The Shattered Oath

Lyric's breath came in ragged gasps as she pressed her back against the cold cavern wall. The battle was over, but the weight of everything that had happened still pressed against her chest. Quinn was nearby, keeping watch, his usual cocky smirk absent. The others were further ahead, giving her space.

She had nearly been taken. Nearly lost everything.

And for what?

Her heart pounded, the echoes of Ashar's attack still ringing in her mind. The sight of those cold, silver-masked figures sent a shiver through her. Even after all these years, even after everything, they still haunted her.

A sharp pain lanced through her skull, and suddenly, the present world faded. Her vision blurred, twisting into something else—something from long ago.

A memory.

---

The air smelled of parchment and candle wax. Rows of books lined the great library halls, their spines inscribed with symbols of ancient knowledge. Lyric sat cross-legged on the marble floor, a massive tome spread open in front of her, the golden letters shimmering under the dim light.

"Read faster, little shadow," a voice teased.

She turned to see a tall man in flowing silver robes, his face obscured by a porcelain mask with the emblem of the Wardens of Balance etched onto it.

Master Veric.

He was the one who had found her. The one who had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go.

She had been a street child before that, scrounging for scraps in the back alleys of a city whose name she had long since forgotten. The Wardens had found her, offered her shelter, knowledge, power.

She owed them everything.

"I'm trying," Lyric muttered, gripping the edges of the book. "It's just—"

"A Warden must not waste time with excuses," Veric interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind. "You are meant for greater things, Lyric. We all are."

She swallowed hard and nodded, her small fingers tracing the ancient text. The words blurred before her eyes, and for a moment, a sinking feeling took hold of her.

Greater things.

But at what cost?

---

The memory shifted.

Lyric was older now, standing in the Hall of Concordance, the heart of the Wardens' domain. Towering stone pillars stretched high above her, and at the very center stood Saraphine.

Regal. Commanding.

The woman's midnight-blue robes shimmered like the void itself, her dark eyes filled with something unreadable as she watched Lyric kneel before her.

"You have done well," Saraphine said, her voice as smooth as silk. "Your knowledge surpasses even those twice your age."

Lyric should have been proud.

She wanted to be proud.

But something gnawed at the back of her mind.

The missions were getting darker. The lessons crueler. The balance they claimed to protect—it was not balance at all. It was control.

Lyric had been taught that the world was like a set of scales, constantly tipping too far in one direction or another. The Wardens existed to correct that. To restore balance.

But the more she learned, the more she saw, the more she realized the truth.

"Master Veric told me that balance requires sacrifice," Lyric said hesitantly. "But... why is it always others who must sacrifice?"

Saraphine's lips curved into a knowing smile.

"Because, my dear," she murmured, "we are the ones strong enough to bear it."

A shadow flickered across Lyric's heart.

Was that truly what she believed?

---

Another shift.

A different hall. A different night.

Lyric was running.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her breath coming in frantic gulps. The corridors of the Wardens' sanctum blurred past her, torches flickering wildly.

They knew.

They had discovered what she had done.

The books she had stolen. The secrets she had uncovered. The truth she had tried to bury beneath years of blind obedience.

The Wardens were not protectors. They were manipulators, orchestrating the rise and fall of entire civilizations in the name of balance. And she had been one of them.

She skidded to a halt near the grand chamber doors, her hands shaking as she tried to steady herself.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

Master Veric.

"You disappoint me, Lyric," he said calmly, as if they were discussing a failed lesson rather than her betrayal.

Lyric clenched her fists. "You lied to me."

"No," Veric said. "You simply outlived your usefulness."

A cold dread filled her veins.

Then he raised his hand.

Pain erupted through her body as a surge of magic slammed into her. She hit the ground hard, her vision flashing white.

"You could have been great," Veric murmured, stepping closer. "But now, you are nothing."

Lyric forced herself up, blood dripping from her lip. "You're wrong."

And with the last of her strength, she unleashed everything she had.

The walls trembled. The torches shattered. Magic crackled in the air.

And then she ran.

Ran as the sanctum collapsed behind her.

Ran as everything she had ever known burned.

---

The memory faded, and Lyric jolted back to the present, her heart pounding.

She was on her knees, her hands shaking. Quinn was in front of her, his face filled with concern.

"Lyric?" His voice was softer than she had ever heard it.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand.

"I was one of them," she whispered. "I was a Warden."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Quinn spoke.

"And now?"

Lyric met his gaze, her expression hardened by years of regret.

"Now... I fight against them."

Quinn studied her, then slowly reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"You're not alone in that fight," he said.

She let out a slow breath.

Maybe, for the first time in her life, she truly believed that.

---

Far from where Lyric and the others rested, deep in the heart of a forsaken land, Saraphine stepped through a ruined archway. The air shimmered with unnatural darkness, tendrils of shadow curling at her feet as she entered the domain of one she had once called an ally.

The temple had long been abandoned—at least by those still tethered to the light. Its pillars, cracked and worn, bore remnants of forgotten runes. A thick fog rolled through the corridors, humming with ancient power.

Saraphine moved with purpose, her midnight-blue robes untouched by the decay surrounding her. At the far end of the chamber, a great throne of obsidian loomed, carved with twisted, writhing shapes that seemed almost alive.

A figure sat upon it.

Slender, motionless, draped in shadow.

At first, she seemed like a mere wraith—nothing but a remnant of darkness, forgotten by time. But as Saraphine approached, the figure stirred.

Eyes, a deep and hollow silver, flickered open.

"Who dares disturb me?"

Her voice was not human. It was layered—two voices speaking at once, one soft and sorrowful, the other seething with raw power.

Saraphine did not flinch.

"You know me, old friend."

A cold silence. Then, the figure leaned forward, stepping into the dim light.

Her form was no longer the same as it once was.

Once, she had been beautiful—graceful, radiant, a healer whose touch could mend even the deepest wounds. But now, she was something else entirely.

Her once-golden hair had turned ashen, flowing like strands of mist. Her robes, once pure, were now woven with shadows. Dark veins traced her arms, pulsing with eerie energy.

She had become something unnatural. Something corrupted.

And yet… Saraphine could still see the remnants of who she once was.

"You," the woman whispered, her tone unreadable.

"I have need of you," Saraphine said smoothly.

The woman's fingers curled against the throne's armrests. "You abandoned me."

"You chose this path," Saraphine countered. "I merely… guided you along it."

A long pause. Then, slowly, the woman's lips curved into a hollow smile.

"And now you return. Asking for my help."

Saraphine's gaze remained steady.

"Finnian lives."

The room went deathly still.

The woman's breath hitched, her silver eyes widening—just for a fraction of a second—before the darkness swallowed the reaction.

"Alive?" Her voice trembled between the echoes of past and present, of love and hate, of what she had been and what she had become.

Saraphine smiled.

"Yes. And soon… he will come looking for answers."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I need your help."

The air crackled with tension. Shadows twisted along the stone walls, whispering in a forgotten tongue.

And then, the woman laughed—low, bitter, full of something broken.

Darkness swirled around her.

And the deal was sealed.