The wind swept across the plains, carrying the scent of mesquite and dust. Under the crimson glow of the setting sun, Cole Harper leaned against the weathered fence of his family's ranch, staring at the horizon as if the world beyond held an answer he'd been waiting for.
Cole wasn't a man of many dreams. Cowboys rarely were. Work, sleep, and keeping the cattle fed—that was life in Sage Creek, a town so small you could walk from one end to the other in ten minutes. But lately, something gnawed at him.
It started with the letter.
The envelope had been tucked under the porch door that morning, sealed with no sender's name. The handwriting was rough, the kind belonging to someone who'd spent years under the sun.
Cole,
If you value your family's blood, you'll go to Harper Mine before the next moonrise. The thing your grandfather buried… it's waking.
No signature. Just that.
The Harper Mine had been abandoned for decades, closed after a collapse killed three men—including Cole's grandfather's best friend. People said the mine was cursed. Cole never believed it. But the letter sat heavy in his hand, heavier in his mind.
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That night, he saddled his old bay horse, Ranger, and rode out toward the cliffs. The moon hung low, pale as bone, lighting the path between twisted mesquite trees.
The mine's entrance yawned before him—a black maw in the side of the hill. The wooden beams supporting it were rotted and warped, their edges chewed by time. Cole struck a match and lit the lantern he'd brought, the flicker of flame casting shadows that twisted and danced against the stone.
The air inside was stale, thick with dust. His boots crunched over loose gravel as he descended the main shaft, each step echoing faintly. Deeper and deeper, the walls narrowed until the path bent sharply to the left.
There—half-buried under a pile of rubble—something glimmered.
Cole knelt, brushing away dirt and shards of rock. His breath caught. It was a pendant, carved from jade the color of a stormy sea. Swirling patterns wound around its surface, ending in the shape of a coiled serpent.
The instant his fingers closed around it, the air shifted.
The lantern flame flared high, then snuffed out, leaving him in darkness. A low hum vibrated through the ground, rising in pitch until it roared like a thousand hooves thundering across the plains.
From the shadows, something moved.
A pair of eyes—glowing, slit-pupiled—opened in the dark. Then the body followed: scales the color of midnight water, a head crowned with silver horns that scraped the ceiling.
"You…" the voice was a rumble that shook his bones. "…have awakened me, mortal."
Cole stumbled back, his heel striking stone. "What the hell—"
The serpent's eyes burned brighter. "From this moment, your fate is bound to the Lone Star… forever."
The ground split beneath him, and the world went white.
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