Chapter 28. The Blood Oath

Mairead descended alone into the ruins of the forgotten altar.

The path spiraled downward through stone older than bone, its curve carved by hands that had never known crowns or councils. Each step pressed against her not with sound, but with weight, as though the mountain itself were holding its breath and measuring her resolve. The deeper she went, the heavier the air became, dense with an age that did not welcome the living.

The altar chamber waited at the base of the spiral.

Cold clung to it—not the cold of night or wind, but the chill of memory. Stone walls pulsed faintly in the moonlight that filtered down through a cracked opening high above. The chamber was formed of concentric circles, each ring etched with older marks than the last. Time here did not move forward. It coiled inward, layer upon layer, as if the