Veilbound Secrets: The Oath Bearer's Curse

“You’re coming with us,” my voice low and threatening.

A twisted smile crept across his lips, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. “You think you’ve won?”

I tightened my grip on the hilt of my sword, pushing it just a fraction closer to his neck. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

But something in his expression shifted—there was no fear, only a sinister confidence that made my skin crawl. I glanced around quickly, feeling the sudden surge of energy in the air. More cultists were closing in, faster than I had anticipated. Too many.

Leaving the Leader, I started parrying the attacks.

"Where the hell are these fuckers coming from?? They're like ants," I muttered, slashing through another one, only to watch him crumble to dust like the others. No blood, no signs of life—just... ash. Something was wrong.

She glanced at me, her eyes catching my confusion. "They're not real," she said breathlessly, deflecting another strike. "Clones. Constructs, made by someone else. That’s why there are so many—weak, but overwhelming in numbers."

That explained a lot. Their movements, the sheer quantity of them... It wasn’t normal. I grit my teeth, cutting down another without hesitation. The pressure was mounting, and the realization that these weren’t real people did nothing to ease the tension.

"We need to end this, now," I said, my voice strained.

I glanced around, realizing we were still surrounded, no matter how many we cut down. The cultists had an unrelenting persistence, but there was something... hollow about their attacks. It was clear they were puppets.

I felt the energy of the Veil shift again—this time inside me. A pull, like a thread being yanked tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. I had been avoiding it, unsure if I could handle what was on the other side. But now, with the cultists closing in, I didn’t have a choice.

'Tch! I didn't want to use this as I don't know if my body would be able to handle it.'

"FUCK IT!"

Without hesitation, I tapped into something I hadn’t dared touch knowingly before. Spatial magic.

The air around me thickened, distorting as I called upon the deeper layers of the Veil. My body tensed as I felt the flow of mana surge, bending the very fabric of space.

My heartbeat synchronized with the flow of mana, and I extended my hand, feeling the pull of the space around me. It was a delicate weave, a careful manipulation of the Veil that required more precision than brute strength. But I could feel it, humming under my skin, waiting to be unleashed.

With a quick, focused breath, I pushed the energy outward. A thin arc of mana rippled from my hand, distorting the space around me. It wasn’t a massive explosion, not like before, but something more refined, more deadly. The space in front of me twisted unnaturally, thinning as if the very fabric of reality was being cut.

The arc of spatial magic sliced through the air, an invisible blade that stretched out in all directions. It cut cleanly through the cultists surrounding us, their bodies faltering as they crumbled, severed by a force they couldn’t see. The attack was silent, almost eerie in its precision. No blood, no sound—just bodies collapsing to the ground in perfect unison, their lives snuffed out by the thin distortion of space.

I exhaled, my heart still racing, but the power of the spatial magic left a cold chill in the air. It felt different than the raw force of mana I’d been using. This was sharper, more controlled, yet far more dangerous. I could see it now—the way space itself could be a weapon, slicing through anything in its path.

Beside me, the elf stared in disbelief, her golden hair shimmering in the low light, no longer hidden by her previous disguise. Her wide eyes flicked from the fallen cultists to me, shock written across her face. "You—what did you just do?"

I didn’t answer immediately. The power of the Veil still coursed through me, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I had done myself. But there was no time to explain. The man I had disarmed was still in front of me, his twisted smile gone.

"You connected to the Veil in ways you shouldn’t," he hissed, his voice dripping with something close to fear. "You’ll regret this."

I pressed the blade against his throat again, forcing his attention back on me. "I’m not the one who’s going to regret anything. Now talk."

The cultist’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape, but there was none. He was cornered, the power I had unleashed leaving him visibly shaken. Still, his lips curled into a bitter grin. "You’re meddling in things far beyond your understanding, Oswin."

"We’ll see about that." I flicked my wrist, and a small spark of spatial magic crackled in the air between us, a reminder of what I was capable of.

He grinned, unfazed by the blade. "You can’t stop what’s coming, Oswin. The Wyrd will consume everything, and you? You’ll be nothing more than a footnote in its rise."

The Wyrd.

That word again. I had heard it before, whispered in dark corners of the Oswin estate, in old, forgotten texts that spoke of chaos and eldritch horrors lurking beyond the Veil. But what exactly it was... I still didn’t know.

I glanced at the elf. "What’s the Wyrd?"

Her expression hardened. "You don’t want to know."

"I’m asking, aren’t I?"

She hesitated, casting a wary glance at the cultist. "The Wyrd is... chaos. It’s the force that lies beyond the Veil, outside the order of mana. It's what happens when you take too much, when the balance is broken."

"Chaos?" I echoed. "That’s what they serve?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "But the Wyrd isn’t just chaos. It’s madness. It warps everything it touches, corrupts the mind and body. Those who delve too deep into its power..." She trailed off, her eyes darkening. "They lose themselves. They become... something else."

"Sounds lovely," I muttered, my grip tightening on the cultist’s arm. "You’re coming with us. You’re going to tell us everything you know about this Wyrd, and who’s pulling your strings."

But before I could move, the cultist’s body began to convulse violently. His eyes rolled back, and white foam bubbled from his mouth. Within seconds, his body collapsed, disintegrating into dust like the others.

"Fuck!" I cursed, releasing my hold on the now-empty air. "He’s dead. Or... whatever the hell that was."

She frowned, her brow furrowed. "Someone didn’t want him talking."

"No shit," I muttered, frustration boiling in my chest. Our only lead had just been wiped out in front of us, and I had no idea who—or what—was behind it.

"We need to get out of here," she said, her voice urgent. "More will come."

I didn’t argue. We were out of time. Whoever had sent these clones—these constructs—wouldn’t stop. And now that I had tapped into spatial magic, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep using it without consequences.

I sheathed my sword and followed her as we darted through the narrow alleyways, the shadows of the crumbling district pressing in around us.

My mind raced as we moved. The Wyrd. Clones. Constructs. I’d seen enough to know this was beyond typical cult activity. The fact that none of them had bled, just crumbled like ash, made me feel like we were fighting illusions, mere echoes of real people. But they were solid enough to be dangerous. Someone was manufacturing them, using them to swarm us like mindless drones, and it unnerved me how easily they could overwhelm us through sheer numbers.

As we dashed around a corner, I kept my voice low, trying to piece it together. "Those clones… how are they even possible? I’ve heard of illusions, but this—this feels different."

The elf, still running beside me, shot me a glance. "They’re constructs, not illusions. Whoever made them is skilled in manipulating the Veil. It’s a form of magic that’s old—very old. Creating life-like clones takes immense power, but they’re only puppets. Hollow shells with just enough of a presence to be dangerous."

"But they’re weak," I noted. "They crumble like dust."

"Because they’re disposable," she explained, her tone laced with bitterness. "They’re not meant to fight for long, only to overwhelm. Whoever is behind this has resources, but not enough to create something stronger. Clones like these fall apart easily, but in numbers, they can wear you down."

I cursed under my breath. The cultist had mentioned the Wyrd before collapsing into dust. Whoever or whatever they were serving was tapping into dangerous forces.

We turned another corner, the streets narrowing into darker passageways. The cultists were still behind us, but their numbers had dwindled, and I could sense they were no longer chasing us with the same fervor. They were watching, waiting for something.

"Tell me more about the Wyrd," I demanded, my voice tense as we weaved through the alleyways.

The elf hesitated, her golden hair catching the faint glimmer of moonlight as we passed through another shadow. "The Wyrd isn’t something to be trifled with, Oswin. It’s what lies beyond the Veil—the chaotic force that lurks in the places mana was never meant to reach. Most mages and scholars call it madness for a reason. Those who touch it—those who try to harness it—are corrupted. It twists them into something... less human."

My jaw clenched. The words echoed in my head, and I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had settled in my bones ever since the cultist had mentioned it. "And these cultists—these clones—are connected to it?"

"They’re part of something bigger," she replied, her voice barely audible as we slowed our pace, nearing what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the district. "The Wyrd is ancient. Forgotten, even. But those who seek its power do so at great cost. They’re willing to sacrifice their own sanity and their very souls to tap into the eldritch power it holds."

I stopped in my tracks, breathing heavily from the run. "So, these people are trying to bring chaos to the world? What’s their endgame?"

She leaned against the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened streets. "The Wyrd isn’t just chaos. It’s a force of raw, uncontrolled creation and destruction. If they want to bring the Wyrd into the material world, it means they’re trying to break the Veil—tear it open and let the madness bleed into reality."

I let her words sink in, the weight of them pressing down on me. "And what happens if they succeed?"

The elf’s expression darkened. "Then everything you know—everything we know—will unravel. The world will change, and not for the better."

A chill ran down my spine. I hadn’t fully understood what I was up against, but this… this was far worse than I had imagined. The clones, the cultists, the talk of the Wyrd—it all pointed to something catastrophic. And I was in the middle of it.

"We need to figure out who’s controlling these constructs," I said, pacing as my thoughts raced. "There’s no way they’re just summoning these things out of nowhere. Someone’s behind this."

The elf pushed off the wall, her gaze sharp. "It’s not going to be easy. Whoever it is, they’re well-hidden, using proxies and pawns to do their bidding. But I agree—we need to find them. Before they can do something irreversible."

I looked at her, the weight of our shared mission hanging heavily between us. "Then we find them. Together."

She nodded, but her expression was still grim. "There’s more at stake than you realize, Oswin. If they manage to bring the Wyrd into this world… it won’t just be Centrallis that suffers. The Veil is thin in places—too thin. And if they tear it open—"

"They won’t," I cut her off, determination hardening in my voice. "We won’t let them."

We exchanged a silent understanding. Whatever this was, we were in it together now. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed her knowledge as much as she needed my sword.

"Let’s get some distance first," she said, motioning for me to follow. "We’ll need to regroup and figure out our next move."

We slipped into the shadows once more.

...