The Oath Of Fire

The storm had stopped, but Olivia’s heart was still thundering. The mansion felt too quiet, too heavy, like it was holding its breath. She sat on the edge of her bed, unable to sleep, the echo of the mysterious woman’s words running in circles through her mind:

“The oath was only half.”

Half of what?

Half done?

Half broken?

Olivia soliloquized…

The woman had appeared at midnight, dressed in black silk, her face hidden beneath a wide veil. She had left nothing but a whisper and a folded note, slipped under Olivia’s door before vanishing into the shadows. When Olivia opened the note, the words were scrawled in hurried red ink:

Blood does not forget.

Her hands shook even now as she held the paper.

Olivia tried to bury herself in blankets, but the past refused to stay buried. She kept seeing flashes of her mother. Her gentle smile. Her nervous whispers when she thought no one was listening. The smell of smoke.

That last memory was quick, the estate burning. Olivia had been a child, standing outside as her mother screamed inside the flames. She had always believed it was an accident. That’s what everyone told her.

But now… with this message? With the stranger’s warning? She couldn’t shake the feeling that the fire had been no accident.

And that her mother hadn’t only been a victim.

Maybe she had been part of something darker.

At dawn, Olivia walked through the mansion halls. The floor creaked under her bare feet. Her fingers brushed against the wallpaper, and she stopped. There, faint beneath layers of old paint, she saw words scratched into the wall.

She leaned closer. Her chest tightened.

Do not trust your blood.

The letters were carved jagged, like by a desperate hand.

Her breath quickened.

Was this her mother’s hand?

She pressed her palm against the message, and for a second, she swore the wall pulsed warm under her skin. Like a heartbeat.

She stumbled back, gasping.

Later that morning, Ethan found her in the library. He was still pale from his recovery, a bandage peeking beneath his shirt collar. His dark eyes narrowed when he saw the note in her hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Olivia hesitated. “Nothing.”

Ethan stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “Don’t lie to me, Olivia.”

Her fingers clenched around the paper. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to scream that strange women were coming in the night, that her mother’s ghost felt alive in the walls, that she was terrified.

But she couldn’t. Because she didn’t trust him. Not fully. Not after the USB, not after the lies.

“Just something I found in the house,” she said softly.

Ethan’s gaze burned into her, as if he could see the truth beneath her skin. He didn’t press further, but his silence was heavy, suspicious.

That night, Olivia returned to her mother’s old study. Dust clung to every surface, but she searched anyway, pulling out drawers, shaking old books. She was about to give up when she opened a cracked leather journal.

Her mother’s handwriting filled the pages.

Most entries were normal, lists of chores, thoughts about Olivia’s childhood, feelings about Ethan’s family. But halfway through the book, the words changed.

The writing grew frantic, desperate.

The sisters call me again.

I gave the oath, but I fear it will not end with me.

They demand blood. Always blood.

Olivia’s skin prickled.

Her mother had been part of a secret society. One bound not by loyalty… but by blood.

She read on, and her stomach dropped.

If I burn, let it end with me. If Olivia ever finds this, child, forgive me. But you must know: the oath was only half.

Olivia slammed the book shut. Her reflection in the old mirror across the room caught her eye, and she froze.

For just a moment, it wasn’t her face staring back. It was her mother’s.

Her mother’s lips moved soundlessly. Then blood trickled down from her eyes, painting words across the glass.

He is not who you think.

Olivia screamed and stumbled back, the journal dropping from her hands. When she looked again, it was only her reflection. Pale. Trembling. Alone.

Her phone buzzed, startling her. It was Rachel.

“Liv, listen to me,” Rachel whispered urgently. “I was doing research. Your mother… she wasn’t just in some club. This was ancient. A pact. And once you’re marked by it, you can’t escape.”

Olivia clutched the phone tight. “Rachel, I think she’s trying to talk to me. I saw her.”

There was silence on the other end, then Rachel said: “Don’t go near fire, Olivia. Do you hear me? That’s how they call the spirits back. Fire feeds them.”

Before Olivia could answer, the line went dead.

That night, Olivia woke to the smell of smoke.

Her chest tightened. Not again.

She rushed from her bed, the halls glowing orange. But when she ran into the great room, she saw it.., fire crawling up the walls, licking the ceiling, swallowing the air.

And in the middle of the flames, her mother stood.

Her gown was tattered, her eyes hollow, her voice whispering through the crackle of fire.

“The oath was only half. The rest is yours, Olivia.”

The heat seared her skin. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But her feet would not move.

Her mother raised her hand, and suddenly Olivia’s own palm burned. She looked down, blood was dripping across her skin, forming strange symbols.

The fire roared louder. The walls shook. The message appeared again, this time in smoke curling above her head:

DO NOT TRUST YOUR BLOOD.

The flames swallowed her mother’s figure, but her voice lingered:

“Find the other half. Or burn with me.”

And then, Olivia woke in her bed, gasping, drenched in sweat.

Was it a dream?

Or had the fire been real?

She turned her head, and froze.

On her nightstand lay her mother’s journal. Open. A fresh line written in red ink across the last page.

Words that hadn’t been there before.

The other half is in Ethan.