Prologue Novels & Stories

I take the paper and after a moment’s hesitation, unfold it. *You don't know me, and I'm sorry that I can't explain this properly in a note. You should know that the man who just proposed to you is not the right man for you and while it may be unpleasant to hear, I thought I should tell you now in an attempt to spare you more pain in the future. One day I hope to explain myself properly but for now this is all I can do. I am truly sorry. R.G.*

Across the low mahogany table, Lord Valerius nursed a crystal glass of synthetic type-O blood, looking more stressed than I had ever seen him. "You're vibrating, Valerius," Killian noted, his deep voice breaking the rhythmic clacking of the train wheels. "If you spill that on my wife's shoes, I'm throwing you out the window." "The Progenitors are ancient, Killian. They don't fight with honor; they fight with blood magic that has been outlawed for a millennium," Valerius murmured, staring into his glass. "I can't shake the feeling that they know we are on this train."

Ailduin points to the one I’ve been reading, “is the second.” Buppig looks thoughtful for a second before turning the page back one. “Read the first one, Princess. We call this one, 'The Rise of the Giants.'” “Call me Lily, Buppig.” I say distractedly. I look down and begin reading the first prophecy out loud. When those that have become more earth and animal Begin to rise again It will announce the beginning of the end And the peace within the land will wane. She will call to them and they will rise

Wolves Don’t Name Their Sins Ysabeau The first thing I learned about prophecy is that it never arrives on time. It shows up early, bleeding into the edges of days that should’ve been simple, or it crawls out too late—after the choices are already made, after the bodies are already in the ground. It never stands politely in the doorway and introduces itself. It slinks through the cracks. Like smoke, like rot, like a voice through wood. The house is too full of breathing when they return from the quarry. I feel them before I hear them—pulses crossing the ward lines, bond threads humming, the air itself recoiling from whatever was woken up out there.

My heartbeat matched their rhythm , wild, frantic, wrong. “Zylia,” Mason said sharply. “Step back.” “I… I can’t.” The stone flared. The glow spread from my hand to the walls, tracing every mark like fire through veins. A hum filled the air, deep enough to make the ground tremble. Then came the whisper. Not out loud. Not from anyone near me. Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice. I gasped. My knees nearly buckled, but Mason was there, steadying me. His hand closed over mine, warm and grounding. The light dimmed where his skin met mine, the hum softening into silence.

And the final line echoed through the collapsing sanctuary like a verdict already decided: “HOSTILE ORIGIN OF PROPHECY INSTABILITY CONFIRMED.”

“Controls existence itself.” Ilyaan suddenly remembered something. A voice. A sentence. A forgotten promise. ⚡ The memory appeared only for a second. Yet it changed everything. 💔 A woman crying. A burning sky. And someone saying— “If the King returns…” “Everything begins again.” 😱 ⸻ 🌙 The Prophecy The crystal suddenly cracked. 💥 Everyone jumped. The library trembled. Books fell from shelves. ⚡ A terrifying voice echoed through the room. Not from outside.

#HAREM_OF_LUST 🔞 #CHAPTER_1 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓 🍓🍓🍓🍓

The sky turned white. The Progenitor fell. Not into the trench. Into the island. The volcano opened like a mouth and swallowed the beast whole. The light faded. The ground stopped shaking. The sky turned blue. --- I collapsed. Leo caught me before I hit the ground. My arms were black with burns. My chest was cracked open. The Master Key was dark. "Rose," Leo said. "Rose, stay with me." "Did we win?" "The Progenitor is gone. Buried under the volcano."

I walked towards him as he is seated majestically on his golden throne with his wizard Harrod standing next to him. Harrod makes all kinds of medicines and black magic for father. "Father, you sent for me." I say with a small bow. "Yes." He replies. "What is it father?." I asked politely. He faced Harrod and gestures at him to speak up. Harrod turned to me and bowed. " My prince, i'm afraid there's no cure for the king's deformed hand in this kingdom." He says. I glanced at father's left deformed arm and sighed. He always uses a golden glove to hide it.