The winter darkness that blanketed the historic catacombs beneath the ancient streets of Paris carried a freezing, stagnant chill that had not been disturbed for centuries. Deep within the hidden, underground gothic sanctuary of the Ley Line Keepers, the absolute, majestic silence was broken only by the frantic, echoing murmurs of thirty elder sorcerers. They stood in a tense, rigid circle around their primary scrying pool—an ancient magical basin carved from raw obsidian that had documented the rise and fall of supernatural factions, wars, and empires for over five hundred years since the First Cleansing.
But tonight, the azure water inside the stone basin was no longer reflecting the peaceful, hidden currents of the earth’s natural magic lines. It had turned into a thick, boiling violet
