Hate-bound Prophecy: Cycle of Iron and Hate - Book I by JD Ritter

Author:JD Ritter [Ritter, JD]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2024-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

“Early morning on the 3rd day of the 3rd moon, year 1612. An ominous air fills the capital, marking the day it would face an unprecedented attack.”

For me, Armand Rentzo, the day of the grand heist has arrived. My fingers dance across the map, each movement caressing the key points of my meticulously planned scheme. I visualize each step of the heist unfolding to perfection, a sly grin on my face.

I feel the smooth texture of the blueprints beneath my fingertips, having pored over every tiny detail multiple times to ensure nothing was missed. The information from the mysterious Ignatius has proven invaluable in acquiring equipment for this job.

I remember holding the red gem for the first time, sitting at my desk and waiting for Ignatius’s contact after our windmill meeting.

Half-expecting my head to explode or my bones to turn to rubber and leave me forever wobbly, I brace myself for the arrival of the Court Sorceress, Elandre. I can almost see Elandre mocking my feeble presence with her imposing, unblinking gaze.

Yet, as time passes, my head remains intact, and my bones solid.

Ignatius’s voice, cool and assured, emanates from the shadows, fulfilling his promise and easing my concerns. He explains that the stone doesn’t require constant magical activation. It now serves as an open channel with a predetermined lifespan before it runs out of juice—a statement that piques my curiosity.

Examining the gem, I find no openings that could contain any sort of “juice,” nor do I hear any liquid sloshing inside when I shake it. Perhaps it’s just an idiom used by foreigners.

He provides me with crucial information, including a deadline for the heist.

“Broad daylight?” the words escape me, my eyebrows furrowing, shock apparent in every line of my forehead. “Committing a crime under the watchful gaze of the Light - isn’t that suicide?”

This isn’t the usual method—well, except for corrupt politicians and traders with insider information. My trade typically prefers a darker approach.

That, however, is a minor concern. The real revelation comes when he discloses the target. At that moment, I can’t help but lick my lips and rub my fingertips together.

As he names the target—the Heart of the Light—a gasp escapes my lips. My fingertips twitch at the sheer audacity of our plan. Stealing it would elevate my status beyond that of the infamous Red Hood.

Yet every reward comes with its risks. This isn’t merely another job; it’s a dance with death, a fool’s leap into the abyss. The Covenant members burn people at the stake for the slightest offenses, let alone for humiliating them in this manner.

They would undoubtedly flay me alive while I burned, adding salt to my wounds and chanting demoralizing hymns in mocking tones with a false tune. Despite all this, I accept the task without hesitation.

His voice, reminiscent of rustling old parchment, whispers secrets and ancient wisdom to my eager ears. He reveals details about the protective mechanisms within the Temple of Kalin. It is the holiest site of the Covenant, located at the heart of the capital, adjacent to the emperor’s castle.

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