CHAPTER 68: THE PRICE OF THE OATH

Dareth opened his eyes to the faint blue glow of crystals embedded in the stone ceiling.

For several agonizing seconds, his mind remained completely blank. The last thing he remembered was darkness, not an ordinary shadow, but something vast and predatory that had unraveled his magic from the inside out.

He tried to shift his weight, only for a dull, sickening ache to pulse through his limbs. His body felt heavy, his muscles shredded, and every shallow breath served as a jagged reminder of his defeat.

He was lying on a stone slab inside one of House Vel'drin's lower healing chambers. Beside him, a female healing mage worked in silent concentration, her hands draped in a soft, pale-green mana.

Two figures stood in the dim light behind her. The Patriarch. And Old Bones.

Dareth's gaze darted between the two older men. The Patriarch's face was an unreadable mask of stone, while Old Bones simply watched him with cold, calculating eyes.

Dareth swallowed with difficulty, his throat dry as ash. "What happened?"

He pushed against the table to sit up, but the healing mage firmly pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Remain still."

Dareth slumped back, drawing a slow breath. "I used my domain."

The Patriarch remained motionless, waiting.

"I trapped him inside," Dareth whispered, his voice faint and rasping. "He couldn't move. The domain was entirely under my control."

Old Bones narrowed his eyes, leaning forward by a fraction.

"I was preparing the final spell," Dareth continued, his expression turning hollow as the memory flooded back. "Then he activated something. It came directly from him."

"What came from him?" the Patriarch demanded.

Dareth hesitated, the words tasting dangerous on his tongue. "Black energy."

"Describe it," Old Bones said.

Dareth looked toward the old assassin. "It looked like ink. Not smoke. Not shadow. Ink." He swallowed again, his hands trembling slightly. "It poured out of his body and formed a sphere. It was so dark that it swallowed the light around it."

Silence hung heavy in the damp air.

"My domain fought back," Dareth said, his fingers digging into the edge of the stone table. "It didn't matter. The energy spread across the ice, and wherever it touched, my magic vanished. I could feel the structure being eaten."

He stared down at his bruised hands, a raw, uncharacteristic fear creeping into his eyes. "It devoured everything."

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"And then?" the Patriarch asked quietly.

"That was the last thing I saw."

The chamber fell dead silent. Even the healing mage paused her spell for a brief second before resuming the rhythmic weave of green light.

The Patriarch turned toward the heavy doors. "Do not speak of this."

Dareth blinked. "My Patriarch?"

"You will tell no one what you witnessed today. You will make an oath."

Dareth recognized the absolute authority in the leader's tone and nodded faintly. Before he could speak the words, Old Bones took a step closer to the bed. The old man's face remained entirely serene, but the sudden aura in his eyes made Dareth's stomach drop.

"If you reveal what you saw to anyone, I will not simply hunt you down," Old Bones murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will feed your bones to the Pit."

Dareth stared at him, cold sweat breaking across his brow. He didn't know which frightened him more: the unnatural darkness that had consumed his domain, or the living legend standing over his bed.

"I swear," Dareth rasped. "I swear on my blood that I will tell no one."

The Patriarch gave a single, curt nod. "Good."

Dareth lowered his head as the mage finished stabilizing his meridians. Once his body was strong enough to support his weight, he stood, bowed deeply to his leaders, and slipped out into the corridor. The heavy stone doors groaned shut behind him.

Inside the quiet chamber, the Patriarch stared at the sealed exit. Old Bones watched the doors for a long time before breaking the silence.

"I miscalculated."

The Patriarch turned his head. The absolute certainty that usually surrounded the old assassin was gone, replaced by a dark, intense contemplation.

"That child is special," Old Bones said, folding his arms. "He is a natural-born enemy of magic users."

"Because he shattered a domain?"

"Because he understood it," Old Bones corrected sharply. "He watched the mana gather. He tracked the flow of the spell before Dareth even released it. Then he summoned a force that swallowed the magic whole."

His jaw set tight. "We cannot continue training him alongside the house guards."

"Then how?"

Old Bones looked directly into the Patriarch's eyes. "Caius and I need to leave the clan territory."

The Patriarch's expression hardened instantly. "No."

"Listen to me first."

"No," the Patriarch repeated, his voice booming with the weight of House Vel'drin behind it. "The other factions already want his head. If Caius steps outside our borders, every assassin in the region will try to slaughter him before he reaches his sixteenth year."

Old Bones nodded smoothly. "Precisely."

The Patriarch glared at him. "Then you know why I refuse."

"That is exactly why we must go." Old Bones stepped closer, his voice dropping into a harsh, pragmatic rhythm. "The boy needs to fight enemies who genuinely want to kill him. Not guards bound by order. Not warriors who pull their strikes at the last second."

He glanced toward the sealed doors. "His trial cannot be simulated in a training hall. It must be a real war."

The Patriarch remained silent, processing the ruthless logic behind the old man's words. "You intend to turn the entire journey into his crucible."

"Every enemy that tries to take his life will teach him how to keep it," Old Bones replied.

The Patriarch looked away, staring at the blue crystals above. The plan was reckless. It was suicidal. But the brutal reality of the world demanded nothing less if the boy was to survive what lay ahead.

"I will put the matter before the Absolute Moon," the Patriarch finally said. "Give me three days."

"And if permission is granted?"

"You will leave in total secrecy," the Patriarch ordered, his eyes locking back onto the assassin. "Make your preparations now. If the Moon refuses, you remain here."

"Understood."

"In three days, you will have your answer."

The Patriarch turned and swept out of the room, his heavy cloak trailing behind him.

Left alone in the dim chamber, Old Bones stared at the closed doors. Three days before the boy's world shifted once more. And if the Moon approved the venture, the safest stronghold in the Underdark would be left behind, replaced by a road where every shadowed corner held an enemy waiting to strike.