We stumbled into a narrow corridor beyond the council chamber's ruins. The stone walls here bore faded pacts and old oaths, scars etched in dark red as if the very blood of our ancestors had seeped into the rock. Dim light seeped in through broken overheads, and I could sense shadows of forgotten nobility flickering along the surfaces.
I was held close in Mira's arms, pressed against her like a precious secret. I could feel her heart pounding fast, each beat heavy with worry. She never spoke much, but her silence was filled with fear and sorrow—an unspoken promise to protect me no matter what.
Lucien led us forward. His steady, measured steps were deliberate, and his sword gleamed in the weak light. I sensed his focus, his eyes never wavering from the walls. Every so often he would stop before a mural—a large, weathered painting showing an oath between the Redthorns and a dark, unnamed force. His face grew even stiffer as he gazed at it, as if the weight of old promises pressed hard on his soul. I felt that burden too, a silent pressure that seemed to whisper of past sacrifices and unhealed wounds.
Charlotte lagged behind us. I could feel her injured arm pressed against her chest by the ragged cloth she wrapped around it. Her steps were careful, and every time she passed a mural, I sensed a quiet apology in the way her eyes flickered over the faded faces of those lost. There was a sadness in her gaze—a regret for things that could never be undone.
As we moved on, the murals came closer. One massive image dominated a section of the wall. It showed figures kneeling before an ancient altar, their expressions solemn and full of loss. The inscription below was barely legible, but I could make out words that spoke of pacts and sacrifices, of a legacy built on both honor and betrayal. The very sight made the air feel heavier, as if each line carved into the stone was a reminder of a debt that could never be repaid.
At that moment, I felt a chill inside my mind—a cold, unyielding message that only I could see:
[The oath is broken. Seek the fragments of the lost covenant.]
The words weighed on me like a heavy chain. It was as if my very blood, marked by that tiny, pulsing crack on my arm, was tied to these ancient failures. Every beat of my heart seemed to echo the sorrow of those who had come before.
Mira's grip on me tightened even further, and I could feel her trembling. Her eyes, red and glistening, were fixed on the mural as if she were trying to read the past. Then, her voice—quiet but filled with anger—cut through the silence. "You promised protection," she hissed, her tone low enough that only Lucien could hear. "How can you expect us to bear this cursed legacy?"
Lucien's eyes narrowed as he regarded the mural, his jaw working slowly as if weighing each word. "We must confront the past," he said evenly, his voice carrying no warmth. "Only by facing what was broken can we hope to mend it."
The corridor stretched on before us, and our footsteps echoed on the cold stone. The silence was punctuated only by the low hum of the ancient inscriptions and the soft crunch of our progress. In that quiet, I felt the weight of our history settle into my tiny bones—a burden far beyond my understanding.
Then, as if summoned by our despair, our eyes fell upon a collapsed chamber at the end of the corridor. Amid the rubble and crumbling stone, a single relic lay half-buried—a bloodstained medallion with ancient runes faintly glowing on its surface. It pulsed with a dim red light, its quiet rhythm matching the steady throb of my Spectral Echo.
I felt a new message surge in my mind, soft but insistent:
[The relic is key. Recover the lost covenant fragments.]
I knew it meant that the medallion held the power to mend the curse—or perhaps, to break it completely.
Lucien stepped forward, his face set and unreadable. He knelt among the rubble, brushing away loose stone to reveal more of the medallion. His fingers traced the ancient runes as if trying to memorize the secrets they held. Every movement was measured, precise—no wasted motion. I felt his focus, a silent determination that made the heavy burden of our legacy seem almost bearable.
Mira, still standing a few steps behind, could no longer hide her pain. Her eyes flashed with both anger and despair. "Lucien, how can you expect us to fix something that was never meant to be fixed?" she spat, her words trembling with fury. The accusation cut through the air like a shard of broken glass, and for a moment, the tension between her and Lucien was almost palpable.
"We have no choice," he said simply, as if the answer had been written in stone long before we were born. "This curse won't lift on its own."
I could feel the conflicting emotions swirling around me. The medallion pulsed in time with my own heartbeat, and the cold system message in my mind nagged at me—an echo of sacrifice and burden. My little world was filled with such heavy feelings, and even though I was just a baby, the pain of it all seeped into my very being.
Our conversation faded into a heavy silence as Lucien carefully wrapped the medallion in a piece of cloth. The relic's faint glow reflected in his determined eyes, and for a moment, I felt a spark of hope. It was as if the medallion, this small piece of our shattered past, held the possibility of redemption.
But before we could leave the corridor, the ground trembled again. The medallion's glow intensified, and the walls seemed to whisper louder, their voices mingling with our unspoken thoughts. Every inscription, every faded name on the stone pulsed with a memory—memories of lost lives, of broken promises, of endless sacrifices made in the name of power.
At that moment, the system in my mind flashed once more with an urgent command:
[Reclaim the oath. Break the cycle.]
What exactly does it want me to do?
Lucien stood, medallion in hand, and with a final glance at the mural behind us, he motioned for us to follow him out of the corridor. The decision was made; we would leave this place of sorrow and unresolved vows, hoping that the relic could help mend the broken covenant of our cursed legacy.
As we stepped out of the ruined corridor into a narrow passageway that led toward whatever was next, I felt the medallion's faint pulse synchronize with my own heartbeat. It was a quiet, persistent rhythm—a promise that even in the midst of our shattered past, there was a chance to rebuild.
The group's silence was thick with uncertainty. Mira's eyes glistened with tears as she clutched me close, her silent prayers for safety and redemption echoing in the empty passage. Lucien walked ahead with a stoic determination, every step measured and purposeful. Charlotte's injured arm throbbed with each movement, but her gaze never left the path, her resolve a steady beacon in the darkness.
We reached the end of the passage, and the medallion's glow faded into the dim light. I felt the system's message.....again.
[The oath is shattered. The path ahead is yours to choose.]