The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the healer's sanctuary.
It was quiet inside, but not the kind of quiet that brought rest. This was the kind that lingered after something fragile had broken. I sat near the edge of the tent, knees drawn up, forearms resting over them. My fingers flexed and curled, restless, as if they were still trying to claw their way through the regret clinging to my chest.
I hadn't seen Riven since the confrontation under the ash tree. That look on her face still haunted me. The way her voice cracked, the way she'd said my name like she wasn't sure it belonged to her anymore. I'd never heard her sound so human. So hurt.
And now I didn't even know where she slept. Not really. She wasn't in Arivelle's sanctuary. She wasn't near the outer ridge, where the watchers set their fires at night. I had searched in quiet intervals, hoping I would feel her tether again. But the bond remained muted. Faint. Like a whisper through glass.
I looked down at my palms. Faint heat shimmered just under the surface. The Core was still calm, quiet even, but I could feel it waiting. Not for a command. For a direction.
My jaw clenched.
I felt like I could fight a hundred men. Like I could light forests on fire with the flick of a hand. But this guilt, this ache where Riven used to sit in my chest, it was the one thing I couldn't burn my way out of.
A breeze stirred the flap of the tent. I didn't move. I barely breathed. I thought it was nothing. Just wind again.
But then I heard it.
A faint shift of boots. The rustle of cloth. A presence.
I turned.
Riven stood just beyond the threshold, half-shadowed by moonlight. Her arms were folded across her chest, her stance steady. But she didn't speak. She didn't have to. Her eyes did it for her.
Gods. The bruises under them looked worse now. Her shoulders were tense in a way that screamed exhaustion, not fear. And yet she held herself like she would not let me see her break again.
"I didn't know if you'd come," I said quietly.
"I didn't come for your comfort or pity," she replied.
Her voice was flat. Measured. But it didn't hide the way her fingers clenched into the fabric of her sleeves.
I stood slowly. My spine ached, and for a second, I had to steady myself. The fatigue in my bones wasn't from training. It wasn't even from the Core. It was the weight of her silence.
"You don't have to talk to me," I said. "But you deserve to say whatever's still sitting in your chest."
Riven's eyes narrowed just slightly. She took a slow breath in and stepped further inside. The firelight caught her face fully now. Her jaw was locked. Her mouth was tight.
She was holding back.
"I'm not here to scream," she said finally. "I already did that."
I nodded, waiting.
Her gaze drifted, just for a moment, to the cot behind me. Then back to my face.
"I was angry," she continued. "Still am. But I've been angrier before, and it never did anything useful. This… what happened between you and Arivelle… it wasn't about anger."
She swallowed hard.
"It was about being replaced."
My stomach turned.
"You weren't," I said too quickly.
She flinched. Her lips parted like she was about to argue. But she didn't. She just stared at me like she didn't believe a word of it and maybe she shouldn't.
"You didn't just bond with her, Lucien," she whispered. "You gave her the parts of you I was still holding."
Her voice cracked at the end, so quietly it was almost invisible. Almost.
I took a step forward. She didn't back away. But she didn't move closer either.
"I never stopped feeling you," I said. "Even when I was with her."
"Then why did it feel like I was alone?"
I couldn't answer that. Because anything I said would sound like an excuse.
The silence that followed was thick. Heavy enough to press against my ribs.
Finally, Riven looked down at her hands, then slowly raised her gaze again.
"I'm still here," she said. "But I don't know how much longer I can keep carrying this bond if it keeps tearing into me."
Her tears didn't fall. Not yet. But they were there, glimmering behind her lashes.
And then she left.
Just turned and walked out, silent as snowfall.
The flap of the tent drifted closed behind her.
And I stood in the middle of the room, marked, burning, and more hollow than before.
The morning was gray and hollow, the kind of sky that didn't promise sun, only silence.
I stepped out of the healer's tent without a destination, but my feet took me anyway. The wind had picked up during the night, tugging faint strands of smoke from the old fire pit. The embers were cold now. Even the air felt reluctant to hold heat.
I crossed through the thinning trees at the edge of the sanctuary. The ash and soot didn't cling so heavy here anymore, but the ground still remembered.
Movement caught my eye just past the main clearing.
Riven.
She stood alone, feet planted wide, blade in hand.
Her back was to me, but her focus was sharp. Each swing of her sword sliced the air with intention. Not violence. Precision. Her movements were fast, then slow, then fast again, like she was testing herself. Or holding herself together.
The tether between us stirred faintly.
Not enough to speak through. Not even enough to share breath. Just… awareness. A hum beneath my ribs, quiet and guarded, like she hadn't cut the thread but had woven it tighter to keep me out.
She didn't glance at me.
Not once.
I didn't call her name. I didn't step closer. I just stood behind a low rise, far enough that she could pretend I wasn't there. Close enough that I couldn't.
My fingers curled into fists.
She moved like she was made of storm's light. Each arc of her blade carved through the silence with a sharp breath. Her boots dug into the soil, steady and sure. Her braid whipped over one shoulder as she turned and struck again. I couldn't tell if she was fighting someone in her head, or fighting not to feel.
I swallowed hard.
The part of me that wanted to call out, that wanted to ask her to stop and look at me, felt selfish now. Like a wound asking to be bandaged by the same blade that caused it.
I didn't deserve her attention.
Not yet.
If she hated me now, I couldn't blame her. I had carved a hollow into her chest and filled it with silence. She had trusted me enough to be seen, to be touched, to be known. And I had turned away from that without even meaning to.
But even now, with her back to me, with her arms slicing through the cold air like she needed to fight gravity just to stay grounded… I could still feel her.
The bond wasn't gone.
It was just hurting.
I lowered my head. My breath fogged in the cold. A curl of guilt twisted deeper into my ribs.
If she still feels anything, I thought, if there's even a chance I haven't lost her completely… then I have to be more than someone who begs forgiveness.
The Core stirred, subtle beneath my skin.
Not loud. Not forceful.
But listening.
I clenched my jaw, watching her blade cut through the quiet one last time before she stilled.
She didn't look at me.
She didn't need to.
Because I already knew what she was thinking.
I turned and walked away, boots crunching over cold leaves, the tether humming softly behind me like a heartbeat trying not to be heard.
The wind had picked up by midday.
It came in sharp bursts, tugging at the hem of my cloak and scattering ash from the old fire pit. I stood near the half-collapsed tree at the edge of the ridge, my jaw tight, breath slow and measured, trying to calm the storm rising in my chest.
It wasn't working.
Every breath scraped against my ribs like I had swallowed iron.
Then I heard her.
Footsteps. Steady. Unapologetic. The sound of someone who knew exactly how far to push before someone broke.
Sylri.
She walked toward me without hesitation. Dust clung to her boots. Her shoulders were smeared with dried blood. Her braid was half undone, streaked with soot and sweat. She looked like she had just carved her way through the forest with her teeth.
She didn't stop until she was standing in front of me. No greeting. No warning.
She dropped something between us.
A rolled parchment. The thread around it was red. The seal had already been cracked.
I didn't move.
"They've doubled it," she said.
Her voice was low. Rougher than usual. Like it had been pressed too long against rage or smoke.
I looked down at the scroll. Then up at her face.
She crossed her arms, her jaw set like a locked gate.
"The bounty on your head," she clarified. "It's not just gold anymore. They're offering territory, titles, blood-clemency for war crimes. And if you're brought back in pieces…"
She didn't finish that part.
I crouched slowly and picked up the parchment.
The wax cracked under my fingers. The paper was thick and still smelled like fire oil. I unfolded it. My eyes traced every word. The ink had been pressed deep, letters blackened at the edges like they had been seared into the page.
Lucien of the Core. Lustbound. Unmarked by the Courts. Alive if possible. Dead if necessary.
I stared at it until the words blurred. Then I crushed the parchment in my fist.
"Celis?" I asked, my voice low and raw.
Sylri didn't blink. "She signed it herself. This time there's no proxy. No shadows behind it. She wants your head, and she's not hiding it."
A slow burn curled behind my sternum. I felt it creep up my spine like smoke.
"She's calling in favors now," Sylri continued. "Old alliances. Guild debtors. Nobles who once whispered your name behind closed doors are now speaking it aloud like it's a plague that needs cleansing."
I turned toward the wind. It slapped my face cold. I welcomed it.
"She always did love spectacle," I muttered. "Even when she was cutting something open."
Sylri didn't respond. Her stare didn't soften.
"You've been drifting since Arivelle," she said. "Since Riven left you under that tree."
I turned to her, a flash of heat rising up my throat.
But she didn't flinch.
"You keep walking like you're waiting for the Core to save you," she said. "Still breathing like someone else is going to make the next decision. It won't."
She stepped closer. Her eyes were hard.
"You've got three bonds now," she said. "Three women tied to you through magic none of us fully understand. And every one of those bonds lights you up like a beacon in the dark. You think the Core is subtle?" She shook her head. "It's not. It's screaming."
My hands curled into fists. I kept my gaze on her.
"You think I don't already know what's coming?"
"No," she said, softer now. "I think you do. And I think it's tearing you apart inside because you still want to be forgiven before you fight."
She said it without cruelty. That was the part that made it hit harder.
"They're not sending mercenaries anymore," she said. "They're sending tacticians. Core-breakers. Court-blessed flamecasters who've burned cities for less than what you've become."
She let the silence hang for a second.
"And they're not just hunting you," she added. "They're hunting the people tethered to you. The ones closest to you. They're going to use them to get to your throat."
I closed my eyes and saw Arivelle's face. Then Riven's.
Then Celis.
Her voice as a child. That sweet, sharp lilt. Her smile when the stablehands got whipped. The way she used to watch me like I was some kind of roach that didn't know it didn't belong.
My sister. My blood.
And now she was feeding my name to killers.
"You want revenge?" Sylri asked. "Then you have to survive long enough to get it."
The wind howled through the ridge behind us. A bird cried out once, then fell silent.
I didn't answer her right away. I just breathed through the weight pressing down on my chest.
Sylri pointed to the mark on my chest, just beneath the collar of my shirt.
"That thing?" she said. "It doesn't wait. It doesn't grieve. It doesn't care if you're ready. It grows. Whether you can hold it or not. And if you can't…"
She looked me in the eye.
"It'll burn you from the inside out. And you'll take all of us with you."
I shoved my hands deep into my cloak pockets, just to hide the tremble.
"I'll train," I said, jaw clenched.
"Not like before."
She stepped in, her face only inches from mine. Her voice dropped lower.
"Harder. Longer. With blood in your mouth and no one left to catch you when you fall. Until your instincts replace your hesitation. Until the guilt stops driving your decisions."
My breath hitched.
She tilted her head, watching me closely.
"Riven is still watching," she said. "Arivelle is still waiting. And I'm still betting on you. But if you keep letting this pain slow you down…"
Her voice hardened.
"You'll bury all of them."
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
She stepped back. The tension in her body didn't ease, but she gave a tight nod. Almost a gesture of mercy.
"Train. Or burn alone."
Then she turned and walked into the trees.
Her cloak stirred the dust behind her like smoke.
And I stood in the clearing, the Core pulsing low and constant in my chest.
It wasn't flaring. It wasn't angry.
It was waiting.
So was I.
Because now I understood.
The storm wasn't coming anymore.
It was already here.