Chapter Twenty- Three: The Oath of Ash and Silver

The sky above the ravine had deepened to slate, streaked with crimson veins like the blood of a wounded god. Ethan stood beneath it, the Blade of Command, Severed Fang, Veydranos, strapped across his back, its ancient weight sinking into his bones. The Nightbound Court had sworn their oaths in the ruins of Valcruxis, but their presence among the pack was a blade's edge, sharp with promise yet poised to cut. Around him, murmurs faded. The pack, the Nightbound, Helena, all fell into a rare silence. No howls, no firelight songs, only the breath of warriors unsure whether they marched toward victory or ruin.

The Nightbound moved like shadows given form, their silver-threaded cloaks catching the fading light. Their helms, carved with runes too ancient for Helena's scrolls, shrouded faces pale and scarred, as if time itself had clawed them. Their eyes, some burning blue, others ember-red, held an ancient wrath that made the pack's wolves bristle. Rufik, leaning on his axe, eyed them with a barely hidden snarl. "They move like ghosts," he muttered to Ethan. "Like they remember every war we forgot."

Ethan said nothing, his silvered gaze scanning the Nightbound. He felt their weight, not just in numbers but in history. Their oaths bound them to the Blade of Command, yet distrust lingered, a current beneath the surface. This alliance was no brotherhood; it was a gamble on survival.

Helena stepped beside him, her cloak fluttering in the chill wind. "We march before moonrise," she said, her voice firm despite the shadows under her eyes. "The Valley of Whispers lies east, beyond Boneglass Canyon. The Rite of Severance must be performed beneath the severing star, when its light crests."

Ethan nodded, his hand brushing Veydranos's hilt. "Then we move."

Twilight gripped the world as the company departed, their path cutting through scorched fields and jagged stone. The land felt hollowed, drained of life. Twisted trees stood like petrified sentinels, their bark split as if screaming. A raven's cry echoed, long and broken, fading into the dusk. Ethan's steps grew heavier, the Severed Fang's presence thrumming in his veins, as if it sensed what lay ahead.

By midnight, they reached Boneglass Canyon. Its walls rose sheer, shimmering like polished glass, reflecting faces not their own.

Ethan glimpsed himself as a boy, shivering in snow, then as a beast with red eyes and bloodied fangs, then as something older, robed in white, burning with a light that seared his mind. The images flickered, unbidden, pulling at memories he didn't own.

Rufik grabbed his arm, his grip rough. "Don't look too long, Ethan. This place remembers more than it should. It'll steal your head if you let it."

They made camp in a shallow hollow, the canyon's walls looming like silent judges. The pack kept close, their fires small, while the Nightbound stood apart, their cloaks blending with the shadows. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the wind's low moan.

That night, Ethan dreamed of Velhara, the Swordmother. She walked barefoot through rivers of ash, her fiery cloak trailing embers that whispered Veydranos's name. Her face was veiled, but her eyes, like molten steel, pierced him. "He bled too early," she said, her voice like wind through bone. "You must not. The Blade of Command demands a heart unbroken."

He woke to a cold breath on his neck. A shadow loomed, tall, cloaked, face hidden beneath a runed helm. One of the Nightbound. "You dream loud, Half-Born," it said, voice like cracked stone. "Your dreams stir old things. Things better left buried."

Ethan rose, hand on the Severed Fang's hilt. "Do you mean to threaten me?"

"No." The figure's eyes glowed ember-red. "To warn you. The Rite is not just a test of strength. It's a reckoning. And one among us walks with a false oath."

"Who?" Ethan's voice was steel, but his pulse quickened.

The shadow retreated, dissolving into the dark. "Trust the blade, not the bearer."

Morning came gray and sharp, the wind carrying voices, too many, too faint to decipher. As the company packed to move, Helena approached, her face grave. "This canyon holds remnants," she said, clutching her satchel. "Failed wielders of Veydranos. Their spirits linger, bound to the Blade of Command's failures. They'll test you before we reach the Valley."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "We'll deal with them." But the Severed Fang stirred on his back, its hum a warning, as if it sensed the restless dead.

The canyon narrowed as they marched, its walls closing in, their reflections twisting. Helena saw herself wreathed in flames, her hands bleeding light. Rufik glimpsed his own corpse, axe buried in its chest.

The Nightbound walked unfazed, their eyes fixed ahead, as if they'd seen such visions before. Ethan kept his gaze low, but the Blade of Command pulsed, urging him to look. He resisted, focusing on the path, on the weight of Veydranos anchoring him.

At midday, a low wail rose from the canyon's depths, not wind but something alive, or once alive. The pack froze, hands on weapons. The Nightbound drew their obsidian spears, their movements eerily synchronized. From the shadows ahead, figures emerged, translucent, clad in tattered armor. Their faces were hollow, their eyes sockets of endless black. One held a blade like Veydranos, its edge dull, its light extinguished.

"Failed wielders," Helena whispered, sigils flaring on her palms. "They guard the path to the Valley."

The lead spirit spoke, its voice a chorus of shattered glass. "Severed Fang, you carry what broke us. Turn back, or join us."

Ethan drew Veydranos, its silver edge gleaming. "I'm not here to join you."

The spirits lunged, their blades cutting without sound. Ethan moved, the Blade of Command guiding his strikes, each swing a flare of silver light. The pack fought beside him, claws and axes meeting spectral steel.

The Nightbound wove through the fray, their spears piercing spirits with bursts of dark flame. Helena's chants burned the air, banishing shades with golden sigils.

But one spirit struck Ethan's shoulder, its touch ice-cold, pulling at his soul.

He staggered, Veydranos flaring, and the spirit recoiled, shrieking. "You are not the first," it hissed, echoing Velhara's words, before crumbling to ash.

The battle ended as swiftly as it began, the spirits dissolving into the canyon's walls.

The company stood, breathless, bloodied but alive. Rufik spat, wiping his axe. "I hate this place."

Helena's eyes lingered on Ethan. "The Blade of Command protected you. But the spirits spoke truth.

You're not the first to bear it, and they failed for a reason."

Ethan sheathed Veydranos, its hum quieter now.

"Then I'll be the last."

As they pressed on, the Nightbound's leader, the one who had warned him, lingered at his side.

"The false oath is closer than you think," he rasped. "Watch the shadows, Half-Born."

Ethan glanced at his pack, then at the Nightbound, their eyes glinting with secrets.

The canyon's walls reflected a crown above an empty throne, the same from his vision. The Severed Fang thrummed, urging him forward.

The Valley of Whispers waited. The Rite loomed. And somewhere, among allies or enemies, a traitor walked.

The war had begun, and trust was a luxury Ethan could no longer afford.