The Priestess of Mirithal walked like a flame wrapped in silk. Every step she took left faint golden ripples on the marble floor, and the air around her shimmered with quiet power.Her smile was serene — too perfect, too deliberate. It was the kind of smile that had no place in a world built on broken promises.
Aren stood tense, his sword still drawn, Lyra's hand hovering near her flute.The woman didn't flinch.
"You carry the scent of falsehood," she said softly. "The Web trembles at your every step."
Her voice was melodic, but her eyes were cold — twin mirrors reflecting Aren's unease.He forced his grip to relax. "And you must be the one who feeds it."
The Priestess chuckled. The sound was beautiful, like chimes caught in the wind — but beneath it was the faint echo of a thousand whispers.
"You misunderstand, Oathbreaker. I don't feed the Web. I guide it."
She turned gracefully, motioning for them to follow. "Come. The night is young, and Mirithal celebrates honesty."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "Honesty?" she muttered. "In a city built on lies?"
The Priestess only smiled wider. "You'll see."
They followed her through corridors of gold and glass. Every wall shimmered faintly with inscribed vows — promises etched into light itself.Aren noticed some glowed bright and steady, while others flickered like dying embers.Lyra whispered, "Each of those is a life bound to her. When they break, she absorbs their power."
"Like feeding on guilt," Aren murmured.
When they emerged, the sight before them stole his breath.
The Hall of Vows — a massive dome lined with thousands of floating seals, each one representing a promise made by a citizen. The air itself vibrated with their resonance.At the center, a circular platform held a grand table of silver and glass, surrounded by robed figures.
"The Feast of Truth," the Priestess announced. "Every night, Mirithal renews its vows. You are our guests of honor."
Aren exchanged a wary glance with Lyra. "We didn't agree to this."
The Priestess's golden eyes glinted. "In Mirithal, to enter is to agree."
She gestured for them to sit. Food materialized on the table — not served by hand, but conjured from the air itself. The scent was intoxicating: spiced wine, honeyed fruit, roasted meat.Each dish shimmered faintly with runes — bound promises of flavor, satisfaction, and illusion.
Aren hesitated, then sat. He wasn't hungry, but every eye in the hall was on him.Lyra sat beside him, her posture cautious, her flute resting across her lap like a weapon disguised as art.
"Eat," the Priestess said. "The food will not harm you. Unless you lie."
He picked up a piece of bread. "And if I do?"
"You'll choke on your own words."
The other guests laughed softly, their laughter strangely hollow — rehearsed. Aren noticed the faint glow on their throats: the marks of vows, each one binding their voice to obedience.
He set the bread down. "You enslave your people with promises."
"They enslave themselves," the Priestess replied. "I merely grant them a stage to perform their truth."
Lyra leaned forward. "You're feeding on False Vows. You twist the Web for power."
The Priestess tilted her head. "And what of it? The world thrives on lies. Kingdoms rise because of them. Love endures because of them. Even faith… is a lie we choose to believe."
Her gaze locked on Aren. "You, of all people, should understand."
Aren's jaw tightened. "I made one promise. I failed. I didn't destroy the world."
"Didn't you?" she said softly.
The words hit harder than a blade.
The room dimmed slightly, the air thickening with energy. The golden runes above them flickered, reacting to the tension in Aren's heart.
The Priestess leaned closer, whispering, "The Web remembers every word. Every oath leaves a scar. You didn't just fail your vow — you unstitched the thread that held a thousand others. That's why the Witness came for you."
Aren felt his blood run cold. "How do you know about the Witness?"
"Because I speak to them," she said simply. "Every Priestess of Gold does. We interpret their silence. We weave their judgment into faith."
Lyra rose sharply. "That's impossible. Witnesses don't speak."
The Priestess smiled again — a slow, knowing curve of her lips. "Not to mortals. But I am not merely mortal anymore."
She lifted her hand, and the runes on her wrist blazed with golden light. The air shimmered, forming an image — a massive, wingless figure made of threads and shadow. The Witness.Its hollow eyes burned crimson, staring directly at Aren.
He stumbled back. The memory of that voice — that sound of worlds breaking — flooded his mind. His heart pounded.
"Aren," it whispered from the illusion. "Promise me again…"
He swung his sword through the vision instinctively. It shattered into golden dust, dispersing into the air.
The Priestess laughed softly. "Even your rage binds you, Oathbreaker. Every action, every breath is another vow."
"Enough!" he shouted. "What do you want from me?"
Her laughter faded. For the first time, her expression turned solemn.
"I want you to understand the truth. Every lie you expose only strengthens the Web. The only way to destroy it… is to become its greatest lie."
The hall went silent. The other robed guests froze, eyes wide — as if they'd heard something forbidden.
Lyra whispered, "She's insane."
But Aren couldn't look away. Something in her words struck deep, as if the Web itself resonated through them.
The Priestess leaned forward once more, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Make a vow with me, Aren Voss. Bind your lie to mine. Together, we can end this false world."
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.The Web's hum grew deafening.
Then Aren spoke, his voice like a blade.
"No. I'll tear your lies apart — and every vow that birthed this cursed world."
The Seal on his hand blazed crimson, the Web threads in the hall snapping under the pressure of his defiance.The golden light dimmed, and for the first time, fear flickered in the Priestess's eyes.
Lyra grabbed his arm. "Aren, we have to go!"
As they fled the collapsing hall, the Priestess's voice echoed behind them, soft but terrifying.
"Run, Oathbreaker. But remember — every truth you seek will demand a lie in return."
The Hall of Vows shattered behind them, threads unraveling into the crimson night.
And somewhere deep within the Web, something vast and ancient stirred — awakened by Aren's refusal.