Let not thy tongue speak lightly when thou swearest by the gods, for every oath is heard, and every god hears in kind.
Swear upon Ephydra, and the land shall know thy truth. Break it, and the soil shall turn its face, the harvest sour, the roots withhold their mercy.
Swear upon Khodanar, and thy vow is forged in the fire of conflict. Break it, and the blade shall turn in thine own hand, and war shall know thee not as warrior, but as oathbreaker.
Swear upon Genos, and the winds shall carry thy peace to all corners. Break it, and let silence fall where thy name was once spoken, for peace betrayed is a deeper wound than war.
Oaths are not wind, nor dust, nor idle breath. They are the iron chains of the soul, and those who sever them shall find no god gentle, no ground forgiving, and no sky silent.
Rell walked in silence, the damp hush of Merrowbrook settling on her skin like morning dew. She had wandered for some time, her steps carrying her past crooked fences and sagging porches, through pale woods that whispered only to themselves. The quiet hadn't cleared her head like she'd hoped. If anything, it had only pulled the knot in her chest tighter.
She thought of Glaslow—of her father, the screams of her kin, and the village swallowed by flame. Then of the cells beneath the Léveque keep, where the bodies of her people had been piled and left to rot. Her people. Her blood. It was unjust, and those responsible would pay for their crimes.
The fire of her hatred for the nobility burned hot—but unease crept in at the edges. The assassination of the Léveque family. Declan. Hammond. The burning of Brelith. Fighting Mick. The puzzle was still missing pieces, but what she did have made her pause.
Was it truth she wanted—or revenge? Either way, the weight of it twisted inside her, and neither answer came without its own kind of betrayal.
She clenched her hands into fists inside her sleeves. It shouldn't have to be one or the other. And yet…
Each step toward the longhouse grew heavier. It wasn't the monster that made her falter, nor the hunt to come—what she feared was that another truth might unravel her even further once she found her people. Would she even recognize herself then?
She reached the door and stepped inside the longhouse.
The longhouse was warmer than the gray chill outside, its hearth low but steady, the scent of old timber and cooked root vegetables lingering in the air. At the far end of the hall stood Kai, Oro, and a man she didn't recognize—broad-shouldered, with a sun-worn face and a confidence that seemed at odds with the silent, quiet bones of Merrowbrook.
"—Arenberg," Oro was saying, finishing the flourish of his name with a slight incline of his head.
The stranger clasped his hand and shook it firmly. "Grant Devlon. Warden Second Class."
Rell stepped closer, boots scuffing soft across the worn planks. Oro spotted her and gave an eager wave. Kai followed with a quiet nod that held something unreadable in the firelight.
"This the monster hunter?" Rell asked, glancing toward the man.
Grant turned toward her, half-opening his mouth to introduce himself, but she cut him off before he could speak again. "I heard you already. Rell Glaslow."
She settled onto the bench beside Kai, sliding the shortbow from her back and letting it rest by her knee.
Grant's gaze dropped to it, and a half-grin tugged at his mouth. "Looks like I'm not the only hunter here."
"I hunt beasts, not monsters," Rell replied flatly.
He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Fair enough. Still—your tracking might come in handy, depending on what we find out there."
Grant turned back toward Oro, folding his arms. "Can't say I've met an Arenberg before. But I've handled your work. That Alter weapon of mine has held up better than most—figure I owe your family thanks for that."
Oro straightened, clearly pleased. "The Arenbergs are always honored to serve the Wardens. I've no doubt my father would be pleased to hear his handiwork still sees the field."
Rell leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Do you know what we're walkin' into?"
Grant's expression turned more serious. He shook his head. "Not exactly. The request had some details—squelching noises in the woods, a few missing villagers—but not enough to pin down the creature. There's a handful of beasts it could be. We'll have to do our own digging."
"But tell me—what price does a contract of this caliber usually command?" Oro asked, his tone curious.
Grant rubbed his jaw, thinking. "Depends—on the danger, the terrain, how many hunters sign on—some folk pay by the head, others by the day. But this one's not a contract."
He looked between them. "It's our charge. When a creature turns maneater, Wardens don't wait for coin. We step in."
That silenced the room for a beat. Rell studied him—Grant spoke like someone used to doing what needed to be done, without waiting for anyone else to decide if it was worth the risk.
Grant leaned back, the lightness draining from his voice. "Truth is, this isn't the only trouble stirring out here. Wardens have been moving more than usual—some outposts are stretched thin."
Kai frowned. "Because of monsters?"
"In a way..." Grant reached into his coat and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment, its edges soft and creased from handling. He passed it to Kai, Oro leaning in curious. "These've been popping up in towns all across Bellacia."
"They're calling themselves the Verdant Hand," he said. "They claim responsibility for the bombing in Brelith. Or at least, that's what they say."
A shiver crept up Rell's spine.
Kempford's voice echoed in her mind—his quiet certainty that Ephydra had cradled their people in her verdant hands.
She rose from her seat and stepped behind Oro, who had taken the paper from Kai, her eyes scanning the page.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't just a call to action—it was a declaration against the nobility, laced with the name of the goddess she'd sworn to. The Verdant Hand. The name struck like an echo, too deliberate to be coincidence.
Kai was the first to speak. "I haven't heard of them."
"Neither had I," Grant said, voice low. "Not until now."
Oro frowned as he finished reading. "This is sheer lunacy. Bombarding an entire city—hundreds perish: innocents, children among them—all because zealots believe they're owed retribution in blood?"
He handed the parchment back to Grant, voice hard. "This isn't justice. It's cowardice dressed in righteousness."
Rell couldn't look away from the page, a heavy ache pressing in her gut. "It ain't right," she said, quiet but firm. "But don't go thinkin' they're cowards."
Oro turned to her, brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"
"They're standin' up against a system that's crushed people like mine for generations." Her voice sharpened. "You ain't never watched your kin starve while nobles fattened themselves the town over. What you call cowardice—maybe it's the only way they knew how to be heard."
Oro's expression darkened, incredulous. "So you're defending this? The slaughter of innocents? The burning of a city?"
"It ain't right," she said quietly. "But don't go thinkin' the nobility's all innocent in this mess. You ain't never had their boot pressin' down on your back."
Oro turned to her, surprised. "What? That's simply not—"
"You talk like what happened in Brelith just dropped outta nowhere," Rell cut in. "But cruelty only breeds more cruelty—it's a wound that festers."
Oro shook his head. "I cannot fathom that the actions of nobles could warrant such ruthless retribution. And even if they did—what justice lies in setting an entire city ablaze? What sense underpins such devastation?"
"Sense?" Rell's voice sharpened. "My village was burned to ashes. My father—murdered by nobles like you. Where's the sense in that?"
Oro opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again.
Silence stretched between them.
Rell let out a breath and crossed her arms. "I'm not sayin' they were right. Just… maybe try to understand why someone might."
As Grant stood and cleared his throat, the weapon on his back shifted with a soft scrape of metal.
"Right," he said. "We've strayed far from the task at hand."
He reached out and took the flier back from Oro's hand, folding it once more before tossing it into the hearth. The parchment curled and blackened in the flames.
"Maybe I shouldn't have shown that," he said. "Just stirred up bad blood. Regardless of what they claim—righteous cause or not—rebellion like that gets stamped out. Sooner or later.The Wardens are on the move. Once they are, things don't stay quiet for long. They'll find whoever's responsible, and when they do, it won't matter what gods they pray to or what wrongs they think they're righting."
Rell winced at the comment. If her people were indeed involved with all of this… was there anything she could do?
Grant looked between them, his tone steady. "For now, we've got our own quarry to deal with. Something's hunting out there—and I intend to see it put down. I promise."
Kai clasped his hands together, fingers interlaced, and bowed his head.
"Your oath is heard." The words came soft, solemn—almost like a prayer.
Grant raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"
Kai looked up, sheepish. "It's something we do back in Vander—when someone makes a vow. It's our way of honoring it. A promise should be witnessed."
Oro tilted his head. "What's the point of doing that?"
Kai's voice was calm, certain. "Because words are weightless until someone carries them. A vow is only real when another bears witness—when it's spoken into the world and offered to Lazarus."
There was a beat of silence.
Oro frowned. "Lazarus? You mean… the god of death himself?"
Kai nodded. "Yes."
"That's not quite the doctrine the temples preach," Oro said. "Vander grows ever more peculiar the more I hear of it."
Grant gave Kai a long, almost amused look. "A death cultist, huh? You're not what I had in mind."
Kai tilted his head, confused. "Death cultist? We never called ourselves that. He watches the end of things, that's true—but he also teaches us not to waste what time we're given."
Rell's voice came quiet, but cold. "The church says his followers worship decay—that they welcome death into the world."
Kai met her eyes. "That's ridiculous. Death isn't evil. It's… necessary. Not something to chase, but not something to run from either. If you fear death, then you don't appreciate life. Lazarus teaches us to let go. To grieve with grace. And to know when it's time to move on."
A long silence followed. The room, for a moment, felt smaller.
Rell didn't look away. "And what if it ain't time to let go? What if the world still owes ya somethin'? What about those who got taken too soon?"
Kai answered quietly. "It's all part of the cycle," he paused with a thoughtful look before continuing. "If someone returned to his embrace too early… then it was through his will."
"So that's it, then? No matter what choices we make, it was always his will? Sounds like free will don't mean a damn thing." Rell huffed.
Kai shook his head. "I don't see it that way. We make our own decisions—choose our own paths. But Lazarus… he guides us. Gently, like a current. Some fight it. Some follow it. But in the end, it carries us all to the final door."
"That ain't comforting," Rell replied, arms folding.
Kai didn't reply as he stared back at her.
A beat passed before Grant cleared his throat. "Well… I can't say I'm much of a pious man," he said, offering a smile. "But thanks for hearing my vow anyway, Kai. Nice to know someone's listening—even if it's the god of the grave."
"Difficult to fathom—a death cultist standing right before me." Oro remarked with an amused gleam in his eyes.
"I'm not a death cultist," Kai said, half-exasperated.
Oro smiled. "You say that, yet you revere the god of death yourself."
Kai sighed. "It's not some cult—"
"There are countless questions I find myself eager to ask about your upbringing," Oro cut in, clearly intrigued.
Before Kai could respond, Grant raised a hand, his voice cutting clean through the chatter.
"All of this can wait," he said firmly. "We've daylight to burn, and a trail to follow. Save the sermons and stories for after we've handled the beastie."
Grant stepped away from the hearth. "Gear up. It's time we get on with it."
As the others moved toward the longhouse exit, checking their gear and fastening cloaks, Rell lingered near the hearth. Her eyes followed Kai, who stood a few paces away, adjusting the strap on his satchel.
She stepped toward him, voice low. "Kai."
He lifted his eyes as he paused. "Yes?"
"There's somethin' I need to say, before we go."
She glanced toward the door where Oro and Grant were already stepping outside.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. That wasn't my intention," Kai started to apologize.
Rell shook her head. "I promise that…" she hesitated, jaw tight as she searched for the words. "I'll have my revenge for all the wrongs done to my people— for Glaslow, and for those who never saw justice."
Kai stared at her for a long moment, something flickered deep in his eyes. Then he dipped his head slightly, fingers clasped, and said, "Your oath is heard."