Kiaran drifted inside and outside of desires, every one darker than the last. He stood amidst ruins that stretched as some distance as he may want to see, shadows coiling at his feet. Voices hissed and whispered; their phrases jumbled yet unmistakable in their intent: Return the relic. Or face the wrath of those bound by using oath.

He turned, heart pounding, however he noticed best transferring darkness. The feeling of something—a person—respiratory in the back of him tightened his chest. He spun around, best for the shadows to disappear, leaving him alone, the burden in their caution lingering heavy.

With a pointy consumption of breath, Kiaran woke up. The first hints of sunrise crept through the timber, casting his surroundings in a grey, muted light. Sweat clung to his skin as he sat up, shaking off the lingering remnants of the nightmare. But the unease remained. An odd, dull ache pulsed in his wrist.

He lifted his arm, eyes narrowing as he tested his pores and skin. A faint mark, almost like a logo, shimmered below the dim morning mild—a ordinary symbol, curling into patterns that appeared too complicated to be random. It pulsed faintly, a caution in its silent manner.

Alaric observed Kiaran analyzing his wrist, and his commonly calm face darkened. “You’ve been marked,” he murmured.

Kiaran regarded up, confused. “Marked?”

“That symbol,” Alaric explained, his voice grave, “is the calling card of the Oathbound. When they mark a person, it approaches they’ve begun their hunt.”

A stressful silence fell among them. Alaric’s words have been laced with an ominous finality that weighed on Kiaran, however he driven again in opposition to the unease. The Oathbound had been nothing greater than barriers in his course. “I’m now not giving up,” Kiaran stated firmly, “mark or now not.”

Eira improved, her face a combination of worry and solve. “We knew you wouldn’t, Kiaran. But the Oathbound don’t simply let their prey move. They’re relentless, powerful. We want to be prepared.”

A fierce dedication ignited within Kiaran. He clenched his marked wrist, the faint throb reminding him of the nightmare’s lingering caution. But if he turned into to wield strength, if he was to be a person feared and respected, he couldn’t run now. “We’ll face them,” he stated, a grim smile gambling on his lips.

They prepared via the morning, amassing supplies, securing their weapons, and reviewing Alaric’s plan. The plan become simple: avoid open confrontation, live hidden, and, whilst essential, discover weaknesses to take advantage of. Alaric had noted a ruined library to the north, where they might uncover secrets of the Oathbound’s origins, likely even a weakness.

Hours passed, and Kiaran located himself scouting ahead, his senses heightened as he scanned the thick forest round them. The air changed into sharp and bloodless, laden with a silence that felt unnatural. He moved with warning, his gaze flicking over every shadow, each branch. He sensed the Oathbound lengthy earlier than he saw him.

The determine emerged from the shadows with an eerie grace, draped in darkish, ceremonial gowns that appeared to mixture into the forest’s depths. His face become concealed by means of a mask decorated with complicated carvings, leaving simplest his eyes seen—sharp, piercing, and unyielding.

Kiaran straightened, gripping his weapon. “If you’re right here to prevent me, you’ll discover me less compliant than you’d like,” he stated coldly, attempting to preserve the tremor from his voice.

The Oathbound chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “You’ve defied the call, relic-bearer. Few would dare such insolence.”

Kiaran’s coronary heart thundered, but he kept his gaze steady. “The relic is mine. It belongs to me now.”

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“Foolishness.” The Oathbound’s voice turned into laced with disdain, and he took a step closer. “The relic binds itself to none. You, who wield it, are bound through its needs, whether or not you understand it or no longer. Surrender it, and you may nevertheless locate mercy.”

Kiaran met his gaze with a dark smile. “Mercy isn’t what I seek.”

Without any other word, the Oathbound lunged, shifting with a speed that confounded perception. Kiaran slightly had time to raise his weapon earlier than the Oathbound’s blade clashed against his, the force using him back. Sparks flew, and the shock of the impact reverberated via Kiaran’s arms.

He tried to awareness, drawing on the relic’s strength, hoping it would supply him an area. He felt a surge of energy course via him, darkish and exciting, however as he unleashed it toward the Oathbound, the figure simply absorbed the blow, his shape shimmering briefly as even though his very being repelled the assault.

“Your relic’s strength is vain in opposition to me,” the Oathbound sneered. “Its strength method nothing to one who has sworn their lifestyles to the historical order.”

Kiaran grit his tooth, frustration bubbling beneath the floor. The Oathbound became proof against the relic’s magic, and his physical prowess become bold. This wasn’t a fight he could win thru sheer pressure.

As he fought to maintain his floor, a sharp ache reduces via his side—a shallow wound, however enough to remind him of his mortality. The Oathbound turned into relentless, his strikes precise, aimed to weaken rather than kill. It changed into clean he intended to carry Kiaran down slowly, savoring the search.

But Kiaran had never been one to submit without problems. With a very last, desperate maneuver, he feinted to the left, then ducked to the right, breaking freed from the Oathbound’s reach. He stumbled, breath ragged, and took advantage of the brief second to retreat, slipping into the thick underbrush earlier than the Oathbound could pursue.

He again to Alaric and Eira, his face faded but decided. The Oathbound’s power became simple, and his immunity to the relic’s magic posed a venture he hadn’t predicted.

“His energy… he shrugged off the relic’s magic like it changed into nothing,” Kiaran muttered, nevertheless catching his breath. “We can’t defeat them through brute force.”

Alaric nodded solemnly. “The Oathbound are sure by way of historical magic, probable designed to counter artifacts like the relic. But there are whispers… myths, certainly, of methods to disrupt their electricity. And we can also locate those secrets inside the ruins of the antique library.”

“Then we’ll cross,” Kiaran answered. His hand instinctively went to his marked wrist, the image pulsing faintly as though mocking his resolve.

As nightfall approached, they traveled deeper into the northern forests, the dense cover casting lengthy shadows across the course. The journey changed into fraught with tension, each sound amplified in the stillness of the wooded area. Kiaran’s thoughts was awash with mind, torn between the developing have an effect on of the relic and the ominous chance of the Oathbound.

They reached the ruins just as night descended, the crumbling partitions of the historic library looming earlier than them like a skeleton in the darkish. Vines crawled over shattered stone, and broken columns jutted in the direction of the sky like claws.

Inside, the air turned into thick with dirt and the faint smell of old parchment. They moved carefully, Kiaran main the way, his eyes scanning the dim indoors. Shadows danced across the walls, and the faint rustle of unseen creatures echoed thru the silence.

Alaric led them closer to a corner of the library where a broken pedestal held an historic tome. He opened it carefully, tracing the dwindled symbols at the pages. “These texts talk of the Oathbound’s beginning,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “They have been once human, certain by way of sacred vows to defend the area from rogue relic-bearers. They surrendered their humanity, turning into something… else.”

Kiaran’s jaw clenched as he absorbed Alaric’s phrases. The Oathbound had once been men, certain by using a responsibility they no longer wondered. If they could be made to impeach it, to recollect what that they had sacrificed…

Before he ought to voice his mind, Eira gasped, her eyes fixed on her arm. A mark equal to Kiaran’s had regarded, faint but unmistakable.

“They’re marking us all,” Eira whispered, her voice trembling. “They’re widening their hunt.”

Kiaran’s resolve hardened, his hand ultimate around the relic. They have been not strolling from mere hunters. They had been fleeing an order as antique because the relic itself, an order that might pursue them relentlessly until they surrendered or died.

The night deepened as they made their way out of the library, the load of the Oathbound’s danger urgent down upon them. But below Kiaran’s worry simmered a fierce defiance, a willpower to combat until his ultimate breath.

The relic’s electricity thrummed in his hand, its whispers developing stronger, urging him to unleash it completely. And although he feared its influence, he felt a strange excitement, a dark thrill that drove him forward.

If the Oathbound desired a hunt, he might deliver them one they would by no means forget about.