Soundless Book Novels & Stories

“But not yet.” His fingers moved inside her in a slow, steady rhythm, watching her body melt beneath his touch . When her legs started to shake, he lifted her with ease, pulling her thighs tight around his waist. She could feel him. His hard thick length pressed against her. “You want it?” he asked, his voice low as he rocked his hips against her. His Cock grinding into her wet entrance. She nodded desperately. “No safe word,” he reminded her. “You give me everything.” “Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

Silence filled the Eternal Sanctuary. Every Guardian stood motionless, their eyes fixed on the ancient altar nestled within the heart of the Tree Beyond the Sky. The weathered book rested on a pedestal of living silverwood. Its cover was unlike anything they had ever seen; it wasn't leather or cloth, but looked as though it had been woven from moonlight itself. Silver roots wrapped gently around its edges, pulsing with a heartbeat that felt older than time. Aiden took an unconscious step forward, and the book responded as a faint silver glow spread across its cover.

Valerie’s POV The sound beyond the fractured doorway was almost impossible to follow. It wasn't footsteps. It wasn't machinery. It resembled the slow turning of countless pages inside an enormous book, each one sliding over another with quiet precision. The noise spread through the archive rather than approaching from a single direction, as though the walls themselves had begun remembering something they were never meant to hold. Valerie remained still. Her fingers tightened around the Origin book, now nothing more than a volume of blank pages.

He commanded. The creaking against the wall grew stronger, at the same time it felt as if the veins across the book was glowing, pulsing and alive. The sound grew increasingly louder, it was coming from behind the shelf. Then everything suddenly went eerily quiet. My pulse slowed, my hand still wrapped around khyrix's who possessed the terrifying calm of someone who knew they were the apex predator. Crack. I hadn't registered the sound yet before the books on the shelf came tumbling down in a horrifying mess.

Neither of them moved away. The silence made the rustle of his jacket sound enormous. When he pulled the book free, another volume tipped and slapped onto the floor with a sharp crack that echoed down the empty row. Both of them froze. No footsteps answered from the main floor above. No distant voice called out. The quiet simply swallowed the noise and returned, heavier than before.

Somewhere in a grove no one could map, a book lay open on a flat stone its pages blank save for a single line, written not in ink, but pressed with intention: “Here is where we did not speak and still, the world listened.” A wind turned the page. Then left it open for the next to come.

"It feels too quiet. I keep waiting for another message, another alarm or another problem to happen." "Quiet is something we worked hard for, " Silas said softly, kissing her neck gently, his breath warm on her skin. "Quiet means there are no people controlling us from behind." He walked over to the black desk, picked up a thick book that came earlier that day and started flipping through the pages. The cover was blank. The first page had a special name on it. "Speaking of our accomplishments " Silas said, smiling slowly as he looked at the pages. "The numbers are in your book.

He quietly speaks so as not to disturb my line of concentration. The further I walk down the line of shelving the older the books become and the deeper the vibration and thrum become. It echoes through me and my skin prickles with goosebumps. Like a siren's silent song, I hear the whispers of ancient words. “Do you hear it?” I ask Crimson. “I hear it,” and I just catch the frown that covers his expression when the beat of the thrum turns to whispers and then becomes clearer. I stop when the voices are the loudest. Reaching up I pluck a book from the shelf. But the book is plain and when I open the pages, they are blank. The voices still whisper words I don’t understand.

a row of clamped‑shut tomes creaking apart—the sound it made wasn’t human. It was paper tearing. It was keyboards breaking. It was the heavy, final thump of a book slammed shut on a last page that doesn’t exist. The voice that came out of that sound was layered, grinding, familiar, and not. “AUTHORS,” it bellowed. The word shook the paper under my feet. “MUST BE CONTROLLED.” It's gaze—if you could call those ink‑pits eyes—locked on me. Bookmarks snapped like whips along its arms.

I know for a fact that if I was truly settled and contented with what I have for the past centuries, I would have died by now. But I’m not dead, so my heart hasn’t reached it’ contentment. And while I don’t wish to see how it ends, there’s a longing curiosity inside of me that seeks to know what it is could sedate a monster like me. There was none, I thought. Until it happened. The black and white scene. Flashing an image of a school's playground with two people talking to each other. One girl and one boy, smiles on their faces as they both let the wind sway their swings.