The Dark Covenant: Promises of Doom
The Dark Covenant: Promises of Doom
The wind howled over the cliffs of Blackridge as dark clouds churned in the evening sky. Beneath the looming silhouette of Ravenshade Monastery, a secret was stirring—ancient and vile.
Elara Thorne, a young historian from Eastvale University, clutched her satchel as she climbed the worn path toward the abandoned structure. She had heard whispers—legends of a document hidden beneath the altar. One known only as the Dark Covenant.
She reached the crumbling entrance just before nightfall. Inside, candle remnants and shattered pews gave the place a mournful echo. Her flashlight flickered. Cold air brushed her cheek like a warning.
"This is it," she whispered. "The last trace of the High Binding Order."
An old journal from a forgotten monk hinted that the covenant held immense power—sealed in blood and shadow. Whoever read its words aloud could gain influence beyond comprehension... but at a price.
Elara approached the altar. Beneath it, hidden beneath loose stone tiles, she uncovered a locked box. Rusted but intact. Her breath quickened.
She pried it open. Inside lay a parchment, the ink dark as dried blood. The language was ancient but decipherable to her trained eyes.
Just as she began to translate, a voice behind her said, "Don’t."
She spun around.
A man stood in the doorway, half-shrouded in a black cloak. His eyes glowed faintly gold.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who knows what you're about to awaken. That document is not meant for our time."
"You knew about this?"
"We’ve been guarding it for centuries. You're meddling with forces that write fates in blood."
"Then tell me what's in it."
He stepped forward. "It's a covenant made between man and something older than gods. Promises were exchanged—souls for power."
"What happens if I read it?"
"Your words become binding. And those who hear will be pulled into the pact."
Despite his warning, curiosity surged in Elara. She glanced back at the document. The glyphs shimmered faintly, urging her.
"What if the world needs this power now? What if I could control it?"
"Power doesn’t serve. It consumes."
Elara hesitated. "Why haven’t you destroyed it?"
"Because destruction spreads its curse wider. It must remain sealed, unread."
She looked at him with steady resolve. "Then why leave it here unguarded?"
He grimaced. "Because those who guard it must never be seen. Until now."
With trembling hands, Elara began reading the first line. The floor shook. Candles re-lit themselves. The man lunged—but too late.
A shadow exploded from the parchment, spiraling toward the ceiling. Screams not of this world echoed around them. Darkness slithered down the walls like oil.
"Elara! Stop! You don’t know what you’re—"
"I do now," she said, voice echoing with unnatural harmony.
The covenant had chosen her.
The man fell back, shielding his eyes. "Then doom is sealed."
Elara turned. Her eyes, now golden, glowed like twin eclipses.
"No... It’s only beginning."
Outside, lightning cracked open the sky. Across the continent, people woke screaming from dreams they couldn't remember. Seers dropped their crystal balls. Priests faltered mid-prayer.
Something had returned.
Elara stood at the monastery’s steps, the wind bending around her. The parchment floated to her hand, now glowing with runes. Her voice was not hers anymore.
"Those who broke the stars shall rise again."
The man behind her, now revealed as a bound guardian named Corwin, knelt. "Then I serve you, Lady of the Covenant."
The curse had not just been released. It had crowned her.
Days passed. Cities around the globe began experiencing unexplained phenomena—dark rain that never stopped, clocks reversing time, children speaking in ancient tongues. Elara, now cloaked in midnight robes, wandered through the lands. Each step she took, reality bent just slightly more.
The Covenant had turned her into a vessel. Her knowledge as a historian allowed her to interpret the runes and awaken more verses from the parchment. Each verse spoken brought forth new horrors, but also new followers—those drawn to the promise of power.
Corwin stayed by her side, his own soul bound by the creed he once swore to guard. Though tormented, he recognized the inevitability of her rise.
"Do you regret this?" she asked him one night as they stood by a lake turned black by the Covenant’s reach.
"Yes. But fate doesn’t ask for consent."
Elara gazed into the water, seeing not her reflection but visions of what would come—skies cracking open, creatures returning from beyond the void, and her own throne made of bones.
"I never wanted to rule."
"And yet here you are."
The next week, governments attempted to contain her influence. Agents entered cities she had visited, only to vanish or emerge muttering cryptic lines from the Covenant. The Vatican issued a global prayer campaign. The internet overflowed with sightings, cult formations, and chaos.
But no one could find her.
Because she was not hiding—she was ascending.
She returned to Ravenshade for the final ritual. The parchment, now a tome, had opened fully. The last verse would bring the true author of the Covenant to the world—the Harbinger.
"You can still stop," Corwin said.
"No," Elara replied. "I must finish what I started."
She chanted the final lines. The earth groaned. The sky shattered like glass. From the breach descended a figure cloaked in starlight and void, eyes like twin suns collapsing.
The Harbinger had arrived.
It whispered not in words, but in truths—the kind that erase minds. Corwin fell to his knees, bleeding from eyes and ears. Elara remained standing, her flesh cracking, glowing from within.
The Covenant had fulfilled its promise.
Elara smiled through the pain. "Let the world be remade."
The Harbinger touched her brow. Light surged across the landscape. A new era had begun—one not ruled by men or gods, but by covenant.
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