In Elyria, noble houses hired servants.
House Lockhart forged Oathmaids.
An Oathmaid was chosen the moment a Lockhart child drew their first breath. The selection was not random. Bloodlines, temperament, soul-compatibility—each was weighed by ancient rites older than the empire itself.
Once bound, an Oathmaid belonged to one child alone.
Not as property.
Not as family.
But as a vow given flesh.
They could not abandon their charge.
They could not betray them.
And if death came—
They were expected to stand in front of it.
Flashback.....
Lilith knelt beside the cradle, her movements precise, reverent.
She had performed the Binding Rite three days after Lex's birth—pressing her palm to his chest while speaking an oath that could not be undone, even by death. The mark was invisible, but she felt it every time he breathed.
Her life no longer curved outward.
It pointed inward.
Toward him.
Lex stirred as she lifted him, his small fingers immediately curling into her sleeve as if instinctively aware that she was his. The grip was weak—but desperate.
Lilith's throat tightened.
"So clingy already," she whispered, smiling despite herself.
She rocked him gently, humming the Oathmaid lullaby—its notes woven with subtle resonance, meant to calm the soul rather than the body. Lex's breathing slowed, but his eyes stayed sharp.
Too sharp.
She noticed it.
She always did.
Sometimes, when he looked at her, it felt like he was remembering something she had not yet done.
Lilith kissed his hair softly. "Don't worry," she murmured. "I won't let anything take you."
Not time.
Not fate.
Not the future itself.
She meant it literally.
...........
The training courtyard echoed with the sound of Rand's strikes—hard, forceful, reckless.
Miya watched from the edge, arms folded, eyes tracking every flaw.
His footing was sloppy.
His breathing uneven.
His emotions—loud.
"You're overextending," she said calmly. "Again."
Rand snapped a turn, frustration clear. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," Miya replied without heat. "And you know it."
She stepped closer, close enough that Rand became aware of her presence in a way that unsettled him—not threatening, not distracting, just… grounding.
She handed him a flask.
He drank, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
"…Lex is different," Rand muttered after a moment. "You see it too."
Miya nodded. "Yes."
"He scares me sometimes."
That surprised her.
Miya studied him—not the heir of House Lockhart, not the warrior-in-training—but the boy who stood sleepless at night outside his brother's room.
"That means you care," she said. "Fear sharpens people like you. Or it breaks them."
Rand met her eyes. "Which one am I?"
She hesitated.
Not because she didn't know.
But because saying it felt… intimate.
"You'll sharpen," she said quietly.
Rand didn't smile—but his shoulders eased, just slightly.
Miya adjusted the strap of his gauntlet without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist.
The contact lingered half a second too long.
Neither of them noticed.
Or rather—
They both noticed.
But neither understood why it mattered.
From the upper corridor, Lex observed them both.
Lilith stood behind him, silent as always.
Miya's voice.
Rand's posture.
The space between them tightening imperceptibly.
Lex exhaled.
In the previous timeline—
That bond had been severed before it could bloom.
This time…
He closed his eyes briefly.
I won't let the oath consume you both.
Some bonds were meant to protect.
Others were meant to endure.