The Path of No Return
The massive stone door groaned as it slid open, its ancient gears grinding against time itself. A gust of warm air rushed out, carrying whispers of forgotten voices. Eryndor felt an invisible force beckoning him forward.
Lysara hesitated beside him, gripping the hilt of her dagger. "Whatever's in there, it feels… wrong," she murmured.
Eryndor swallowed, his throat dry. "Not wrong," he whispered. "Familiar."
The chamber beyond was vast, far larger than the ruins should have allowed. It was not just a room—it was a hall of remembrance. The walls were adorned with towering stone pillars, each inscribed with glowing runes that pulsed like dying embers. The air carried the weight of something ancient, something waiting.
At the far end of the chamber stood a lone figure, cloaked in spectral robes. Its face was obscured, but its hollow gaze burned into Eryndor's very soul. The moment their eyes met, a pulse of magic surged through him. His vision blurred—flashes of another time, another life, rippled through his mind.
A name, just out of reach.
A voice, whispering his fate.
The figure finally spoke, its voice neither male nor female but something beyond mortality. "Eryndor. At last, you have come."
Lysara stiffened, stepping protectively in front of him. "Who—what are you?" she demanded.
The specter ignored her, its gaze locked on Eryndor. "You have forgotten your oath."
Eryndor's breath hitched. Oath?
Before he could respond, the chamber shifted. The walls pulsed with a golden glow, and suddenly, he was no longer standing in the ruins—he was somewhere else.
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Visions of the Forgotten
The world around him changed in an instant. Gone were the ruins, the dust, the decay.
He stood in a grand throne room, its marble floors gleaming under the light of a hundred floating torches. The air smelled of incense and steel, of war and destiny.
And at the center of it all…
A man stood before a kneeling crowd, wearing the very same crest that now adorned the stone door.
Eryndor gasped. It was him.
Or rather… the man he once was.
The specter's voice echoed around him. "You were once Eryndor the Oathbound, protector of the Celestial Bastion."
The vision shifted.
He saw himself—his past self—leading an army of warriors clad in silver and crimson. They charged into battle, their blades clashing against monstrous creatures of shadow.
The image flickered again.
Now, he stood alone in a dark chamber, blood on his hands. The bodies of his comrades lay around him. A betrayal.
Then, a final whisper:
"You made a choice… and it cost you everything."
The vision shattered.
Eryndor staggered back, gasping for air. His body was trembling, his mind struggling to process what he had seen.
---
The Weight of the Past
Lysara caught him before he could collapse. "Eryndor! What the hell was that?"
His head pounded. "I… I was here before. Not in this life, but before." He met her gaze, his voice unsteady. "I was someone important. A leader. A protector." His hands clenched into fists. "And a traitor."
Lysara's expression shifted from concern to shock. "That doesn't make sense. If you were someone that powerful, why don't people remember you?"
The specter answered. "Because he was erased."
Eryndor's breath caught.
The figure continued. "You were not merely a protector. You were the key to a forgotten era. A time before the Great Collapse. Before the world turned to dust and ruin."
A pit formed in his stomach. "Then why am I still here? Why was I… reborn?"
The specter's hollow gaze bore into him. "Because the chains of yesterday still bind you."
---
A Choice That Cannot Be Undone
The chamber trembled. Runes along the walls flickered, their glow dimming.
"You must decide, Eryndor." The specter's voice was softer now, almost sorrowful. "Will you reclaim your past, fulfill the oath you once swore? Or will you break free and forge a new path?"
Lysara stepped closer, her brows furrowing. "What happens if he chooses to reclaim it?"
The specter's form wavered. "Then he will become what he once was—a warrior bound by duty. A protector of an oath older than time."
Eryndor's chest tightened. And if he refused?
"Then you will remain what you are now. A lost soul, drifting between fate and freedom."
He exhaled slowly. The weight of the choice was suffocating.
Reclaim his past? That meant embracing the duty, the power, the burden of who he once was.
But if he walked away… could he ever escape the ghosts of his past?
His hands trembled. The memories were too fragmented, too painful. But one thing was clear—he could not keep running.
Taking a deep breath, he met the specter's gaze. "I don't know who I was," he admitted. "And I don't know if I want to be that person again."
The specter remained silent.
"But I do know one thing." His voice steadied. "I won't be controlled by the past." He straightened his stance. "I will find my own path."
The chamber pulsed once more, this time in approval.
The specter gave a slow nod. "Then the chains of yesterday shall loosen… for now."
The glow of the room faded. The stone door behind them creaked shut, sealing the past behind them.
Lysara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "That was… intense."
Eryndor looked at his hands, still feeling the phantom weight of the visions. "Yeah." His voice was quiet.
He didn't know what awaited him next.
But for the first time, he wasn't afraid to find out.
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End of Volume 2