The Silver Oath

Chapter Two: Echoes in the Blood

Sera didn’t sleep that night.

How could she?

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them—those things with silver tears and broken voices. She heard that girl’s whisper: *You’re not ready. But he is.* She felt the searing burn of the mark when it exploded inside her. And above it all, she saw his face again.

Kael Thorne.

The man who protected her.

The same man who killed her mother.

But memory was a liar sometimes. Or maybe it simply told *too much* truth.

She sat alone on the roof of the Hollow’s eastern observatory, knees pulled to her chest, watching the first hints of dawn stretch across the forest. Below her, the Hollow stirred to life. Wolves trotted between moss-lined paths. Guards rotated posts. Somewhere in the upper halls, Kael was being treated for his wounds—or interrogated.

Probably both.

Her chest still burned with residual heat from the activation. Her hoodie clung damp with sweat.

“Awaken, daughter of moon and flame.”

Who *was* that figure? That voice?

And why had Sera’s power reacted like it recognized them?

The cold wind tugged at her hair.

She needed answers. And she was done waiting for them to be offered.

—

The archives were forbidden to outsiders.

Which meant she *had* to go there.

Sera crept past the outer sanctum guards before sunrise, using a concealed trail Kael had once pointed out when they passed the lower stone pools. The entrance to the archives was carved into the base of a cliff wall, masked by ancient runes and a twisted willow tree.

She placed her hand against the stone—and the mark on her chest pulsed.

The wall shimmered.

A doorway appeared.

And she stepped through.

The air inside was heavy with age. Books, scrolls, crystal slabs—half glowing, half dust-covered—lined the walls in dizzying layers. No torches burned, but soft silver light hovered in the air, drifting like fireflies.

Sera let instinct guide her.

She passed sections marked with words she couldn’t read—High Tongue, maybe—and paused only when something *called* to her.

A small pedestal near the back.

On it sat a single scroll, bound in black ribbon.

She touched it—

And it unraveled on its own.

The Silver Oath.

*The Sealed One shall rise when blood is betrayed and moonlight turns to fire. Born from the last pact, the child of Alina shall wield the curse and the key. Where the Vale is broken, war shall follow. Where the Mark awakens, the Hollow will burn.*

Sera staggered back.

Her mother knew this would happen.

She planned for it.

And left Sera in the world like a ticking time bomb—abandoned, erased, raised in silence—only to awaken now?

Why?

A soft growl echoed from the corner of the room.

Sera turned fast.

Kael stood in the shadows.

“I figured you’d come here,” he said.

She was too tired to lie. “Why didn’t you tell me everything from the start?”

He approached slowly. “Because you weren’t ready.”

“And now I am?”

He studied her. “You survived a direct Feral strike. You repelled three Wyrmbloods. And you stood before the Moonshade Caller without screaming. So… yes. You’re ready enough.”

Sera crossed her arms. “Tell me about her. The Moonshade Caller. Who is she?”

Kael looked away, expression unreadable.

“She’s not a who,” he said. “She’s a *what*. A remnant of the oldest bloodline—long before the Council, before the oaths. She appears when the seal-bearer is close to awakening. Some say she’s a guide. Others… a judge.”

“She touched me,” Sera said. “I *remembered* things.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then the countdown has begun.”

“To what?”

“To war.”

—

They left the archives together, silent for a while. The Hollow buzzed louder now. Something had shifted in the people. Sera could *feel* it—eyes lingered longer, whispers followed her steps. Word had spread.

She was no longer a lost girl.

She was the *Sealed One*.

And that made her a threat.

As they neared the high chambers, a messenger intercepted Kael—a young boy with mismatched eyes. He handed him a black-tied scroll, bowed to Sera, and vanished.

Kael read it.

His face darkened.

“What?”

He handed her the scroll. It read:

*The Council has called the Trial of Ascendance. Sunset. You will stand before the Highbloods and declare your allegiance—or be hunted.*

Sera’s fingers went cold.

“What does this mean?”

“It means they want to force your hand,” Kael said. “Either you bind yourself to one of their bloodlines and accept their terms… or they’ll mark you rogue.”

“Which means?”

“Exile. At best. Death, more likely.”

Sera clenched her fists. “I’m not bowing to anyone.”

“Then you need allies. Fast.”

She stared out at the Hollow.

She would not be silenced.

Not again.

—

By mid-afternoon, the Hollow buzzed like a nest of stirred hornets.

Sera stood in the silent war chamber Kael had led her to—an old place, hidden beneath a series of moss-covered root halls that only Alpha-blooded wolves were supposed to enter. The walls were etched with battles past, bloodlines that no longer walked the earth, and moons carved into every surface—some whole, some cracked.

Kael wasn’t alone anymore. A second figure leaned against one of the pillars—tall, wiry, dressed in shadow-dyed armor, his amber eyes glowing faintly in the low light.

“This is Riven,” Kael said. “Beta of the Nightfangs. He’s fought beside me since before the Fall.”

“Fall of what?” Sera asked.

“Peace,” Riven answered dryly. “You must be the ticking curse.”

She blinked. “I prefer Sera.”

Riven tilted his head. “Spirited. Good. You’ll need that when they start howling for your blood.”

Kael handed her a blade.

Not silver. Not iron.

Moonsteel.

“It’s not for show,” he said. “When you stand before the Council, they won’t just question you. They’ll test you. Blood for blood. Word for word.”

Sera held the blade. It was cold. Familiar, somehow.

“What if I don’t pass?”

“You don’t fail,” Riven said. “You survive. Or you make them regret trying.”

—

Before sunset, Kael took her to the Hollow’s outer basin—a clearing wrapped in vines and moonstone statues, where silent figures waited.

Ten Highbloods. Each representing an ancient bloodline.

Each older than she could imagine.

One by one, they turned to face her. Their eyes varied—some yellow, some red, some pale white. But all of them burned with the same expression: fear wrapped in disdain.

She stood between them and raised her chin.

“I’m not here to submit,” she said.

Gasps spread like sparks.

“I know who I am now. And I know what you fear.”

The eldest among them, a woman with bone-white hair and eyes like clouds, stepped forward. “We fear only what breaks the Oath.”

“Then you fear *truth*,” Sera said.

Kael’s face gave nothing away. Riven smirked behind her.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “The Trial begins.”

A circle was drawn in glowing chalk. Two figures entered—one from the Council, one from the Nightfangs. Not Kael. Not Riven.

*Her.*

Sera would face the Trial herself.

The opposing challenger stepped forward. A boy, no older than twenty. Muscled, arrogant, his arms marked in crimson runes.

“Rynek of the Bloodhowlers,” he announced. “Third of his line. Trained since birth. Selected by the Highbloods to test your claim.”

Sera raised the moonsteel blade.

The Trial bell rang.

And Rynek *charged*.

—

He moved like a whirlwind—fast, brutal, sure of himself. Sera dodged the first strike, parried the second, but the third grazed her cheek. Blood trickled. The scent of it filled the air.

Rynek grinned. “Not bad, Oathbreaker.”

“I haven’t broken anything yet,” she growled.

But her chest burned. The mark was waking up again. She *felt* it—like coals under her ribs.

Another flurry of blows.

She barely held him off.

Then—he slipped.

Not by mistake.

He *let* her strike.

Her blade cut his shoulder—and with it, unleashed a wave of silver light from his blood. The crowd gasped.

Sera staggered.

He wasn’t trying to win.

He was trying to *awaken* her.

“You think I don’t know your mother’s legacy?” Rynek hissed. “It’s *in* me. All the old lines carry her death like a scar.”

Sera’s knees buckled as the mark surged again.

Memories weren’t coming as visions anymore—they were flowing *into her*.

Alina’s voice.

Fire.

The scream of betrayal.

And a name:

*Calian.*

“Who is Calian?” she whispered aloud.

Rynek went still. Just for a moment.

Kael paled.

But the Highbloods froze like statues.

“You shouldn’t know that name,” one of them whispered.

The Trial bell rang a second time.

Not for victory.

For *interruption*.

A shadow fell across the Hollow.

Everyone looked up.

And above them, descending from the cliffs in a whirlwind of silver and flame—

—was *him*.

The one from her dreams.

The violet-eyed stranger cloaked in moonfire.

Real.

Alive.

And staring *only at her*.

“You called,” he said. “And I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

—

The violet-eyed stranger’s voice rippled through the clearing like a cold tide, silencing even the restless whispers of the Highbloods. His cloak of starlight flickered in the fading sun, every movement seeming unreal, like a phantom stitched from moonbeams and shadow.

Sera’s heart slammed inside her chest, a fierce drum beating against the confines of her ribs. She had never seen anyone like him—never in her wildest dreams or darkest nightmares. He was the embodiment of every legend whispered in the Hollow, every tale of the Moonshade Caller.

“You’ve come to claim me?” Her voice was steady, though a tremor of awe threatened to betray her.

The stranger smiled—a slow, knowing curve of lips that seemed both warm and chilling. “Not you. The oath you bear. The power that courses through your blood.”

Kael stepped forward, his wounded arm raised protectively. “Who are you?”

“I am Caelum,” he said simply, voice like silver bells ringing in the cold night air. “Son of the First Moon and last of the Starborn. I was bound to the shadows, waiting for the seal to awaken. You have summoned me, Sera Vale.”

She swallowed hard. “Why me?”

“Because you are the key to the Silver Oath’s breaking and the herald of a new dawn,” Caelum replied, his violet eyes locking with hers. “But you must choose—embrace the legacy, or watch the Hollow burn.”

A shiver ran down Sera’s spine. The weight of the moment pressed down like an avalanche, threatening to bury her beneath its endless snow.

Rynek’s shoulder still bled silver light, but now his expression was unreadable—half fear, half awe.

The Highbloods exchanged uneasy glances, murmuring among themselves. Their ancient power suddenly seemed fragile and uncertain.

Sera looked at Kael, then at Riven, then back to Caelum.

“Choose?” she echoed. “What if I don’t want to be part of this war?”

Caelum’s gaze hardened. “War is already here. The only question is whether you will lead it… or be consumed by it.”

Before she could answer, a piercing howl shattered the tense silence.

From the shadows beyond the clearing, dozens of figures emerged—Ferals, their eyes wild and ferocious, teeth bared in snarls of rage.

They were coming for her.

The moon rose high, casting cold light over the battle lines forming between ancient powers and savage fury.

Kael growled, drawing

his own moonsteel blade. “Get ready, Sera. This is just the beginning.”

Sera’s fingers closed around the hilt of the blade Caelum had gifted her—the silver oath burning beneath her skin pulsed with life, demanding allegiance.

Her choice was no longer abstract.

It was a matter of survival.

And the war for the Hollow’s soul had begun.