Chapter 8 – Shadows at the Oathkeeper's Hall
By the time they reached the far shore, the city's lanterns were no more than pinpricks in the night. The woman tied the boat to a half-rotten post, glanced around once, then beckoned Lucian toward a narrow path that cut through the reeds.
They climbed a slope until the dark shape of a crumbling hall came into view. Its once-proud stone pillars were fractured, ivy creeping like veins across their faces. The air here was heavier, as though the wind itself carried old oaths and unfulfilled promises.
"This place was once the heart of the Oathkeepers," she said. "They were warriors who swore themselves to defending the weak against kings, gods, and anything in between. The Church made sure they were forgotten."
Lucian stepped inside. The hall smelled of damp stone and dust. Moonlight bled through cracks in the roof, illuminating faded banners—shapes of swords, scales, and stars. In the center stood a table carved from a single slab of blackwood. Upon it lay an unrolled map marked with crimson ink.
Three figures waited in the shadows. Each wore a hood, their faces hidden. One, tall and broad, spoke first.
"You brought him," the voice rumbled, not without a trace of skepticism.
"He fought off the Black Knives," the woman replied. "That's more than most manage on their first night in Durelin."
Lucian stepped forward. "If you have something worth saying, say it plainly. I've seen enough half-truths and whispers."
A low chuckle came from the smallest of the hooded figures. "Direct. That's good. The Church has grown fat on silence and fear. We plan to cut them open."
The tall one gestured to the map. "We have names—priests, spies, enforcers. But before we can strike, we need proof that will turn the people. You have something we want: access."
Lucian frowned. "Access to what?"
The woman answered for them. "The Gallows Archive. It's where the Church hides records of its 'cleansings.' They burn most, but some they keep—trophies of their victories."
Lucian looked at each hooded figure in turn. He could feel the weight of the moment, the sharp edge of commitment waiting to be crossed.
Finally, he nodded. "Then let's begin."