King Byron Blackfang's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Byron ran his finger down the scroll's edge, tracing the faded symbols that promised everything he needed. Control over the shift. Freedom from the involuntary changes that plagued his people. The answer to uniting his fractured kingdom. But the ritual demanded something in return, and the word sacrifice appeared three times in the margin notes. He found the stone circle an hour before dawn. Moss covered the outer ring, but the center stone was bare. Grooves carved into its surface formed patterns that matched the scroll exactly. Around the clearing, bones littered the base of a charred stump. Human bones. Some still had ash clinging to them. Byron counted thirteen skulls before he stopped counting. The scroll said to bring the urn. Byron pulled it from his pack and unwrapped the funeral cloth. Cracks split the stone surface. Inside, ash shifted when he tilted it. The ritual required him to pour it into the grooves at midnight during the next full moon. The scroll didn't say whose ashes they were. It didn't say what would happen to him after. Byron set the urn in the center of the circle. He could walk away now. Burn the scroll. Tell his people there was no answer. But the memory of last week's transformation stopped him—three villagers missing, blood trails leading into the forest, hours no one could account for. He picked up the scroll and tucked it inside his coat. The choice was already made. It had been made the moment he'd opened the first text three months ago.