Page 162
Story: The Sin Binder's Destiny
She follows—but she leads. Always.
And I think—Iknow—none of us would make it out of this without her. Not one. Not even me.
Especially not me.
I should be thinking ahead, planning for what’s next, calculating the safest path through this damn place. But all I can see is the gentle way she just pulled Elias into a smile without saying a word. The way her touch steadied Orin’s hand without apology. The way she glanced atme, like I wasn’t some monster she should be wary of. She looks at me like I’m worth something. And that’s a power I don’t know how to counter. She could command my soul with a whisper.
Luna
The water is almost too warm. The shallow bend of the river curls like a secret kept for too long, cradled between jagged rocks and moss-slick roots that reach out like fingers. It’s not peaceful—nothing here ever is—but there’s a lull in the chaos, a pocket of stillness stolen between storms. The pond is dark, murky in places, glowing faintly in others where magic has bled into the current, ancient and alive. It smells of wet earth, of copper and moss and something faintly floral I can’t name.
I peel off the torn remnants of my clothes and step into the water without ceremony, letting the heat sting my skin as I lower myself down, inch by inch. My muscles scream, but I welcome the ache. It’s proof I’m still here. Still human. Or whatever approximation of human I’ve become.
The first breath I take once I’m submerged is ragged. Ugly. It hitches in my throat and stays there, lodged like a splinter. I don’t cry. I don’t sob. That’s not what this is. This is something quieter. More violent.
The silence lets things in.
Like the image of Lucien throwing himself over me, the arrow hitting his shoulder instead of my throat. Like the sound of Ambrose whispering something soft to Riven when they thought I was asleep. Like the look Orin gave me—steady, unfaltering, like he knew something I hadn’t caught up to yet.
I dunk my head beneath the water. Let it surround me. The warmth slips over my scalp, clings to my hair, loosening someof the blood and dirt caked there. My fingers find the knots and start to pull, slow, deliberate, uncaring if it hurts.
Pain is manageable. It gives me something to do.
The pond shifts around me, steam curling off the surface in lazy spirals. Silas must’ve woven the heat into the earth itself, into the stones buried beneath the water, like he knew I’d need this more than I’d admit. And they’re not far—none of them ever are. I know Elias is probably pretending not to peek, I know Riven’s watching the perimeter like it might bite back, and Orin… gods, Orin is likely waiting just out of sight, knowing I’d hate it less if I thought he was near.
They give me space, but they don’t let me go. I don't know what to make of that. My hands tremble when I reach for the cut across my ribs. The skin is raw. The wound shallow. It’s not the worst thing I’ve endured in the last forty-eight hours, not even close. But it’s the one that makes me pause. Because it’s the one I gave myself.
I stare at it, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
The Hollow is warping us. Twisting us all into versions of ourselves I’m not sure we’ll recognize when this is over. I’ve been angry. Cold. Detached. I’ve let go of things I should’ve held tighter and clung to things that are burning me alive. I keep wondering if this place will eventually swallow who I am—and whether anyone will even notice the difference.
I lean back into the water and let it take me again, deeper this time, until even the sound of my breath is gone. No Sins. No ancient magic. No Luna. Just quiet. Just heat. Just water that feels like it remembers things I haven’t lived yet.
When I surface, my skin is flushed. My eyes burn. But the weight pressing down on me is a little lighter. Not gone. Never gone. But less suffocating. I trace my fingers over the bruises blooming across my thighs, the constellation of pain left behindby the last battle. I don’t mind them. They’re reminders. Proof that I stood my ground, even when I wanted to run.
The river keeps moving around me, gentle now. Patient. Like it knows I’ll leave it soon. And I will. But not yet. Not until I’m ready to put the blood back on and face the world that demands too much from me. Not until I remember who the hell I am.
Not until I remember that I’m not just theirs.
I’mme. Even here. Even now. Even if this world tries to take it from me.
I drag myself out of the water with slow, reluctant limbs, steam coiling from my skin like I’ve just clawed my way free of the underworld. The heat has worked its way deep into my muscles, but it hasn’t loosened the knot in my chest. That’s a kind of ache the river can’t touch.
The clothes are waiting for me on a smooth, flat rock. Black shirt. Black pants. Barely folded, but definitely deliberate. The shirt glints in the sunlight that slips through the tree canopy above—silver dust laced across the fabric like some unspoken Silas signature. No one else would’ve had the audacity to add shimmer to survival gear. It's so him it almost makes me smile.
I step toward them, water sloshing at my thighs, then knees, then ankles, until I’m barefoot on the mossy bank. My hair drips steadily onto my collarbone, my back, trailing moisture like a breadcrumb trail to whatever finds me next. I don’t care. I’m too tired to care. And I’m too aware of the hours we still have ahead—hours of trudging through forest and ruin and whatever hell waits at the Keep.
The Keep.
We don’t know what Branwen left behind. The possibility of a portal—our possible escape—is the only reason Lucien hasn’t already started barking orders, pacing the perimeter, pushing us harder. Last night we ran blind. Veered off the mapped path anddeeper into Hollow-rot. It’s not just the terrain that shifts here, it’s the very rules of movement. Of direction. Of time.
Still. He’ll expect us to move. Soon. And he’ll be right to.
I pick up the pants first, soft and dry and just thick enough to hold shape. Not conjured, I realize. Transmuted. Real fabric, pulled from something else, some matter Silas toyed with until it resembled what I needed. Or maybe just what hewantedto see me in. I try not to think about that.
Pulling them on, the cloth clings at first, catching at my hips and thighs where dampness still lingers. The shirt goes on last, the shimmer catching again at my shoulder. A little glamour spell maybe. A Silas flourish. Or a joke I haven’t uncovered yet.
I wring out my hair with both hands, watching the dark spiral of it soak into the moss. I don’t feel cleaner. I don’t feel reborn. But I feel ready.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159
- Page 160
- Page 161
- Page 162 (Reading here)
- Page 163
- Page 164
- Page 165
- Page 166
- Page 167
- Page 168
- Page 169
- Page 170
- Page 171
- Page 172
- Page 173
- Page 174
- Page 175
- Page 176
- Page 177
- Page 178
- Page 179
- Page 180
- Page 181
- Page 182
- Page 183
- Page 184
- Page 185
- Page 186
- Page 187
- Page 188
- Page 189
- Page 190
- Page 191
- Page 192
- Page 193
- Page 194
- Page 195
- Page 196
- Page 197
- Page 198
- Page 199
- Page 200
- Page 201
- Page 202
- Page 203
- Page 204
- Page 205
- Page 206
- Page 207
- Page 208
- Page 209
- Page 210
- Page 211
- Page 212
- Page 213
- Page 214
- Page 215
- Page 216
- Page 217
- Page 218
- Page 219
- Page 220
- Page 221
- Page 222
- Page 223
- Page 224
- Page 225
- Page 226
- Page 227
- Page 228
- Page 229
- Page 230
- Page 231
- Page 232
- Page 233
- Page 234
- Page 235
- Page 236
- Page 237
- Page 238
- Page 239
- Page 240
- Page 241
- Page 242
- Page 243
- Page 244
- Page 245
- Page 246
- Page 247
- Page 248
- Page 249
- Page 250
- Page 251
- Page 252
- Page 253
- Page 254
- Page 255
- Page 256
- Page 257
- Page 258
- Page 259
- Page 260
- Page 261
- Page 262
- Page 263
- Page 264
- Page 265
- Page 266
- Page 267
- Page 268