Chapter 17 – The Oathkeepers' Refuge
The journey into the hills was silent save for the crunch of boots on wet gravel. Selene led, her cloak cutting a sharp silhouette against the moonlight. Kaelen trailed behind, muttering curses under his breath, his distrust etched into every step. Lucian walked between them, the lingering echo of the vision still burning in his skull. The black sun, the silver fire—it felt carved into his bones now, a whisper that would not fade.
They reached what appeared to be nothing more than an abandoned quarry. Broken stone, weeds pushing through cracks, pools of rainwater reflecting the stars. But Selene did not slow. She approached a jagged wall and pressed her palm against the rock. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the stone shimmered like water rippling in the wind, and a doorway opened where none had been.
Lucian's breath caught. Illusion… or something older?
"Welcome," Selene said softly, "to where vows are kept and light fears to tread."
The passage descended into shadow. When they emerged, the world above felt a lifetime away. Caverns stretched vast, lit not by torches but by braziers of silver flame that did not burn the air. Around them, carved arches and pillars bore sigils older than the Church—dragons etched in coiled fury, suns shattered into fragments.
Figures waited in the hall. Hooded, masked, their faces obscured, each bore a different insignia across their chest: a broken chain, a blade, a weeping eye. When Lucian stepped forward, their attention fixed upon him like a single, unblinking gaze.
"Another stray," one voice muttered from the shadows.
"Not a stray," Selene answered. Her tone had shifted—harder now, commanding. "A spark. I found him in the gallows square of Durelin, and he chose the hand when death was easier."
Lucian felt every word weigh on him, branding his choice as something far larger than survival.
From the far end of the hall, a figure approached. Taller than the rest, draped in robes inked with crimson sigils, his mask fashioned like a raven's skull. His presence filled the chamber with quiet authority.
"Selene," the figure said, voice low but carrying. "You return with one marked."
Lucian stiffened. "Marked?"
The raven-masked figure tilted his head. "The vision came to you, did it not? The black sun, the fire that does not burn?"
Lucian's eyes widened. The whisper from his mind echoed once more—Break the chain.
The raven-mask inclined ever so slightly. "Then you are not merely another recruit. You are an omen."
The Oathkeepers bowed their heads, as if in reverence—or in fear.
Lucian's hand unconsciously brushed the hilt of his sword. He wasn't sure if he had just stepped into sanctuary… or into a snare.