The world changed when they descended the mountains.
The crimson sky gave way to an eerie golden haze, like sunlight filtered through poisoned glass. The air was thick with murmurs — not whispers of pain, but promises. Countless voices spoke all at once, layered and overlapping, filling the air with a symphony of deceit.
Lyra walked ahead, her white cloak fluttering, the crystal flute at her hip humming faintly as if resonating with the unseen currents. Aren followed, hand resting on his sword, his mind heavy with what the Keeper's echo had revealed.
"False Vows feed on belief…"
The words haunted him. If lies could grow stronger the more people believed them, then somewhere in this world, falsehood ruled as truth.
And soon, they found it.
At the base of the valley, between two black rivers, a city shimmered — beautiful, radiant, and impossible. Towers of gold reflected light that had no source. Streets sparkled with gemstones embedded in the ground. Music and laughter echoed in the distance, yet the air smelled faintly of ash and blood.
A carved sign greeted them at the gate:
"Welcome to Mirithal — City of Eternal Trust."
Aren muttered, "The irony burns."
Lyra smiled faintly. "That's how you know it's real."
The guards at the gate wore polished silver masks, faces hidden. Their armor bore intricate runes that pulsed with light — Covenant seals.When one stepped forward, Aren caught the faint glow of a vow mark on his throat.
"State your truth," the guard said tonelessly.
Aren blinked. "My what?"
Lyra whispered, "They demand a vow to enter. Everyone who steps inside must swear honesty — and those who lie are consumed by their own words."
She stepped forward and spoke clearly."I vow to seek truth within Mirithal."
The guard's runes pulsed. Accepted.
Aren hesitated. He thought of Elara's voice, of the flames that devoured his home. The Web had already punished him once for breaking a promise.But if this was the path forward… he had no choice.
"I vow," he said slowly, "to find what's hidden."
The runes glowed, hesitated — and then dimmed. Accepted.
As they walked past the gates, Aren exhaled shakily. "That… felt wrong."
Lyra glanced at him. "Because it was. You didn't vow to find truth — you vowed to find what's hidden. That's the kind of ambiguity the Web loves."
Aren frowned. "So the words matter?"
"They always do," she said. "Words build worlds."
Inside Mirithal, beauty was a weapon. Every building gleamed with impossible perfection. Market stalls overflowed with fruits that glowed faintly, sellers calling out prices with too-sweet smiles. Children played with floating lights.Everywhere, people greeted one another with oaths.
"I swear this bread will never stale!""I vow that my prices are blessed by the gods!""Promise me this color will never fade!"
Aren realized, horrified, that each casual phrase carried power. Runes glowed faintly every time someone spoke a promise — the Web woven into daily life.
Lyra's expression darkened. "This entire city runs on False Vows."
"How can you tell?"
"Because I can hear the difference." She closed her eyes briefly, and her brow furrowed. "Every voice here rings hollow. They're lying to themselves."
As they turned down a marble street, a commotion drew their attention.A man knelt in the center of a plaza, screaming, while glowing threads wrapped around his body like chains. His mouth twisted in agony.
"I didn't mean it!" he cried. "I didn't—!"
A priestess stood before him, her golden robes flowing, a serene smile on her face. "Your vow was false," she said softly. "And in Mirithal, the Web takes what it is owed."
The man's body dissolved into light, threads snapping one by one, leaving behind only a whisper.The crowd applauded.
Aren's stomach turned. "They celebrate that?"
Lyra nodded grimly. "False Vows feed the city. Each broken liar strengthens the foundation. Mirithal thrives on deception."
Aren clenched his fists. "Then this is where it begins."
That night, they found refuge in an abandoned shrine outside the plaza.Flickering candlelight painted their faces in gold and shadow.
Lyra sat cross-legged, eyes half-closed, listening to the echoes that lingered in the air. Aren leaned against a pillar, his thoughts restless.
"Lyra," he said after a long silence. "If the False Vows feed on belief… then someone must be controlling that faith."
She opened her eyes. "You're thinking of the city's ruler."
He nodded. "The Priestess. The one who judges lies. She must know the truth."
Lyra's voice was quiet. "Or she's the biggest liar of them all."
Before Aren could answer, the air shifted — the faint hum of the Web turning sharp, like a plucked string. The candles flickered, and a strange warmth spread across the room.
The threads on the walls began to glow faintly, forming symbols that pulsed in rhythm.
"Someone's watching," Lyra whispered.
Aren drew his sword. "Where?"
A voice drifted through the air — smooth, melodic, and terrifyingly close.
"Every word spoken in Mirithal is heard."
The candlelight flared, blinding for a moment.When it dimmed, a figure stood in the doorway — the priestess from the plaza. Her eyes glowed gold, her smile perfect.
"Welcome, Oathbreaker," she said sweetly. "The city has been expecting you."
Aren froze, his hand tightening around his blade.The Seal on his palm burned brighter than ever — as if the Web itself was laughing.
The lies of Mirithal had begun to awaken.