The bowl of black water in front of Liora shimmered with an otherworldly gleam. Sahria—still unconscious—lay on a woven mat beside the smoking basin. Elias stood guard just beyond the curtain of the tent, fingers twitching close to his dagger, watching every flicker of movement around them.
Mother Ino's voice cut through the silence like a razor.
"Tell me what you remember of your bloodline."
Liora took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the basin.
"Only fragments. A voice humming lullabies in the dark. My father's shadow against the firelight. A talisman my mother used to keep under her pillow, shaped like a crescent with runes etched into it."
She paused. "They were both Pactbound. I wasn't meant to inherit their curse... but something awakened it in me. And now it won't stop growing."
Mother Ino's hands moved slowly, fingers dancing over the smoke rising from the basin like a loom weaving thread. The air around Liora buzzed faintly with a hum—no words, just sensation.
"The tether you seek is not a spell," Ino said. "It is a *connection*. Bone to bone. Memory to soul. You must *reach* for them… and they must reach back."
Liora frowned. "They're gone."
"Gone from flesh," Ino corrected, "but not from you. They left threads behind. You carry them in your marrow."
The old seer dipped her fingers into the basin. A low chime echoed around the tent. The water turned dark as pitch—then bloomed with faint starlight.
"Touch it," she said.
Liora hesitated. Then placed her hand into the black liquid.
The chill struck her like lightning.
—A rush of wind through dying trees.
—Screams in a forgotten dialect.
—Ashes falling on a child's cradle.
—Hands—so many hands—reaching from the dark.
And then… a *face.*
Her mother.
Not older, not broken, but *young.* Strong. Her dreadlocks wrapped in gold thread. Her eyes full of fire and secrets.
"Liora," the echo whispered. "My little ember…"
Liora gasped, but the water didn't let her pull away. Instead, the face shifted again—her father now, standing atop a battlefield of bones, runes carved into his arms, blood on his chin and defiance in his eyes.
"You carry what we died to protect," he said. "But you must make it *yours*. Not ours. Not theirs. Yours."
She blinked and found herself back in the tent, panting, tears rolling down her cheeks without her knowing.
Mother Ino wiped her hands with a silent reverence. "You've touched the Thread. That's the first step."
"What's next?" Liora whispered.
"Claim a relic of their essence," the old woman said. "Something born of their magic. It will stabilize your seal… for now."
Elias finally stepped forward. "And where exactly are we supposed to find that?"
Ino looked at him with a slow, eerie smile. "The Cryptgrove."
Elias groaned. "Of course. Why not throw in a cursed swamp while we're at it?"
Liora stood. Her body ached, but something *inside* her had shifted. She felt… less alone.
"Where is it?" she asked.
"Three days north," Ino replied. "Beyond the Ashveil Ruins. The Cryptgrove is old… and twisted. But somewhere in that soil, something of your parents still waits."
Liora looked down at Sahria. The girl had stirred slightly, murmuring in her sleep. A small flicker of soullight pulsed at her core—weak, but growing.
"We'll go," Liora said. "But first—one more question."
Mother Ino raised a brow.
"If the seals on my soul are breaking… what's behind them?"
The air went still. Even the smoke in the basin stopped swirling.
Ino's voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath:
"The First Pact."
Liora's blood turned cold. "That's a myth. A story meant to scare children."
"No." Ino's smile vanished. "It was buried. Bound. Erased from every codex and whisper-scroll. But it was real. And you, child… you are its ember."
Elias muttered, "Wonderful. She's the key to some apocalyptic contract. Again."
Liora rubbed her forehead. "Do you *ever* say anything helpful?"
He shrugged. "Not unless I'm paid."
They both grinned—just a little. The air between them softened.
---
That night, they stayed in the far edge of the Tethermarket, tucked into a half-broken inn built from scavenged wood and salvaged bone pillars. Elias insisted on taking the watch.
Liora stood by the window, looking at the stars.
"You're quiet," Elias said.
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
She looked over her shoulder. "Why are you still here, Elias? You could've left after Ashmark. Or after the tower."
He met her gaze for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"Because the first time I saw you fight, you called the dead like they were old friends. And they listened. I've followed warlords, madmen, even a Saint once. But I've never seen power like yours, Liora. Not like *that.*"
She stepped closer. Her voice dropped. "And what if I lose control?"
Elias smirked. "Then I'll shoot you in the leg and run."
She laughed. Really laughed—for the first time in days. And Elias stood, walked toward her, and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
The touch lingered.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said quietly.
And in the flickering candlelight, something in Liora shifted again—not magic this time, but something more human. Raw. Needed.
She leaned in.
And kissed him.
Soft, unhurried, uncertain.
It wasn't fire. It wasn't frenzy. It was just… *them.* Quiet, desperate people who had bled too much and smiled too little. For once, it was enough.
When they pulled apart, Elias whispered, "I've been wanting to do that since the Bone Tower."
"I know," Liora said. "You're terrible at hiding it."
They lay down together on the makeshift bed. Their bodies tangled naturally, exhaustion wrapping around them like a second blanket. There was no sex that night—just warmth, and breath, and silence.
For now, that was sacred enough.
In the morning, they'd begin the journey to the Cryptgrove.
But tonight… they rested.