When the bells of Lornfell rang at dawn, Elira felt the sound in her bones. It was the day of the Silver Oath—the vow sworn once in a lifetime, binding protector and realm. She had dreamed of this morning since childhood, of standing beside her brother, Kael, hands joined, promise shining between them like a blade of light.
But dreams, she would learn, do not always survive the day.
Lornfell rose from the mist like a memory half-remembered, its white towers crowned with blue banners. The city was old and proud, guarded by the Oathbound—men and women sworn to defend the kingdom with their lives. Elira had trained among them for years, quick with a bow, steady in fear. Kael, older and broader, had been her shadow and shield since their parents died in the winter plague. If she fell, he would lift her. If he doubted, she would remind him who he was.
They stood before the altar as the High Warden raised the silver circlet. “Speak the vow,” he said.
Kael’s voice was clear. “I swear—”
The scream cut him short.
A horn answered it, harsh and wrong. From the eastern gate, smoke climbed the sky. Shouts broke the square. Steel rang on stone.
“Raiders,” someone cried. “Inside the walls!”
Chaos spread like fire in dry grass. The High Warden turned to shout orders. Elira reached for Kael—but he was already moving, eyes fixed east, face unreadable.
“Kael,” she said. “Together.”
He hesitated. Just a breath. Long enough for her to see fear—or was it resolve? Then he tore the silver circlet from the altar and ran.
Not toward the gate.
Away.
The raiders were driven out by noon. Lornfell bled but stood. Elira searched the city until dusk, heart pounding with every door she opened. Kael was gone. So was the circlet, the symbol of the Oath.
By nightfall, the whispers began. Betrayer. Thief. Coward.
Elira did not sleep. At dawn, she took her bow, a loaf of bread, and left the city she loved. If Kael had fled, there was a reason. She would find it—or break trying.
The world beyond Lornfell was wider than she remembered. Forests where trees leaned close and listened. Rivers that whispered names. Roads that forgot where they led. She followed rumors like threads: a tall man trading silver for maps; a fighter who refused to draw his blade unless cornered; a brother who kept watch all night and slept at dawn.
Weeks passed. Hunger became familiar. Doubt, a constant companion.
One evening, in a village scorched by old magic, she found him.
Kael sat by a fire, the silver circlet wrapped in cloth at his side. His hair was unkempt, his eyes hollowed by exhaustion. When he saw her, he did not smile.
“I hoped you wouldn’t come,” he said.
Elira’s anger rose like a storm. “You ran. You stole the Oath. You let them call you a traitor.”
“I ran because I had to,” he said quietly. “Because the Oath was already broken.”
He told her then—of the High Warden’s bargain, struck in secret with the eastern lords. Of the price paid in lives, of villages offered like coins. The raiders had been invited, a test of fear to tighten control. The circlet was not just a vow, but a key—one that could bind the Oathbound to the Warden’s will.
“I took it so he couldn’t use it,” Kael said. “But if I returned, I’d be silenced. Or worse.”
Elira’s anger cracked, and beneath it was grief. “You should have trusted me.”
“I did,” he said. “That’s why I ran. So you could be free to choose.”
They did not speak for a long time. The fire burned low. At last, Elira nodded. “Then we finish this together.”
Their path back to Lornfell was harder than the road out. The Warden’s hunters were already searching. They fought when they must, hid when they could. Elira learned patience she had never needed before. Kael learned to lean on her strength without shame.
At the gates of Lornfell, under a sky heavy with rain, they made their stand.
Elira climbed the tower as Kael drew the guards away. Arrows sang. Blades flashed. At the altar, she set the circlet down—not to swear, but to reveal. She spoke the truth aloud, and the silver answered. Light spilled, showing the hidden runes, the binding spell etched beneath the vow.
The city listened.
The Warden tried to flee. He did not make it far.
When the bells rang again, they rang for change.
Kael stood before the people, no longer hiding. Elira stood beside him, hand on his arm. They were not crowned, not praised as heroes. They were something better—witnesses to a truth hard-won.
That night, as the city slept, Elira watched the stars and felt the weight of the days lift, just a little. Love, she understood now, was not the absence of betrayal, but the courage to face it—and still choose one another.
And in that choice, Lornfell found its dawn.
