Veilbound Secrets: The Oath Bearer's Curse

Puppet? Whose puppet? The word lingered in my mind, tugging at something deep within me. I tried to make sense of what I was seeing, but the scenes were shifting too fast. One moment I was on the battlefield, covered in blood and steel, and then I was in the grand hall, watching Sylvara move through a dance of politics and venomous smiles. Now here I was again, staring at Mira as she wrestled with something far more sinister. It all felt disconnected, a series of fragmented images refusing to come together into a coherent picture.

What is the trial trying to show me? It didn’t make sense—none of it did. The relic was supposed to reveal the path forward, but instead, it was dragging me through the past.

And yet…was it even about choosing the family head anymore? Or was there something else?

I could feel a growing knot of frustration tightening in my chest. The relic...was it controlling them? A thought I hadn’t dared to consider before took shape. Why did Eldric create the relic in the first place? For power? Control? Survival? Or something much darker?

Damn it. I am only left with more questions than answers.

Mira's fragile form pulled my focus back to her. The weight of her anguish pressed on me, almost suffocating. She looked so small, hunched over, trembling as she hovered above the relic. It wasn’t just an object of power—it was a prison, an endless chain that bound its bearers to the wills of those who came before. Was that what this was? Was the Oswin legacy a burden no one could truly escape from? Each generation seemed to lose more of themselves to it, and Mira…Mira had fought so hard to break free, but the weight of centuries threatened to crush her.

Is this my fate too? The thought hit me harder than I expected.

Tch, I need to know what this relic really is.

The scene began to twist again, faster now. The shadows blurred, pulling me deeper into the past. I wasn’t just witnessing it anymore—I was becoming part of it. Every Oswin who had ever carried this cursed thing. Their memories, their struggles, their failures. I could feel it all, as though the weight of their lives pressed down on me, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I gasped, feeling the pull of centuries of voices dragging me under, drowning me in their stories, their pain, their ambitions. Was this how they felt? Trapped in a cycle of duty and despair? The chaos of their lives clawed at me, threatening to consume me whole. I couldn’t hold on to my own identity—it was slipping, merging with theirs, becoming nothing more than another echo in the long line of Oswin bearers. Each of them wanted something from me, as if their unfinished business still lingered, demanding to be heard, to be acknowledged.

I gritted my teeth, struggling to separate myself from the swirling storm of memories.

The relic hummed in the back of my mind, its power growing stronger with every heartbeat. It felt alive—pulsing, throbbing, as if it were feeding on my thoughts, my fears. The line between who I was—Aric—and who they were—the bearers—blurred more with each passing second.

Am I destined to become just another ghost in the chain? Bound to the relic like Mira, like Sylvara, like Eldric and all the others? Their lives flashed before my eyes, faster and faster, a relentless barrage of hopes, failures, victories, and betrayals. And with each flash, I could feel myself slipping further from the present.

The relic’s pull was undeniable. The promise of knowledge it held, the power it promised...it was seductive. But there was a cost. There’s always a cost.

I gripped my head, trying to anchor myself to something—anything—but the voices...the voices wouldn’t stop.

"Aric..." one of them whispered, soft, insidious, creeping through the cracks of my splintering thoughts. But who was it? Mira? Sylvara? Or one of the countless others clawing for control? I couldn’t tell anymore. I couldn’t tell anything anymore.

The centuries weighed on me, suffocating me under the pressure of their memories, their failures, their damn lives. All of them pressing in, demanding I remember, that I carry their burden. But I wasn’t ready for this!

Damn it! My thoughts were slipping, scattering like sand in the wind. Who was I? Aric. Right. I was Aric. Wasn’t I?

The relic throbbed, its hum louder now, echoing in the dark corners of my mind. It wasn’t just a tool, wasn’t just some family heirloom. It was a prison—a damn trap, chaining me to a past I didn’t want. To lives that weren’t mine. But were they mine now?

I staggered, the world spinning around me, memories crashing into me faster than I could process them. Each one hit like a punch to the gut—another face, another name, another battle. I could feel myself unraveling, my sense of self slipping through my fingers. My grip on reality was loosening, breaking apart under the relentless assault of centuries of lives that weren’t my own.

"No...no..." I murmured, my voice barely audible, drowned out by the cacophony in my mind. My body felt like it was burning up from the inside, my skin too tight, too wrong. Was I still me?

The edges of my vision blurred. And then... darkness.

---

When my eyes snapped open again, I was in bed. My bed. The familiar sight of the vaulted ceiling above greeted me, the ornate chandelier gently swaying from the cool draft coming through the barely-open window. I could hear the faint murmur of a fountain from the courtyard below, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming echoed through the mansion’s vast halls.

I pushed myself upright, the silk sheets sliding off as I blinked, trying to clear my mind. My heart was racing, my skin sticky with sweat, but this—this was my room. What the hell?

The massive 4K TV mounted on the wall across from me flickered with the ambient glow of some Netflix show I must’ve left on. The open space of the room, with its pristine white walls and sleek modern furniture, felt almost alien for some reason. A custom gaming setup sat to one side, the neon lights of the dual monitors pulsing softly in the dim room. Beside it, a mountain of unopened packages cluttered the floor—gear I’d ordered and forgotten to unbox. My phone buzzed on the marble nightstand beside the bed, probably another message from some crypto dude my dad wanted me to meet. Everything here screamed luxury.

I stumbled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the heated marble floors, my body heavy, as if I were dragging myself out of another life. The room was massive, almost absurdly so. The kind of space most people would call an entire apartment, but for me, it was just a bedroom—one small part of the sprawling estate that I’d lived in for as long as I could remember.

My head throbbed, the weight of something pressing down on me. Was it all just a dream? I could still feel the lingering dread, the crushing sense of responsibility that had followed me in that other world. The relic, the centuries of memories, the endless battles—it all felt so real. Too real. But now, here I was, back in the place I knew. Back as Elijah Stone, the son of a millionaire, living in a mansion that might as well have been a palace.

My heart raced as I ran a hand through my disheveled dark hair, glancing at myself in the massive mirror beside the dresser. My reflection looked... off. I saw my usual tousled hair, the kind I never bothered to fix, my sharp features that I knew too well—the high cheekbones, the slightly crooked nose from a childhood accident, the tired, almost haunted look in my brown eyes. But there was something else in those eyes now, a flicker of confusion, of something far deeper than I cared to acknowledge.

What the hell was that? My mind scrambled for an explanation. Was it some kind of hallucination? Some trip I didn’t remember taking? I had been to enough parties, dabbled in more than my fair share of recreational stuff. Maybe that was it. Maybe I had taken something last night—acid, molly, God knows what else—and it had spun my brain into some twisted hallucination. Yeah. That had to be it. No such shit as a fantasy world exists. This is not some webtoon.

I had partied too hard, pushed myself too far, and my mind was losing its grip. I’m Elijah Stone, I repeated in my head, trying to ground myself. This was my life. The mansion, the cars, the money. Everything was normal. I wasn’t some ancient warrior or the heir to a cursed family relic. That was crazy. That was—

I shook my head, walking over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the estate. Outside, the perfectly manicured gardens stretched out endlessly, with statues placed in deliberate precision to complement the fountains. Beyond that, I could see the long driveway that led to the main gates, where a line of luxury cars—my father’s collection—sat gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air smelled faintly of freshly cut grass, and the distant hum of a gardener’s leaf blower was the only sound that broke the tranquility.

This is real. This was my world. I stared at my phone—still buzzing with notifications from people I didn’t care to deal with. Business associates, brands, clubs. All the noise of my life as Elijah Stone. I scrolled absentmindedly, but flashes of... something flickered at the edge of my mind. Ancient halls, swords clashing, the heat of battle—I could see it all. Feel it all. I blinked, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to shake off the haunting images.

No, focus. I grabbed my temples, rubbing the sides of my head as if that could wipe the memories away. I’m back. Here. In the mansion. Elijah Stone. I paced the room, ignoring the faint tremor in my hands. “That’s all it was. Some bad trip, some wild hallucination.”

But the memories... the weight of it all still pressed down on me like a lead blanket. The battle cries, the clash of steel, the voices calling out to me—they wouldn’t leave.

I need to get out of my head. I threw my phone onto the bed, the soft sheets rippling beneath its weight. Grabbing a glass of water from the nightstand, I took a long gulp, hoping it would calm my nerves. Maybe I’m losing it... maybe this is what it feels like when you break.

The cool water trickled down my throat, but it didn’t wash away the tension that coiled deep in my chest. I let out a long breath and set the glass down, trying to focus on the present. This is my life. I'm Elijah Stone. This mansion, this luxury, the carefully curated world around me—it's all real.

Yet, the flashes came back. The battlefield, the clashing steel, the crushing weight of responsibilities that weren’t mine. I rubbed my eyes, trying to scrub the images away. God, I must've taken something strong at that party. Acid or... something worse.

I glanced at my reflection again. The guy staring back looked exactly like I remembered—same tousled brown hair, same deep brown eyes—but he felt like a stranger. It was unsettling, like there was a crack in the surface of reality, and I was teetering on the edge of falling through.

Tch. I need sleep. That’s it. Just sleep.

I peeled off my clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the floor, and crawled into bed. The soft, expensive sheets should have been comforting, but they felt alien, like I didn’t belong here. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to drown out the buzzing in my head. Just sleep. Forget everything. Forget the memories, the voices. It was all a hallucination, nothing more.

But as I drifted off, the haze of sleep pulling me under, something deep inside whispered otherwise.

"You’d be a fool to lose your path for the trial this way."

The voice, that damned voice again. It slithered through my thoughts, bringing with it the weight of something ancient, something real. My body tensed, but I was too exhausted to react.

"Forget the dreams. Focus. You’re on the brink, don’t fall for the illusion."

I wanted to scream, to push it away, but sleep claimed me first, leaving that haunting warning echoing in the dark corners of my mind.

...