Ugo Lord Age Novels & Stories

Old people! "Uncle...how long?" He looked around at the others before whispering that question to me. Oh to be young and dumb. He's about a hundred thousand years old and green as a new mowed lawn. "They can hear you buddy!" I wasn't about to tell him that I only had forty-eight hours left instead of ninety-six.

He shrugged. It felt like heaven as we exchanged glances. He seemed to be musing in his deep thoughts, so I took the chance to smize him all to my heart's content. Oliver was thirty-eight, while I am twenty-three. It's a fifteen-year age gap, yet it didn't matter. I believed he was mature enough to handle relationships, unlike others who were just after sex and everything that goes with it.

Vlad throws his hands up in the air and sighs. - Orpheus, do you know how old the son of the Counts of Craiova is? Orpheus coughs. - I think it's close to 400 years old. - He has 486 years old, idiot. Do you think I'm going to hand over your 19-year-old brother to an old man? - Father, the boy is not old. He stopped aging at 25, like everyone else. The cold blood that runs through Vlad's veins begins to boil.

Watching him sit up and move normally eased something in Rebecca that had been unsettled all day. "Alright. I'll go first." After she disappeared into the bathroom, Oscar walked to the window. He stood there, turning the previous Archons over in his mind, until something in the pattern caught his attention. None of them had lived past 25. That part was consistent. But the youngest had died at 18, while the longest-lived had reached 25. The rest fell somewhere in between. Oscar's birthday had just passed, but the date Arthur had given him was only an estimate, not a fact. No one knew the actual day he had been born.

Out of my canopy, I would walk into an open meadow with park benches and children playing ball and other games. As I sat down, I put my diaper bag on the bench, brushed off some leaves from the bench. It was so much fun watching the children play and laughing with an Elven man about my age. We are neither old nor young; I know this sounds strange, but we are not old. We are magical creatures that age slowly. The look on my face suggests I'm in my late twenties or early thirties, even though I'm fifty. Poldo is my friend, and his skin is golden with pointy ears. Pollo is tall, slender, and has broad shoulders. A long time ago, he lost his mate in a war with trolls. As I take my granddaughter

"All right, if you two have nothing else, we'll leave it for later. I need to study the formulas with this old codger." Dr. Galen's eyebrows shot up, his usually impassive, poker-faced expression now streaked with anger. "You're two years older than me and dare call me old? You're the old bastard!" The two men, combined age nearing 150, then launched into a verbal sparring that was nothing short of spectacular. "You old turtle!" Uriah barked. "You old tortoise!" Dr. Galen countered. "Your whole family is old!" Uriah snapped. "I have no family," Dr. Galen shot back.

My grandmother watched that trash for a living. "You look beautiful, Sally." The woman complimented, there was heart in her eyes if that was even possible. Arnav nodded. "As a man, I would say you look hot. But as a cousin, I would say you look beautiful." I shot him a sharp look. "Don't say anything." "She's cranky again, grandma." He said before sticking his tongue out. You see, he is 25 years old, the same age as Oliver, but was born two months after Oliver. However, he acts as if he is 10 years old.

I clenched my jaw, thinking it must be one of Azariel’s plan. “Trust me, I know every place in this land because I was born before the two of you.” “How old are you again?” Adolf asked. “Me? Well, I’m eighty nine years old.” he said proudly, lifting his face up. Adolf cursed, “You’re too old, you sure you can still fight?” I slap his chest using the back of my hand, furrowing my brows. “Don’t be like that. You have saw him fought with his brother.”

"No, I don't. How about you take care of yourself, old man?" Golen rubs his jaw, watching Corey curiously and with a gleam in his eyes. It's very clear to me that he admires, loves, and respects his son a lot, and it makes me realize my father never looked at me the same way. "I'm forty-six." "Goddess, how ancient." Timmon snickers and lowers his head. The topic changes to something else—strategy and what we're expected to do if we happen to catch a few fighters from their side. I see Draven walking up and down the camp, but he doesn't approach us.

I ask him, I haven’t heard of him before, just the day that he was declared dead and Milo cried over him. “Since the day he was born,” he answers me with a smile on his face. “How old are you?” I ask him next, how old was he, if he knew Milo for so long? “I’m in my forties,” he says and my mouth fell open and my eyes opened wide, is he for real? He hardly look older than Milo, how could be that old? “Remember we don’t age, we take our sweet time growing up,” Theo throws in, helping me out here.