Chapter 3: The Pact and the Prey
The streets of Eboncourt buzzed by daylight, but in the Underline—the ancient tunnels beneath the city—there was only cold, and whispers, and the scent of iron.
Elara sat on the edge of a broken stone altar, her hands still stained with ash and blood. Across from her, under a canopy of dangling root-lights, crouched the werewolf.
He hadn't given her his name yet.
"You smell like them," he said, voice a rough growl. "But your eyes… they burn like witchfire."
Elara clenched her fists. "I don't know what I am."
"Yes, you do." He sniffed again. "You just don't want to believe it."
Before she could reply, the door behind them opened with a sharp creak.
A woman entered, wrapped in green silk and bearing a staff that pulsed with quiet power. Her eyes—milky white—gave away her lineage: a Seer of the Third Circle.
"Elara Voss," the Seer said, not asking. "Daughter of flame and fallen blood. The Bloodpact has awakened."
Elara blinked. "What bloodpact?"
The woman stepped closer. "The curse the witches forged to protect the city. The spell that birthed the First Fang. The one you carry in your veins."
The werewolf snarled under his breath. "So it's true…"
The Seer ignored him. "They'll all come for you now, girl. Not because of what you've done—"
"—But because of what I might become," Elara finished.
The Seer smiled. "Good. You're learning."
Meanwhile…
Crimson Court, Vampyric District
Lucien Corvelle, prince of the Crimson Court, watched as his informant was dragged out of the throne hall, screaming.
"She's here," the spy had gasped. "The girl. The prophecy. She lit the Nightbane flame!"
Lucien turned to his father, the King Regent, whose expression remained carved in stone.
"We should take her," Lucien said, adjusting the silver ring on his finger.
His father's reply was cold. "We will do nothing. Let the wolves and witches tear each other apart first."
"But if she is the key—"
"She is also the match. And we don't strike a match until we know which way the wind blows."
Lucien's lips curled. Fool, he thought. I'll take her myself.