Shadow’s Oath

A Poem of Devotion and Despair

"A flower bends before the storm,

Or lets its petals break.

One path leads to endless night,

The other—eternal wake."

—Verses of the Fallen

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Tara stood, her breath shallow, the last flickers of her former self crumbling like dying embers. The flames in her hands, once golden and pure, had turned black—a fire that no longer belonged to her alone.

Shree Yan watched with amusement, his crimson gaze piercing through her wavering resolve.

"Do you regret?" he asked.

Tara's fingers curled into a fist.

Regret?

Did the bird regret when its wings were torn?

Did the river regret when it was swallowed by the sea?

No.

What was lost was lost.

What was taken—was taken.

There was no place for regret.

Only submission.

Only a new path.

Her voice was hoarse, stripped of the fire it once carried. "What do you command, my lord?"

Shree Yan's smile deepened.

She had broken.

Yet in that breaking, he had not crushed her.

He had reshaped her.

"Swear your oath," he ordered.

Tara lowered herself onto one knee, the black flames swirling around her. The earth beneath her darkened, the very air twisting with an unspoken vow.

"I am yours," she murmured. "To command, to wield, to destroy."

Shree Yan extended a hand.

Tara took it.

At that moment, the pact was sealed.

Not as master and servant.

But as king and shadow.