Two Hundred Years Together Novels & Stories

The two figures and two sword radiance collided instantly. In the past 20 years, there had never been a fight between the top experts, except there were some in the battlefield of the Heaven's Gate occasionally.

"This... this... how is this possible? Can you... can you see me?" A surprised voice sounded in the air. "Is there anything difficult?" Samuel smiled slightly. "Difficult?" The voice in the air laughed. "Do you know how long it took for the last person to see me?" "1,700,006,000 years!!" 1.7,000,006,000 years? Hearing this number, Samuel frowned. What kind of concept was this? Even if a year was casually used to count, a year every second, it could be counted for nearly 80 years! After Samuel was shocked, he felt a little sympathy for a person, who had spent a total of 1.7 billion years.

"I wouldn't trade a single year of it. Not even the hard ones. Not even the parts that started as nothing more than paperwork." "Not even the hard ones," I echoed. We sat together as full darkness settled over the yard, hands linked, the whole weight of twenty-two complicated, difficult, ultimately beautiful years settled comfortably between us—no longer a burden to carry, just a story we'd lived through together and come out the other side of, whole and grateful and still, somehow, completely in love.

"I'll take it." They stayed on the porch until the night turned properly cold, talking and quiet by turns, twenty years of marriage behind them and—if they were fortunate, if life cooperated, if love continued to do what it had always done for them—many more years ahead. Not because it had been easy. Because they'd never stopped choosing it. Twenty years. And counting.

"Life's been great without you, actually." His grip tightened around his wine glass, but he quickly slipped back into that composed expression. "We need to talk after this. In private," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a statement. "No thanks." His gaze swept over me and paused for a moment at my sleeve. I instinctively tugged it down—underneath was the scar from taking a silver arrow for him ten years ago. It still ached on rainy days. He stared at it for two seconds but made no move.

Turned off the lights. And went upstairs together, as they had for twenty years, to sleep and dream and wake up tomorrow ready to keep building the life they'd chosen. One ordinary, extraordinary day at a time.

“Let’s get married for two years.” I looked at him, confused. “Why two?” “Two years will be enough,” he replied. “It’s also a good time for you to learn how to manage this stuff. By being with me, people will think twice to bother you. And to be honest, I need to work on something.” “Something?” He nodded. “Our fathers’death.” So it just wasn’t me. I found it rather weird to have two people in the same circle die on the same day. Different location, different accident. But something just didn’t sit right. I tried to not think about it too much at first.

Maison asked, his voice tight with the shock of discovering his aunt had kept such a monumental secret. "Nearly two centuries," Sebastian answered when Vivian seemed unable to. "We recognised each other during peace negotiations between the Diamond pack and the Elder Council in 1843." "Two centuries?" I echoed, stunned by the timeframe. "But how..." "Vampire blood," Matthias said quietly, his young voice carrying unexpected authority. "Nightshade told me about it once. When a werewolf mates with a vampire, they can share longevity through a blood exchange." Vivian nodded, finally finding her voice. "It was our secret—it had to be. Relations between vampires and werewolves were even more stra

Rex said, stepping between Percus and Rowina holding his hands up. “Apologies my prince, I will endeavour to keep our private lives away moving forwards,’ Percus said with a bow of his head. “Private lives? You two are a thing?” Rex asked, raising an eyebrow while looking at them both. “We have been married almost two hundred years now,” Rowina said with a smile, “Not a day goes by from that moment he doesn’t annoy me.” “That’s a long time,” Rex said with a short whistle. “You’re telling me,” Percus muttered loud enough for only Rex to hear.

Looked out at the waking city. Two hundred and ten years. One last copy turned to slag and sea. Enough.