The silence after Rose's scream felt wrong. It wasn't the quiet of peace, but of something vast holding its breath. The sword burned in her hands, hot and heavy, yet she couldn't let go. Her skin blistered where the hilt pressed into her palms, but some invisible force bound her to it.
The attic's shadows writhed, shrinking and stretching as if alive. The warrior—no longer a vague phantom but a towering figure of armor and fury—loomed before her, his eyes twin flames of red.
For a moment, he looked almost triumphant.
"You have taken the oath," he growled, his voice like the rumble of stone breaking apart. "Blood binds you to me."
Rose staggered backward, her arms trembling beneath the sword's unnatural weight. "I didn't take anything—I just wanted you to stop!"
The warrior's laughter shook the beams overhead, dust spilling like ash. "There is no stopping. There is only fulfilling the vow. Blood for blood. Death for dishonor. You are mine, until the curse is ended."
Rose's breath came fast and shallow. The attic felt too small, suffocating, its air thick with centuries of grief and rage. She looked down at the sword, the carvings glowing faintly. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw blood running down the blade, dripping onto her wrist. Yet when she blinked, the steel was dry.
"No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You can't have me. I'm not part of this."
The warrior stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his armored weight. He pointed at her chest with one gauntleted hand. "You carry it now. The oath does not care who bears it. Betrayal taints all who touch the blade."
Rose's stomach churned. Betrayal. The vision she'd seen—the battlefield, the dying warrior's vow—returned with sharp clarity. He had been betrayed by his kin, abandoned to die. And now, centuries later, the curse demanded repayment from anyone foolish enough to disturb the sword.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to deny it, to throw the weapon away. But when she tried, her arms refused to obey. The sword pulsed against her grip, its will stronger than hers.
Then, without warning, the warrior lunged. His form blurred into shadow, surrounding her in a suffocating shroud. She felt icy fingers close around her mind, pushing, probing, trying to break through.
Rose screamed, stumbling against the chest. The lantern toppled, its flame sputtering dangerously close to the floorboards. Shadows swallowed the light, leaving only the red glow of the warrior's eyes—and the faint, sickly gleam of the sword.
The Testing
It wasn't possession, not exactly. It was worse.
Rose felt her own thoughts tearing apart, splitting into two voices. One was hers—panicked, desperate, clinging to reason. The other was deeper, older, filled with hate.
Strike. Spill blood. Fulfill the vow.
Her body moved before she realized it. The sword rose, cutting through the air with a hiss that felt like wind and fire all at once. She nearly struck the wall, and in the reflection of a cracked mirror, she saw herself: wide-eyed, drenched in sweat, holding the blade like a warrior trained for centuries.
"No," she whispered, dropping to her knees. "This isn't me. This isn't mine."
The warrior appeared again, towering above her. "The blade has chosen. You cannot fight it. You are the vessel."
Rose grit her teeth, tears burning her eyes. "I won't kill for you."
The warrior's expression twisted into something cruel. "Then you will die for me."
He raised his hand, and suddenly the attic walls melted away. Rose cried out as the world shifted—splintered wood giving way to scorched earth, the smell of blood and smoke filling her lungs. She stood in the middle of a battlefield, corpses strewn like broken dolls, the sun blazing mercilessly overhead.
Screams echoed across the horizon. The clash of steel, the roar of war drums. Shadows writhed among the fallen, taking shape—soldiers long dead, their hollow eyes fixed on her.
Rose's heart raced. This isn't real. This isn't real.
But the blood soaking her boots felt real. The cries in her ears felt real.
And the sword—still burning in her grip—throbbed like a living heart.
The Warrior's Truth
The Rajput warrior strode across the battlefield, his form solid here, as though this realm belonged to him. His armor gleamed with fresh blood, his blade dripping.
"You see it now," he said, gesturing to the carnage. "The oath was born here. Betrayal. Kin who abandoned me. Allies who turned their backs. I swore none unworthy would wield this sword. And so the curse endures."
Rose shook her head violently. "I don't care about your curse! I didn't betray you—I don't even know you!"
The warrior's eyes flared. "You touched the blade. That is enough. Blood does not choose. Oaths do not ask permission."
Rose's chest heaved, fury rising through her fear. "Then why me? Why not one of them?" She pointed to the countless shadows stalking the battlefield. "Why drag me into this nightmare?"
The warrior's gaze darkened. For the first time, he seemed almost… uncertain.
"The blade called to you," he admitted. "It sees what you will not. A soul fractured. A heart that knows betrayal. You are bound because you are like me."
Rose froze. Like him?
Memories stirred—her own betrayals, wounds she never let heal. The friend who'd whispered lies that shattered her trust. The family member who'd turned their back when she needed them most. The promises broken, the abandonment that still haunted her.
Her knees weakened. She wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong. But deep inside, she knew the truth. Pain answered pain. Betrayal recognized betrayal.
The sword had chosen her because her wounds matched his.
The Choice
The warrior extended his hand, not in attack this time, but in offering. "Join me. Fulfill the oath. Together we will cleanse betrayal with blood. You will never be abandoned again."
Rose stared at the hand, her pulse pounding in her ears. The sword pulsed too, its carvings glowing brighter, whispering promises: strength, vengeance, an end to loneliness.
Her mind battled itself. Part of her wanted to give in, to surrender, to let the sword consume her so the whispers would stop. But another part—a voice faint but defiant—refused.
She clenched the blade tighter. "No. I won't kill for you. I won't become like you."
The warrior's expression hardened, rage sparking once more. "Then you will be broken."
He raised his sword, and the battlefield erupted. Shadows surged forward, spectral soldiers rushing at her with spears and blades. Their eyes glowed red, their mouths open in silent screams.
Rose barely had time to react. Her body moved on instinct, the cursed sword guiding her arms. She spun, parried, struck. Steel met shadow, and each blow tore through them with bursts of crimson light.
She fought like someone else, every move precise, brutal, merciless. The whispers in her head screamed for more—more blood, more death.
And with each enemy that fell, the blade grew heavier in her hands.
Breaking Point
Minutes—or hours—passed in a blur of violence. Rose's arms ached, her breath ragged. The battlefield was littered with vanquished shadows, their forms dissolving into smoke. But more kept coming, endless, relentless.
The warrior watched from a distance, his expression unreadable.
Rose staggered, sweat blinding her eyes. Her body wanted to give in, to surrender to the sword completely. Yet something inside her clung to a fragile thread of will.
She fell to her knees, the sword digging into the soil. "I can't…" she gasped. "I won't…"
The warrior strode toward her, raising his blade for the final strike. "Then you die."
Rose looked up at him, her vision swimming. And for the first time, she didn't feel fear. Only sorrow.
"You were betrayed," she whispered. "But so was I. And if this curse lives in me now… then I'll carry it differently. I'll break it."
The warrior froze, his blade inches from her face.
Rose gritted her teeth, summoning every ounce of strength. She drove the cursed sword into the ground, shouting with everything in her:
"I reject your oath!"
Light exploded from the blade, a searing brilliance that split the battlefield in two. Shadows shrieked, dissolving into nothing. The warrior roared, his form unraveling, torn between rage and despair.
The ground trembled, splitting open beneath them. Rose clung to the sword, her body trembling as the light consumed everything.
And then—silence.
The Return
Rose's eyes snapped open. She was back in the attic, the lantern flickering weakly beside her. The chest lay shattered, its velvet lining torn apart.
The sword was still in her hands.
Its carvings glowed faintly, but the whispers were gone. Only silence remained.
Rose sagged against the floorboards, her body shaking. She had resisted. She had broken the warrior's hold.
But deep inside, she knew it wasn't over. The curse hadn't vanished—it had simply shifted.
The sword was hers now. And whether she liked it or not, the oath had marked her.
Her reflection in the cracked mirror confirmed it. Her eyes, once green, now glimmered faintly with red.
The warrior's voice lingered in her mind, faint but undeniable:
"Blood for blood. Death for dishonor. The oath endures."
Rose clutched the sword to her chest, her tears hot and bitter. She wasn't free.
She was chosen.
And she was damned.