But Ashmoor did not forget Kaelen. The High Elder, who had once condemned him, heard of the oath's spread. He declared it heresy, a poison that would undo the old order.
One night, mercenaries swept through the borderlands, burning the cabins of the brotherhood. Kaelen fought like a wolf, but the enemy was too many. Captured and bound, he was dragged back to Ashmoor—the same archway where his exile had begun.
The people gathered again, but this time their faces were different. Some held torches, but many carried nothing—only hope, trembling in their eyes.
The High Elder raised his staff:
"This man is twice cursed. Once we cast him out, and still he defied us. Now he shall die, and with him the blasphemy of the Outcast's Oath."
They forced Kaelen to his knees. But before the blade could fall, a voice rang out from the crowd. Then another. And another. Dozens, then hundreds:
"By fire, by stone, by blood and by bone—
We swear the Outcast's Oath."
The mercenaries hesitated. The guards faltered. The oath was no longer Kaelen's alone—it was the people's. The High Elder tried to shout them down, but his voice drowned beneath the roar.
When Kaelen rose, the ropes slipped from his wrists as if they had never bound him.