Regret of an Oath, Fire of the Fallen

Date: Unknown
Location: Edge of Drelvar Hold
 
I crossed paths with a paladin today.
 
I don’t know why I expected them to be different. Clean. Shining. A knight of virtue, sworn to justice. But instead, I found a broken man in rusted armor, whose sword had seen as much blood as his soul had seen darkness.
 
He called himself Kaelen, an Oathbreaker. His eyes were hollow, like he had already cast himself into some eternal night, and in truth, I wasn’t sure if he was still living or merely existing.
 
He didn’t know who I was when I first saw him. Just a wanderer, a desperate soul like so many I’ve met on this path. He didn’t ask about my horns. Didn’t flinch. He didn’t care about the red stain of my past, so long as I wasn’t an enemy.
 
We sat by the fire, eating the stale rations he offered without complaint. He spoke little, and when he did, it was more about the land—the way the trees whispered at night, the cold bite of betrayal that even the mountains could feel. When I told him I had little interest in the serenity of nature, his response was simple:
 
"Nature doesn’t care if you break your oath. It doesn’t judge you for what you’ve done."
 
I suppose I expected more. I wanted him to condemn me, or tell me about the "right path" or preach to me like some damn fool cleric. But Kaelen didn’t do that. Instead, he sat across from me like he saw the same pain in me that mirrored his own.
 
When I finally asked him how he had broken his oath, his answer came slowly, like a confession he had told a hundred times but still didn’t understand himself.
 
He had once been the champion of a god—one who stood for justice, purity, and vengeance. But then, the day came when he was forced to make a choice. His oath, his god, or his family. And in the end, when the walls fell, when the blood spilled, he abandoned it all. He chose his family.
 
But there was no redemption in his choice. No salvation.
 
I didn’t tell him that I understood. I didn’t need to. The weight of his silence was enough.
 
Later that night, as the stars blanketed the sky, he looked at me with something like pity—though he did his best to hide it.
 
"I can see it in your eyes," he said softly. "You’ve made your choice. And it’s a path that leads only to fire."
 
It was a simple statement. A warning, maybe. But it carried a weight I felt deep in my chest. His words felt like an echo of something I’ve known for a long time—there is no saving me. Not from myself, and not from the flames that burn inside me.
 
I asked him, before I left, if he regretted it. His answer wasn’t the one I expected.
 
"I regret the loss of my soul," he said, his voice broken. "But not the loss of my oath."
 
I don’t think I’ll ever forget his face when he said that—tired, resigned, and strangely… free.
 
There are nights when I wonder if that’s what I’ve become. An Oathbreaker in my own right, bound to a different path, torn between the blood of my past and the fire of my future. A weapon forged in torment, but without the clarity of a god’s light to guide me.
 
I left him as the sun rose, not looking back, but feeling the sting of his words still heavy in my mind.
 
Maybe one day I’ll break my own oath. To my father. To the Church. To the girl I was.
 
But for now… I will walk this path until the flame consumes me completely.
 
—V