Veilbound Secrets: The Oath Bearer's Curse

The Oswin estate was eerily silent that night, the air thick with a weight that pressed against my chest as I made my way toward the family library. The estate had always been vast, its many rooms and corridors stretching on endlessly, but tonight it felt even larger, as if the shadows themselves had expanded, watching my every move with unseen eyes.

The corridor to the library was dimly lit, the sconces casting long shadows that flickered against the stone walls. The darkness seemed to cling to the corners, where the light dared not reach. Each step I took echoed through the halls, the sound swallowed by the overwhelming quiet. I had always found the silence comforting, but now it felt oppressive, as though something ancient and unseen lurked within the shadows, waiting.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors to the library, I was met with the familiar scent of old parchment and dust. Shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, and tomes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, some of them centuries old, their spines cracked and faded with age. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, a testament to the Oswin family's long and storied history.

I made my way to the center of the room, where a large oak table sat beneath the light of a grand chandelier. I had spent countless nights here since arriving at the estate, poring over texts and ancient manuscripts, searching for answers to the many mysteries that surrounded me. But tonight felt different. Tonight, the shadows seemed closer, the silence more pronounced, as though the library itself held secrets it didn’t want to reveal.

With a sigh, I set down the stack of books I had gathered earlier. My fingers traced the edges of the ancient volumes, feeling the rough texture of the leather bindings beneath my fingertips. Each book held pieces of the puzzle, fragments of a forgotten history that stretched back to the dawn of Aeloria.

I flipped open a large tome titled Histories of the Forgotten Realms. The brittle pages crackled as I turned them, the faded ink barely legible in places. The text delved into the ancient civilizations that had once ruled the continents, empires that had risen to great power only to fall into ruin, swallowed by time and the Wyrd.

My eyes scanned the page, catching on a passage that made my breath catch:

"The Symbol of the Shattered Eye—once etched into the ruins of Thalassia—is said to have been the cause of its destruction. A relic of the Wyrd, it is believed that those who bear its mark can tear through the Veil and bring forth unspeakable horrors from beyond..."

My pulse quickened. The Shattered Eye. I had seen that symbol before—etched into the ruins beneath Harmony, carved into the stone of the forgotten fountain. The cult we were searching for, the one hiding in the shadows of the city, bore that same mark.

I reached for another book, this one a smaller, more delicate volume that detailed the Rituals of the Veil. The pages were yellowed with age, the text written in a language that I only partially understood, but the illustrations were clear enough. They depicted figures in dark cloaks standing in a circle, their hands raised toward the sky, the symbol of the Shattered Eye drawn in blood on the ground before them.

A chill ran down my spine as I read the accompanying passage.

"The Ritual of the Tearing is said to open a gate between worlds, allowing the Wyrd to seep through into the material plane. Those who partake in the ritual are marked forever by the Wyrd, their minds and bodies twisted by its power. The Veil, once torn, can never be fully mended..."

My hands trembled as I closed the book. The cult we were dealing with wasn’t just a group of fanatics. They were trying to tear the Veil itself, to open a gateway to the Wyrd and unleash chaos upon Aeloria. It was worse than I had imagined. The destruction of entire empires, the fall of civilizations—everything pointed to one thing: the Forgotten Continent.

The Forgotten Continent was a place spoken of only in whispers, its existence a mystery even to the scholars of Aeloria. It was said to be a land of madness, where the laws of nature no longer applied, and where the influence of the Wyrd was strongest. No one who ventured there ever returned, and those who spoke of it often went mad, their minds shattered by whatever they had seen beyond the Veil.

I leaned back in my chair, the candlelight flickering as my mind raced with the implications of what I had discovered. The cult was planning something far more dangerous than I had realized. If they succeeded in their ritual, they could tear the Veil, bringing the Wyrd directly into the heart of Aeloria. The consequences would be catastrophic.

As I sat there, the weight of the knowledge pressing down on me, something strange occurred to me. I hadn’t thought about Earth—my life as Elijah—in weeks. My mind, once so filled with thoughts of my old life, of my family, my friends, my plans for the future, now felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

I frowned, a strange sense of unease creeping over me. How could I have forgotten? I had been so consumed by this world—by the mysteries of the Oswin family, the cult, the Wyrd—that I hadn’t even stopped to think about my past life. My memories of Earth, of being Elijah, felt faded, like a dream I could barely recall.

Panic surged in my chest. Why hadn’t I questioned it before? Why hadn’t I wondered how I had come to accept this world so easily, how I had slipped into Aric’s life without hesitation? My hands clenched into fists as the realization settled over me like a dark cloud.

Something was wrong.

My breathing quickened as I stood from the table, the chair scraping against the stone floor. The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge, now felt oppressive, the walls closing in around me. My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of memory that seemed to slip through my fingers like sand.

Why had I forgotten about Earth? About Elijah?

I paced the room, the tension in my chest tightening with each step. The gaps in my memory haunted me, gnawing at the edge of my mind, and that strange apathy—this detachment—had taken hold of me for far too long. It had been days since the Voice last whispered anything, and the silence felt suffocating. I couldn’t remember my dreams anymore, only the vague feeling of dread they left behind. And now, the quiet gnawed at me like an open wound.

I stopped, staring into the void, and finally let my frustration spill out into the empty room. “Was it you?”

The tremble in my voice caught me off guard, but I pressed on, steadying myself. “Did you make me forget? Did you make me stop asking questions?”

Nothing. Just the weight of silence, heavy and oppressive, pushing down on me. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited. Was the Voice done with me? Had it finally abandoned me after all this time?

And then, like a cold breath against my skin, it returned.

“You’re asking the wrong questions, Aric.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. That cryptic, condescending tone—it only made everything worse. I couldn’t keep doing this, living with more questions than answers, feeling like pieces of myself were slipping through my fingers.

“Wrong questions?” My voice was sharp, frustration hardening each word. “Why haven’t I questioned any of this? Why do I feel like pieces of my own life are missing? Did you make me forget? And why?”

The air seemed to grow colder, a shiver crawling down my spine as if the room itself had taken a breath. The Voice, as always, was calm. Detached.

“I did what had to be done,” it said softly. “For things to go according to the prophecy.”

The prophecy. Always the damn prophecy. A shadow hanging over me, just out of reach, impossible to grasp. “What prophecy?” My voice cracked, the weight of it all crashing down on me. “Why does everything come back to this prophecy? What does it mean? What do I have to do with it?”

The Voice chuckled, low and unsettling, the sound crawling under my skin. “I’ll tell you… for a price.”

I hesitated. What had I been manipulated into forgetting? What had the Voice taken from me? The thought turned my stomach. But I needed answers.

“What price?”

“Acceptance.” The word rolled out, soft and slow, like a trap waiting to spring. “You must accept that what’s been done had to be done. That your path was altered for a reason.”

My hands trembled, fingers twitching as I processed the weight of it. My mind, my memories—manipulated. I couldn’t trust my own thoughts anymore. But I had to know. I had to understand.

“I accept,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

The Voice hummed, satisfied. “Good. If you had questioned everything… things would not have gone so smoothly.”

“So, you did do it,” I said, my voice hardening with anger. “You made me forget. You stopped me from asking questions.”

“I did what was necessary,” it replied, completely unfazed by my rage. “For the prophecy to unfold as it must, you had to be kept… focused.”

“What does that even mean?” I snapped. “If I had been questioning everything, would the prophecy fail?”

Silence. Long and suffocating. The tension in my chest grew unbearable, and just when I thought the Voice might leave me dangling again, it spoke.

“Had you questioned, had you been too aware of the truth… things would have unraveled. And we cannot afford that.”

My heart pounded, pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t see clicking together in my mind. This was bigger than me. Bigger than my family. Something ancient. Something terrifying.

“Then tell me,” I demanded. “What is this prophecy? What’s my role in it? You’ve been manipulating me this whole time, so I deserve to know.”

“I’ve told you enough.”

“No, you haven’t!” I slammed my fist against the wall, frustration boiling over. “You’ve only given me fragments, pieces that don’t make sense. What is this prophecy?”

Another pause, longer than before. The Voice seemed to consider something, its presence heavy and calculating.

“It’s time for you to stop seeking answers and start preparing, Aric.”

“Preparing for what?” My voice rose, anger and confusion swirling together. “How am I supposed to focus when you’ve made me even more suspicious? If my questions were going to cause so much trouble, why even answer me now?”

The Voice chuckled again, sending another shiver down my spine. “You won’t need to worry about that. Just focus on what’s ahead.”

I swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “How am I supposed to trust you after this?”

Silence. The Voice faded, leaving me standing alone in the emptiness. Again.

My fists clenched. I had more answers, sure, but now I had even more questions to contend with. The prophecy. The manipulation. My own role in whatever this was.

But one thing was clear. I couldn’t keep doubting everything. If I was going to survive this—whatever it was—I had to stop chasing answers and start preparing for what was coming.

The Voice had left me with more uncertainty than before, but the path ahead of me was clear.

Action.

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