Ugo Lord Age Novels & Stories

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.

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.”

His eyes remained as domineering as the tales I had heard about him. But there was no tale that talked about his looks. If I remembered it right, he was more than a hundred years old now. Werewolves and Vampires had stopped aging at forty. And I thought that like my parents, he would at least look the part. But he looked younger as if he was only in his late twenties which proved once again of how extraordinary he was.

"This old man, uh, is still full. But, please accept my gratitude, young master." I fixed my gaze on him. I'd never given this butler much thought before. [Jacob - Level 98] [Element - Fire (Grade 1)] [Age - 94] [Class - Swift Knight] I was previously aware of his B-rank warrior status, but I paid no attention to it. It turns out that this man is 94 years old. He only appears to be in his sixties. "You used to be a knight before, right, old man?"

providing the male Alpha guidance they desperately needed to understand their unique nature. Oscar dropped the logs onto the ground and walked over to the fallen oak, whistling softly as he inspected the shattered wood. "An eighty-year-old oak tree," Oscar said, shaking his head with a mixture of awe and concern. "Amora, your son just snapped a mature hardwood tree with a raw, unrefined pup-strike. When I was four years old, the most I could do was scratch the paint off my father’s truck."

I know my mother was a witch, but to see something like this is absolutely jarring. “How the hell do you know what I like?” I grumble, even as my stomach betrays me with a growl. His laughter is rich and warm. “I have my ways.” I look him up and down with narrowed eyes, then curiosity gets the better of me. “How old are you, Axton? And don’t give me that ‘age is just a number’ crap.” He tilts his head, considering. “Eight hundred years, give or take. After the first three hundred, you really do stop counting.”

"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.