par Bill Tiepelman
Soulbound to the Stonekeep
The Oath Beyond the Stars The stars bled the night into the Stonekeep’s battered towers, their wounded glow spilling across crumbling battlements like ghostly rivers. At the threshold of the great steps, where moss devoured stone and the air crackled with forgotten spells, Kaelen waited — a sentinel forged from both flesh and the breath of dead worlds. His fur shimmered with unnatural hues — obsidian, cobalt, and veins of burning gold that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat not entirely his own. Runes etched into his hide by a dying celestial god throbbed softly beneath his pelt, whispering oaths older than the language of men. His luminous eyes, fractured like twin nebulas, stared down the endless path winding into the mist beyond the gates, where mortal threats once dared approach the Keep. But no mortal dared the Stonekeep now. Not after the Sundering. The Keep itself, a fortress of monolithic stone veined with silver and sorrow, leaned against the bruised sky as though exhausted by its own terrible history. Each carved arch and battered spire was a gravestone to the kings, scholars, and dreamers swallowed by ambition. A thousand worlds had brushed against the Keep’s walls when the Veil had thinned — some offering wonder, others ruin — until finally, the skies had cracked open, and the gods themselves had turned away their faces. It was in that abandonment that Kaelen was bound. He was no common beast; he was the anchor, the last thread stitching the dying weave of the Keep to the mortal plane. Where once a hundred Guardians stood — lions of flame, serpents of crystal, titans of bone — now only Kaelen remained. The others had broken. Fallen. Or worse, been unmade by the silence beyond the Veil. Tonight, the stars sang again. And it was not a song of hope. In the cold black spaces between constellations, something moved — a hunger stitched into existence by forgotten hands. It called to the ruins. It called to Kaelen. But Kaelen’s heart — battered, cosmic, invincible — answered not with submission, but with defiance. He stood, muscles rippling under his ancient armor, claws digging into sacred stone, and loosed a sound that tore across the heavens like the shattering of an old and terrible chain. His howl was not for summoning. It was a warning. The Hunger Beneath Names The mists recoiled at Kaelen’s cry, folding back to reveal a path long abandoned to darkness. Shadows spilled across the broken ground, writhing like worms in a corpse. Yet no mortal army emerged, no clang of steel or warhorn broke the hush. Only a slow, deliberate pressure bled through the air, like a hand unseen, reaching across eternity to test the last lock upon a forbidden gate. Kaelen bristled. Beneath his fur, the runes ignited, flooding his limbs with borrowed power — starlight condensed into violence. It was a fragile gift. The magic that stitched his spirit to the Keep was ancient, and the stone drank from him even as it sheltered him. Every breath was a negotiation; every heartbeat a gamble. Out beyond the crumbled roads, past the skeletons of forgotten villages, the Hollow Ones stirred. Kaelen felt them before he saw them — life forms denatured by cosmic entropy, stripped of memory, stripped of name. They dragged themselves toward the Keep not in search of conquest, but oblivion. It was not hatred that moved them; it was the gravitational hunger of annihilation itself, wearing their corpses like cloaks. They were his former kindred — kings, mages, dreamers — now puppeted by something deeper than decay. Kaelen growled low, the sound a serrated promise. He would not let the Stonekeep fall. He would not allow the rot to take what little remained of honor, of memory, of truth. The first of them lurched into view — a knight whose armor hung in rusted tatters, eyes hollow save for the pinpoint glow of forgotten stars trapped in their sockets. Around its broken crown hovered splinters of some shattered relic, orbiting like moons around a dead world. The creature raised a blade that wept black ichor onto the stones — a blade that had once pledged itself to the defense of the Keep, before time turned loyalty into a joke whispered by carrion. Kaelen did not flinch. He lunged, a blur of cosmic fire and iron will, crashing into the Hollow One with a force that cracked the earth beneath their clash. His jaws found the specter’s throat — not flesh, but the trembling memory of flesh — and tore it apart with a snarl born of grief and fury intertwined. More came, drawn by the scent of defiance. Hollowed champions, shambling scholars, even the spectral echoes of children who had once played at the edge of the battlements. The air was thick with sorrow — a sorrow that fed the thing beyond the stars, the true enemy. And from within the dark firmament above, something vast and patient opened an unseen eye. Kaelen felt it gaze upon him — not with anger, but curiosity, the way a flood studies a stone before deciding whether to wash it away or grind it into dust. It knew his name. It had always known his name. The Last Stitch of the World Kaelen stood at the summit of the battered steps, his breath steaming in the cold air, the bloodless corpses of Hollow Ones crumbling to dust around him. But he knew these victories were illusions, as transient as mist on a blade. Every foe he felled left a scar in the weave of existence itself. Every roar he loosed shook loose another thread from the fragile tapestry the Stonekeep anchored to the mortal realm. The true enemy was not these empty husks. It was the thing beyond the veil — the Nameless Hunger — a force older than gods, older than stars, birthed in the blind space between creation’s first thought and its first regret. It had no form, no mercy, no language beyond entropy. It was not evil. It simply was. And it had noticed Kaelen’s defiance. Above him, the stars began to smear, twisting into unnatural sigils that burned the eyes and shredded the soul. The air itself became viscous, heavy with the scent of iron and ancient sorrow. A rift tore open in the sky — a mouth with no lips, a wound across existence — and from it spilled tendrils of darkness laced with starlight, seeking purchase upon the world below. Kaelen lowered his head, the ancient sigils across his body blazing gold and white. His muscles ached under the pressure, his mind fraying at the edges. He could not fight the Hunger as he had the Hollow Ones. He could not tear it apart with fang and claw. But he could deny it. The runes that had been carved into his bones were not merely wards — they were keys. Keys to the Stonekeep's true purpose: not as a fortress, but as a lock. A final barricade against the unraveling of reality. And Kaelen, once a prince among his kind, had been reforged into its guardian, bound by oaths so old the gods themselves had forgotten the words. He turned away from the oncoming darkness, ascending the final steps to the great door of the Keep — a door of ironwood and starstone, etched with patterns that pulsed under his gaze. The door knew him. The Keep remembered. Behind that door lay the Heartstone — a fragment of the First Light, the raw, chaotic ember from which the multiverse had been kindled. Left unguarded, it would burn this world to ash... or worse, call the Hunger directly into its core. But sealed, nourished by sacrifice, it could deny the Nameless One entry for another age, another desperate generation. Kaelen pressed his paw against the cold surface. He felt the connection ignite instantly — a bridge of agony and grace stretching from his body into the infinite roots of the Keep. Every memory he carried, every hope, every sorrow, began to pour into the ancient stone. His victories, his failures, the warm voices of companions long dust... even the taste of the stars he'd once hunted across the night sky. All of it streamed from him, weaving into the lattice that would seal the Heartstone anew. He did not hesitate. He did not falter. Outside, the world howled in protest as tendrils of darkness lashed against the Keep’s walls, tearing away towers and battlements like parchment before a storm. But Kaelen stood unmoving, his spirit burning brighter than any star the Hunger had ever extinguished. In his final breath, Kaelen offered no plea, no curse. Only a promise: “I remember. And as long as I do, you will not pass.” The Keep shuddered once — a deep, earth-splitting groan — and then the door sealed with a blinding flash that erased every shadow. The rift in the sky closed with a scream that no mortal ear could hear. The Hollow Ones froze mid-crawl and crumbled into nothingness. The world stilled. The stars, battered but unbroken, resumed their silent vigil. And within the Stonekeep, somewhere deep beyond mortal reach, the last echo of a guardian's heartbeat fused into the walls, forever a stitch binding the mortal world against the end. Kaelen was no more. Yet he was everywhere the Keep still stood. Soulbound. Eternal. Bring the Legend Home Kaelen's oath and the enduring spirit of the Stonekeep live on beyond the final page. Honor his memory and carry a fragment of his story into your world with exclusive artwork from Unfocussed: Adorn your walls with the Soulbound to the Stonekeep Tapestry, a sweeping canvas that captures every fierce, cosmic detail. Embrace the story’s fire with a Metal Print — a striking, durable piece worthy of any warrior's hall. Wrap yourself in cosmic protection with the Soulbound Fleece Blanket, perfect for nights under embattled stars. Even your most ordinary battles can feel epic with the Stonekeep Bath Towel, a warrior's way to greet the morning. Carry the legend. Remember the oath. Keep the darkness waiting a little longer.
