The ride back to the ranch felt longer than it should have.
Cole swayed in the saddle, every muscle in his body aching as though he had been struck by lightning. Ranger, his old bay horse, seemed unsettled—ears pinned back, hooves striking the dirt faster than usual. Even the animal could sense the change.
The pendant now hung heavy around Cole's neck, its jade glow hidden beneath his shirt, but he could feel it—warmth radiating against his skin, a pulse that matched his heartbeat. Each throb carried a whisper, faint and incomprehensible, like the language of the wind itself. Cole tried to push it away, to drown it out with the rhythm of Ranger's hooves. But the memories kept clawing back—the serpent's eyes, the roar that split the earth, the visions of war beneath foreign skies. They weren't dreams. They weren't delusions. Something had been awakened in him.
By the time the ranch house came into view, the horizon was already paling with dawn. The wooden silhouette of the barn stood black against the first light, and the air was sharp with the scent of sagebrush and dew. Normally, coming home brought Cole a sense of peace. Tonight, it brought only questions.
Cole dismounted stiffly, patting Ranger's neck. The horse shied away from his touch, nostrils flaring. That hurt more than he wanted to admit. Ranger had been his partner since boyhood, steady as the earth itself. Now, even his own horse recoiled from him.
"Easy, boy," Cole whispered. His voice cracked with exhaustion. "It's still me."
But even he wasn't sure anymore.
Inside the ranch house, the floorboards creaked under his boots. His mother, Anna Harper, stirred in the kitchen. The faint clatter of pans reached his ears. She was an early riser, always had been, but this time Cole froze at the sound. For the first time in his life, he hesitated to face her.
The warmth in his veins hadn't faded. If anything, it had deepened, woven itself into his bones. He could feel his pulse in unnatural ways—every beat sharp, alive, echoing through the walls. What if she noticed? What if she saw the glow beneath his skin?
But Anna's voice called out, warm and unsuspecting.
"Cole? That you? You're up early, son."
Cole closed his eyes, breathed deep, and stepped into the light.
His mother stood at the stove, hair streaked with silver, the lines of hardship carved into her face. She smiled softly at him, but her eyes narrowed with concern.
"You look like hell, Cole. You've been out all night?"
Cole forced a laugh, though it sounded brittle. "Couldn't sleep. Needed to clear my head."
Anna studied him, the way mothers do when they know more than you want them to. Her eyes flicked to the damp stains on his shirt, the dirt smeared across his boots, and the strange tightness in his expression. But she said nothing—just slid a cup of coffee across the table.
Cole sat, wrapping his hands around the mug. The warmth steadied him, but only barely.
Before Cole could speak, before he could gather the courage to confess anything, a sharp knock rattled the front door.
Anna glanced up, frowning. "At this hour?"
Cole rose, his chest tightening. Through the glass, a figure stood against the morning light. Broad-shouldered, hat pulled low, the kind of silhouette that spoke of trouble.
When Cole opened the door, he came face-to-face with Sheriff Elias Grady.
Grady had been sheriff of Sage Creek for fifteen years. A man of law, rigid as oak, his eyes gray as storm clouds. He didn't waste time with greetings.
"Morning, Cole." His gaze swept over him, cold and measuring. "You look like you been run over twice."
Cole managed a shrug. "Ranch life."
Grady didn't smile. Instead, he held up a folded slip of paper.
"Got reports someone poking around the old Harper Mine last night. Folks saw a light out there. Thought I should check with you."
The words hit like a hammer. Cole's hand twitched toward the pendant under his shirt. He forced himself to stay still.
Anna frowned, looking between them. "The mine? That place is dangerous. Collapsed years ago. What fool would—"
Cole cut her off quickly. "I don't know anything about it, Sheriff. Haven't been near the mine since I was a kid."
Grady's eyes lingered on him, heavy, unblinking. For a moment, Cole feared the sheriff could see straight through him—straight to the glowing veins beneath his skin.
Finally, Grady tipped his hat. "Just making sure. That mine's cursed, Cole. Best you steer clear. Don't want another Harper tragedy."
With that, the sheriff turned and strode away, boots crunching against gravel.
Cole closed the door slowly, his breath shaking.
Anna's eyes narrowed. "Cole Harper… what did you do?"
And for the first time in his life, Cole had no answer.
---
Cole awoke to the sound of wind—no, not wind. It was a roar, a constant rumble like the sky itself was tearing open. His body ached as though he'd been trampled by a herd, his lungs burning with every breath.
When his eyes opened, the mine was gone. No walls of stone, no rotten beams, no dust choking the air. Instead, he stood in an endless expanse of golden grass that swayed beneath a twilight sky. The horizon burned with a light too vivid to be the sun, as though fire itself had spilled across the edges of the world.
Cole staggered, clutching his side. Ranger—his horse—was nowhere to be seen. The lantern, the saddlebag, even his hat had vanished. He was alone, stripped bare except for the jade pendant that now hung from a cord around his neck.
The serpent's voice echoed again, carried not by air but by the marrow of his bones.
"You walk in the Starfield, mortal. The place between worlds."
Cole spun, his fists raised though he knew how useless they were. The serpent towered behind him, larger than before, its body weaving endlessly through the grass like a river of midnight. Each scale shimmered with reflections of distant constellations, as though the night sky itself had been etched into its skin.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Cole demanded, his voice hoarse.
The serpent lowered its head, eyes blazing like molten silver.
"I was sealed by your grandfather's blood. Bound in darkness, chained to stone, waiting for a soul foolish enough—or strong enough—to awaken me. That soul… is yours."
Cole shook his head, anger and fear tangled in his chest. "My grandfather was a rancher, not some kind of… demon jailer. You've got the wrong man."
The serpent's laugh rolled across the plain, deep and terrible.
"Rancher, warrior, wanderer—it matters not. His hands buried the seal, and his bloodline carries the price. You carry the mark now, whether you choose it or not."
Cole gritted his teeth, his hands curling into fists. "I didn't ask for this."
"Few ever do." The serpent's massive coils shifted, circling him. "But destiny is rarely kind. The Lone Star calls, and you will answer."
Cole felt heat against his chest. He looked down—the pendant was glowing, its jade surface alive with threads of light. Pain lanced through his body, sharp as lightning. His knees buckled, but he refused to fall.
"What… is happening to me?" he gasped.
"The seal awakens in your flesh," the serpent intoned. "A path of power carved into bone and spirit. You will learn to walk it, or it will consume you."
Cole's vision blurred. Images flickered at the edges of his mind: his mother's face lined with worry, his father's calloused hands tightening a rope, the old Harper ranch fading under the weight of debt and drought. He saw Sage Creek—its people, its dust, its silence.
Then another image: shadows spreading across the plains, fire devouring the grass, a figure cloaked in black raising a hand that blotted out the stars.
He screamed, clutching his head. The pain was unbearable, like his skull was being split in two.
"Why me?" he choked. "Why not someone else?"
The serpent leaned closer, its breath hot as a furnace.
"Because the land itself remembers your blood. Because every star in this sky points to you. Because fate has no patience for cowards."
Cole's fury boiled over. He forced himself to stand, swaying like a drunk. "If you think I'm gonna bow to you, you're dead wrong."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the serpent's gaze narrowed.
"Good. Fire without will is ash. You may yet survive."
The plain shuddered. The golden grass ignited, flames racing outward in a circle. Cole spun, panic surging, but the fire did not burn him. Instead, it shaped itself into symbols—vast, glowing marks that seared into the earth. A constellation unfurled at his feet, the pattern forming a single blazing star.
The pendant flared so bright it blinded him. His scream was swallowed by light.
When the blaze faded, Cole was back in the mine. The lantern lay shattered beside him, its flame long dead. Dust filled the air again, but now the pendant was warm against his chest, pulsing like a second heart.
He staggered to his feet, every muscle trembling. The serpent was gone. The silence pressed heavy around him, broken only by the drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels.
Cole stumbled toward the entrance, each step a battle. When he finally emerged into the night, the moon was high above, casting silver across the desert. Ranger whinnied softly where he'd tied him, as though nothing had happened.
But Cole knew everything had changed. His hands still shook. The images burned in his mind—the black-cloaked figure, the burning fields, the serpent's endless gaze.
He mounted Ranger and rode home, the pendant hot against his skin. Whatever his grandfather had buried in that mine, it wasn't gone. And now, it lived inside him.
---
The night was colder than it had ever been. Cole stumbled out of the mine, lantern gone, clothes torn, face streaked with soot and blood. His horse, Ranger, pawed nervously at the ground where Cole had left him tied, ears flicking back and forth as though he, too, had sensed the thing beneath the earth.
Cole gripped the pendant tightly, its jade surface pulsing faintly in his palm like the beat of a second heart. He could not let it go. He had tried, back inside the shaft, but the moment he dropped it, the light had seared him again, a whip of fire in his veins until his hand found it once more.
"Easy, boy," Cole muttered, trying to calm Ranger as he untied the reins. His voice shook, and he hated that he could hear it. "Easy…"
The horse whickered, rolling its eyes, then jerked against the rope. Cole swung into the saddle anyway, clutching the pendant tight. His body ached all over—every bone felt branded from the inside out—but he pulled Ranger toward the open plain, away from the black maw of the mine.
The ride back to the ranch was silent save for the pounding hooves and Cole's ragged breathing. The moon rode high now, silver and distant, but even its glow seemed smaller than the star that still burned in his memory. The Lone Star. The serpent's words clawed at him, refusing to loosen: You are bound… my heir…
By the time the ranch came into sight, Cole's hands had gone numb. His mother's lamp still burned in the window, though it was late. She always waited up when he went out, though she pretended not to. He slid off Ranger and led the horse quietly into the barn.
But when he reached the porch, the floorboards creaked beneath his boots, and the door opened before he touched it.
His mother stood there, nightdress wrapped in a shawl, her face pale. "Cole Harper," she said, voice trembling not with anger but with fear. "Where in God's name have you been?"
Cole opened his mouth, but no words came. He felt the weight of the pendant like a stone pressing into his chest. He couldn't tell her—not yet. Not when he didn't even understand himself.
"Out by the cliffs," he said finally. His voice was hoarse. "Checking the fences. Cattle been spooked lately."
Her eyes narrowed. She looked him up and down, taking in his torn clothes, the dirt ground into his skin. She reached out, touched his cheek, and her hand came away black with soot.
"Fences?" she whispered.
Cole swallowed. "Storm blew through. Dust got everywhere."
For a long moment she said nothing. Then she lowered her hand, but her eyes still lingered on him with a sorrow he didn't recognize. "Your grandfather used to come back looking the same way," she said softly. "Covered in black, like he'd been to hell itself."
Cole's chest tightened. He wanted to ask—wanted to demand what she meant—but his strength failed him. He only nodded and stepped past her into the house.
Sleep came fitfully. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the serpent's scales, the burning horns, the star in the sky. And always the voice, whispering in his bones: Rise, or fall. Guard, or perish.
When dawn broke, Cole rose from his bed with the weight of lead in his limbs. He washed quickly, dressed, and saddled Ranger once again. He told his mother he needed to ride into town for supplies, though in truth, his mind burned with one purpose.
The letter.
Who had sent it? Who had known the thing buried in the mine? And why now, after decades, had the serpent awakened?
Sage Creek was alive with its usual noises—shopkeepers sweeping their porches, wagons rattling down the single dusty street, kids chasing stray dogs. But to Cole, the town felt… changed. Shadows seemed longer, whispers sharper, as if the world itself tilted slightly off-balance since the moment he touched the pendant.
He hitched Ranger outside the saloon, the only place news traveled fast in Sage Creek. The air inside was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of whiskey. Men leaned over card games, voices low. The piano in the corner sat silent, its keys chipped and yellow.
Cole stepped to the bar. "Whiskey."
The barkeep—an old man named Jasper who had poured drinks since before Cole was born—slid a glass across the counter, then leaned in. "Heard you were up by the Harper Mine last night."
Cole froze, the glass halfway to his lips. His throat tightened. "Who told you that?"
"Don't matter." Jasper's eyes were sharp, gray as storm clouds. "Word gets around. You'd do well to leave that place alone, boy."
Cole forced a laugh, though it came out rough. "Place is just rocks and rot. Ain't nothing there but bats."
But Jasper didn't smile. He leaned closer. "Your grandfather thought the same. Till he came back one night, eyes hollow, skin pale. Took him near a month to look human again."
Cole's heart thudded. "You knew him."
"Knew him better than most." Jasper's gaze flicked to the pendant peeking from Cole's shirt. "And I know what he carried. If you've found it… best bury it deep. Deeper than he ever did."
Cole shoved the pendant back under his shirt, heat rising to his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
But Jasper only shook his head, lips thin. "Then God help you, Cole Harper. Because the land won't."
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Cole bought supplies he didn't need, rode out of town before more questions could follow. But Jasper's words dug deep, same as the serpent's.
By the time the sun began to fall, he found himself at the ridge overlooking the plains. The wind blew hard, carrying the smell of mesquite and dust. And there, standing against the horizon, was a figure.
Cole reined Ranger to a stop. The figure turned.
It was a man he had never seen before—tall, lean, with skin weathered like old leather and eyes as pale as bone. He wore no hat, though the wind whipped at his long gray hair. Around his neck hung a chain, and on it… another pendant.
Jade, carved with the same serpent.
Cole's blood ran cold.
The man smiled, though it held no warmth. "So. You've woken it." His voice was low, rasping, like sand sliding over stone.
Cole's hand tightened on his reins. "Who the hell are you?"
The stranger stepped closer, the dust swirling at his feet as though the earth bent to him. "The one your grandfather feared. The one he failed to kill. And now… the one who will take back what is mine."
The air thickened. The pendant at Cole's chest blazed hot, searing his skin. Ranger reared, screaming, and Cole fought to keep his seat.
The man's pale eyes never left him. "Run, if you want. It won't matter. The Lone Star has chosen you, boy. But the question is—will you burn with it… or be consumed?"
Lightning split the sky though no storm brewed. The ground trembled beneath Cole's boots as the stranger vanished into dust, leaving only silence behind.
Cole sat frozen, breath ragged, heart pounding.
The mine. The serpent. The pendant. The letter.
And now this man.
The horizon stretched endless before him, but Cole knew one thing for certain: the path ahead was no longer his own.
It belonged to the Lone Star.
And its shadow was only beginning to fall.
---
Does it seem like it doesn't make sense? If so, I'm sorry, and thank you very much to the readers who have read this novel of mine!!☺️!!And... almost forgot😅, the next chapter might be slow for me to up. Because I'm busy with translated novels on Wattpad 😅.Or🤔🤔 I'll make the next chapter, then you guys wait for the next one, sorry if it takes a long time🙏🏻,I'm always up when I'm in a good mood☺️