Episode 3: The Blood Oath
749 Words
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The morning after his confrontation with Ariana, Tristan awoke before the sun.
He hadn’t really slept. Not fully. Not since the funeral. Each night had been an echo of the one before—shadows shifting in the corners of his room, whispers in languages he didn’t know, and the pulsing glow of the parchment locked in his drawer.
This morning was different.
Because when he opened his eyes, the parchment was no longer in the drawer.
It was on his chest.
Still glowing.
He sat up fast, heart pounding. The sigil had changed—no longer a single crest but now intertwined with a second, newer symbol. One he recognized from the boardroom leak. The Morrow family’s ancient crest.
Two legacies. One cursed bloodline.
Tristan stood, grabbing the parchment and storming into the hallway, but as he reached the study, the lights flickered. A gust of wind blasted through the closed windows. The fireplace lit itself.
And Selene was already there, waiting.
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She sat in one of the leather armchairs, legs crossed, calm as ever. A delicate teacup in her hands.
Tristan froze. “How did you get in here?”
“I never left,” she replied. “You just didn’t see me.”
Something about her eyes was different today—less guarded. More ancient.
He stepped toward her, holding the parchment between them. “What is this? Why did it change? What the hell is happening to me?”
Selene’s eyes drifted to the parchment. “The bond is forming.”
“What bond?”
She looked up at him. “You’re the last living descendant of the House of Leclair. A bloodline cursed centuries ago, bound to a magical legacy older than this country. That parchment? It’s reacting to your awakening.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” Tristan said sharply.
“You don’t have to. It believes in you.”
He stared at her for a long time. “Why are you here, Selene? Who are you, really?”
She hesitated. Then rose.
“I was sent to protect you. But I wasn’t the first.”
“What happened to the others?”
She met his eyes.
“They failed.”
---
Later that day, Victoria stormed into his office.
“Tristan,” she said breathlessly, “I just got off a call with the international board. The Morrow family is making a move to freeze Leclair Global’s offshore assets.”
He didn’t react. Just stared out the glass window, thinking about what Selene said.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Victoria snapped.
“I’m not.”
“You understand what that means, don’t you? You’re on the edge of collapse.”
He finally turned.
“Then it’s time to stop playing defense.”
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That night, in a private chamber deep beneath the Leclair Mansion, Tristan followed Selene through an old corridor hidden behind a bookshelf.
They entered a stone room lined with candles, old symbols carved into the walls. At the center stood a pedestal. On it, a black dagger shimmered with unnatural light.
Selene handed him the blade.
“This is the Oath Ritual. Every Leclair heir must take it to unlock the first seal of the bloodline.”
“What happens if I refuse?”
“You lose the company. Your legacy. Your mind.”
He looked down at the dagger, then at his hand. Then he cut his palm.
Blood dripped onto the symbol at the pedestal’s base.
It glowed.
The walls shook.
The seal cracked.
In that moment, Tristan felt it: power crawling through his veins like fire, voices whispering in forgotten tongues, a memory not his own—of a battlefield, a kingdom, a crown made of bone and fire.
When the ritual ended, he collapsed to his knees.
Selene knelt beside him, steadying him.
“You’ve taken the first step,” she whispered. “There’s no turning back now.”
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Meanwhile, across the city, Ariana stood on her family’s rooftop garden, staring at the night sky. In her hand was a matching parchment—the same symbol Tristan now carried.
She traced her finger across it and whispered:
“He’s waking up.”
Behind her, a dark figure emerged from the shadows. An older man with cold eyes and a scar across his temple.
“Do we move now?” he asked.
Ariana smiled.
“Not yet,” she said. “Let him fall in love first.”
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To Be Continued
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