Lyrical Magical Novels & Stories

The spell read: "For the love of all that is magic, I shall find that who was made specially for me. Thou shall love me and cherish me for all thy days to come, Thou shall make me feel on top of the world and bring me a type of happiness that rivals few. And we shall forever be in love with each other till the end of days. Instructions: Say the poem three times, stamp your left foot two times and stamp the right one four times. Clap your hands five times and close your eyes." Suddenly, Matilda found herself saying the words of the poem out loud. She said it three times, stamped her left foot two times, stamped her right foot four times and closed her eyes. After a while, she opened them and

He has two magic. On the mirror magic up, in front, we can see two ladies. One was holding a water ball and the other one has light ball, just like mine. At first, I thought she wasn’t able to control her magic that’s why it scattered to the whole arena but judging the look o her face. She was bragging. She was totally showing off. Light is a rare magic, during my father teenage years, he was the only one wo had it. That’s how rare it was. And it looks like in my generation, there’s two of us. On rare cases, when a mage is strong, Magic can be inherited from your parents but most of the time the magic itself can choose you. It looks like the latter’s her case. To me, I was strong enough to i

“We will accept the spirit, Ditiori and the soul, Maga…Arcani spiritus, Ditiori et anima, Maga, accipient…Become the scroll of entrapping spirits…Erit magicae captandi spirituum.” The glooms swathed the lovers in repose. A gasp and sigh were heard. “Maga and Helia, I love you.” Was it Maga and Ditiori’s last breaths? Black dusts and shadows warped unto the scroll in the goat-head servant‘s hands. Maga and Ditiori laid no more on the frigid floor. They had left their baby sleeping peacefully, wrapped in their velour cloak. The incantation written in the arcane scroll had become red like it was written in blood with an image of a lily of the valley and grain had intertwined.

Then, deep beneath Caelum’s palm, a sudden, distinct thud pressed back against his hand. It wasn't just a physical kick. The moment the unborn child struck out, a microscopic spark of divine magic ignited through the fabric of Lyra's green dress. Tiny, white-gold solar embers danced across Caelum's skin, instantly intertwined with delicate, swirling tendrils of translucent silver shadow magic! Caelum’s silver-gold eyes widened in absolute, breathtaking wonder. He stared down at his hand, watching the dual-elemental mana play across his fingers before dissolving into the air.

But I kept on going knowing that it wasn't far as the trail bordered the village. I thought about Ellwood's words. The wolf charmer was born of both magic and the moon. I was clearly born of magic, but I still didn't understand the part about being born by the moon. I hadn't thought to ask her about it at the time. Maybe she would know what it meant.

Varrow leaned against the wall, bleeding but grinning. “You should let it take him,” he said, voice ragged. “One less threat to you.” Killian didn’t even look at him. He poured his will into the magic — not to control the shadows, but to change them. He pushed light into them, thin cracks of pale silver running along the tendrils like veins. The First hissed. For a moment, the pull weakened. Daryl’s body stopped sliding. His breathing was shallow, ragged, but he met Killian’s eyes.

His hand came down. But it never reached me. Magic flared. He was lifted off the ground like a puppet and slammed into the cobblestone. I turned. My heart stopped. “Lyric?” She stood at the edge of the courtyard. Her body radiated violet magic. Her hair whipped around her in the wind. Her eyes burned. Kade stood up, confused, blood dripping from his mouth. “Lyric, what are you doing here? It’s not safe.” He stepped forward, approaching her. “Please, go inside.”

“Not again.” This is the fucking third time this week. Doesn't she fucking give up? My wolf circles hard. Fast. Hackles up. “This is not her.* “What do you mean, not her?” I hiss back as I pull on my jacket and shove my feet into boots. “Not Lyra. Too different.’ “I see. Still, an attack is an attack.” “Too loud. Too sloppy. It burns. So messy." I pause with my hand on the door because he is right. I can feel it now. The magic is wrong. It scratches instead of slicing clean. It is everywhere at once and nowhere useful.

"It will help us see the true extent of your abilities without putting strain on your untrained control. Just be yourself and trust your bond with Lyra." As she spoke words in an ancient language that made the air itself seem to thicken and shimmer, the crystals began to glow with soft, pulsing light. The magical energy in the room intensified dramatically, and I felt something responding deep within me—not just Lyra, but something older and more fundamental, as if the Golden Wolf nature itself was awakening to the presence of compatible magic. "Step into the circle," Iris instructed gently, her voice carrying both authority and reassurance.

A second wave of magic rose from the witches, this one more delicate but no less powerful. Lyra watched as High Priestess Seraphina lifted her hands, fingers moving in intricate patterns. Ancient symbols carved themselves into the air, glowing with golden fire, their very presence vibrating in Lyra’s bones.