I Miss The Quiet Lord X Novels & Stories

"I've been holding the circle here for fifty years. Waiting for someone to come and help me." "Help you with what?" Tessa asked. "The quiet," she said. "It's not gone. It's just sleeping. And when it wakes, it will be stronger than ever." "We defeated the quiet," Marcus said. "We destroyed it." "You destroyed a shadow," she said. "The true quiet is still out there. Waiting. Growing." I looked at the faces of the people I loved, at the fear in their eyes. The quiet was still out there. It had always been out there.

While Ella mopped the floor in the Death lord room, she couldn't help but think he was avoiding her. He hadn't said anything to her since she came in and while she greeted and thanked him for last night, he said nothing to her. She sneakily glanced at him while the chief of maids washed his foot. She wondered why his silence affected her a lot, she didn't like it at all. Once the chief of maids left the Death lord room, Ella decided to speak to him. "You been quiet since morning, is something bothering you that we can talk about?" She asked the Death lord although she was nervous within her.

The lord’s deep voice resonated inside the closed space and vibrated the wall. The people immediately dropped their gazes and shut tight their mouths from spouting any nonsense which led to their demise. The lord looked extremely displeased, emitting a dark aura and grinding his teeth. He didn’t want to contribute more to his fury. Qusyairi rubbed his buzz-cut hair and munched his inner wall. This was confusing. Never in his life to be forgetful. Even though the memory wasn’t his strong forte, he still was confident with it. The lord growled, and the sound resonated throughout the entire space. He rose and flexed his black wings.

She offered the Lord a quiet, "Sorry." The Lord blinked in genuine surprise at her sudden change of attitude, the most emotion he'd shown all evening. And in return for her reproach, he calmed his own temper and frustration and replied with a gentle, "Thank you." An awkward silence settled between the two of them, until one of the servants re-entered asking if they wanted any dessert, the Lord quietly declined, after Sephora made no answer. She drained her white wine, glancing across to the Lord, who gazed at her with an unusually gentle expression. She couldn't stand the silence any longer. Realising that the Lord liked to take a bantering approach to conversation, she muttered,

Silence takes over the moon community as they go through the Gaylord wrath, each and every single wolf Is made to be on there knees as Larry keeps on doing what He had long waited for. I froze once again and took a deep breath, I could not let him kill the wise lady I had to intervene.

Some whispered, others didn’t bother lowering their voices. "That’s her?" a woman scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. "The mute Luna? She looks like she’d snap in the wind." "Our Alpha deserves better," another muttered. Nyx snarled in my head; her fury sharp. “Let me out. I’ll show them who deserves what.” But I stayed still, my face blank, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Beside me, Kieran was silent, his stride steady and unaffected, as if their voices were mere background noise.

“A man who built empires reduced to begging for sound. Fascinating, isn’t it? How fragile love becomes when silence steps in.” Luca’s head snapped toward him, veins straining at his neck. “You don’t know love. You twist it, you mock it, you suffocate it. Whatever game this is—” Ethan tilted his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Game? Oh, no. This is truth, Luca. You’ve always feared the quiet, haven’t you? Because in quiet there are no reassurances, no affirmations, no worship. Just you… and the hollow echo of your doubt.”

He was terrified of the quiet. And now I understand why. Quiet is where the demons live. Quiet is where you have to look at yourself and see all the broken pieces. "Spadino," I whisper. My voice sounds small. Pathetic. Above me, the floorboards of the church creak. It isn't the heavy, rhythmic tread of Ciro. It isn't the calculated stalk of Aureliano. It is fast. Erratic. Footsteps running. Stumbling. Then, a voice.

Just tell me what it's like. "Quiet," he said finally. "It's very quiet. Gods are never quiet — we're connected to everything, always, the hum of the world and the pull of worship and the weight of our domains. And then it's just gone. And you don't realise how loud it was until it stops." "Do you miss it?" she asked. "I thought I did," he said. "Until tonight." She looked down at her tea. When she looked back up, something in her expression had settled — that quality of someone who has made a decision they know is probably unwise and has made it anyway.

"This hotel belongs to your uncle?" Nodding, he pillowed his head and lay on the floor, giving a click to the remote he held. The vault switched to a transparent top. "Here is where I speak to the silence, blame the world, and shed my tears." That somehow dimmed the glow hopping on her hand. She took a seat next to him. Under the soothing lights, his sharp facial features stood out even more, and so did his bottled loneliness. She understood the familiar silence. It was whispering, yearning to be heard after years of being ignored.