Chapter 14: The Blood Oath Unbroken

The dawn sky dripped crimson. Clouds hung low like the tattered flags of a forgotten war. The air itself felt heavy, as though the world held its breath waiting for the next betrayal before it fell.

Kaelen woke to the scent of blood and wet earth. The pain in his side was an angry hum now, a background reminder that death had reached for him, but fate had denied him. Lyra sat cross-legged at his side. Her storm-dark hair was tangled, her eyes so hollow it was a miracle she was still alive.

"I thought you might not wake," she said.

Kaelen forced a smirk despite the pain. "You should've known better."

But there was no warmth in the moment. Too much had been lost. Too much lay ahead.

They were not alone

A figure appeared from the fog, a man in bloodstained metal armor with a broken wing crest on the shoulder.

Darren Veyne.

Kaelen's blood turned cold.

"Brother," Darren said, his voice a heap of broken rock. "I heard the world was ending, I thought I would come see for myself."

Lyra stood, hand reaching for her dagger out of instinct.

"You should be dead," she said, furious and low.

Darren did smile, but it was bitter and humorless. "There's a lot of that going around these days."

Kaelen managed to sit up. "What do you want?"

"The same as you. Aeris is on the move. The fall of the God Eater was a step to win, not a victory. The Council of Ashes lies broken, the Nameless King stirs beneath Veilgrave, and the realms will burn."

Kaelen closed his jaw tightly. "I am not fighting beside you."

"You don't get a choice, neither do I," Darren said, glancing at Lyra. "None of us do."

The weight of his words was too much not to consider.

They traveled toward the Valley of Cindervane to the west, where all that remained of the last part of the resistance gathered. Worn soldiers. Broken mages. The remnants of kingdoms were fully consumed by war. 

Kaelen's thoughts shifted inward while they rode. Every mile had become a march through ghosts. 

He remembered their childhood when Darren had been more than a traitor, when they had fought together, and blood had not separated them.

Lyra, present at his side, was both a comfort and a reminder of every death, for every vow of vengeance made in their names.

At night, beneath the harsh company of cold stars, they all spoke little.

And yet the bond remained.

Not because of fate. 

Because no one else was left who knew what it was like to stand at the end of the world.

At the Gates of Cindervane

The valley was a wound on the land.

Burnt banners fluttered on blackened stone. Smoke curled from pits where bodies had once lain. The army was a shadow of an army that had once marched under proud colors. There were no kings left. No prophets. Just survivors.

Waiting for them at the gate was a figure.

A woman, dressed in black, her face covered, her hair as white as bone.

Anethra.

The Seer of Ash.

"You came," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper, the sound of falling snow.

Kaelen dismounted, feeling as if each step toward her was tightening the noose. "We had no choice."

"No one does," she said softly. "Not in wars like this."

She gestured for them to follow.

In the heart of a broken keep, a council was held, but not a council of lords or generals. A council of those who had run the gamut of what destiny had destined them to endure.

Avelar's absence was a sorrow none spoke of.

Kaelen spoke to the council.

"Aeris rises. The world bleeds out on the stage of destiny. We can either be together or fall divided."

There were no nice words for the council. No words for the honour of a kingdom.

Only silence and nods.

Anethra stepped forward. "There is one hope. One route. The Shard of Origin can cut the tether Aeris has to this world."

Lyra. "We killed it."

Anethra said, "You killed a piece of it. The real Shard is buried deep in the bones of the earth. In the Hollow of Dusk. Wondering, guess by things older than gods."

Silence stretched on.

Then Darren smiled. "We better go steal a world killer."

At Midnight

As the army began to make preparations, Kaelen found Lyra standing alone on the battlements, the wind grabbing at her dark hair.

"You shouldn't be up here," he said softly.

She didn't turn. "I can feel it, Kael. The world is unravelling. The gods are whispering. Every star feels like it's watching." 

He stepped beside her.

"I wish I could tell you it will be okay." 

"I don't want you to tell me it's okay," she whispered. "I want you to tell me you are there. At the end." 

He held her hand.

"I am."

For one moment, for one glorious moment, all of the weight floated away from the two of them.

For one moment, they were simply two people staring at a cursed sky.

But then the moment ended.

It always does

The Last Journey Begins

They departed at dawn.

The Army - if you could call it an army- mustered at barely four hundred. Warriors, mages, and a few outlaws. Darren rode next to Kaelen, uncomfortable ceasefire glimmering in the space between them.

Anethra led the way. Blind eyes, but still unerring.

The Hollow of Dusk awaited.

The place of god burials and oaths at their conclusion.

Kaelen's heart raced.

To be certain, he knew not all of them would return.

But he did know this:

Whatever hell awaited under that godforsaken earth would be met with a sword in hand, Lyra at side, and every damned star shining down upon them.

Because some blood debts could only be paid in ash.

And when the night was done, the world would know the Veyne bloodline once more.