The Black Oath
The sun hung low over Tartarus, casting the ancient stones in hues of crimson and gold. Lady Nike of House Typhon stood at the heart of the henge, her wings folded tightly against her back, their golden feathers glinting in the dying light. Her armor, blackened steel trimmed with gold, bore the sigil of her house—a dragon encircling a tower. She was no mere warrior but a scion of the mighty Lady Persefini, the current Queen of House Typhon. Yet, as she gazed upon the gathered lords and knights, Nike felt the weight of a legacy that had grown brittle with time.
“The kingdom fractures,” she said, her voice sharp as the blade at her hip. “Ambition festers where unity once stood. My father, Lord Pallas, rests in his hall while the realm crumbles beneath the weight of our own arrogance.”
The lords exchanged uneasy glances. They were not accustomed to being chastised, least of all by a woman. But Nike was no ordinary woman. She was the Winged Warrior of Victory, a name earned on countless battlefields, her presence said to herald triumph. Her reputation alone had brought them here, to the henge where their ancestors had once sworn unbreakable oaths of loyalty.
“We have grown fat and complacent,” Nike continued. “Our enemies do not fear us; they mock us. And why should they not? The Typhon bloodline, the bloodline of Beasts, has lost its fire.”
“And what would you have us do, my lady?” asked Lord Demas, a grizzled veteran with a permanent sneer. “Raise our banners and march on the other houses? Spill more blood to prove our strength?”
Nike’s wings unfurled in a sudden, fluid motion, casting long shadows over the lords. “I would have you remember who we are!” she thundered. “Bloodhenge is not merely a monument; it is a covenant. Our ancestors swore to protect the realm, to guard it against chaos. Even if it means we burn the entire realm once again. We have failed. But failure is not the end. We can rise again. Together.”
That night, as the lords made camp within the walls of Tartarus, Nike stood alone before the ancient stones; Bloodhenge. The runes carved into their surfaces pulsed faintly, as if alive, responding to her presence. She knelt, pressing a hand to the cold surface of the largest stone.
“Forefather,” she murmured, invoking the spirit of Kahaus. “I do not know if you can hear me, but I need your strength. This kingdom is fractured, and I fear I may not be enough to mend it.”
The wind stirred, carrying with it a faint whisper, Nike closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her. When she opened them again, the runes on the stone glowed brighter, and she felt a surge of determination.
“If you cannot mend this kingdom with words,” it said softly, “then do so with steel.”
At dawn, Nike summoned the lords back to the henge. They gathered reluctantly, their weariness evident, but the sight of her standing tall and resolute banished their doubts. She held in her hand a ceremonial glaive, its blade forged from Hydrasteel and inscribed with the Typhon oath.
“We will swear again,” Nike declared, her voice carrying over the assembled throng. “Here, at Bloodhenge, we will renew our vows to the realm and each other. This glaive shall taste our blood, binding us as it bound our forebears. And let any who break this oath face the wrath of the henge itself.”
One by one, the lords stepped forward, each slicing their palm and pressing it to the stone. The blood seeped into the runes, which flared with a fiery light. When all had sworn, Nike stepped forward last. She slashed her palm with deliberate precision and placed her hand on the stone. The glow intensified, and for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sulfur and the roar of distant flames.
The following weeks saw the lords of House Typhon rally their banners, their newfound unity a force that reverberated across the Northern Gate. Nike led them into battles against marauding raiders who had long plagued their borders. Clad in golden armor, her wings spread wide, she was a vision of wrath and glory. Her sword cleaved through the enemy with unerring precision, and her presence turned the tide of every skirmish.