The forest swallowed them whole.
Mist hung between the trees like a veil of living silk, shifting with every breath of wind. The air shimmered faintly, thick with the scent of iron and something older—ozone, sap, and memory. Ethan followed Ashen's silhouette through the pale light, his boots sinking into moss that pulsed softly beneath each step.
It felt like walking through the lungs of the world.
Lyra moved beside him, silent, her serpent's eyes gleaming gold in the haze. Shadowfang trailed above, wings folded tight, the faint heat of his body warming the chill air.
Ethan's mind still reeled from what he'd seen—Ashen's memories, the birth of the first Oath, the hollow laughter of those who bound creation itself. He could still feel the residue of that ancient melody humming in his veins.
When Ashen finally stopped, they stood in a clearing unlike any Ethan had ever seen.
At its center rose a monolith of translucent stone, its surface swirling like liquid glass. Veins of golden light ran through it, and faint figures moved within—echoes, like shadows caught mid-prayer. The air hummed, alive with an energy that felt both divine and diseased.
Ashen turned, their silver mask gleaming. "This is where the first Bond was born."
Ethan stared at the monolith. "You mean—"
"The Oath itself was written here," Ashen said quietly. "Every hunter, every beast, every chain began with this stone. It remembers all who touched it."
Lyra's voice trembled. "And you brought us here? Are you insane?"
Ashen didn't answer. They raised a hand and pressed their palm to the stone. The air rippled outward like disturbed water. For a heartbeat, Ethan saw faces—hunters and monsters, screaming, their forms blurring into one another before vanishing again.
"Do you know what freedom costs, Ethan Veyra?" Ashen asked, not turning.
Ethan clenched his jaw. "I'm starting to."
"No." Ashen looked at him then, eyes gleaming faintly through the mask. "You've only tasted it. Freedom is not the end of chains—it is the weight of what comes after."
They stepped back, motioning toward the monolith. "Touch it."
Ethan hesitated. "What happens if I do?"
Ashen's smile was unreadable. "You'll hear the song you've been rewriting since the day you broke your first bond."
Lyra grabbed his wrist. "Ethan—don't."
But he already knew he would.
His hand met the stone.
A surge of energy shot through him, cold and endless. His vision shattered. He was standing in a vast hall of light, surrounded by echoes of himself—hundreds, thousands, each bound to a different creature, each repeating the same ritual. Chains of light wrapped around his arms, his throat, his heart.
And at the center of it all—an empty throne.
From its shadow, a voice spoke.
> You seek to unmake what was sung before you were born.
Ethan turned. "Who are you?"
> The Chorus, the voice replied. We are the memory of the Oath. The reason the world still breathes.
"I freed them," Ethan said. "The beasts. The land."
> You freed nothing. You simply silenced one verse. The song continues, and it will devour you as it did the first.
He felt the pull then—something deep inside him, tugging at his chest. The same golden veins that pulsed through the stone now ran beneath his skin.
Ashen's voice echoed distantly, through layers of light and memory. Control it, Ethan. Don't fight it—listen.
He closed his eyes.
Beneath the chaos, beneath the screaming of a thousand past lives, there was rhythm. Slow. Relentless. Like a heartbeat older than time. He let it move through him—let it burn, until pain gave way to understanding.
When he opened his eyes, the hall of light was gone.
He was on his knees before the monolith, steam rising from his skin. Lyra knelt beside him, her hands trembling. "Ethan—talk to me."
He looked at her—and for the first time, he saw threads of golden energy running from her body into the ground, into the forest itself. The same threads ran through Shadowfang, through Ashen, through the air.
Everything was connected.
He whispered, "I can see it."
Ashen watched him with something close to approval. "Then you've begun."
Ethan rose unsteadily. "What was that?"
"The world as it truly is," Ashen said. "The Oath was never only about control—it was a pattern of harmony. The Guild corrupted it, turned it into chains. You broke those chains, but the pattern remains. Now, you must learn to conduct it."
"Conduct?" Lyra repeated. "He's not a musician."
Ashen smiled faintly. "No. But he carries the world's rhythm now. And if he loses the beat, everything falls to silence."
---
For the next three days, Ashen taught him the ways of the Unbound.
It wasn't training in any form Ethan knew—no swords, no sigils, no commands. It was rhythm, resonance, breath. Every motion, every thought had to align with the pulse of the land.
He learned to feel when the wind shifted not as weather but as emotion. When beasts stirred not from hunger but from imbalance. He could call to them—not with words, but with intent.
On the second night, Lyra watched him standing by the river, eyes closed, water swirling around his boots without touching them.
"You're changing," she said softly.
He didn't open his eyes. "Maybe I'm remembering."
She frowned. "You sound like him."
"Maybe he's right." He turned to her, eyes faintly glowing. "Maybe freedom isn't about cutting ties. Maybe it's about understanding them."
Lyra shook her head. "And if that understanding kills you?"
Ethan smiled faintly. "Then at least I'll die knowing why."
---
On the fourth dawn, Ashen appeared more restless than usual.
The mist around the clearing trembled. The monolith pulsed faster, like a warning heartbeat.
Ethan knew before Ashen spoke.
"They've awakened the Elder Bonds," Ashen said. "The Guild's first creations—the ones buried beneath the Citadel."
Lyra went pale. "How many?"
Ashen's voice was almost a whisper. "Six. Enough to burn the world clean if left unchecked."
Ethan's mind raced. "Then we stop them."
Ashen turned toward him slowly. "You cannot stop them. You can only counterbalance them. Each Elder Bond has its reflection—a Wild counterpart that must be awakened in turn."
"And you know where they are?"
Ashen nodded. "Scattered across the five Great Veins. Sleeping in the hearts of the old forests, the deep seas, the storm peaks."
Lyra crossed her arms. "So we just… wake gods?"
Ashen's masked gaze lingered on her. "You woke the first when you freed Shadowfang. The rest will not wake so kindly."
Ethan looked to the horizon. The rising sun was red—not gold. The wind carried a low vibration, like the growl of something vast moving beneath the earth.
"How long do we have?"
Ashen turned toward the monolith. "Days. A week, at most. Once all six rise, the Oath will seek to rewrite itself. The world will start over—without us."
Silence fell.
Then Ethan drew his blade. The runes along its length glowed faintly in response to the pulse of the monolith.
"Then we start with one."
Ashen studied him for a long moment, then inclined their head. "Very well, Hunter of the Unbound. But remember—each god you wake will demand a price. The Wild is not merciful."
Ethan's eyes hardened. "Neither am I."
---
As they prepared to leave the clearing, Lyra paused at the edge of the forest. "Ethan," she said quietly. "If you lose yourself in this… promise me something."
He turned. "What?"
"Promise me you'll let me end it. Before it ends you."
Ethan didn't answer right away. The forest whispered around them—the same rhythm he had come to know pulsing beneath his skin.
Finally, he nodded. "I promise."
She smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then let's go wake a god."
The three of them—hunter, serpent, and the First Unbound—vanished into the mist, the world trembling quietly beneath their feet.
Behind them, the monolith pulsed once more, a deep, resonant tone echoing through the valley. And far away, beneath the ruined spires of the Guild Citadel, something vast and ancient stirred—its eyes opening after a thousand years of sleep.
The song of the Oath had begun again.
---