I couldn't tear my eyes away from that first haunting sentence. My hands trembled as I turned the brittle pages of the ancient tome, each revelation more terrifying than the last.
"The Ophidian Pact," I whispered, the words foreign yet familiar on my tongue. "This is the truth my family has hidden for centuries."
Isabella stood beside me, her face pale in the flickering lantern light. "Keep reading, Alaric."
The Chronicles told a story so horrific I could scarcely believe it. Five hundred years ago, during a time of plague and war, the first Duke of Thorne—my ancestor Ambrose Thorne—had encountered something ancient and terrible while seeking shelter in mountain caves.
"The Serpent spoke to him from the darkness," I read aloud, my voice barely steady. "Not with words but with visions, promising protection for his bloodline, power beyond mortal reckoning, and prosperity for his lands."
"A Faustian bargain," Alistair murmured from behind us.
