The night was still.
Gonzalo walked alone through the lower chambers of his stronghold, torchlight flickering against the damp stone walls. The sound of his boots echoed softly, steady, like a heartbeat keeping pace with madness.
In his hand, he held a rolled parchment, ancient, frayed at the edges, sealed with a black wax that glimmered faintly in the dark. He hadn't unsealed it in centuries past, no Alpha dared to. But tonight, all that remained of his hesitation had already burned to ash.
He pushed open the heavy door at the end of the corridor.
The chamber beyond was silent and cold, its walls lined with carved runes, symbols so old even the priests refused to translate them. In the center, a stone altar waited beneath a narrow shaft of moonlight.
He laid the scroll upon it and exhaled shakily.
His voice was barely a whisper. "If there's a price, I'll pay it."
He broke the seal.
