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They called me FIVE

**READ ME** THIS BOOK WILL BE UNDER REVISION. ******* My name? Lance Augustus Age? 15 Nickname? Five. Why they call me that? Because the mark tells us so. _________________________________ "Don't be stupid, steer out of trouble, and whatever happens, stay alive."  I really don't know why Dad always repeat those words to me everyday. I take heed of his words. Play by his rules, never dared to go against him except if it's extremely necessary. He's all that I need to get by. Our life was ordinary. Everything was perfectly fine, perfectly normal, just an everyday routine we get used to live. But then this guy calling himself 'The Seeker' came... And he start making a mess out of my life.  He said I have powers. - Who believe that crap? He said I have extraordinary abilities. - Cool! I want to be Superman. He said I was chosen. - Who? The god of newbie bullies? The mark of five imprinted deep into my skin proves that I am one of the TWELVE. - You sure it's not a tattoo? I firmly believe it's a tattoo. I never believe him. I drove him out. I did not listen. I wish I did. Maybe he could have help me. Maybe he could have save me from the trouble of falling right into their trap. I know nothing. Because of my stubbornness I lost everything. So now I'm all alone. But she stretch her hand to me. She gave me hope. She invited me to come. And I did. So our search began. For the remaining TEN. ___________________________________

phoenixhyperion · Urban
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243 Chs

for what?

"For what purpose?" I ask.

Lancelot drummed his fingers in his elbows. Looking back and forth to Magnus and Jesper. He's hesitating. I can tell by how he folded the end of his sleeves. Played with the hems. Absent mindedly staring in empty air.

"Ancient Ones are wary of mortals. Wary of us. Because of what happened three hundred years ago between the Faeries and the Ruler of Silverkeep." 

His words hit me more than I expect it will. He shoot me with his laser eyes I doubt my identity is already exposed to him. Lancelot's expression makes me scream silently on the inside. I dig my nails to the deepest part of my skin and claw at the surface. 

Hoping scratches can neutralize my facial expression. 

This is not good.

Lancelot suspects.

Of my identity. 

Why?