTCH-ell) Kayse – (KAY-se)