Wizard And Glass Audiobook Novels & Stories

The surface begins to stir. Ripples move outward, not from touch, but from thought. A face rises from the water. Eva. Her image swirls into focus—brows drawn, eyes narrowed—but it’s not her expression that matters. It’s the color of her eyes. Gray shifting into glacial blue. The wizard exhales, a sound like tired parchment folding in on itself. “It begins again.” His voice is soft. Ancient. It carries the weight of too many years and not enough action. The kind of voice that used to command storms, now only echoing in silence.

The glow was far too strong and far too captivating that I almost lost myself and touched the glass that was covering it! I wondered what would happen if I touch the glass with my bare hands… How did those vampires touch these things without activating its magical protection spell? Did Sir Casior tell me a lie earlier when he said these glasses are protected by magic? Maybe it really was a lie… The glasses here were unscathed after all… There was only one way to find out… I had to touch it… As soon as my fingers got in contact with the glass, something unbelievable happened!

My healer's instincts told me we would need every advantage we could get. Liza sat surrounded by towering stacks of texts, her glasses sliding down her nose as she referenced multiple sources simultaneously. The golden afternoon light streaming through my stained-glass windows caught the dust motes dancing around her, creating an almost mystical atmosphere that suited our grim task. The windows themselves told stories in colored glass - ancient tales of our people, of magic both light and dark. Today, their warnings seemed especially poignant.

With a word ready, the man hung up the phone while telling his colleagues to keep the warehouse area tight. . . . Cracks echoed around the dark and black room. Seen, someone furrowed his brow in confusion, staring intently at the glass he was holding at the moment. "What's this? Why does my magic seem to be rebelling? There must be something wrong," he muttered, glancing at the glass in his hand which now showed several lines of cracks. Before long, he put the glass on the table, closed his eyes, leaned against the back of the sofa. Thump!

He looked powerful, but I could feel his hand gripping the armrest so hard the wood was cracking. I took my first step. The glass was freezing. It groaned under my weight. A tiny crack appeared under my big toe. The crowd gasped. “Don't look down,” Alaric warned. “Look at me. Focus on the crown on your palm. Push your magic into it.” I focused on the black tattoo on my hand. It began to burn. I took another step. Then another. The glass under my feet began to glow with a faint, golden light. It wasn't my light. It was a mix of my starlight and Alaric's dark power.

Elegantly dressed in deep blue robes, he steps around the desk. “How can I help?” He questions. His voice was deep and soothing, and his greying hair was slicked back into a low ponytail, kept there by a rope. “The King wishes for you to activate the witch’s amulet and send this girl to her own world with it to be destroyed there.” The Wizard’s expression becomes alerted to the words and steps closer to me. This was the first time someone had approached me where I felt no fear, I just didn’t know why.

He smiled, “I get it. I’ll do that.” When I got downstairs, Abel met me at the bottom of the stairs, “The willow tree is enchanted again. That’s probably the one you want. Are you sure you want to do this?” I nod, “I have to, Abel. Thank you for letting me know. Please don’t pay attention to what you’re about to see. I just want it to seem realistic. Okay?” He smiled and nodded. Then I looked around, “Are my tiny fairies, angels and demons waiting outside for me?” He smiled, “They are, Princess. Please be careful.” I playfully pat him on the shoulder, “Of course I will. I already promised my mate I would come back to him.”

He struggled to resist the stop, his vitality draining away, darkness obscuring every corner of his vision. HeVox was a nightmare. This time he was standing in front of a large, black altar. Strange characters appeared everywhere. Above your head, a horned wizard floats in a large glowing disc, defying gravity with his magical powers. When Ragnar saw him floating. A beam of light passed through the wizard's clawed hand, but he made no threatening gesture. Ragnar raised his weapon but did not attack because he wanted to see what would happen. "What can my master give for your soul?" asked the wizard in a voice mixed with magic. 'What do you want? Think and it will be yours.''

“Couldn’t see the fire from inside.” Philip took another step forward. “Excuse me, do you know who I am?” “Indeed,” The man lifted his cloak, revealing his cracked-scaly skin. He had dark eyes. “Forgive my appearance. I am trying to undo a curse...” “Ah, well, you cannot help appearances when it comes to curses, can you?” Philip said. The wizard nodded. He ran his fingers through the fire. “Take a seat,” he motioned to the stools. Philip sat down hesitantly. He stared at Windsor who stood in the corner, watching. Then returned his attention to the wizard.

he said, almost with a hint of sorrow. “There’s more than meets the eye, my lady,” he said quietly, My legs wobbled. The forest around me spun. I could barely find my voice. Words deserted me. Utterly. He moved, instinctively reaching for me, but stopped the moment I raised my hand. His jaw tightened. He understood. I steadied myself, I looked up at him. “Who are you, really?” He hesitated. Then softly, deliberately, “I am a wizard.” The word cut through me like ice.