The Price of Power: Born in Binding

The world beneath the temple ruins was not made for mortals.

Cyr moved through the narrow corridor with a torch in hand, the flickering flame painting monstrous shadows on walls etched with inscriptions older than any kingdom. Every step echoed like a whisper from the dead. The air reeked of old iron and secrets best left buried.

Behind him, Juno followed, her breathing shallow, eyes darting across the stonework like a scholar desperate to remember forgotten truths. Neither of them had spoken since they descended the broken staircase. There was something sacred about the silence here—something dangerous to disturb.

At the far end of the tunnel, a door carved from solid obsidian loomed, veins of crimson crystal embedded into its surface pulsing with a faint, rhythmic glow. Cyr reached out, but his hand froze inches away.

"It's breathing," he said.

Juno stepped beside him. "It's not breathing," she replied, though her voice trembled. "It's remembering."

Cyr's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"

She touched the door lightly, eyes unfocused. "This place... it was part of the Binding Wars. They say the Binding Oath was forged in the echo of this chamber. Not with fire. With blood. With betrayal."

Cyr didn't flinch. "Then it's the right place."

The seal reacted to his presence. Threads of light unraveled across the door, forming an ancient crest—the same one that had burned into Cyr's back during the ritual in Chapter 1. A symbol of chains bound into a circle. The First Oath.

The door groaned, opened inward. They stepped inside.

The Chamber of Echoes

The room was massive—circular and domed, lit by ghostly flames dancing over water-filled troughs lining the perimeter. In the center lay a coffin-shaped stone altar, suspended above the ground by six hovering runes.

Cyr approached it slowly. His heart thudded—not with fear, but with a strange clarity. Something was calling him.

Juno moved to the far wall, her fingers tracing a mural depicting the First Binder, the original wielder of the Binding Oath. A being cloaked in shadow, their eyes replaced with jagged crystal shards, holding a blade not forged but grown—a weapon seemingly alive.

She turned. "This is where they made it—the contract that bound the six sovereign lines. The origin of the Curse-System."

Cyr placed his hand on the altar. The runes flared.

Pain.

His mind was ripped backward into memory—not his own.

Memory Within the Stone

A battlefield. Screams. The First Binder kneeling, palms dripping with the blood of kings. Six nobles circled him, blades pointed toward the ground, bloodied and broken.

"I bind my soul to your greed," the First Binder said.

"I chain my heart to your lies," replied another.

"I trade truth for obedience."

"I offer war to hold peace."

"I forget freedom to hold power."

And the last— "I die to ensure eternity."

The ritual ended with the final slash of a dagger. A storm of light and shadow. Then silence.

The curse was born.

Cyr's breath came back like a gasp. His hand recoiled. He stumbled backward, eyes wide.

Juno caught him. "What did you see?"

"They were like me," he said hoarsely. "Broken men pretending they were choosing their fate."

She stared. "And are you pretending too?"

The Decision

Cyr didn't answer. He walked to the wall where a sword was mounted—a replica of the First Binder's weapon. Crystal veins ran along the blade, pulsing with faint echoes.

As his fingers closed around it, his Binding Mark flared—once, then subsided. The sword didn't burn him. It accepted him.

The chamber rumbled.

From the shadows, a figure emerged—twisted, limping, bound in chains. A Sentinel, one of the last remnants of the original Oathkeepers.

"You have no right," the creature hissed.

Cyr raised the blade. "Neither did they."

The Sentinel lunged—but Cyr was faster.

Combat and Consequence

Their clash was brief, brutal, and brutalizing. The blade fed on intent—Cyr's clarity amplified it. He moved like a specter, parrying with minimal motion, retaliating only when necessary. Every strike felt like it remembered something—his pain, his ambition, his loneliness.

When the final blow landed, the Sentinel dissolved into dust, whispering:

"Beware the seventh vow..."

Silence returned. The altar glowed once more, and the chamber grew still.

End of Chapter

Cyr turned to Juno.

"It wasn't just power they made here," he said. "It was a lie so convincing, they cursed themselves to believe it."

Juno stared at him. "And now?"

"I'm done pretending."

He turned, sword in hand, and walked toward the ascending steps that would return them to the surface. The First Arc awaited—and he no longer walked blind.

He walked bound—but awake.