The Village Book Novels & Stories

All our villages, even the ones outside the kingdom, are a mix of old and new, keeping most of the simplicity of the past along with a lot of the hidden benefits of the present. I then feel the wave of exhaustion that flows through her and I follow the bond to find out that her mind is wide open and I can read that she had only just drifted off to sleep when Kiaan had come in and woken her after his raid on that village. Knowing that she isn’t going to be happy with me once, she learns that the vampires in that village that helped her are now dead, thanks to the raid Kiaan had done on it last evening, I tighten my arms around her and whisper,

she scribbled with weird handwriting which can be never understood by anyone except her. Will struggled to read? She gestured a little "Ahh...your mom" "who doesn't know her, she is famous in the village" "how do you know the village," she wrote in the book "I used to live in the village, I left it like 12 years ago ." she got surprised to hear that... "Wait for a second, you don't know who I am …or that I used to live in the village or anything about me and followed me that day?

I was either doing something really, really brave or really, really stupid. Either way, I couldn’t stop myself. I ran through the trees until I reached a break on what must have been the other side of the forest. What I saw there sent a chill down my spine. Barlow was burning. The village was small, mostly idyllic cottages with thatched roofs and some larger farm properties, all tucked neatly together in perfectly organized rows. It could not have been very big, only a population of a few hundred people, but it was well maintained and clearly wealthy. It looked like a scene from another time–a simpler time.

They moved closer to a signal tower before finally snagging a connection. Staring at the number he knew all too well, Xoan made the call. A moment passed before a voice answered. "Hey, Xoan. What's up?" The voice was steady, detached. Xoan's brow furrowed. "That book of yours, 'Village Wilderness'—where did the idea come from?" The question caught the person across from him off-guard, a flicker of confusion crossing their face. "What made you think to ask about that?"

The woman who, according to village whispers, once worked for the Blackwell family… and vanished decades ago. I touched the cover. It was cold—unlike the warm board above it. Opening it, the first page was covered in tight, slanted handwriting in black ink, fading at the edges. > This book is not for the eyes of outsiders. If you are reading it, you are already part of the game. I swallowed hard. Game? My eyes skimmed further. The pages were full of what looked like prophecies, some crossed out, some marked with sharp X’s.

She ran her fingers over the ancient book, the Reflection Game, her expression grim. She had seen this book before. Decades ago, it had caused unspeakable chaos in her village. Stories of children disappearing, their spirits lost to an underworld of torment, were etched in her memory. She had thought the cursed object was destroyed, yet here it was—back to haunt her family.

Neighborhoods where no flag flew, only murals made from code glyphs and old children’s songs. When they reached the mountain, it wasn’t a facility that greeted them. It was a village. Houses grown from biodegradable fibers. Paths woven through trees. No gates. No guards. But everyone watched. They were met by a child. She said nothing. Just handed Lena a paper folded into the shape of a root. Torin opened it. Inside was a single line: “You left us a story. We made it a home.” The village wasn’t advanced. No servers. No drones. But every house contained a circle of quiet. A place to sit. A space to speak.

I looked back at the crowd that day, seeing elementary school kids with hands calloused from climbing, young men who had been crippled by the trail, and middle-aged folks who had lost their children. Finally, my gaze had landed on Dad's headstone. He had tumbled right off the cliff, breaking every bone in his body, just like so many other elderly folks in our town had over the years. This elevator, which had arrived decades too late, stood like a massive, powerful beacon at the entrance of the town, finally piercing through the pitch-black nights in the valley. Every single resident who rode that outdoor elevator for the first time had broken down in tears of sheer relief as the cabin glided

"Answers. And more questions." They returned to the village together, the book wrapped in cloth and tucked safely inside Kael's pack. The villagers watched them pass, their eyes still fearful, but something in their expressions had shifted. Relief, perhaps. Or hope. The elder met them at the edge of the village. "You found something." "A book. It was hidden in a cave beneath the frozen falls." The elder's eyes widened. "The cave of whispers. We've known about it for generations, but none of us dared to enter."

The village of Oakhaven was a quiet place. It was a place where people grew corn, milked cows, and went to bed early. For Lyra, it was a prison. Lyra was twenty years old, with long dark hair and eyes that always seemed to be looking at the distant mountains. While the other girls in the village talked about which boy had the best farm or who would marry the blacksmith’s son, Lyra spent her time in the small village library. She wasn't looking for books about farming. She was looking for the scrolls of war. She was looking for the stories of Kaelen, the Steel General.