No one noticed when Erynd stopped carrying symbols.
Not at first.
He left behind sigils, banners, even the broken shard-mark that once glimmered faintly beneath his skin. What remained was a man in a dark coat, black hair unbound, a plain sword at his side.
No crest.
No oath.
That absence unsettled people more than any divine presence ever had.
The village of Keth Hollow had sworn itself to nothing.
That was the problem.
Without oaths, without gods, without kings, fear had begun to rot into cruelty. A self-appointed council enforced "temporary rules" with permanent violence.
Erynd arrived alone.
A guard blocked his path. "State your allegiance."
Erynd answered truthfully.
"I don't have one."
Steel rang.
The guard never finished drawing his blade.
Erynd stepped inside the motion, tapped the man's wrist—not hard, just precisely—and let gravity and panic do the rest.
The sword fell.
No blood.
The watching crowd fell silent.
Inside the hall, the council waited.
"You're the Oathbreaker," one spat.
Erynd tilted his head. "I didn't break yours. You did."
A woman slammed her hand on the table. "Without oaths, people need rules!"
"Yes," Erynd agreed. "But rules aren't promises. They're choices you renew."
The council leader laughed. "And who enforces them?"
Erynd placed his sword on the table.
"I do," he said quietly. "Right now."
They saw then what he truly was.
Not a mage.
Not a warrior.
A decision walking in human form.
The first councilman attacked.
Erynd moved before the intent finished forming.
He used the table—not as cover, but as leverage. One push at the right angle, one step into the man's blind spot, one twist.
The fight ended in seconds.
Not because Erynd was stronger.
Because he refused to fight the way they expected.
The remaining council fled.
Outside, the people stared.
"Swear you'll protect us," someone shouted.
Erynd shook his head.
"I won't," he said.
The crowd gasped.
"But I'll teach you how to protect each other."
That answer frightened them more than any oath.
That night, Lyra found him by the fire.
"You could have ruled," she said.
Erynd stared into the flames. "That would just be another oath with better branding."
Far away, a presence stirred.
Not the Watcher.
Something older.
Something that fed on broken promises.
In the ruins of a forgotten sanctum, chains rattled.
A voice smiled in the dark.
"Let oaths fall," it whispered. "I will gather what remains."
Above the world, the Watcher recorded a warning for the first time.
Emergent Threat Detected:
Classification — Covenant Devourer.
Probability of Convergence — Rising.
Erynd felt a chill that logic could not explain.
For the first time since Oathfall—
There was something that wanted the old chains back.