Page 87 of The Onyx Covenant

“The willow-woman said to follow the chains,” I remind him.

“And we’re just trusting a creepy tree spirit now?” Kieran arches an eyebrow.

“You have a better idea?” Theron challenges.

“Fine.” Kieran sighs dramatically. “But if I die horribly, I’m haunting both of you.” He turns to me with a twisted smile. “Especially you, Mooncrest. I’ll be the ghost in your bedroom, watching you undress every night.”

“Fuck off, Kieran,” Theron growls, shoving him lightly.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Kieran mutters with a wink at me. “Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.” But I notice how his hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his blade, how sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool air.

“I’ll go first,” I say, moving toward the opening.

Theron catches my arm. “Lyra?—”

“I’m the smallest,” I point out. “And I can recoil back faster if needed.”

Theron hesitates, then nods reluctantly. “Be careful.”

I edge through the narrow opening sideways, thorns catching at my clothes and hair. The passage is barely shoulder width and completely dark except for the faint glow of the chain ahead. After about ten feet, it widens suddenly, opening into a small circular chamber.

In the center stands a pedestal of rough-hewn stone, and upon it rests a gleaming object that glints from the moonlight filtering down from above and is hard to see at first. The chain we’ve been following dangles directly over it, its tip nearly touching it. It’s so bright my eyes hurt.

“I think I found something!” I call back. “There’s space in here!”

Theron squeezes through next, shuffling sideways, his steps careful as he takes in the chamber.

Behind him comes a loud grunt from Kieran. “If I lose a nipple to these thorns, I’m blaming both of you.” A rustling pause. “Seriously, who designs a maze with bramble-covered birth canals?” Another sharp snag on his trousers. “Ow! Great. That’s it. These pants are officially enemies.” He finally stumbles through, looking like he wrestled a wild bush—and lost.

“What is this place?” Theron asks, eyes scanning the circular chamber.

The walls here are different—less thorny vines and more ancient stone—covered in faded carvings. I run my fingers lightly over a massive wolf, its head raised toward a full moon carved in gleaming silver. Around it, smaller wolves knelt or bared their teeth in challenge—it’s hard to tell which. Another panel shows hooded figures encircling a bound shape beneath a bleeding crescent, the lines worn but unmistakably deliberate.

A story, half erased by time.

“These are old,” I murmur. “Older than the Onyx Covenant, perhaps. They look like…”

“The original pack markings,” Theron finishes, examining another section of the wall. “Before the split. When Elios and Umbra were one.”

“What’s that on the pedestal?” Kieran asks, stepping toward the center of the room.

“Careful,” I warn, but he’s already reaching for the object.

As his fingers touch it, the entire chamber floods with brilliant silver light. Kieran jerks back. When the light fades, we can see the object clearly—a key, ornately crafted from what appears to be moonstone, its handle carved in the shape of a wolf’s head.

“The Bloodstone Key,” I breathe, recognizing it from the ancient texts in the temple. “It’s real.”

“What does it open?” Kieran asks, rubbing his eyes.

“According to legend, the door to reconciliation,” Theron says, his voice hushed with awe. “The way back to unity between our packs.”

“Great,” Kieran mutters. “A metaphorical key. Very helpful.”

“I don’t think it’s metaphorical,” I say, reaching out tentatively and wrapping my fingers around the key. It pulses faintly in my palm, warm to the touch, almost like it’s alive. For a second, I brace for another flash of light, another trap, but nothing happens. Just a soft hum against my skin.

We fan out, searching the chamber. I hold the key tightly, scanning the pedestal, the floor, and even the carved walls for any sign of a matching keyhole.

“Could be hidden under something,” Theron mutters, running his fingers along the base of the pedestal. Then he turns to the stone walls, squinting at the faded carvings. “These symbols… some kind of sequence. Could be a locking mechanism.”

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