A few hours before Serai woke up.
Auren stood over what was left of Elven Varn.
The wind had died sometime in the night, leaving the clearing still and breathless. The body—if it could be called that—was a shell now. Dried. Withered. Cracked open like old bark.
The crimson sash lay across the ribs, untouched by time or violence. Untouched by guilt.
The Wazir stood nearby, watching him. Hands behind his back. Expression unreadable.
"You drained him," Auren said quietly. "Even after he was down."
"He wasn't dead," the Wazir replied. "Not yet. Just quiet."
Auren knelt, slowly, knees brushing cold grass. "He grew up in this house. Same floors. Same halls. Same training yards. He was like… a fixed star. Unmoving."
"That's what made him dangerous," Wazir said.
Auren turned, jaw clenched. "He didn't deserve that."
"No one ever does," the Wazir said. "But that's not what decides whether it happens."
Auren stood again, fists tight. "Then why?"
"Because mercy is a luxury, and we are not rich men."
He walked toward the body, robes dragging through the grass.
"Elven was a blade. A sharp one. But blades don't know when they've drawn too much blood."
Auren looked down. "Was it cruelty?"
The Wazir tilted his head. "It was necessary."
Auren didn't speak. Couldn't.
The Wazir moved past him, pausing just long enough to offer one final thought:
"If you plan to keep pulling threads, you'll need to learn what it means when they snap."
---
Morning came without color.
Auren sat just outside the cave, knees tucked, breath clouding in the pale air. His arms ached. His ribs throbbed.
But worse was the hum beneath his skin.
It was like his blood had been rewired.
Every movement sparked something wrong—tension behind the eyes, pressure in his ears, a distant ringing he couldn't explain. His fingers trembled when he didn't watch them.
Serai was still sleeping behind him.
A small mercy.
He coughed once—then again, harder.
Dark red streaked the inside of his palm.
Footsteps.
He didn't have to look to know it was the Wazir.
"Still hurts, doesn't it?" the man said gently.
Auren didn't answer.
Wazir sat beside him, as if this were just another morning.
"It will keep hurting. Every time you use the threads without an anchor, you'll pull something loose inside yourself."
Auren stared at the blood. "You said nothing about this."
"You didn't ask."
He looked at the older man now. "And if I had?"
"I would've told you the truth. You wouldn't have listened."
Auren exhaled slowly, voice low. "So how do I stop it?"
"You don't. Not entirely."
The Wazir reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. "But you can learn to brace for it."
"The tether wasn't formed properly. You pulled from her future with no structure—no emotional alignment, no preparation. You forced a link that your body and mind weren't ready to carry."
Auren stared at the ground. "So what now? A ritual? Some anchor I need to carve into my soul?"
The Wazir chuckled. "No. This isn't magic in the way you think. It's slower. Dumber. More human."
He nodded toward Serai, sleeping unevenly against the stone wall.
"You're tethered. That means your Echo threads are tied together—emotions, memory fragments, instincts. Right now, it's raw. Chaotic. But the more time you spend with her… talking, walking, arguing, laughing—whatever makes you real to each other—the more it stabilizes."
Auren frowned. "That's it?"
"It's not simple," the Wazir replied. "You can't fake it. The thread knows. If the bond matures naturally, you'll both adapt. The pain fades. The power sharpens. And when it matters, the Echo won't rip you open trying to reach her."
Auren was quiet.
The Wazir tilted his head, voice quieter now. "Most people never form permanent tethers. Fewer still survive them. But when they hold… they can change the world."
Back Inside the cave-
The cave was quiet again.
Auren had moved back toward the fire, shoulders slumped but breath steady. The talk with the Wazir had left him heavier, but clearer. At least now, he understood what was happening to him.
What he hadn't expected was to hear it happening to her.
A sharp gasp broke the silence. Not loud, but enough to make him turn.
Serai sat bolt upright near the back wall, gripping her head with both hands. Her breath hitched like she couldn't draw air fully. A faint tremor ran through her arms.
"Serai—?" Auren moved quickly to her side.
She didn't answer.
Her eyes were wide, unfocused. She blinked hard, like trying to shake something from her skull.
"It's fine," she snapped. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He kept his voice low.
She groaned, shoving herself upright. "It's just… in my chest. Like I can't breathe, but I'm not drowning either. It's like there's a war going on inside my ribs."
Auren paused. "It's the tether."
She shot him a glare. "What the hell does that mean?"
He sat down slowly, not too close.
"You're connected to me. Through the Echo I pulled. That bond—it wasn't formed gently."
"No kidding."
"There's a backlash. Pain. Confusion. Memory shifts. I've been feeling it too."
She exhaled shakily. "I thought I was losing my mind."
He nodded. "You're not. Just… adjusting."
"To what?" she asked sharply. "To someone yanking emotions out of my future without asking?"
That stung more than he wanted to admit.
But he didn't argue.
"I didn't mean to use you like that," he said. "I was desperate."
Her jaw tensed.
Auren let the silence stretch. Then added, "But if we stay like this, it gets worse. The Wazir said the only way to fix it is time. Time together. Time spent actually knowing each other. Letting the thread… settle."
She looked at him, brows knit tight. Her breathing still unsteady.
"Sounds like a curse."
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it's just the cost of surviving something we weren't meant to."
They sat in the silence.
And slowly, the tremble in her shoulders eased.
Her gaze lowered to her hands. They were clenched tight again, but she uncurled them, one finger at a time.
"I felt it, you know," she said after a while. "Whatever you gave me. It wasn't just strength. It was… rage. Clean. Focused. But it didn't feel like mine. And yet it fit."
"I saw it in your future," Auren said quietly. "That battlefield. What you became. It scared me."
She looked at him now. "Does it still?"
He met her eyes.
"No. You're not that yet. And maybe you never will be."
She held his gaze for a moment longer. Something in her softened.
"I hated you for a second," she admitted. "When I woke up. I didn't know why. I just wanted to run."
"I wouldn't blame you."
"But I didn't," she added.
Auren smiled faintly. "That makes two of us."
---
A breeze slipped through the cave mouth.
Serai leaned back against the stone, brushing hair from her face. "So what now?"
"We let the tether settle," he said. "Talk. Eat. Don't kill anyone for a few days."
"Sounds like a lot of work," she murmured.
"You're the terrifying one," he said. "I'm just the guy bleeding from the nose."
She snorted.
It wasn't quite a laugh. But it was closer than anything they'd had since the escape.
Her hand dropped to the floor beside his.
Not touching. But closer than before.
"You should sleep more," she said.
"So should you."
"I'd rather not dream," she muttered.
Auren hesitated. "If it happens again… I'll wake you."
She looked at him. "Promise?"
He nodded.
And for the first time, she believed him.
---
From the treeline just beyond the cave, the Wazir watched.
He leaned casually against a gnarled trunk, hands clasped, face unreadable.
Then—quietly, subtly—he smiled.
Not the smile of a schemer.
Not today.
Just a man who'd seen a hundred threads fray… and finally, two begin to weave.