The attendant held the scroll out again. "You need only place your blood on the top sigil. The scroll will do the rest."
Michael didn't move immediately. His eyes lingered on the elf.
Then he asked, "What's her name?"
The attendant hesitated. "Her original name was Lyra."
Michael gave a slow nod.
Then, without a word, he took a pin from his sleeve, pricked his thumb, and let a drop of blood fall onto the top sigil of the scroll.
The effect was immediate.
The scroll pulsed. The rune patterns surged to life, crawling like vines across its surface. A second set of runes—the ones below—flared next.
Lyra hissed softly as a sharp pain hit her chest. A faint glow appeared beneath her tattered top, centered just above her heart—a mark forming.
The contract had taken hold.
Michael felt a strange warmth at the edge of his soul, like something had clicked into place.
It wasn't deep. It wasn't mutual.
But it was there.
