Liera’s patience was waning. She thought she’d never get tired of torturing lowlifes, yet here she was, bored out of her mind. The pain and the punishment didn’t satisfy her anymore. She wanted more. She wanted answers. Her hair had already gone from black to red and the tent was littered with bodies, yet she’d learned nothing new.

“You’re the last one,” she said. “Speak while you still have a tongue. What do you know about Rane?”

“Filthy puppet.” The tied up ashfen turned to the entrance of his tent and screamed. “Help me you idiots!”

Liera ignored the sounds of weapons clashing outside and her dark, piercing eyes locked onto him. “Your lackeys won’t come,” she said. “Let’s try something else. Who is Leylin?”

The bound ashfen spat at her instead, eyes squinted and filled with malice. She sighed, removed her black overcoat and set it aside, revealing the white tunic she wore underneath. "Is your life worth less than my clothes?" she asked and reached for her dagger.

There were two types of prisoners. Those who spewed everything they knew at the first sight of a blade, and those that had to taste it to start talking. The ashfen seemed like the latter. Her dagger descended and the man wailed as the blade cracked through the back of his hand. Fresh blood poured from the wound, dyeing the ground a crimson red. Liera raised her blade once more.

“I’ll talk!” he yelled between sobs. “I… I was-” The man convulsed, black veins bulging out from his face and neck as he strained against his bindings.

“Bastard.” Liera cursed. This ashfen was Oathbound as well. The search for Rane had lasted three years, yet little progress was made. Their only lead was a name from a slave who overheard a conversation. Leylin. Whoever the man was, he was careful, Oathbinding those who knew any vital information. She admired his diligence almost as much as she hated it. Either way, she had no further use for the ashfen.

She slit his throat.

⁂

Blake hated playing bodyguard. He planted his broadsword in the ground and leaned forward, wiping some of the blood from his face. Ashfen bodies were strewn across the ground around the tent’s entrance, and the smell of copper was strong in the air. Their leader had bound all of them with an Oath of servitude, which left little room for negotiations or mercy. They had been ordered to kill, so Blake had no choice but to cut them down first.

Only two ashfen remained now, the ones that had just gotten back to the camp, yet neither of them dared to step forward. In this deathly stillness, the agonising screams that came from the tent caused their faces to pale and their hands to tremble.

“Don’t,” Blake warned, “or you’ll end up like the rest of your kin.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other and taking cautious steps back. The cries coming from the tent rose in pitch and their leader called for help, loud enough for them to hear. That gave them pause. Darkness spread on their skin and up their necks, dying their eyes black. The burly ashfen raised his axe with shaking hands and a look of horror, then charged towards the entrance.

“Damn Oaths!” Blake ducked and avoided the axe, swinging his longsword sideways with practised elegance. The ashfen’s body was cleanly cut in half, splattering fresh blood all around. The remaining ashfen followed after him, blood pouring from his eyes and mouth after resisted his Oath, even for a brief moment. “Please!” The ashfen screamed even as he charged. “Please spare me!”

Liera walked out of the tent before he could reach Blake, carrying the ashfen leader’s severed head by the hair. The man collapsed and drew in deep breaths with tears in his eyes, before tossing his weapon away. With his leader dead, his Oath was annulled and he had earned his grim freedom. At least for now.

“We’re leaving, Blake,” Liera said while wiping the blood off her blade.

“What should we do about him?” Blake pointed at the trembling ashfen.

“You know the rules,” said Liera. “Always leave one man alive.”

Blake nodded. Spare one, to be civil. Spare one, so that he becomes a warning for the others. He retrieved coiled rope from his backpack and approached the soldier with a cold expression. “Stay still.”

The ashfen nodded. He was just a lackey, but he was certainly not a fool. His master had died, meaning he was free from his oath, and after seeing how his allies ended up he knew he shouldn’t resist.

“You’re lucky you get to keep your life.” Blake sighed and started walking, dragging the ashfen behind him. Necessary though it was, killing like this always left him with a bitter taste.

“Anyone interesting?” Liera led them through the unique wilderness of the borders.

“Nope, only slaves again.” Blake poked the ashfen with his scabbard, urging him to move. “They were going to meet a slave trader but he doesn’t know a name or a location.”

The ashfen turned his eyes away.

“Coward,” Blake mumbled. Somehow, irrationally, he blamed them for all the lives he had to take. If they had come at him by their own will, then fighting back would be justified. Perhaps he'd even enjoy the thrill of it. Now it simply felt like claiming the lives of the innocent. He cleared the thoughts in his head and turned to Liera. There was a reason they were here. “Anything new on Leylin?”

“No. They were all Oathbound.”

“Ah, of course.” Blake’s shoulders slumped. “What about Rane?”

Liera shook her head with a bitter frown. “We are out of leads…”

“It’s been years,” Blake said with a deep sigh. “I don’t think we’ll ever see him again.”

“Don’t ever say that.” Liera turned around sharply and looked him straight in the eyes. “We will find him. We have to.”

Blake nodded, but deep inside he didn’t share his sister’s certainty. The ashfen didn’t dare to break the silence that followed on the way back to Danira. Wild animals occasionally hindered them, but Liera and Blake handled them with ease. A river cut through the woods, serving as Danira’s natural border. The sounds of flowing water mixed with those of chirping birds and gave off a serene vibe.

Blake tightened the grip on his longsword and Liera placed a hand on her weapon’s hilt as they neared the river. The place reeked of blood. Guts and body parts were mixed with the wet soil of the riverside. Blake scanned the surroundings and stood guard while Liera examined the bodies.

“Human,” she said after a brief inspection.

“Things are getting out of hand.” Blake grimaced. “Andre’s clearly hostile. We have to retort in kind!”

Liera sighed and stood up. “What do you think would happen if Andre waged war?” she asked.

“We’d rough them up!” Blake rested his longsword on his shoulder and puffed out his chest.

“Blake, sometimes…” Liera massaged her temples, visibly annoyed. “Silyra isn’t what it used to be. We simply have to endure. The peace treaty is flimsy, and we can’t be the ones to break it. You shouldn’t-”

“I know, I know,” Blake interrupted, “don’t provoke them.”

“Our leave is almost over,” she said. “Reporting this takes priority.”

Blake nodded and led the way. The familiar scenery of Danira’s outskirts let him relax, somewhat. Stone walls of impressive height surrounded the entire city and stood out from the surrounding greenery.

“Halt!” called a guard stationed at the gate. He gave Blake a friendly nod, but upheld his duty nonetheless. “Identify yourselves.”

“Blake and Liera Tovale,” said Liera. She took an insignia out of her breast pocket and presented it to the guard. “Returning from military leave.” The guard spared a glance at the emblem and stepped aside.

Danira was more of a title than a name, given to the city that housed the border guard and its standing army. Known throughout the continent as the frontier of war, its long history was the history of Silyra’s battle against the Andren empire. Myths and folklore spoke of Danira’s fierce warriors and valiant resistance against invading forces. Legend had it that to conquer the city, a blood price had to be paid.

Reality did the myths justice. Nearly all the residents wore armour and carried weapons. Most were organised in groups and seamlessly blended in with the city’s mundane, stone buildings as they marched. The metal gear they wore produced a choir of clatter that could be heard throughout the well-oiled, war machine that was Danira.

Blake had grown up in a Danira, not too different from this one. Four years ago, their birthplace had been destroyed and this city became their new home. He and Liera were still children at the time, and the first to be evacuated. Soon, the two cities became one in his memories. The hammering of the smithy, the synchronised shouting from the training grounds and the sounds of weapons clashing during spars were the same. Made him feel safe.

Soon, the unnaturally huge banner of the city hall came into view, adorned by the painting of an ethereal dragon, the symbol of the Silyran empire. It had a mysterious quality to it. Something that made it seem vivid, almost alive.

Blake and Liera entered the city hall under the dragon’s watchful eye. Despite being recently built, the arched pathways and stone pillars felt ancient. Oil paintings of battles filled its spacious insides, depicting commanders leading their army to war and heroes facing off against ferocious beasts. Yet, what stood out the most was the three-metre tall marble statue in the centre of the city hall. The figure pointed a sword to the sky and its faceless head was held high, overflowing with pride.

Blake looked up at the statue of the unknown soldier with envy. It was a tribute to the bravery of the souls lost in battle throughout the ages. No nationality. No identity. Only sacrifice.

“I’ve been waiting.” An elderly man stood in front of the statue; his small, hunched body contrasting the marble soldier’s massive build. He turned around to greet them with a smile and the map of scars on his face told of the most incredible journey. A cut over his missing left eye alluded to the war where he had lost it. A shiny and pale scar above his eyebrow told of a battle fought, yet long forgotten. One mark across his cheek spoke of a life on the front lines. A life that had always dangled by a thread.

“We greet Drayton, the first elder,” Blake and Liera spoke in unison and bowed.

“I... greet the first elder.” The ashfen fidgeted with the hems of his clothes and didn’t dare look up.

“You were waiting for us, sir?” Blake ignored the ashfen.

“I was informed of your return and decided to meet you personally, as a family friend rather than a superior,” Drayton said. “Did you uncover anything new?”

“Just another dead end,” Blake said, then paused. “We found three bodies by the river crossing close to the city. Human, not more than two days old by the looks of it.”

“I see. I will take care of it. Don’t tell anyone else,” Drayton said, trying not to show worry. “A letter for you two arrived from the capital this morning.” Drayton’s expression turned solemn and his one eye scanned the hall, perhaps out of habit. “Vince… Your father has contacted me.”

Blake and Liera exchanged glances. They barely knew their father. He had always been a proud man. Strict, disciplined, and of high principle. He had chosen to return to his military duties after the fall of the previous Danira, taking up the mantle of commander. Even if it meant leaving them in Drayton’s care. Blake used to hate his father for it, but as he grew up to become a soldier himself, Vince earned his respect. He endangered his life to protect Silyra, and now he needed their help.

Liera on the other hand… She had never forgiven him. “Oh? How come the old man remembered he has children?”

“Your father needs people he can trust, so he specifically asked for you,” Drayton said. “There’s unrest in the capital. Talks of a traitor in the high circles.”

Traitor… The word hung in the air. Blake knew that as Silyra’s position got worse, cowards would start to emerge. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon. “What do we have to do?”

“The letter was brief,” Drayton continued. “Out of fear that it would be intercepted, I imagine. Vince simply said that this mission will be dangerous, but could decide the future of Silyra itself. He almost pleaded for you to go.”

Liera bit her lower lip. “As much as I hate to say this… Vince is right. Silyra is in dire straits as it is. If a traitor actually exists, we need to take drastic measures..”

“Pack your things and prepare for the journey then. You’re off tomorrow.” Drayton’s tone didn’t leave room for arguments. “You can think of this as a promotion, if you’d like. Given the urgency, I could use my magic to cut the travel time, if you'd like.”

Liera shook her head. "The spell takes a toll on you, elder. It's best reserved for a life or death situation."

"Very well." Drayton hummed through a smile. “You’re dismissed.” His attention finally turned to the ashfen. “The spared one of your most recent excursion, I assume.”

Blake tugged on the rope that bound the ashfen, forcing the man closer.

“Is he skilled with the sword?” Drayton’s eye narrowed as he scrutinised the ashfen.

“Somewhat,” Blake replied. “But he’ll need work.”

“That’s good enough.” Drayton smiled and his wrinkles deepened. “Liera, would you like to participate in the swearing of an Oath?”

“It would be my pleasure!” she replied, and her twisted smile made the ashfen shiver. Sometimes his sister’s eagerness to subdue the ashfen scared even Blake himself.

“I’ll prepare for the journey then,” Blake handed the rope to Drayton and turned around to leave. He understood the significance of Oaths, but had developed a distaste for the process. Even being close to a ritual as it was performed made his skin crawl.

Danira’s streets greeted him again as he exited the city hall. Their search hadn’t lasted long. Locating the ashfen camp had taken less than a week, yet Danira felt different to him, busier. Gossip was still rare, most often drowned out by the trotting of horses as they carried their riders through the city.

A raindrop fell on his hair and he looked up. The sky was growing murky, clouds thickening. It was a prelude to the storm that would soon come. He unconsciously quickened on his way, and soon found himself in front of the smithy. Weapons of excellent quality were laid out on a wooden frame. Each one featured a different, elaborate design that only a seasoned swordsmith could aspire to make.

“Sasha?” Blake peered inside and was greeted by the sight of the blacksmith at work.

She had her back turned and seemed devoted to the object on the anvil. Every time her hammer dropped, the glowing metal would bend under the strength of her well-knit muscles. It already resembled a crude longsword blade, so Blake decided not to disturb her work yet.

Instead, he admired Sasha’s technique quietly. Beads of sweat ran down the back of her neck after each strike. The labour was strenuous and the leftover heat from the furnace only made it worse. After a few more minutes, Sasha slowed down her pace and carefully ironed out the last imperfections. She used a tong to pick up the blade and quench it in a barrel full of oil.

“Impressive as always,” Blake said.

“This one’s a special request,” Sasha mumbled. She belatedly recognized Blake’s voice and turned around, her pale blue eyes growing wide as she took in his form. She stood agape for a few seconds, allowing him to admire the sweet features of her face before she dashed into his waiting arms.

“Blake!”

He didn’t shy away from her embrace. I missed you, is what he wanted to say. “Sasha, you’re crushing me.” He tried to free himself, but she was having none of it.

“You’re alive!” She pressed herself against him and burrowed her head in his chest.

“Let's keep it that way,” Blake said, short of breath. Despite his robustness, Sasha’s strength was enough to leave him gasping for air.

“Sorry…” Sasha let go. “I just got excited.”

As she wiped the sweat from her face, Blake caught a glimpse of the scar on her forehead. An eye was carved into her flesh with horrifying rigour, its perfection unattainable by mortal hands. Her skin there was dark and the tissue exposed, similar to an open wound. It was repulsing and took away some of her natural beauty, but Blake didn’t mind.

Sasha’s eyes nervously flickered between Blake’s gaze and the floor. She seemed conscious of her mark. “Let me get out of my work clothes,” she said.

“It’s alright,” Blake replied, but she had already vanished to the back of the smithy.

Maybe he shouldn't have come. How was he supposed to tell her he had to leave again? Try as he might, he couldn’t find a way. When Sasha returned they exchanged awkward stares. More than friends, but less than lovers, the intimacy they shared could never develop into something more.

“Sasha, I...” Blake hesitated. It drove him mad. How he’d been taught to kill without batting an eyelid, but at the same time worried he’d hurt her feelings. Her presence pumped blood through his veins the way no battle or enemy ever could. Yet he was powerless to fight what truly bound her. The oath that cursed her to a life of solitude to preserve her father’s noble bloodline.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, running a hand down his chest. “You know you can tell me anything.”

"But you can't." Blake grasped her hand in his and gently lowered it. He looked right into her eyes. "If only I knew his name… If only I knew who cursed you like this I-"

"Stop it." Sasha held him tight. "Why can't you be content with this?" Her voice was muffled by sobs. "Why can't you be happy?"

"Until you are truly free, I will find no peace." He gave her a gentle smile. "Remember what I promised you under the oak? That I would fight to set you free."

"Blake…" She stared up at him and wiped away the tears forming in her eyes. "You know you can't. I don't want you going against--" Darkness spread from her scar and black painted her lips. She closed her eyes to calm herself and they retreated. "Is that why you came? To remind me?"

"Not just that." Blake took a couple of steps back, breathing in deep and steeling his heart against her sorrow. “I’ve been assigned an important mission in the capital, Sasha. I’ll have to leave soon.”

The spark in Sasha’s eyes dimmed. “Will you be back?” she asked with a faint, bitter smile.

“If there’s still breath in my body, I will.”

“That’s what you always say.” She snickered and took small steps towards him. “Promise you’ll be back for me,” she whispered and stared deep into his eyes. She tried to plant her lips on his, but the Oath stopped her, letting only her warm breath reach him.

The soft glimmer of her iris enticed him, soothed the fiery soul he hid within. I love you Sasha, but… The words danced at the tip of his lip. But what? What was he going to say? Even if they could never make love, even if she could never bear children, he didn't care. He loved her all the same. And that was why he couldn't give in. That way it would hurt less, he told himself, if he died. “I can’t make that promise.” He couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, so he turned his back.

“Wait,” Sasha hugged him, pressing her body against his. Her tears were hot against his back. “Please don’t leave.”

Blake could feel her warmth washing over him, and he knew coming here had been a mistake. “Let go, Sasha,” he said. “I have to.”

She hesitated, he could tell, but eventually her arms left him and the cold of her absence settled back in. “Please be careful.”

“I will,” Blake whispered, then left. What he’d do if she followed him, he didn’t know. He just hoped she wouldn’t. He didn’t have the strength to turn her away again.

The sky had turned dark and raindrops had veiled the city, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of Danira into a warren of slick stones and muddy waters. Blake normally hated the rain, but today, as he made his way back to the stone buildings of the barracks, he didn’t mind it. Today, the rain hid his tears. He headed straight for his quarters, waving to friends and other members of his unit as he passed by. They’d probably notice the difference from his usual attitude, the lack of excitement and the liveliness that usually followed him. Thankfully, no one looked deeper into it, and Blake didn’t care to explain. He slipped into his room and closed the door behind him. A bunk bed, two chairs, a table and a lamp made of glowstone. That’s all there was to the sibling’s chambers. Still, for a soldier, those were more than enough.