Veilbound Secrets: The Oath Bearer's Curse

Sealed memories…

“Tch,” I muttered through clenched teeth, my breath misting in the cold.

The temperature dropped further, biting into my skin as the mist thickened, swirling around me like something conjured from a nightmare. It coiled and twisted, almost sentient in its movement, pressing down on my shoulders, turning each step into an arduous effort. I had barely begun, and yet every inch of me screamed that this was only the beginning.

I took another step, the path narrowing beneath me as if the world itself was constricting. An oppressive silence hung heavy in the air, shattered only by a low, resonant hum that buzzed deep in my bones, pulsing like a heartbeat—only it wasn’t mine.

The second gate loomed before me now. Unlike the first, which had been a stoic monument of unyielding stone, this one felt… alive. Thin tendrils of mist danced around its black stone archway, caressing the surface as if it possessed an intimate awareness. The mist curled and shifted, not in response to the wind, but as if it had a will of its own, swirling with anticipation.

For a moment, I was mesmerized. The fog reflected soft light in delicate hues of violet and gray, moving like silk in the air. There was a quiet elegance to it, an allure that almost beckoned me closer. But that beauty felt like a lie. The deeper I ventured into it, the more wrong it felt. The mist wasn’t just alive; it watched. It breathed, coiling around me with a strange sentience, whispering secrets that tugged at the edges of my mind. It didn’t just exist—it waited.

A tightening fear clawed at my gut as I stood before the archway. Beyond it lay an impenetrable wall of mist so thick it seemed to swallow everything whole. Here, the world ended, or perhaps something far worse began.

An unseen wind stirred the stillness, and I inhaled deeply, my breath unsteady, catching in my throat. Was it fear or anticipation—perhaps both?

What lay beyond the gate? No one truly knew.

A faint light flickered within the arch, drawing my attention. It danced like a mirage, neither hostile nor welcoming, simply existing—a mirror to the unknown that beckoned me to step inside and face whatever awaited.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. With resolve forged in years of unspoken fears and unmet expectations, I steeled myself and walked forward.

---

The moment I crossed the threshold, reality seemed to tilt, as if it buckled beneath the weight of my presence. My stomach lurched; for a heartbeat, it felt like the ground had vanished. I was suspended in a void—a realm where time, space, and logic lost all meaning. Everything was swallowed in an endless, silken darkness, void of warmth or cold, life or death. Only a hollow, suffocating silence surrounded me.

It wasn’t just the absence of sound; it was the absence of everything. Yet in that emptiness, an energy pulsed—an unseen force that brushed against my skin like a whisper, electrifying and alive.

Then the light appeared.

It began as a faint glimmer, barely noticeable against the dark, but it expanded rapidly, forming a figure before me. It was a man—no, not just a man. The shape was hauntingly familiar. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding.

It was me.

Or at least, it looked like me. The shadowy figure shimmered like an oil slick, dark but glistening with an unnatural inner light. Its features mirrored my own but twisted in ways that made my skin crawl. The eyes, hollow yet gleaming with malevolent understanding, were colder than I had ever seen my own. The mouth curved into a smile—an expression I rarely wore—holding no warmth, only cruel mockery.

This was no mere reflection.

“Who are you?” My voice was barely a whisper, yet the oppressive stillness absorbed the sound, as though even words were unwelcome here.

The figure tilted its head, studying me with an intensity that sent chills down my spine. “I am you,” it replied, its voice a distorted echo of my own. Hearing my thoughts twisted into something alien sent shivers through me. “I am what you could have been. I am what you desired once. Or perhaps, I am the shadow of the path you never dared tread.”

The words slithered into my mind, unsettling and heavy, stirring a strange sense of unease I couldn’t shake. The shadow stepped closer, moving with an unnaturally graceful fluidity, as if not bound by the same rules that governed my body.

“Every choice you’ve made,” it continued, “every desire you’ve buried, every fear you’ve succumbed to. I am all of them.”

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing my voice to sound firmer, though uncertainty laced my words.

The shadow smiled—a twisted expression devoid of humor, its amusement palpable. “You do,” it said simply. “And you’ll face them now. Every part of yourself that you’ve ignored, rejected, or forgotten. I am not the only one you will meet here.”

---

The shadow moved faster than I could track, a blur of darkness closing in on me in an instant.

Instinct took over. Mana surged through me, lighting up my veins like wildfire. I threw up a barrier, a shimmering shield crackling to life just before the shadow's fist landed. The strike hit with a force I hadn’t anticipated—raw, primal power. The sound of impact reverberated through the void, a deafening crash that rattled my bones.

For a heartbeat, I thought the shield would hold. It had always been strong, a solid wall of mana that had withstood attacks before. But this time, something was different. The shield wavered, a tremor running through it, and then, like fragile glass, it shattered—splintering into a thousand glimmering fragments that vanished into the darkness.

I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat. Panic surged as the shockwave rippled through my body, my arms numb from the force. How had it broken so easily? I had refined this barrier through countless hours of practice. Not even Lysandra, had shattered it in one blow, though she had always been careful to hold back, even in our most intense duels.

I forced mana to circulate again, gathering it into a tight knot in my core, preparing to condense it into another shield. Smaller, denser. I had spent days perfecting the technique—a compact defense, efficient but costly, requiring total focus and control. But right now, my thoughts were scattered, my control slipping.

The shadow loomed closer, its form rippling like liquid smoke, its eyes—or whatever they were—locked on me. A voice slithered from it, cold and mocking, each word like a knife to my gut.

"Your magic is only as strong as your belief in it," it hissed, its tone dripping with disdain. "And you doubt. You always have."

The words struck harder than the blow had, cutting deep. The truth in them was undeniable. No matter how much I had trained, no matter how many battles I had fought, that seed of doubt had always been there, festering beneath the surface.

Doubt. It was the flaw I had never been able to fully purge, the weakness that gnawed at me in the quiet moments, when I was alone with my thoughts.

The accusation cut deeper than any physical wound could. I steadied myself, forcing the rising tide of panic down. I had been through enough—not to let this distorted version of myself tear me apart.

Even as I braced for another attack, the darkness around me began to shift, warping into something more sinister. Figures emerged from the shadows, one after another, each one a twisted reflection of myself. Their faces were mine—but altered, warped by paths I had never taken, choices I had never made.

One wore scars that carved deep into his skin, remnants of battles I had never fought. Another stood tall, his eyes hard and cold, stripped of the compassion I had clung to so fiercely. His face was an image of cruel determination, a version of me that had traded kindness for power.

A third figure loomed closer, a sword in his hand—the same sword I had once trained with before I abandoned it, haunted by the memory of that day. His eyes blazed with anger, resentment, accusing me of cowardice. Then came another, his eyes hollow, consumed by bitter regret, a lifetime of sacrifices etched into his very being.

They were all me—broken, twisted fragments of the person I could have become.

"You hide behind your fears," one of them spat, stepping forward with venom in his voice. "You abandoned your sword. You abandoned your training. All because you were weak. Because you were afraid."

Another version of me, scarred and battle-hardened, sneered. "You let everything slip away. You let your destiny slip through your fingers. Look at us—look at what you could have been."

Their voices hit me like a physical blow. Each accusation felt like a dagger, piercing deeper into my chest. The air grew thick with their words, with their scorn. The weight of their accusations pressed down on me, suffocating.

"You could have been stronger," one hissed.

"You could have been ruthless," said another.

"You could have saved them!" a third shouted, his voice thick with anguish, and the pain in his eyes mirrored my own.

Their words tore at me, each accusation unraveling the fragile threads of my resolve, stripping away the last remnants of my strength. My knees gave way, hitting the cold ground as the weight of their judgment crushed what little hope I had left. Desperation clawed at my chest, a suffocating pressure I couldn’t shake.

"HEY! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!" I shouted, my voice raw, the edge of panic creeping in. "HELP ME OUT! PLEASE!"

Silence.

Not even a whisper. The Voice, the one thing I’d relied on for guidance, was absent. My plea echoed uselessly into the void, swallowed by the suffocating emptiness around me.

No answer. No reprieve.

I was alone.

The twisted reflections of myself circled closer, their forms warping, faces sneering in cruel amusement. They thrived on my helplessness, feeding off the despair I had tried so hard to bury. Each step they took made it harder to breathe, their presence suffocating. They were the versions of me that had given in—versions that had chosen to embrace the darkness rather than fight it.

I looked around, hoping, praying for some sign of salvation, for the Voice to intervene, but there was nothing. No divine whisper. No cryptic clue.

Just me and my shadows.

---

The cold fingers of one shadow grazed my shoulder, sending a chill through my spine. “This is who you are, Aric,” the figure whispered, its breath icy against my skin. “This is all you’ll ever be.”

“No.” a memory flickered to life in the back of my mind—a moment so vivid it felt like she was standing beside me.

Liora.

We were children then, sitting by the stream that wound its way through the forest behind the Oswin estate. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the water. I had been brooding over a failure in my training, sulking after yet another day of frustration. My hands trembled with the sword in my grip, and I couldn’t get past the fear that coiled in my chest every time I tried to swing it.

Liora had watched me for a long time, her once golden eyes catching the fading light, before she spoke, her voice soft but resolute.

“You can’t change what’s already happened, Aric,” she had said, her tone laced with both kindness and steel. “There will always be things we regret. But regret is a trap—it makes you look back when you should be looking forward.”

I had looked up at her, frustration still gnawing at my insides, and muttered something about failure, about how I couldn’t seem to get past it, how every misstep felt like it was dragging me down.

But Liora had just smiled, shaking her head in that way she always did when she thought I was being stubborn. “You’re more than your mistakes, little brother. You have to accept all the parts of yourself—the parts you like and the parts you don’t. That’s the only way you’ll ever move forward. Not by ignoring your fears, but by acknowledging them. And then stepping past them.”

She had knelt beside me then, placing a hand on my shoulder, grounding me with her warmth. “You can’t keep running from yourself. The sooner you accept who you are, the sooner you’ll find your way.”

Her words cut through the suffocating gloom like a blade. Liora had always been the voice I couldn’t ignore, the steady hand that guided me out of the darkness when I was too lost in my own doubts. She had a way of seeing me—the real me—when I couldn’t even look at myself. She never let me sink into self-pity, never let me crumble under the weight of my own regrets.

And now, in this abyss of shadows, her presence was like a distant flame flickering just out of reach, reminding me of who I truly was. Her voice, her unyielding belief in me, surged through my mind like a beacon. It echoed, louder than the whispers of the shadows around me.

“There will always be moments we wish we could change, but regret is a chain—it binds you to the past, keeping your eyes fixed on what’s behind when you should be walking toward what lies ahead.”

"Hahaha..."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. First my mother, and now Liora. How ironic. Is this the relic’s way of offering hope? Or just another cruel twist, forcing me to face my failures?

...