Chapter 37: The Oathshard Breaks
The wind tore across the burnt fields of Vyrebrand, whispering of ghosts and vengeance. Beneath a blood-stained sky, Reinar stood alone, the shattered remains of the crown's last bastion behind him. The battle was over—yet war pulsed in his veins still, unsatisfied.
At his side, the blade known as Ashreign pulsed with a crimson hum, reacting to the cracked gem embedded in Reinar's gauntlet—the Oathshard.
It had once glowed blue, a relic of unity and nobility. Now it bled crimson, pulsing like a wounded heart.
"They're all gone," whispered Kael, staggering beside him. His armor hung in broken plates, soaked with ash and grief. "The Vanguard. The Elders. Even the Shadow Choir… all wiped out."
"They chose silence when action was needed," Reinar growled. "Their legacy is ash."
He looked over the smoking valley where black banners once fluttered. A broken standard of the Sovereign House lay tangled around a scorched tree. Reinar sheathed Ashreign, then knelt beside it—not out of respect, but finality.
"They made me a weapon," he said bitterly. "Now they'll see what they forged."
Kael placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're still alive. Which means the Oath still lives, even if the ones who swore it do not."
Reinar glanced at him. "You still believe in it?"
"I believe in you," Kael replied. "And the people who followed you to the end."
Their silence was interrupted by the crunch of footsteps. From the mist emerged a woman in violet armor, eyes glowing with emberlight.
Elira Vorn. Exiled heir to the dead twin-throne. Thought lost in the Southern Collapse.
"Elira," Reinar said, rising to his feet. His grip tightened on Ashreign.
"I'm not here to fight you," she said calmly. "I'm here to claim the Oathshard."
Kael stepped forward. "It belongs to Reinar. He earned—"
"—its curse?" she snapped. "It's splintering his mind. Look at him. The Shard has fractured."
Reinar didn't deny it. The voices in his head—memories that weren't his—had grown louder since the battle at Black Hollow. Faces of fallen kings, burned queens, broken oaths.
"It's not just a relic anymore," Elira said. "It's an echo of every vow ever sworn under flame. That's why it called to me too."
He studied her. She wasn't lying.
"It's not enough to carry the legacy," she said. "You have to rewrite it."
"And what if I already have?" he asked.
Elira extended her hand.
"Then let me share the burden. One shard, split. Two legacies, bound."
After a long silence, Reinar stepped forward—and placed his gauntlet in hers.
The Oathshard split in a burst of white fire. Its broken crystal severed into twin hearts—one resting in Elira's palm, the other pulsing in Reinar's hand. The wind howled louder, as if the world had noticed.
And far above, in the ruined spire of Elden Pyre, a black eye opened.
---
Chapter 38: The Legacy Buried in Flame
They traveled north.
Every mile from Vyrebrand to the Whispering Range was scorched and hollow, a wasteland born from too many promises broken. Villages lay buried in soot. Lakes had boiled to nothing.
Reinar walked like a ghost through it all.
Kael kept quiet, haunted by what he'd seen in Reinar's eyes when the Shard split. Elira, meanwhile, took command where Reinar would not. She distributed food, soothed frightened children, buried the dead. In her, the survivors found hope.
One evening, Reinar stood alone at a cliffside, watching the moon reflect on dead waters.
Kael joined him. "You're not the same."
"I carry hundreds of oaths in me now," Reinar whispered. "Some were lies. Some were love. All of them echo through me."
"You're not alone in this."
"No," he said, turning. "But I need to know what I've become."
That night, Reinar dreamt.
In his dream, he stood at the heart of Elden Pyre again—but it wasn't ruined. The great forge-blades hummed with life. The sky bled stars. And standing across from him was a figure in silver flame.
"Who are you?" Reinar asked.
The figure lifted its helm. It was himself, but older. Worn. Wise.
"I am the king who never was," the apparition said. "The one who chose silence."
Reinar stepped forward. "You're a memory?"
"A warning," it said. "The Oathshard doesn't just carry power—it carries consequence."
"And what would you have me do?"
The ghostly version smiled. "Break the cycle. Forge your own Oath."
Reinar reached for his blade—but it melted into a quill.
In horror, he looked down. All the flames of war had become pages. Blank. Waiting.
He awoke with a cry.
---
By sunrise, he gathered the others.
"The war's over," Reinar said. "But the legacy isn't."
"What do you mean?" Elira asked.
"I'm not leading an army anymore. I'm founding something new."
Kael blinked. "You're not serious—"
"I am," Reinar said, voice hardening. "We've been repeating blood-soaked vows for centuries. I'm writing a new one."
He drew the twin halves of the Oathshard and placed them together—but didn't fuse them. Instead, he buried them in the ground. Then he lit a flame over the spot.
"This is our grave," he said. "Of every old lie we inherited. From this soil, we build truth."
The crowd was silent.
Then, Elira stepped forward—and dropped her own family crest into the fire. "Let the past burn."
Others followed. Knights. Merchants. Orphans. They cast their broken legacies into the flame.
A new banner rose. White on black: a shattered crown, bleeding light.
And so, the Oathshard Legacy began.
Not with steel.
But with truth.