Page 71 of Golden Bond

“They put the first stone into the foundation of the bridge,” I whispered.

The two acolytes. Their love had been the first sacred bond. So the stories said. They lay in this very field, hearts naked, hands clasped, and made a promise no one had dared before.

A bridge between the divine and the mortal.

“But did they stay together?”

My voice broke on the last word.

I didn’t expect an answer. The wind was my only reply, tugging at the loose hem of my robe, scattering dry petals across the grass.

I curled my knees to my chest.

The bond pulsed. Faint, steady. It hadn’t left me. It had dulled, dimmed, but it remained like a thread wrapped through my ribs. Sometimes I feared it would vanish. Sometimes I feared it never would.

What if the ritual had been wrong?

What if some bonds didn’t want to die?

I had done everything the Order taught me. The rites. The words. The wine. And still—he was here, not just in memory, but in motion. In breath. In me.

A shift.

I felt it first.

The bond pulled—not like grief this time. Not like a memory torn open. No. This was different.

Alive.

Present.

I held still.

The wind stilled with me.

Then—I heard it. Footsteps.

Not imagined. Not distant.

Slow. Real.

I didn’t move. My heart beat once. Then again. My body remembered hope before my mind dared to.

I turned.

And he was there.

Callis.

Standing at the edge of the hill, framed by the low, amber sun. His cheeks were wet. His satchel hung off one shoulder. He was breathless, as though he’d run all the way here from the sea, and maybe he had.

The light made his hair shine. His eyes found mine.

Neither of us spoke.

The wind picked up and scattered wildflowers between us.

I rose slowly.