Old Soul Book Novels & Stories

Raff says. “Great, great Auntie? Or should there be another ‘great’ in there?” I ask. The old woman chuckles, “You worked it out! My sister missed quite the catch with that dragon of yours, of course I have my dragon back in The Otherworld. You are a lucky one to get them for mates! You are the key! They should mark you in the order that you met.” “Then Raff should be the first I’ve known him since college.” “Guess again,” she says.

In an instant, he was inside Two's Soul Scape. The Soul Scape was an immaterial Dimension inside one's self. Adding Ion Energy into it, allowed it to turn corporeal once the Cultivator reached the Correct Realm to do so. Better than carrying any pouches or sacks for that matter. But since it was connected to one's soul the destruction of the Soul would destroy all the items inside. It also required the nurturing of Ion Energy.

“What the hell is going on here?” My rasping voice only accentuated the strange, forlorn silence of my home. Nothing made any sense. Nothing seemed or felt real. Hadn’t, really, since we’d discovered those two dead dogs and that altar in the clearing, and especially since yesterday morning . . . When I’d seen that damned book at The General Store. The book I’d apparently bought in a fugue state and then read multiple times without remembering anything. The book that . . . I opened my eyes, looked down and—feeling very little surprise—saw The King Wears Yellow sitting open before me on the den table.

“Because I was there when Jonathan Pogromca imprisoned you inside the book. Solomon graves, the butcher.” “Yes, that is my name? why is my body like this? And you, yes, I remember you now. you will die!” It cried at him, Solomon tries to grab him; however, his hands stop short some invisible force is stopping him as if there is a barrier between him and Randell. “Oh, no. I’m afraid you can’t do that. You see, I only released your soul and transferred it to this human flesh for you to use, your body is still trapped inside the book. You will now do everything that I ordered you to do.”

I explained as I smiled. “A few decades ago, Micah wrote a book in honors of our mother which had some occult practices and I think it was called ‘The enlightened.’” I said before I got up. “I need to go to the library.” I said as I got up as well as Azreal. “Thank you so much.” I said as I hugged Azreal who froze on my warm greeting. He hugged me back slowly before he relaxed his head on my shoulders. “You are welcome.” He said and I smiled.

As she’s about to leave the room, someone called. “Hey, I’m leaving the hotel. My car service is waiting,” she talked to the person on the other line. “I can’t wait to see you here. We’ve so much to see and talk about,” Noah said. Cela gave her room one final look. This is the place where she leaves her old self. “We wanted to go to a specific place and it didn’t matter if the road was rough and the journey was long. In the end, we found different places for ourselves but these places were the destinations where we were truly meant to go,” she said to herself. The fourth book begins at chapter 1 in Paris. The End.

Especially after what I saw behind him. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath back until I heard my book landing on the floor. Dazed, like I was charmed stared at this man who was the epitome of a greek god. He was looking back at me, looking confused. Our staring contest was cut short by the rising sun. He hissed and I saw smoke behind him.

Beerus barks before running forward. I follow him at a run through the dark halls of Octavius's mind, and my anger towards Melanie grows. Octavius's mind should be bright and happy, but it is nothing but darkness. She has consumed every happy thought. She has strangled and drained the light from my son's life. "Right here," Beerus growls as we round one last corner. I spot traces of Beerus's spirit encircling something in a pitch-black corner, and I slow my pace to a walk.

Gazing back towards the book, it felt as if something was pushing me towards it. I got up and walked towards the book. Placing it on my lap I noticed that the cover was filled with complicated detailing. The material felt rough, it felt old but well-taken care of. The colors were a mixture of ash grey, gold, and specks of white, the title was written in crimson red. Taking a bite from my food, I opened the first page of the book. ---------- [Chapter Quote: "Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home ."]

Soul Sight: a rare hereditary ability, manifesting in early childhood in those with a predisposition toward soulbound recognition, enabling the perception of— The text had been damaged after that. Water-warped. I had spent two weeks trying to find another copy and failed. But I didn't need the text to understand what I'd seen. Golden threads running from my chest to his. Longing in the space between them, vast and old and inexplicable. The knowledge arriving not as a thought but as a fact: he is mine.