Old Novel Novels & Stories

Dust and ink, scrolls that crumbled in my hands. I pried open ancient ledgers, dragged my fingers across pages inked in dead men’s blood, and still, I found nothing real for what she was. Falling back on the one worn tome that thrummed when I touched it. The problem is, after the first few pages that give basic knowledge on the Null, the rest? Glyphs I don’t recognize, not even in Old Tongue or Godscript, some language older than the first Realm, older than time. I ran it through the translator mesh. Nothing.

“What the fuck is going on?” “Language Marley.” Absinthe warned, and she flipped him off, turning her head to Othello. “Who is it? Why does it seem like I killed a ghost?” “Because you did.” I said, standing up, walking to the shelf and I pulled out a large Tome. Walking back to the table, I dropped it in front of Marley, sending dust flying. She coughed and shot a glaring look at me, making me grin, which sent a flush across her cheeks and down into her blouse. Concentrate dude… I turned and pointed at the book. “This tome is full of our Elders—Past, present and their bloodlines. Direct descendants. This is the last edition, the newest one is in production.”

The air was rich with the scent of aged paper and leather, a comforting contrast to the acrid smoke that haunted the streets outside. I moved slowly through towering shelves, fingertips skimming the spines of long-forgotten volumes. Titles embossed in faded gold hinted at lost wisdom: Histories of the Old World, Chronicles of Unity, Legends of the Phoenix. The last caught my attention—a striking cover depicting a phoenix rising from a blaze, wings spread wide.

Adrian asked, his cold tone gone. “Well, someone who is two hundred and thirty is regarded as an old man,” Adelia replied casually, and she started eating. “But I’m not old,” Adrian cried out. “It was like an insult calling him old. For someone to even be regarded as old in their world, they had to be at least eight hundred years old, just like Alphaeus.” “Alright, Old man,” Adelia replied, and a smirk appeared on her face when she saw the unhappy look on Adrian’s face. “You know what, I think I will start calling you old man.”

The old man’s seat was empty. The Druid had claims on being the oldest pub in Capistrano, some feat as the town went back to the middle ages. Apparently Alfred the Great had even referred to the hamlet in his will. I’d read all the other historical trivia on the framed prints hung around the walls, most of which concerned the Spanish forces invasion and its aftermath. One of the latter showed a rather fey-looking blonde-haired girl in an Edwardian pinafore dress. The blue eyes stared straight out of the coloured etching as if taking in the whole bar and anyone looking back at them. I found the naïve yet somehow suggestive expression quite creepy.

The house was usually filled with her grandmother's presence, but now it felt empty and still. As she reached the attic, Olivia noticed a small, dusty book on the shelf. It looked like it had been untouched for years. Curious, she picked it up and blew off the dust. As she opened it, she realized that it was an ancient incantation. Her grandmother had always been interested in the supernatural, and Olivia knew that this book must have belonged to her.

Far below, in the Atlantic depths, the Old Ones watched. The Arbiter stood before the crystalline observation array, her galaxy-eyes tracking the impossible scene above. Around her, the other Old Ones stirred from their ancient slumber—beings so old that even the Devourer had been young when they first opened their eyes. "He chose death," one of them rumbled. Its voice created earthquakes on the seafloor. "Yet he does not die." "His blood is older than we anticipated," another mused. "Origin-touched. A direct line to the first life in this universe."

You can hide even when you’re falling apart. I slip into the archives after breakfast. No one comes here much anymore. Most of the old scrolls are brittle and forgotten. Dust coats the shelves. Light filters through cracked glass, catching on dancing dust motes. I sit on the floor and pull out the oldest records I can find—scrolls from before Alpha Dorian’s reign. Before the modern laws. Back when magic wasn’t something we whispered about. Hours pass. I flip through legends. Myths. Old healer notes from times of war.

Simply put, the Old Realm is a giant prison set up by the New Gods, and all creatures that rebel against the New Gods are exiled to the Old Realm, where all creatures are collectively known as Demons and believe in the Old Gods, who were also exiled to the Old Realm. For thousands of years, only one archmage managed to enter the Old Realm and return, writing a series of books that combined his personal experiences as a reference for the study of demons. However, most people considered his books to be whimsical fantasy novels, because the experience of "I'm a weak magician, but I'm being pursued by a beautiful chimera, what should I do?" is too ridiculous! And no one has ever seen a demon wit

Agolf did, leading the way as Draken fell into step beside him, hoping it'd be good news. TBC. Note: Oldborns are the elders.