The contract burst into flames.
It consumed the parchment in seconds, burning with intensity that should have scorched Rhys's hands but left his skin untouched.
The flames were crimson before turning black and vanishing into thin air. It left no residue in his hands, which puzzled Rhys.
"What..." Rhys stared at his unmarked hands. "What just happened?"
"You signed a soul contract," Father Caelen replied calmly. "The terms are now binding on a level beyond simple written agreement. You serve the young master. He supports your claim to the throne. Neither of you can break those terms without severe consequences."
"Soul contract?" Rhys's winter-ice eyes widened. "I've never heard of..."
