Heir Of Uncertain Magic Novels & Stories

She did so. "Why is your mother so dangerous?" She asked, crossing her arms. "It is a complicated situation." "Does this have anything to do with Thrall?" Isaac shifted uncomfortably. He twisted his hands in his lap, avoiding looking up. "For a very long time, mother was unsure of my prospects as an heir. As a child, I was very focused on school, very obsessed with rules and order. This caused problems at home. Astor business practices are not the most ethical and mother became very concerned that I would disrupt things. So, instead of just re-educating me at home, she decided to change my nature from the core."

she said with suspicion. "In our world, Verendus, there are three realms being managed by these three major gods namely Gwydion, Aengus and Cailleach. Gwydion manages Caelistis which is the realm in the sky. Aengus, on the other hand, manages Pandeia which is the realm underneath us. Lastly, Cailleach manages Middea which is the middle realm where we live. In a world where we have three different yet big divisions, don't you think it's normal to have or learn different types of magic? You asked why am I certain about your magic? Because those who are born with a sacred curse often possess the same magic—black magic. I'm giving this diary to you because the old owner of it possessed the same

Then eventually something else will appear. My heart pounded. Those children are the ones who carry the bloodline. Their abilities often awaken later in life. I stared at the page. Later. Much later. My chest tightened painfully. My mother had known. She had known what it meant if my magic didn’t appear at ten. But she had never gotten the chance to explain it. The journal continued. Grandmother says if this happens I must teach them carefully. They will need guidance. These powers are dangerous if not controlled. The words blurred slightly as tears filled my eyes.

She forced herself to take one step forward, though Vale’s arm shot out in warning. “I’m here,” she said. The figure tilted its head. “The Marrow Throne stirs in your veins. The Oath bends to your breath. The world shifts when you blink.” “That wasn’t my intention,” she said. “Intent is irrelevant,” the figure replied. “Balance is not.” Lyra steadied her breathing. “Who are you?” The figure extended one clawed gauntlet. Bone rings, pale and smooth, clicked as they moved. “I am the Dark Heir. The Bone Crown’s chosen. Keeper of the broken promise.”

I look at her. "Why?" "Magic." She says it like the answer should be obvious. "Girls tend to inherit the magical bloodline more consistently. Boys can inherit it, but it's much less common." She pauses. "So if your mother was part witch..." I stare at her. "Then having a girl first actually makes sense." I think about it. She's right. My parents had me first. And now I'm having a girl. "It's strange." "What is?" "That I've spent my entire life thinking there was something unusual about me..."

“To pay someone a visit.” “Who?” Julian hesitated. Then he said it: “Dominic Crane’s daughter.” Aiden looked stunned. “Crane has a daughter?” Julian nodded. “She’s not on the books. She lives abroad. But she visits under aliases. I caught a glimpse of her once, at Harold’s birthday gala. She’s the only person he keeps off the chessboard.” “Why?” Clarissa asked. “Because she’s his queen,” Julian said. “And if I’m right, she’s the key to unlocking how deep this goes.”

I step closer. Noah and some other kid, Drake, I believe is his name are helping set up the booth, lifting crates, adjusting signs, pretending not to watch her every move. Noah especially. His Guardian magic coils around him like a shield, subtle but unmistakable. He senses me before he sees me. Good. I stop in front of the booth, hands clasped behind my back, expression pleasant. “Well,” I say lightly, “this must be the fuss I’ve been hearing about.” The heir looks up. Her eyes meet mine. And the world tilts. Magic flares under her skin, raw, untrained, bright enough to make the air ripple. She doesn’t know how to hide it. Doesn’t know she should. Perfect.

The blue progress bar crawled slowly across the screen, and the system cross-referenced her jagged frequency against the modern databases of known magic. A harsh buzzer suddenly sounded in the quiet alcove, and a bold red error message flashed across the center of the monitor. The system firmly rejected every single modern category, and it listed her magic as an undefined, hostile anomaly. "That is impossible," I whispered, and I quickly typed in a command to bypass the standard filters and dig straight into the restricted historical archives. The terminal whirred loudly as it dug through centuries of forgotten data, and the blue glow from the screen cast eerie shadows against my pale skin.

Isabelle pressed the serpent key into its matching lock; the mechanism gave a reluctant groan, then swung inward. The staircase spiraled downward into utter blackness. Alexander lit the amber lantern, and its honeyed light cast eerie patterns on rough hewn stone. They descended, careful not to slip on the moss glazed steps, until they reached the chamber of the hollow brazier. There, a stone dais stood empty, its brazier cold and void. Isabelle set her candles in a circle around the brazier, each flame guttering in the stale air. She placed the sketchbook its binding still pulsing with magic upon the brazier’s edge. Then she opened it to the page bearing her great-uncle’s final incantation:

Hale, he said, "You are going to harvest me..." "Well, Harvest is a very strong word. We are going to extract a couple of your bone marrows, just for future security. Your father doesn't trust that you will outlive him, and it would be a waste having the dirt reaps for what the living need. Don't you think so?" Dr. Hale answered in an unamused tone.