Stanwick Arcane Novels & Stories

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you think like this?” Lewis looked offended. “Because you are Derek Stygian,” he said without missing a beat. Paulo carefully examined the package. It had no address, and no sender's name. It just had Derek Stygian written on it. Derek’s expression grew colder. “Open it.” Lewis nearly jumped. “What?” Derek looked at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Lewis sat back down quickly. Paulo hesitated briefly. Then carefully, he opened the box. The room grew silent as he opened it. Raine moved closer. Lewis remained far away.

After the Inferno Guild, the next announcement came from the capital's physician's office, Arcane Sanctum. They had sent various precious medicinal herbs, including a century-old rare herb and snow lily. Following Arcane Sanctum was the Tideborn Guild, which also sent rare treasures. Among them, Mystic Pearls were the most prized. They seemed determined to outdo the Inferno Guild, delivering three jars of Mystic Pearls, along with a variety of gemstones. Their offerings filled three entire boxes.

“You gotta tell me more about that Lieutenant.” “I will mam, but we’ll have to disembark soon. I’m sensing strong arcane traces just by the east.” Likaya aimed her binoculars towards the collection of swamp trees and pulled down grass. She didn’t sense it at first using the base skills of her own arcane eye, but when she delved deep into focusing her ability. That’s when she saw the breadth of it. The tracers emitted from the island was a vast husk of tendrils that glowed wild with the pink and reddish hue of arcane activity.

Kain asked quietly. She turned to look at him. “What my aunt just said, did you know that?” she asked. “Not so much.” He shrugged. “But how much?” she pressed further, her brow furrowed in concentration. Kain whispered, “Emory,” and took her hand. You already know most of what I know. The Arcanians think Aworyn might want you to be the conduit for our Arcanstone.” Kain paused. “But I’m not so sure anymore.”

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused. Fragments of blurred images flashed through his mind. He saw a truck losing control before it smashed violently into the car Ivana was in. 'So, this is the Ninefold Arcane Arts,' he thought. 'It can foresee danger?' Evan opened his eyes and released her hand. A flush of humiliation rose to Ivana's face. "What do you think you're doing?" she snapped. "Ms. Stanton," Evan said quietly, his voice low and grave. "You will face a bloody disaster today."

Stumbling back, I crouched down, ready to attack, “What in the name of Loki are you doing? Go now before I change my mind and kick you, sorry little ass!” Arcane stood between us, blocking my view of her, and his eyes bored into mine. His fingertips had turned to long black talons, and almost black eyes focused only on me. Why the fucking hell did his beast interfere in this!?

The Ember Hollow lay hidden beneath a spiderweb of sandstone arches, its entrance concealed by a curtain of ivy and shadows. As dusk settled, lanterns carved from fossilized bone glowed in clustered alcoves, guiding Vera and Lucien along the winding tunnels. Rebel artisans—defected Sentinels, half-blood scholars, and smuggler-turned-miners—labored around workbenches strewn with resonance crystals and spool upon spool of dream-silk thread.

She gave him a small smile, gesturing for him to go ahead, and the five of us began heading for the stairs, but she stopped suddenly, turning to Cole, Finn, and I, shaking her head. "No," she said quietly, as she met my eyes, "You shouldn't be near when I inspect it. Just to be safe," she said, "the arcane sometimes does not react well to tampering." I frowned a little, caught off guard, but Cole placed a hand gently on my shoulder, "It's okay, I'll stay with you," he said softly, and Finn smiled at me warmly, "I'll keep an eye on them, just in case things go badly," he said, and I sighed softly.

Something that still carries the Church’s coin and the Church’s warrants. He sips his ale slowly, eyes scanning the wall behind the bar where fresh posters have been tacked up. The ink is still damp in places. Raven Winterstar stares back at him from the parchment—child’s face, white hair, sharp blue eyes that seem to follow him even in charcoal and soot. Below the sketch: **NECROMANTRESS. 500 GOLD MARKS. DEAD OR ALIVE.** Garrick sets the tankard down. Wipes foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. He’s seen worse bounties. He’s hunted worse things. But a child who raises the dead… that’s new. That’s interesting.