The mountains rose like jagged fangs, piercing the crimson haze that hung over the dying sky.Aren trudged up the broken trail, his breath misting in the cold, ash-filled air. His cloak was torn, his boots heavy with soot, but his resolve remained unshaken.
Days had passed since his encounter with Lyra—the strange Listener who could hear lies in the wind. Her cryptic warning echoed in his mind.
"Head north… The Web is noisy there."
And noisy it was.
The closer he got to the mountains, the more the air hummed—not with sound, but with vibration.It was like walking through the threads of a great harp, each one trembling with unseen power.Sometimes, whispers rippled through the air, fragments of half-spoken promises.
"I'll wait for you…""Forgive me…""Don't forget our vow…"
Aren clenched his fists. The Seal on his hand flared faintly in response, reacting to the resonant energy that filled the atmosphere.The Web was alive here. He could feel it—like invisible veins pulsing beneath the world's skin.
As night fell, he reached a plateau.Before him stood the remains of a grand temple carved into the mountain's face—its colossal gates half-buried in debris, runes flickering with dying light.
Above the archway, a single phrase was engraved in ancient Covenant Script:
"Where truth is buried, echoes speak."
Aren pushed open the gates.They groaned in protest, releasing a wave of cold air that smelled of dust and old prayers.
Inside was a vast hall, its walls covered with shimmering threads of light, tangled like spider silk.The air was thick with energy—each thread resonating with the memory of vows once made here.
He took a step forward, and the Web responded.
Images flickered across the walls—ghostly silhouettes of people swearing oaths, crying, praying, dying.Every vow left behind a scar, and every scar had a voice.
Then, a presence stirred.
From the center of the hall, a faint light coalesced into a figure—a ghostly echo of a man in priestly robes. His eyes were hollow, his expression weary.
"A… visitor," the echo murmured. "After so long…"
Aren drew his sword instinctively. "Who are you?"
"Once… the Keeper of this Sanctuary. Now, only a memory bound to broken vows."
The echo's gaze drifted to the Seal burning on Aren's hand.
"Ah. An Oathbreaker. Rare to see one still walking."
Aren lowered his weapon slightly. "You know what I am?"
"All who come here are known. This place is where truths go to die."
The echo floated closer, his voice gaining a strange clarity.
"The world believes only kept or broken vows exist. But there is a third kind—False Vows."
Aren frowned. "False…?"
"Promises spoken with no intent to keep them. Lies made sacred. They corrupt the Web, twisting the laws that bind creation."
Aren's heartbeat quickened."So lies can… become real?"
"Not real. Hungry."The echo's form flickered. "Every False Vow feeds on belief. The more others trust the liar, the stronger the corruption grows. Whole kingdoms have fallen to such oaths."
Aren felt a chill creep down his spine.He remembered his father's words—"The throne exists because our ancestors promised eternity."What if that promise had been false all along?
He asked quietly, "How do I find them? The False Vows?"
The echo extended a hand, and threads of light gathered around it, forming a shimmering sphere.
"Seek the place where lies are worshiped as truth. You'll find the first False Vow there."
Before Aren could ask more, the echo's voice distorted, turning to static whispers.The threads on the walls began to writhe—violently.The air thickened, pressure building.
Then came a shriek—a sound like the tearing of reality.
The floor split open beneath Aren's feet. He stumbled backward as a mass of black tendrils burst from the cracks, writhing like serpents.The threads of the Web itself had turned against him.
"Retribution!" the echo gasped. "The Web remembers your sin!"
Aren cursed and slashed at the tendrils, his sword igniting in crimson flame as the Seal flared. Each strike cut through the black cords, but more replaced them, thrashing wildly.The hall trembled. The threads screamed in chorus.
Then—slicing through the chaos—a familiar voice rang out.
"Down!"
A surge of light exploded from the doorway.Aren shielded his eyes as a storm of sound burst outward, shredding the dark tendrils.When the dust cleared, he saw her—Lyra—standing at the gate, her crystal flute glowing with silver runes.
"Still alive," she said calmly. "Good."
"What are you doing here?" Aren asked, catching his breath.
"Following the noise," she said simply, stepping over the torn remains of the Web's corruption. "The world screamed your name."
She knelt beside the broken threads, studying them. "False Vows," she whispered. "You found one, didn't you?"
"Not yet," he said. "But I know where to start."
Lyra looked at him, eyes unreadable. "Then your path just got darker."
Aren sheathed his sword, the crimson glow fading from his hand.
"Darkness is where liars belong," he said quietly."And I'm the biggest one of all."
The wind outside roared, carrying whispers from the Web—voices rising like a storm.And high above the mountains, unseen by either of them, a shadow watched. Its body was made of broken threads, and its eyes burned with the light of falsehood.
The Web had begun to stir.