Broken Oaths

The sky was still ablaze with the ashes of the apocalypse when she stepped onto the fractured path. Her sword—shining yet heavy with purpose—rested in her hand, pulling her forward as if destiny itself guided her. Behind her, the world lay in ruins, a silence broken only by the cries of those who had not survived.

It all began in her college library. Amidst the dust of forgotten shelves, she accidentally read aloud an ancient prophecy. At first, she thought it was nothing more than a myth—an old legend hidden between the pages of a neglected book. But the prophecy was not random. It was hers. From that moment on, she became the target of forces beyond her understanding. Unaware of her role, she hesitated, and in her delay, half a multiverse was lost.

She had sworn to protect, to intervene before the last seal was broken, before betrayal consumed the earth. But oaths are fragile things, easily spoken and just as easily delayed. And she had been late.

The woman remembered the night the warnings came. The elders had whispered of oaths made long ago—promises between gods and mortals—that, if broken, would unleash devastation. She had dismissed them at first, wrapped up in the illusions of life: the pull of companionship, the comfort of family, the fleeting joy of laughter with friends. Moh and Maya, the snares of attachment, had bound her spirit, blinding her to the greater danger.

By the time she understood, the world had already begun to fall apart. Cities crumbled, oceans rose, and fire swept across the plains. Every oath broken by humankind had cracked the fragile barrier holding back destruction. Betrayal had shaped destiny, just as foretold.

Now she walked alone, her sword vibrating with ancient energy. It was not a weapon of war but a blade forged to cut false promises and sever chains of deceit. If wielded in time, it might have restored balance. But when she reached the ruins of the old temple—where the final betrayal had been sealed—it was already too late.

The sun rose behind the shattered archway, its light spilling through broken stone. She paused, the weight of realisation pressing heavier than her sword. The world had changed forever. No weapon, oath, or promise could restore what was lost.

Yet, in the dawn’s silence, she understood something deeper. Relationships, bonds, and attachments had distracted her. The illusions of desire and the fear of loneliness had blinded not only her but humanity as well. The apocalypse was not born from the wrath of gods but from hearts too easily swayed by weakness.

Her journey was not about reclaiming what was lost but about learning the truth. Peace was not found in clinging to fragile webs of Moh and Maya but in letting go. In standing apart. In seeing the world as it truly was, not as it was wished to be.

With a steady breath, she lifted the sword and drove it into the earth. The ground trembled, and for a moment, she thought she heard the echoes of broken oaths dissolving into the wind. Not redemption but release.

As the sun climbed higher, casting golden light over the wasteland, she turned away. The world bore scars, but within her, she carried a new understanding: oaths are sacred, and breaking them leads only to ruin. Yet, in ruin, there is clarity; and in clarity, the chance to rebuild.

She continued onward, her shadow stretching before her—a lone guardian of lessons too costly to ignore.