He woke the next morning, both refreshed and exhausted. Refreshed because, at last, he had faced the past and felt a fraction lighter. Exhausted because the few hours of sleep had done little to get him fully back in shape.
The sun was already up when Kael swung his legs off the bed. The first thing he did was head to the mirror. His reflection made him pause. A patch of cyan hair had sprouted on the left side of his head, just below the collarbone mark.
He stared at the cyan streak for a few moments before letting his gaze drop to the mark. It traced the curve of his collarbone, a faint glow, or maybe it was just catching the light; he couldn't tell. The shape was intricate, a series of symbols woven together with delicate lines.
"It looks… pretty," he muttered to the mirror, tilting his head as if inspecting a painting he didn't quite understand. "Just like my eyes."
His thoughts drifted back to the forest, to that night. Images of Elira flickered unbidden. He stared at his reflection, at himself, and for a moment let the weight settle. He quickly pushed it aside. There was no time for self-pity or lingering anger. Too much work lay ahead, and the past could wait.
He had faced the past, but he was not over it. Maybe he never would be. Still, one task remained tied to that past—revenge. To make sure they paid for taking her life. Yet, just as before, he buried those thoughts, pushing them deep, and shifted his focus to the future: to his Oath, to the village, and to the threat looming ever closer.
The memory resurfaced, and he was back at the Count's manor, in the garden. Not a small ornamental garden, but a sprawling estate of twisting paths, fountains, trees, and a lot of flowers. More like a park than a garden. He remembered watching how the sunlight caught the leaves, how the fountains were placed in the prettiest corners.
He was with his master, Lyrian. Kael had been assigned to him the moment he arrived at the manor, a figure of quiet authority.
Kael and Lyrian walked through the gardens. The air was fresh, the smell of nature, and the sound of water flowing through the fountains.
"So," Kael began hesitantly, "my Oath… it's—"
Lyrian stopped, placing a firm hand on Kael's shoulder. "No," he said, shaking his head. "You don't talk about the nature of your Oath to anyone."
Kael blinked, confusion on his face. "Why?"
"Because an Oath is a contract between the world and us," Lyrian said, his voice calm but firm. "It is both your greatest strength and weakness. It holds the most intimate truth about a mage."
Kael lowered his gaze. "Then how am I supposed to learn if you don't even know what my Oath is?"
Lyrian gave a faint smile, eyes calm. "I do not need to know your Oath to teach you. I teach the nature of Oaths—their rules, their sequences, how they shape power and respond to intent. That knowledge applies to us all, regardless of the promise each mage has sworn."
Kael hesitated, then asked, "So… the Oath shapes my power, but where does the mana come from? How does it even… work?"
Lyrian's gaze softened. "Mana," he said, "is the world's response to your intent. It flows to those who understand the essence of what they wish to shape." He raised a hand, and the sunlight caught on the faint ripples of air around his fingers. A small swirl of energy formed, hovering, bending lightly to his will. "See this? It is simple now, because I know how it flows. You must learn to feel it first, to understand it, not force it."
Kael watched, instinctively reaching out with his own sense of mana. He could feel it, faintly, like a cold wind brushing the tips of his fingers. Something about it resonated, familiar yet strange.
"Every Oath," Lyrian continued, "has sequences. Three, sometimes more. Each sequence is a rule, a way you live your promise. Obey it, and the Oath grants more control, more clarity. Break it, even unknowingly… and the mana can falter, the power may fail, or worse. It may punish you."
Lyrian smiled faintly. "You learn by understanding the nature of things. Elements, life, cause, and effect. Every mage must discover how the world bends, how it reacts to thought and intent.
He paused, letting Kael absorb the words. "Each sequence of an Oath tests that insight. Each sequence brings you closer to fulfilling its expectations, and when you satisfy it, the Oath reveals the next challenge, the next sequence to follow."
Once all sequences were completed, the full Oath was sworn, and with it came its mark. The mark provided you with the power of the oath.
Mana was the way the world responded to his Oath. Each promise he swore shaped how it flowed, bending itself to his intent. The stronger his bond, the more precise and potent his control became. Kael could feel it moving around him, waiting, responding, eager to follow his guidance.
Oaths were not mere words; they were contracts with the world itself. Every Oath demanded truth in thought, word, and deed. Honor it, and power flowed freely. Fail it, and consequences follow. The severity varied: minor mistakes might weaken magic, reckless defiance could twist the body, shatter spells, or strip the Oath's power entirely.
Some Oaths punished the faintest dishonesty; others only reacted to grand betrayal. The rules were never written, only revealed as the Oath chose to show its master. Each Oath was unique, shaping power, opportunity, and peril to the one who swore it.
No mage could cheat an Oath. The world would always correct the balance, subtly or violently. It was both gift and chain, reward and trial, a reflection of the sworn truth.
Passing all sequences at once, as Kael had, was not unheard of, but it was rare. The almost nonexistent consequences he faced were because his Oath had very few limitations. That was pure luck. Most Oaths carried strict rules, harsh limitations, and severe consequences for even small missteps.
Most mages were not so fortunate.
And the consequences? They weren't always obvious. That was part of the allure, and the terror. Oaths gave power, but never without cost.
Kael didn't know why, but he understood the world in a way others struggled with. The way ice formed, how wind carried sound, how heat lingered in stone, he felt like he had always known it. He hadn't studied them; he just knew. And that understanding let him shape his mana with a precision others could only dream of.
Kael glanced at Lyrian, brow furrowed. "Um…" He hesitated, his tongue stumbling over the word. "…Master… after someone completes their first Oath… what comes next?"
He shuffled his feet and avoided Lyrian's eyes for a moment, the word sticking awkwardly on his lips.
Lyrian chuckled, a low, warm sound that echoed through the quiet garden. "Ah," he said, shaking his head. "It is far too early for you to worry about that."
Kael pressed, curiosity nudging him forward despite the awkwardness.
Lyrian's gaze softened, amusement still in his eyes. "But… yes. After the first Oath, the world may present another. A new promise, a new path. But that is for the future. Focus on the one you are bound to now."
Kael shook his head, forcing the memory away.
"The future came," he muttered, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "And you didn't teach me a thing, did you?"
He let the thought slip into silence, turning his attention back to the mirror, to the day ahead, and to the tasks that waited for him now.
Kael lingered in front of the mirror, studying the cyan streak in his hair and the faint marks along his collarbone. He tilted his head, focusing his intent on the oath, focusing as he had in the garden, hoping for some sign, guidance, some whisper of what to do next.
Nothing came. Frustration tugged at the edges of his patience, yet he didn't let it linger.
He straightened his back, ran a hand through his hair once more, and pushed away from the mirror. The morning light poured in through the window, warm and indifferent, reminding him that the day would move forward with or without him.
Dressing quickly, Kael secured his tunic and boots, checked the small satchel at his side, and glanced one last time at the faint glow tracing his collarbone. He took a deep breath, willing himself to step out of the room.
Breakfast awaited, and with it, the village, the people, and the weight of the responsibilities he could not ignore. With a final glance at his reflection, Kael secured his sword at his hip, leaving the room and stepping into the day.