Chapter 98: The Oath of the Abyss
The Patriarch's Contempt
Bennett's breath hitched as the Dragon Patriarch's words echoed through the cavern, sharp as shattered ice. "You overestimate your kind, mage."
The old man's shoulders sagged, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I've lived centuries, yet even I cannot fathom the depths of its power. Two hundred years ago, it nearly crushed me like a beetle—and that was half its strength."
"Half?" Bennett's voice cracked.
"The Patriarch's wrath is a storm," the mage murmured. "But even storms bow to older forces. The Pontiff of the Holy See… the Archmage of the Guild… They are leviathans in human skin."
A dry chuckle rippled from the shadows. The Dragon Patriarch emerged, cradling an obsidian casket etched with serpentine runes. "Flattery won't soften my disdain, old friend." Its gaze swept over Bennett like a blade. "I've walked your cities, studied your pitiful wars. Your 'greatest' mages crumble like sandcastles. Only the Pontiff, cloistered in his gilded cage, holds true power."
It tossed the casket at Bennett's feet. The impact cracked the stone. "Take Aurion's trinket. Then leave. My tolerance for vermin wears thin."
As the Patriarch turned, its parting snort struck like a physical blow. Bennett's vision blurred, his heart seizing as if gripped by spectral claws. He staggered, saved only by the old mage's hand blazing with golden light. Behind them, Hussein retched blood, his pride scorched deeper than his wounds.
"Why spare her?" The knight glared at Medusa, who stood unscathed, her serpents hissing in unison.
"Because hatred is selective." The mage's magic soothed Bennett's frayed nerves. "The Patriarch despises humanity—Aurion's legacy. To it, we are echoes of the man who humbled an entire species."
The Gallery of the Forgotten
The path beyond twisted into a macabre museum. Jagged iron spikes jutted from walls and ceilings, each impaling a severed head frozen in eternal agony.
"Gods…" Bennett gagged at a feline-like skull the size of a barrel, its fangs bared in a snarl. "These aren't trophies. They're warnings."
"Warnings with names." The old mage brushed dust from a delicate, elven face preserved by the mountain's cold breath. "Elves. Orcs. Beastkin. All exiles who dared defy the divine order."
Hussein kicked a bovine skull loose, its hollow eyes rolling into the abyss below. "Why keep them?"
"For hope." The mage gestured to the chasm ahead—a void swallowing even the light. "Every century, the dragons cast these heads into the Abyss. A ritual to tally their 'service.'"
Bennett peered over the edge. The darkness hissed with whispers, a thousand voices pleading in forgotten tongues. "How many does it take to fill that?"
"Enough to drown the gods themselves." The mage's laughter held no mirth. "A fool's bargain. The Abyss is endless… and so is their imprisonment."
Aurion's Shadow
The Patriarch's voice slithered into Bennett's mind, unbidden. You carry his stench, boy. That arrogance. That hunger.
Bennett whirled, but only Medusa met his gaze. "Did you hear—"
"The dead speak here," she said flatly. "Ignore them."
The old mage halted before a fissure glowing with violet light. "Aurion's vault. Brace yourselves."
As they crossed a natural stone bridge spanning the Abyss, Bennett glimpsed movement below—shapes coiling like roots through the void. One blinked. A golden eye, wider than a cathedral window, locked onto his soul.
Run, it seemed to whisper. Before the tally is paid.
The mage's hand clamped on Bennett's arm. "Don't look down. The Abyss… hungers for the living."
The Price of Ambition
The vault's entrance shimmered with wards older than kingdoms. The old mage pressed a palm to the stone, murmuring words that made Bennett's teeth ache.
"Aurion didn't just hide treasures here," the mage said as the seal fractured. "He buried truths that could unmake empires. What we seek isn't power, but—"
The Patriarch's roar shook the mountain. "Liar!"
A shockwave hurled them against the wall. The Dragon Patriarch loomed, its human guise melting into scales and flame. "You think me blind, mage? This boy reeks of Aurion's bloodline! You seek not knowledge, but weapons!"
Bennett's dagger glowed—the Key of Whispers, its edge humming with malice. The Patriarch's snarl faltered.
"You fear him," Medusa said, serpents flaring. "Even in death."
The dragon's laughter shook tears from Bennett's eyes. "Fear? No. But I've tasted his legacy. This vault isn't a prize…" Its claw pointed at Bennett. "It's a tomb for fools who play at godhood."
The old mage stepped between them, staff blazing. "Stand aside, Patriarch. The Accord binds you."
For a heartbeat, the dragon's gaze softened—something akin to pity. Then it vanished in a cyclone of ash, its final words echoing through the dark:
"Dig your grave, then. Aurion's ghosts await."
The vault door crumbled, revealing not gold or relics, but a staircase spiraling into the earth.
And from below came the sound of something breathing.
Chapter 99 (Part 1): The Thorn's Labyrinth
Seal of the Ancients
The air grew colder as they emerged from the winding path, the abyss's whispers fading behind them. Before the group loomed a jagged stone slab sealing a cavern entrance. Carved into its surface was a crest Bennett recognized instantly—a thorned rose, its petals sharp as blades.
"Aurion's original sigil," Bennett murmured, tracing the eroded grooves. Unlike the modern imperial emblem, this bore no crowns, no added lineages—only the raw, unyielding pride of the Thornbloom dynasty.
The old mage unlatched the narrow case gifted by the Dragon Patriarch. Inside lay a fragment of spiraled horn, its surface gleaming like polished onyx. Bennett's gaze flicked to the Patriarch's broken crown in memory. A key forged from defeat.
"Two centuries ago," the mage said, handing Bennett the relic, "I lacked two things: this key… and you." His smile held shadows. "Aurion's vault answers only to his heir. The rest of us…" He gestured to the sealed door. "…are merely spectators."
Bennett gripped the horn, its weight colder than ice. The stone crest watched like a judging god.
Eyes of the Bloodline
No keyhole. No mechanism. Just the thorned rose and its unblinking gaze.
"Think laterally, boy," the mage urged as Bennett scowled at the slab. "Bloodlines see what hands cannot."
Frustration mounting, Bennett pressed a thumb into the crest's central thorn—and froze. The stone yielded, revealing twin hollows spaced like eyes.
Eyes.
With a muttered prayer, he leaned forward, pressing his face to the cold stone. Light erupted—twin spears piercing his pupils. Yet instead of pain, warmth flooded his veins, igniting something primal. Visions cascaded:
Vivienne's shy smile. Joanna's frost-kissed glare. Celine's crimson silhouette. Lenore's defiant grin.
A feminine sigh echoed in his skull. "So… the Whispering Eye chose a romantic."
Before he could react, the stone dissolved like mist. Bennett stumbled forward—through the slab—as his companions' shouts died behind him.
The Unseen Gauntlet
Darkness. Absolute, yet paradoxically clear. Bennett blinked, realizing he could see the tunnel's uneven walls despite the void. Ahead swirled a fog thicker than midnight, its edges crackling with invisible malice.
Testing its edge, he tossed his hat. The fabric disintegrated midair, sliced into confetti by unseen blades.
"Fuck." The word echoed unnaturally. "Key? What key? This damned horn?" He brandished the Patriarch's fragment.
The fog hissed. Yes.
As tendrils lunged, Bennett raised the horn like a torch. Light bloomed—a fragile sphere pushing back the hungry mist. Within its glow, the blades retreated, revealing a path paved with bones.
Human. Elf. Dwarf. All reduced to dust beneath Aurion's wards.
"Cheery decor," Bennett muttered, stepping forward. The horn's light dimmed with each pace, the mist pressing closer. Somewhere ahead, machinery groaned—the sound of ancient gears awakening.
Legacy's Price
The tunnel opened into a chamber frozen in time. Walls of black crystal reflected Bennett's face a thousandfold, each reflection staring with Aurion's eyes. At the room's heart floated a sword—its blade forged from starlight, its hilt wrapped in thorned vines.
"Finally," Bennett breathed, reaching instinctively.
The horn flared hot. A woman's laughter rang out as the mists coalesced into a figure beside him—translucent, crowned with roses, her smile sharper than the crest.
"Not yet, little thief." The specter's voice held Vivienne's cadence, Joanna's bite. "Aurion's heir must pay the toll." She gestured to the sword. "Draw it… and let the vault taste your truth."
Bennett hesitated. The old mage's warnings thrummed in his skull. Aurion didn't hide treasures. He imprisoned them.
But the sword sang to his blood, its call drowning reason. As his fingers closed around the hilt, the horn shattered.
The chamber screamed.
To Be Continued...
Author's Note
This chapter delves into Aurion's cruel genius—a vault that tests not strength, but identity. Bennett's visions of the women shaping his journey hint at deeper ties to the Thornbloom legacy… and the spectral guardian's mimicry suggests the vault itself is alive, evolving to exploit intruders' desires. The shattered horn's role as both key and fuse raises stakes: every step toward Aurion's power risks awakening what should stay buried.
Chapter 99 (Part 2): The Dragon's Vengeance
The Hollow Vault
The mist thinned, revealing a chamber stripped of grandeur. No glittering treasures, no legendary swords—only damp stone and a suffocating chill. At its center sat a crude sarcophagus, its edges jagged as if hewn by impatient hands.
"You're late."
The voice snapped Bennett's gaze across the room. Empty. Cramped. Nowhere to hide. Yet the words slithered from the walls themselves, sharp with mockery.
"Who's there?" Bennett growled, fists clenched. "Cowards hide. Heroes face their guests."
A shadow peeled from the stone, flesh bleeding into form. The Dragon Patriarch leaned casually against the sarcophagus, his half-shattered horn gleaming under an unseen light. Human in shape, yet eyes burning with draconic fury.
"You," Bennett breathed. "You swore to guard this place, not trespass!"
The Patriarch's laugh echoed like cracking ice. "I swore not to open it. Watching you desecrate it? That's… permissible." His smile widened. "Aurion's loopholes taste sweeter with time."
Bonds of Blood and Betrayal
Bennett edged closer, every instinct screaming run. "Why reveal yourself now?"
"To savor justice." The Patriarch's human guise flickered, scales rippling beneath skin. "For centuries, I've stewed in Aurion's lies. That vermin tricked me into drinking from the Eternal Spring—trapping me in this feeble shell!" His roar shook dust from the ceiling. "No wings. No fire. Just… this."
Bennett's mind raced. The Eternal Spring—the same cursed waters that froze Grinch as a rat. Aurion had weaponized it. Of course.
"We dueled as equals," the Patriarch snarled. "But when I shifted to human form to prove my strength, he poisoned me. Then threatened to slaughter every dragon unless I knelt as his guard dog." His clawed hand slammed the sarcophagus. "Now? His 'heir' walks into my jaws. Poetic."
Bennett's throat tightened. "You'll kill us once I open this?"
"The pact binds me only until his relics are claimed." The Patriarch's breath frosted the air. "After that? Your bones will join the fools who trusted Aurion."
The Weight of a Legacy
Bennett's palm hovered over the sarcophagus lid. Cold seeped into his veins. Open it, and die. Leave, and doom everyone outside.
Memories flickered—Vivienne's laughter, Joanna's scowl, the old mage's cryptic warnings. All led here. To a tomb. To a dragon's wrath.
"Hesitation?" The Patriarch purred. "Aurion's heir should embrace destiny."
Destiny. The word curdled in Bennett's gut. He'd never asked for prophecies or thrones. Just a quiet life swindling nobles and dodging trouble. Yet here he stood, pawn to a dead tyrant's games.
His fingers trembled. Push the lid. Unleash whatever hell awaits.
"Wait." Bennett turned, meeting the dragon's gaze. "Aurion wronged you. Why punish me?"
"Because," the Patriarch hissed, "you carry his stench. That eye. His blood. You're a shadow he cast across time." Ice crystallized around his fingertips. "Now. Open it."
The Unseen Blade
The lid shifted with a groan. Inside lay no corpse—only a scroll, its seal unbroken for a millennium. Bennett unfurled it, dread clawing his spine.
Aurion's script blazed crimson:
"To my heir—
If you read this, you've outwitted the dragon. Congratulations. Now, flee. The Patriarch's rage is but the first trial. The true enemy awaits in the light."
Bennett's blood froze. A trap within a trap.
The Patriarch snatched the scroll, eyes devouring the words. Rage contorted his face. "Flee? You think you can—"
The sarcophagus erupted. Chains of light coiled around the dragon, pinning him mid-snarl. Aurion's laughter boomed from the walls.
"A final lesson, old lizard: Never corner a Thornbloom."
The chamber shuddered. Stone cracked. Bennett lunged for the exit as the Patriarch's roar shook the mountain.
Echoes of a Cursed Line
Outside, the old mage and companions stared in horror. The mountainside convulsed, dragons spiraling skyward in panic.
"What did you do?" the mage demanded as Bennett staggered into the sunlight.
"Survived." Bennett clutched the scroll, its edges singed. "Aurion rigged the vault. The Patriarch's trapped… for now."
The ground split. A fissure swallowed the cave, the Patriarch's curses fading into the abyss.
"And the relic?" the mage pressed.
Bennett unclenched his fist. A thorn-shaped key glinted in his palm, its edges sharp as betrayal. "A map. To something worse."
As ash rained down, Bennett whispered the question burning his soul:
"Aurion… did you ever not scheme?"