Chapter 5: Broken Oaths

The Ashen Crows' camp was a graveyard under the moonlight.

The bodies of mercenaries lay scattered—some torn apart by Ether beasts, others crushed beneath the rubble of my explosion. The air reeked of blood and ash, a cruel reminder of what I had done.

My hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the weight of the price the Threshold had exacted.

The dead mercenary lay with his chest split open, a shard of obsidian glinting inside him like a cursed echo of Dren's reliquary.

"The price," the Threshold had whispered. "And it is not yet paid."

Dren stood before me, sword unsheathed, the reliquary on his chest pulsing with a purple gleam that froze the blood in my veins.

His yellow, sharpened eyes studied me like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Swear loyalty, boy," he said, voice low—almost a growl. "Or I'll cut you down right here."

Nyra stepped between us, knife raised, her body taut like a bowstring.

"Touch him, and I'll kill you," she snarled—but her gaze flickered toward me, heavy with doubt.

Her fingers trembled on the blade, and I knew she wasn't uncertain about Dren—she was uncertain about me.

About what I was. About the Ether devouring me.

Lirien's amulet, still clutched in my hand, pulsed faintly—its runes dim but not dead.

It was the last anchor to who I had been before this world, before the Threshold.

Lirien's gray eyes flickered in my mind, her voice a whisper: "You are enough."

But I wasn't.

Not when every step brought me closer to the obsidian throne of my visions—surrounded by blood and corpses.

Nyra among them.

Lirien among them.

"I serve no one," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper—but burning with a fury I could no longer contain.

I stared at Dren, his reliquary gleaming like a cursed eye.

There was something in him—something that resonated with the Threshold.

I knew it. I felt it.

And I couldn't let it control me.

Dren laughed, a dry, slicing sound.

"Brave... but foolish. Ether won't make you a king, boy. It'll turn you to ash."

He raised his sword, and the relic flared—a violet pulse that made the air itself tremble.

The remaining mercenaries—barely six—stepped forward, weapons drawn.

Nyra didn't move, but her knife remained raised, trapped between Dren and me.

"Arion," she said, her voice low, almost pleading. "Tell me what's happening. Tell me what you are, or I won't be able to..."

She stopped, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I won't be able to help you."

Help me.

The word cut like a dagger.

No one had ever helped me in my past life—not truly.

They had all been pawns or traitors.

But Nyra... she was different.

Or I wanted to believe she was.

And that terrified me more than the Threshold.

Before I could answer, a roar shook the forest.

Not beasts this time.

Something worse.

The earth cracked open, and a blinding white flash tore through the camp.

A figure emerged, cloaked in gray robes woven from mist.

Its hands bore runes—not like Tharion's, but older, darker.

The air bent around it, as if reality itself rejected its presence.

"The Echo has awakened," the figure said, its voice an echo vibrating in my chest.

"And the realms know."

Its eyes—hidden beneath the hood—gleamed violet, like mine.

"Arion Vaelis, bearer of Ether. Come with me, or this place will be your tomb."

Dren stepped back, sword quivering.

"Who are you?" he growled, but his voice betrayed fear.

The mercenaries retreated—useless against this new threat.

"I am No One," the figure replied.

And with a gesture, the ground beneath the mercenaries collapsed, swallowing them in a pit of shadow.

Their screams died within seconds.

Dren lifted his sword, but the figure ignored him, eyes fixed on me.

"The Threshold has marked you, Echo. But you are not its slave. Not yet."

Nyra moved, knife slashing through the air—but the figure raised a hand, and her strike vanished into a whirl of wind.

"Be still, child of Air," said No One. "This is not yours to interfere."

Ether roared within me, demanding I act.

But my body was at its limit.

The black veins now crawled across my face, and blood dripped from my eyes, staining the ground.

The amulet pulsed, its glow faint yet steady—like Lirien still fought for me.

"You are enough," her voice whispered in my mind.

"You are not," replied the Threshold, its laughter a blade. "Accept my power, and No One will be dust. Reject me, and they all die."

I looked at Nyra—trapped, her eyes pleading.

I looked at Dren—his reliquary blazing, sword ready to end me.

And I looked at No One—an enigma promising death and answers alike.

My mind—Kael's mind, the tactician—measured every path.

I could wield the Ether and destroy No One, but the price would be another sacrifice.

I could run, but they would find me.

I could kneel to Dren, but that would be a chain.

"I serve no one," I said again—my voice louder now.

I clutched the amulet.

Its light flared—a blinding white that made No One recoil.

Ether screamed inside me, but I held it back.

My will against its hunger.

"And I will not be your pawn."

No One laughed—a cold sound that froze my spine.

"Brave, Echo. But the throne awaits, and you cannot escape it."

With a flick of his wrist, the sky tore open—a violet rift yawning above us like a wound.

A portal reeking of death.

"Come with me, or the Threshold will claim this world before you're ready."

Dren lunged, sword flashing toward my neck.

But Nyra was faster.

Her knife struck, deflecting Dren's blade.

"Enough!" she cried, her voice breaking.

"Arion, choose. Now."

The amulet burned in my hand, its light battling the black veins.

The Threshold roared.

No One waited.

And Nyra watched me—her knife trembling.

I knew that this decision would change everything.

And I knew, in that moment, that the obsidian throne was closer than I had ever imagined.

But the price...

The price would be higher than anything I had yet paid.

"Choose, Echo," whispered the Threshold. "Or I will choose for you."