Stillwater Arcane Novels & Stories

I don't trust Lyra, and I don't think I ever will, but trying to refrain myself from wanting her so badly is an urge I can't fight against. "It's the curse, isn't it?" Damien asked. My fist clenched, knowing that he was right. I hated the part where he knew everything. Clause and Axle aren't aware of the curse that Lyra acted up a few weeks ago. The Curse of the Unbridled Alpha, an ancient affliction that strikes the most powerful pack leaders, renders them helpless against their primal instincts, driving them to surrender to their basest desires and act on impulse. Their control over their actions is fragile as the moon's phases dictate their fate.

He stepped between us to pluck the ring from Avery's fingers before she could slide it on. He studied it, turning it every which way, even holding it up to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. "How did he manage that?" "Manage what?" I asked, a sinking pit growing in my stomach. "I told you my magic is based around Earth, right? Well, metal and gemstones are as much a part of earth as plants are. But what I see here is - I just can't figure out how a Necromancer could possibly produce a Witch's spell as intricate as this."

Some of the words written there are farm, shipment, high-quality goods, and customer. Mr. Rayven clenched his fist when he realized that it was the same words he used before Raia went into his room that time. He knew someone was eavesdropping on his conversation with Mr. A at that time. And he's not mistaken. It was Raia. But he doesn't need to worry about that right now. He used a special scent that was usually used for their ritual. It was called Tonique de Meilleure. It came from France years ago and was used to disrupt someone's memory. Using this potion is not that great since there might be a chance that something might trigger their memory to recover.

The flames dance before us, casting flickering shadows on our faces, reminding us of the beauty that can arise from the darkest of times. In this circle of love, trust, and unwavering support, we find solace and strength. No matter what life throws our way, we know we can count on each other to lend a listening ear, offer guidance, and provide a shoulder to lean on. As the night comes to a close, we gather our things, the embers of the bonfire fading away. We exchange hugs, feeling the warmth of our connection radiate through our embrace. Walking back to the house, hand in hand with Sarah and Ruth, I am filled with a profound sense of contentment.

The dim, ethereal light of the moon filtered through towering stained glass windows etched with arcane runes and ancestral seals. At the heart of the chamber stood a black marble table—cold, smooth, and ancient—surrounded by eleven high-backed chairs where the Council of Arcane Balance convened. A twelfth chair stood empty, cracked through its center—a relic of a long-banished member who once dabbled in forbidden arts.

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!?

I looked out across the bloodstained courtyard, and I saw more than loss. I saw resolve. “We are Obscura Arcanum,” I said. “And we do not fall.” The courtyard was still. Empty. All of us were still. I hadn’t realized before how loud it had been only a few hours ago. Screams, shouts, cracking spells, and magic shattering against magic. Shattering against flesh. Shattering against bone. The courtyard wasn’t silent. It was that kind of quiet that hangs heavy, threaded with echoes. Ash hung in the air like dust from old bones. The sun was fully risen now, but it didn’t warm the stone underfoot.

The air shimmered as she began the incantation, words infused with ancient power that resonated through the very fabric of the supernatural realm. "Elvie, daughter of the moon, ensnared by unseen forces, let the veils that bind you be lifted. Return to the essence that defines you," Morgana intoned, her voice carrying the weight of centuries of magical knowledge. The incantation wove a tapestry of arcane symbols in the air, unseen threads that sought to unravel the mystical bindings ensnaring Elvie. The room, bathed in an ethereal glow, bore witness to the delicate dance between magic and fate.

It was her only sanctuary. She sat down on the cold stone ledge, pulling the shawl tightly around her shoulders. Below her, the dark water was calm, broken only by the orange and silver koi fish swimming lazily near the surface. Serena stared at them, watching them move without a care in the world. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the tight band around her chest loosened. She let out a long, slow breath, tasting the fresh, damp air. Here, in the dark, nobody was lying to her. Nobody was trying to own her as time passed slowly.