The Shattered Oath Part 1

The dagger came without warning. Vaelin barely had time to twist aside as the blade hissed past his throat, grazing his skin with a cold, unnatural sharpness. The assassin moved like a wraith, black-cloaked and silent, vanishing into the shadows of the inn’s dimly lit room before he could land a counterstrike. Elira’s voice cut through the chaos—sharp, urgent.

“Vaelin!”

The second strike came from above. Vaelin rolled, grabbing his sword, but before he could turn, Elira’s magic flared—an invisible force yanking the attacker mid-air and slamming them against the wooden beams overhead. The assassin landed in a crouch, unfazed, eyes glowing with an eerie silver hue.

“Your blood was never meant to be spilled,” the masked figure hissed. “It was never meant to exist.”

Vaelin lunged. Steel met steel, sparks flaring in the tight quarters of their rented chamber. The assassin was fast, impossibly so. His movements were fluid, guided by something beyond mere skill—something unnatural.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come, the assassin retreated. He darted for the window, twisting through the air, and by the time Vaelin reached the sill, the figure was gone. Only a cold night wind and a single silver-marked dagger remained on the wooden floorboards.

Elira picked it up, her fingers running over the intricate carvings on the hilt. She inhaled sharply. “This symbol—” She turned the dagger toward the candlelight. “It’s from a forgotten faction. The Oathsworn.”

Vaelin frowned. He had heard the name before—fragments of whispered lore in ancient texts—but nothing concrete. “They were wiped out long ago.”

Elira met his gaze. “Apparently, not all of them.”

Drenched in rain, they moved through the winding alleyways of the lower city, making their way to the one man who might have answers.

Garran Torth lived as an outcast, his knowledge of forbidden history marking him as a danger to the kingdom’s rulers. His home—a cluttered attic above a half-collapsed bookstore—reeked of parchment and dust. The old scholar squinted at the silver-marked dagger, his expression darkening.

“The Oathsworn,” he muttered, setting the blade down as though it burned. “You are lucky to be alive.”

Vaelin leaned in. “What do you know?”

Garran hesitated. “They were not assassins, not at first. They were guardians—keepers of an ancient promise. A blood oath made at the dawn of the kingdom. And then… they were betrayed.”

Elira frowned. “By whom?”

Garran exhaled heavily. “By those who sought power above all else. And if an Oathsworn assassin came for you, Vaelin, it means they believe you are tied to that betrayal.”

A silence settled between them. Vaelin clenched his jaw. His family had many secrets, but this was something darker—something buried so deep even he had never uncovered it.

Before he could speak, the door shuddered violently.

Then the room exploded.

The walls splintered as masked warriors poured in, their weapons glowing with Veil-infused energy. The Vowbound—elite enforcers of the Oathsworn.

Vaelin was already moving, sword flashing as he met the first attacker head-on. Their blades clashed, a ringing explosion of metal.

Elira stretched out her hand, her magic surging. A wave of energy slammed into the invaders, sending two crashing through the remnants of the wooden wall. But more were coming. Too many.

Garran grabbed an old tome from a nearby shelf and hurled a handful of powder into the air. A thick, blinding mist spread instantly. “Go!” he rasped. “They want you, not me!”

Vaelin hesitated—but only for a second. He grabbed Elira’s wrist, pulling her toward the back of the attic. The old scholar shoved open a hidden door, revealing a narrow escape passage into the alleyway.

As they fled into the night, Vaelin cast one last glance back. The last thing he saw was Garran, standing tall amidst the chaos, before the door slammed shut behind them.

The rain came down harder as they ran, their boots splashing through the winding streets. Behind them, the inn burned, flames licking at the night sky. The city guard would arrive soon, but Vaelin knew they would find nothing but corpses—the Oathsworn left no traces.

Elira clutched the dagger, her mind racing. “We need to go further,” she said. “Find the lost city. If the Oathsworn still exist, so do the ruins of their past.”

Vaelin exhaled, wiping the rain from his brow. “Then we follow the ghosts.”

In the distance, unseen eyes watched them. The hunt had only begun.

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All Parts of this Series

• The Shattered Oath Part 1
• The Shattered Oath Part 2
• The Shattered Oath Part 3
• The Shattered Oath Part 4
• The Shattered Oath Part 5