Gallifreyan Language Novels & Stories

Maybe because it was far more relevant to me. The Malkara supposedly contained everything about wolves, Lycans, dragon shifters, hybrids, cursed bloodlines… creatures like me. Demigod hybrids. I sat down and opened the tome, intending to skim through it quickly. I expected ancient knowledge, histories, and hidden truths. Instead, my eyes landed on a single sentence repeated endlessly, filling the parchment: “The sleeping tongue remembers only the blood that first taught it to speak, because blood restores the forgotten language and breaks the seal that was never forged for keys.”

Something deeper. The prince walked forward first and sat calmly on the throne to the left side. Immediately, the guards near the stairs crossed their weapons in front of us to stop us from moving further. I looked at them carefully and nearly froze again. Their eyes were gold. Every single one of them. Which means they were Lycans. So in this place, Lycans are guards? The fuck? The prince said something to his father in a language I had never heard before. It sounded smooth and sharp at the same time. The older man answered calmly. Then the prince added something else before suddenly saying, “They speak English.” Like he was translating us.

“That language he used... Have you ever heard it before? Anywhere?” He went still, the warmth from his arm tightening around me. “No,” he said after a beat. “But I’ve heard of it.” I sat up, curiosity sharpening. “What do you mean?” “There’s an old tongue,” he began slowly, as if dredging words from a place he rarely visited. “Older than the packs. Older than the treaties. Older than the founding bloodlines. My grandfather used to say it was the language the first wolves spoke, before the Moon Goddess gave us the gift of speech as we know it now.” His eyes locked with mine. “It’s not spoken anymore, Lyra. Not for centuries. Not even taught. The only place I’ve ever heard it mentioned–”

“Twegen healfan anre hwælnes clypia swa hi sylfe gemæne, Þæt him to gebyreþ bi wyrd and blōd. Se þe hi lufiaþ nis fullice eall, and hærgtrum cymþ of sweartre lyfte. Hwæt! Se feonda cymþ gegyred mid readum blodorosan, and þa tidas beon tobrocene.” After she uttered the words she suddenly dropped from the air and coughed up blood. The Pope then instantly healed her and placed her back on the chair. Then he worriedly asked her. “What happened Olgana, why is your prophecy in a language we cannot understand? Is this a bad omen? What is going on.” “Calm down Leon, I only saw flashes of red and blood covered in a dark sky and eyes red as blood. The language is the l------” Before she can finish wha

Once he gets the power from Haven, he'll have no use of her and kill her immediately. I catch movement in a small distance and print there with other warriors behind me. I draw out my swords reading to throw out some motherfucker's heads off their bodies if they dared to touch her but come to a stop when I see Haven gripping Ryder by the neck and weird orange shit slipping out of his eyes. Haven whispers in a foreign language I spotted in the Lycan King's Book. The dead language. How the fuck is she speaking it? From the moon you came, and to Hell you go.

Not just for their beauty, but for what they meant. "Leave me," I ordered without looking up. When the door closed, I relaxed my perfect stance. Five centuries of being the perfect prince got tiresome. I rubbed my temples and pulled the oldest book closer – its black cover made from some unidentified skin, its pages yellow with age. The text was written in Ancient Vampiric, a language only royal clans still learned. I translated aloud: "The Ruby Wolf runs with fire in her veins, her blood sweeter than any mortal's, more powerful than any immortal's. She is the key and the lock, the beginning and the end."

She looked right at the Oracle's eyes and spoke in an unknown ancient language. "Véxkíñ àbek yöskên dénzènx màlîgasansk" The Oracle took in a sharp breath just as Gwen spoke those words and they could see her body tremble very bad and a very distorted high pitched scream was out from her mouth, that was able to shatter the shield breaking it into tiny pieces, but before it could touch them or the ground it dissisipated into thin air. As they watched the phenomenon happen, they heard a bone chilling growl and were horrified with what they saw.

“Thank you, Ward. I think we can figure this out with your help.” “I’d do anything for Aaron,” he said, and I could hear the emotion in his voice even though I was just listening to his thoughts. “How is it that you happen to read ancient Scottish Gaelic?” I asked out of curiosity. I realized Tara was trying to get me through the IAC, and while I dreaded talking to her, I knew I needed to wrap it up with Ward. “Many of the Vampires’ texts were written in that language in the day. They dominated Ireland and Scotland for centuries, so it’s no surprise. I wanted to be able to read what the enemy was writing, so I learned.”

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.”

My question pulled André from the depths of the book's pages, and he gave me a small smile. "Nothing much. I finally found a book with extensive information about the descendants of Selene, and I'm reading about it." I peered into the book again and still seemed confused about the language. I just looked like a bunch of scribbles that went back and forth across the paper. "What language is this?" He smirked. "Ancient Lycan. It is a very old werewolf language, and only a few wolves read it, and even fewer can still write it."