Gallifreyan Writing Novels & Stories

I explain. I offer him the book to see, and he takes it, examining the words with great interest, as if trying to decipher them. "I don’t think this is just folklore. It looks like a diary. The author is writing about a Grendaline that existed before and got killed by… by a Lycan," he says, his face turning apprehensive as he faces me. I raise a brow, hearing a new word I'm not familiar with. "What's a Lycan?"

“Thank you.” “Do you want me to assist you?” Tyron offered. “No need.” Gwen answered, smiling. “I think I can manage on my own.” Gwen walked back to her room with the book and closed the door behind her. She sat down on her seat and sighed, then glanced at the book. It was dark-covered, and the title was written in a language she couldn’t understand. When she opened the book though, she could read what was written inside. There were so many chapters of different spells, and most if not all made use of blood. The more she flipped pages, the more shocked she became. She didn’t know if she should feel disgusted at the gory acts or in awe of how it is carried out.

But then I traced the curve of a single glyph with my mind, let my magic brush over it, and my stomach turned to stone. It was Everley script. Not just the kind every apprentice scrawled in their notebooks, but the old variant, lines twisted to sharpen flame, to feed not protection but hunger. I recognized the signature patterns because I’d written them myself once, under tutors who liked bloodier results. Only these were deeper, fouler, woven into the bones of this place. No first-year mistake. No accident. Someone from my House, or someone trained by them, had helped shape this Gauntlet into a crucible meant not to test us but to break us.

I kept my guard up in case she tried anything funny because no one knew when her switch could just flip, "What did you want to talk to me about?" "A while back I found a book. It was two halves, Sylvain found the other half. The half he found was all about fae whereas the half I found was about your kind. I've been studying it ever since and going through the spells and facts listed inside. It's written in a very old language which I can read but I'm starting to realize the spells in there can be translated and used in multiple ways," she supplied, halting on the landing of the second floor.

The way you handled things that were old enough to make your hands feel young by comparison She set it down. Opened it to the page she'd marked the night before with a strip of paper torn from the margin of her notepad. Demi came and stood beside her. The text was in classical vampire legal dialect. the specific register used in foundational succession documents Most people who worked with vampire legal texts used modern transliterated versions. Nora worked from the originals because the transliterations lost things. They always lost things. "Can you read it?" Demi said. "Yes." "Can you read it out loud in a language I can understand?"

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.

Silver shards spilled out—the remains of the locket. Except… One shard glowed faintly. As if it still remembered something. Stefan leaned closer. “I sensed something unusual before we arrived. These fragments aren’t just broken metal. There’s writing on them—writing that wasn’t visible before.” Lila knelt beside him. “Writing?” He arranged the pieces like a puzzle, aligning the edges with practiced movements. The moonlight caught the metal… And then the inscription appeared. Carved in Elara’s ancient script.

“Your story?” “I write them. Werewolf romances. This world. The packs. You.” I gestured at him. “I wrote you.” He stared. Then, slowly, a low, rough sound escaped him. Laughter. Quiet. Disbelieving. “You wrote me.” “Yeah. Prince Genesis. Alpha heir. Brooding. Scarred. Growly.” He raised one brow. “Growly?” “Very.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “And what happens to me in your story?”

Griffin said. We followed him down until we reached a dark bunker under the library. It had a lot of old bookshelves. Griffin then walked up to a drawer, pulling a bunch of papers out of it and laying them down on the table. It was like a translation similar to what was carved on the rock, symbols with letters written under them in alphabetical order. Griffin slowly traced the carvings on the stone, his fingers trembling. “This isn’t just ancient writing. It’s a binding incantation, vampire in origin.”

Merek took the paper and ran his ghostly fingers over the marks. As he touched them, the ink began to glow with a faint, purple light. "It is the High Code of the Silverfangs," Merek whispered. "It hasn't been used in three hundred years. Only the royal bloodline knows how to write this." "The bone-colored Alpha," I said. "The one Raven saw." "No," Merek said, his face turning solemn. "This did not come from him. This came from someone who wants to stop him." We went inside the library.