Chapter 21: Rise of the Vowbound
The courtyard below the palace was silent.
Where once soldiers had trained under banners of the Crown, now champions from across the continent gathered, their eyes on a single figure.
Andrew.
Still breathing hard from his battle with Veyrux. His arm bound. Ashren flickering with restless light.
But his voice?
Unshaken.
"You saw what came through the shadows."
"Veyrux isn't just a fragment of me. He's a reminder of what happens when power rules without conscience."
"And he's not alone."
A low murmur passed through the group. Some skeptical. Some fearful.
But others—Kaelira. Serin. Mihai—stood tall at his side.
Andrew looked at each of them in turn.
"I won't wait for the King's orders."
"I won't wait for the gods to intervene."
"I'm going to fight."
"If that makes me a traitor to the throne, so be it."
"But if any of you still believe in something greater… in protecting not just the world, but the people in it…"
He drew Ashren and planted it in the stone floor.
"Then stand with me."
"Not as champions of a broken tournament."
"But as Vowbound. Sworn to guard the light—even from the dark inside ourselves."
One by one, they stepped forward.
Kaelira. Serin. Even a former rival—Lord Ariven, the lightning duelist.
They knelt not in subservience, but in unity.
And the people watching… cheered.
They had found their protectors.
Not chosen by blood or birth.
But by purpose.
Meanwhile, in the highest tower of Caedros, the King watched through a narrow mirror enchanted with ancient sight.
He saw them gather.
And he whispered, not in anger…
But in fear:
"He's building a new order."
"And the old world is not ready for it."
That night, Andrew stood alone atop the north wall, overlooking the city.
Mihai joined him.
"You're not afraid?" Mihai asked.
Andrew didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"I am. But not of Veyrux."
"I'm afraid of becoming what I was… and losing who I am."
Mihai nodded solemnly. "Then you're not lost. You're closer to being a hero than ever."
Suddenly, the wind howled.
And a symbol burned in the sky—black fire, forming a sigil unfamiliar to any living scholar.
Andrew felt it ripple through his veins.
Ashren pulsed.
And a whisper returned to his mind:
"One month. The gate opens."
"Arkaia will burn… or bow."