The mill's stone walls closed in around Ethan as Rowan's dagger hummed inches from his throat. Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight on water, but her eyes—icy and pitiless—betrayed no trace of mercy. "The bridle," she hissed, gesturing to the pendant in his hand. "You've no idea what you've unleashed."
Ethan's fingers tightened around the triskele. Its metal throbbed against his palm, as if reacting to Rowan's presence. "What's it for?"
"Control." Rowan stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The kelpie's bridle binds it to its master. But to wield it, you must offer a sacrifice—a life for a life." She nodded at the door, where the kelpie's distant growls echoed like thunder. "Your grandfather's already paid the price."
Ethan's breath hitched. "He's alive?"
"For now." Rowan twirled the dagger, its blade catching the moonlight. "But the kelpie feeds on fear. It'll toy with him until he breaks… or until you surrender the bridle."
A memory flashed—Grampa's trembling hands as he burned the boy's body, his hoarse warning about "ancient pacts." Ethan's chest ached. "Why me?"
Rowan smirked. "Your grandmother tried to steal the bridle decades ago. The kelpie marked her bloodline. You're the only one left to finish what she started."
Before Ethan could respond, the ground shuddered. The mill's wooden beams creaked as if under a massive weight. Rowan cursed, yanking Ethan toward a hidden staircase. "It's found us."
They descended into a damp cellar, walls lined with moldy books and rusted tools. At the center stood a stone altar, its surface etched with the same triskele symbol. Rowan pressed her palm to the symbol, and the altar split open, revealing a hollow filled with yellowed parchments and a vial of black liquid.
"Your grandmother's notes," she said, tossing the parchments to Ethan. "She discovered the kelpie's true name—Níðhöggr—and planned to use the bridle to banish it. But the ritual requires a blood offering." She held up the vial. "Her final attempt… failed."
Ethan scanned the notes, his pulse quickening. The ritual demanded the sacrifice of a loved one to bind the kelpie. His grandmother had tried to use her own blood, but the kelpie had corrupted it, turning her into a host for its curse.
"She became the first of its thralls," Rowan explained. "Now the kelpie's curse spreads through the river, puppeteering the dead. That boy you found? His mark was a homing beacon. The kelpie's collecting souls to rebuild its strength."
Outside, the kelpie's roar intensified. The cellar door splintered. Rowan shoved the vial into Ethan's hand. "You have two choices: Use your blood to finish the ritual and banish the kelpie… or let it drown the entire village."
Ethan hesitated. The pendant burned in his pocket, its heat searing his skin. He thought of Grampa, trapped in the kelpie's clutches, and the boy's charred body. "What happens if I refuse?"
Rowan's gaze hardened. "The kelpie will rise. It'll flood the Thames, dragging every soul into the abyss. And you…" She nodded at the triskele. "You'll become its new bridle-bearer—a slave to its will until the end of time."
The cellar door exploded inward. The kelpie loomed in the doorway, its black hide glistening with slime, eyes glowing like embers. It reared onto its hind legs, hooves slashing the air. Rowan raised her dagger, but the kelpie's tail lashed out, sending her sprawling.
"Now, Ethan!" she screamed.
Ethan acted on instinct. He plunged the vial's contents into the altar's hollow, then sliced his palm with the dagger. His blood mingled with the black liquid, forming a smoking pool. The triskele symbol flared to life, projecting a holographic map of the Thames.
"Focus on the kelpie's location," Rowan gasped, struggling to her feet.
Ethan closed his eyes, picturing Grampa's last known position. The map rippled, zeroing in on a submerged cave beneath the old bridge. The kelpie shrieked, its form flickering as if caught in a force field.
"Bind it!" Rowan cried.
Ethan pressed the pendant into the altar. The room filled with a deafening hum. The kelpie's roar turned to a whimper as its essence was sucked into the pendant. For a heartbeat, silence. Then, the pendant shattered, releasing a cloud of black smoke that dissipated into the air.
The kelpie collapsed, its body dissolving into river water. Ethan staggered back, dizzy from blood loss. Rowan caught him, her grip surprisingly gentle.
"You did it," she said, though her tone held no triumph. "But the ritual's cost…"
Ethan followed her gaze to the altar. The map now showed a glowing dot near the cave—Grampa's life force, fading fast.
"We have to save him," Ethan said, already sprinting toward the stairs.
Rowan grabbed his arm. "The kelpie's dead, but the cave's collapsing. You'll drown."
Ethan wrenched free. "I'm not leaving him."
He didn't wait for a response. Outside, the Thames surged with unnatural energy, its surface glowing faintly. Ethan dove into the water, the cold seizing his lungs. He swam toward the cave, guided by the pendant's lingering warmth.
Inside, Grampa lay unconscious on a bed of stones, his body battered but alive. Ethan heaved him onto his shoulders, fighting the current as the cave walls crumbled around them. Just as the ceiling collapsed, they burst into the open air, gasping for breath.
Rowan was waiting on the shore, a lantern in hand. She helped Ethan drag Grampa onto dry land. The old man coughed, eyes fluttering open.
"Ethan…" he croaked. "The kelpie…"
"Gone," Ethan said, pressing a hand to Grampa's wound. "But we need to talk. About Grandma. About the bridle."
Grampa's gaze flickered to Rowan. "You brought her into this?"
Rowan crossed her arms. "He had no choice. The kelpie would've killed us all."
Grampa sighed, closing his eyes. "There's a chest in the shack. Inside… you'll find answers. But be warned—some secrets are better left buried."
Ethan nodded, though his mind raced. The pendant was destroyed, the kelpie banished, but Rowan's presence still gnawed at him. Who was she, really? And why did she know so much about his family's past?
As they carried Grampa back to the shack, the Thames whispered a final warning. Ethan glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the kelpie's shadow rising from the depths. But the water was calm—for now.