The Sisterhood Oath

The damp floor clung to Roxy's bare feet with every step, the cold seeping through her skin like tendrils of doubt. Blindfolded, she had been led through endless corridors, the darkness swallowing her sense of direction. The moment the cloth was pulled from her eyes, she squinted against the faint light, her vision slowly adjusting. She was no longer in the void—though the sunlight of the outside world was still a distant memory.

She stood in a chamber older than memory itself. Time seemed to falter here, the air heavy with an aura of anticipation. Around her, shadows danced on the ancient stone walls, flickering with the glow of torches arranged in an intricate pattern. The silence was suffocating, broken only by her uneven breaths and the faint drip of water in the distance.

Above her, a voice echoed, deep and commanding. "Awaken."

As Lyra addressed the room, Roxy felt the gazes of the Sisterhood turn toward her. She stood tall, though the weight of expectation threatened to buckle her knees. Her striking violet hair cascaded in thick, shimmering waves down her back, the color catching the faint torchlight like the bloom of twilight. Twin ponytails framed her delicate face, accentuating her sharp amethyst eyes, which burned with both determination and uncertainty.

Her attire, modest yet elegant, mirrored the Sisterhood's ceremonial robes—white and gold hues accented by flowing violet fabric, a sign of her trials yet to come. The intricate golden clasps at her waist and the subtle embroidery along her sleeves spoke to her lineage, a reminder of the burden she carried.

The air shifted as Lyra Calista stepped into the light, her presence silencing the chamber entirely. All eyes turned to the Fate Weaver, her figure both majestic and otherworldly.

Her hair, silver as moonlight, cascaded down her back, shimmering as if it were spun from threads of starlight. Her pale, opalescent eyes scanned the room, their gaze penetrating and wise, as though they saw not just the moment but the countless possibilities of the future. She moved with an ethereal grace, her dark sapphire robes flowing like liquid night, adorned with silver embroidery that shimmered like constellations in motion.

In her hand, she held the Spindle of Fate, its golden thread glowing faintly as it coiled and uncoiled, alive with a quiet hum. The artifact was ancient, the lifeblood of the Sisterhood's power, and Lyra wielded it with the ease of one who had long since mastered the flow of destiny itself.

"The threads converge tonight," Lyra announced, her voice a soft, haunting melody that resonated in the chamber. Her gaze settled on Roxy. "Step forward, and let the tapestry decide if you are worthy."

Roxy swallowed hard and took a tentative step forward. Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached the center of the room, where two doors loomed before her. One bore a glowing blue seal, its intricate designs swirling like water. The other was marked with a red sigil, jagged and flame-like, pulsing faintly as if alive.

Behind her, an acolyte's voice broke the silence. "To enter the Sisterhood, you must prove you understand the price of power, the cost of duty, and the weight of fate. On your left, the door represents wisdom, knowledge, and peace. The door to your right symbolizes strength, sacrifice, and honor.

"There is a balance that must be preserved, yet a choice must be made, for the weight of the world rests on your heart. Choose wisely. In one of these doors, you will find a solution that aligns with the Sisterhood's ideals. In the other, you will find ruin. But there is no wrong choice, only consequences that will follow you forever."

Roxy's breaths quickened as she stared at the two doors. Her mind swirled with possibilities, each path offering both salvation and destruction. At last, she reached for the red door, her hand trembling as her fingers wrapped around the iron handle. The sigil flared brighter, casting shadows across her face, before the door swung open with a groan.

She stepped into the chamber beyond, the air thick and warm, tinged with the metallic scent of blood. A solitary pedestal stood at the center, its surface gleaming obsidian in the dim light.

Before it, kneeling on a stone dais, was a child no older than ten. The girl's small frame shook as she looked up at Roxy with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her clothes, though torn and dirty, bore the insignia of House Drenar, a family infamous for their tyranny and bloodshed. Heavy chains bound the child's wrists, their ends clutched by a towering figure cloaked in shadow.

The figure's glowing ember-like eyes burned beneath its hood, its voice a low growl that reverberated through the room. "Roxy of Clan Elastra," it intoned, "you have chosen the path of strength. Now prove your worth. Slay the child to end the bloodline that will plunge the world into war and suffering. Or spare her, and let the seeds of tyranny grow."

Roxy's throat tightened as the figure stepped aside, revealing a blade resting on the pedestal. Its hilt was plain but elegant, the steel blade sharp and gleaming.

The child whimpered, clutching at the chains with trembling hands. "Please… I don't want to die," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Roxy hesitated, her thoughts racing. The stories of House Drenar's atrocities flooded her mind—the villages razed, the countless lives enslaved or extinguished. Yet, standing here, staring into the terrified eyes of a child, the weight of the decision threatened to crush her.

Her hand hovered over the blade, the room silent except for the child's sobs. Finally, she stepped back, her voice steady but firm. "I choose to let her live."

The figure's eyes flared with a fiery light. "A foolish error. Very well." The air around Roxy shimmered, and in an instant, she found herself back in the Hall of Matrons, the ancient chamber where the Sisterhood's trials were overseen.

Lyra's opalescent gaze met hers, unreadable yet piercing. After a moment of tense silence, the Fate Weaver's lips curved into a faint smile. "You have taken the path of the sun, triumphantly ruling over the morrow with justice. The threads favor you, young one."

Roxy's chest swelled with pride, though she fought to keep her emotions in check. Praise from Lyra Calista was a rare and cherished gift.

"Kneel before the moon," Lyra said, her voice imbued with authority, "and take your vow."

Roxy dropped to one knee, bowing her head as the ancient words of the Sisterhood filled the air.

"Repeat after me," Lyra intoned. "I, Roxy of Clan Elastra, vow, by all conceivable fashions in which the threads of fate take tide, binding my soul by the Weaver, within the realm of the moon, to guide the unity of Anara. To commit only to what is right and just in war. To remain loyal to the Sisterhood, forsaking all personal ties, and to protect the Threads of Fate, keeping the art sacred forever."

Roxy repeated the vow, her voice unwavering. As she finished, a faint warmth spread across her waist, and when she glanced down, the sigil of the Sisterhood glowed faintly against her skin.

She was now, officially, a sister.