Orc Book Novels & Stories

Anatoli asked. Without turning to them, Orcenal grabbed something from his bag. He showed it to them, making them squint in displeasure. It was a book. Orcenal found it inside Harriet’s room this morning. The book was the prophecy from the other world, and the title was... [The Crown’s Diamond]. Anatoli and Ayja immediately stood back up and approached him. When they were about to reach and observe the book, Orcenal threw it to the raging fireplace.

This book is dedicated to Bukade—my awesome friend who's helped me very very much in the creation of this book, and Favour Edem, too—my first love, for taking her time to explain stuffs about Werewolves, and Vamps, and Witches to me. For all those looking into my book, Omega, which by the way is entering the ‘Mate the Alpha’ contest, I am quite optimistic that this book will be worth your time and you will enjoy every bit of it. ❤️

“I just wanted to change the environment a bit. You’ve gotten your wolf dragon now. So there is nothing taking us back there.” Nyxoria looked down at the worn-out book still in her hands, her fingers gently running across the rough, faded cover. “So, are you the owner of this book?” she asked curiously once again. Ora stepped closer and gently took the book from her hands, flipping it open with practiced fingers. “What do you think?” she asked. “These are poems. Very old ones.” “Do you understand the writing? The language looks strange to me,” Nyxoria asked, tilting her head.

“Our history, how we started our path. That book is a grimoire, a spell book if you will. It holds every spell, curse, potion or summons that the Owens witches knew.” Ivy looked at the page then back at her aunt her eyes narrowed. “Owens? But you, Lucile and mum are all Joneses. Why is Owens so important?” She asked with irritation. Standing back from the book and her aunt. Ivy folded her arms across her chest. Watching her aunts face carefully watching her expressions, assessing everything her aunt did from now on.

She ran her fingers along the spines, the gold lettering cool against her skin. Drawn in by the sheer volume, she hesitantly pulled a book from the shelf, a slim volume bound in dark blue leather. The title was etched in silver: The Royal Grimoire of Sacred Oaths. She opened it, her eyes skimming the ornate calligraphy, the intricate diagrams filled with arcane symbols.

She thanked Viktor and opened it with the key she kept around her neck. Inside lay the prophecy pages, yellowed with age, and several things she'd collected over the years: a vial of blue liquid, a silver dagger with strange markings, and a small book bound in black leather. "Is that what I think it is?" Viktor asked, eyeing the book. "The Oracle's grimoire," Ingrid confirmed. "The only thing that might help us now." She opened the book carefully. Most of it was written in a language she couldn't read, but certain pages had been marked with dried flowers—pages with pictures she understood all too well.

I moved away from it. “Scaredycat,” Vlarr sneered. I glared at him, daring him to repeat himself. I felt Barlas's eyes on me–cold like ice. I stopped myself from looking into them. There was something unnerving about the way his eyes glowed tonight. “Begin,” his voice rumbled. I saw Orchid produce a book out of thin air. I recognized it. It was the same old book with worn-out cover that she'd been studying the night Zonda had been caught.

I told Lady Marmara and she answered with a small smile. "It will stay the same with your help." I suddenly felt burdened. Lady Marmara pushed the doors open, revealing a room filled with ancient scrolls and books. I can smell them. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, a testament to the knowledge contained within these walls. It doesn't fit with the amount of smartness I have. "This is the Oracle of Time," Lady Marmara announced, her voice filled with reverence. "It contains the wisdom of our world, the prophecies of the past, present, and future."

One catches my attention, its title still legible beneath the grime. Book of Prophecy: The Witches’ Oracle. The words stir something in me. Prophecy. Oracle. Strange, heavy terms that feel both hollow and important. I flip it open. The first page is blank. The second, torn. The rest, scrawled in symbols I do not understand, curving letters that look more like marks than words. They mean nothing to me. Useless scratches. Until a small slip of paper falls from between the pages. I lift it, my heart tightening, and for once the words are clear enough to read.

Textbooks on economics and philosophy mingled with dog-eared novels she recognized from her own childhood. "Let's see," she thought, pulling the album out and sinking into the plush lounge. The leather cover creaked softly as she opened it, revealing a chronological journey through Oliver's life. The first pages were filled with chubby-cheeked toddler versions of him, all bright eyes and gap-toothed grins. He looked so cute.