The iron gate to the oldest section of the Thorne family crypt groaned as I pushed it open. Despite Father calling off our investigation last night, I found myself drawn back here in the daylight. Something about this place had been calling to me for weeks—a whisper I couldn't ignore.
I stepped deeper into the chamber, lantern held high, illuminating ancient stone sarcophagi lined along the walls. Each bore the Thorne family crest, but the one at the far end was different. It sat apart from the others, its surface carved with a serpentine design that seemed to writhe in the lantern light.
"This is it," I whispered, approaching the sarcophagus that featured prominently in the texts I'd discovered. The serpent sigil—symbol of the entity my parents had fought—curved across its lid, jaws open as if to devour.
