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The smell of roasted cumin and simmering tomatoes curled through the oracle's house like a warm scarf.

Seren stood at the stone counter, her hands moving with ease as she stirred the bubbling pot.

The onions had been caramelized to just the right edge of sweetness, the ginger and garlic finely crushed with the heel of her hand, and the chickpeas now bathed in the thick, spiced gravy that reminded her of her mother's cooking—long before everything had changed.

Her moonlit eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight, her skin glowing with the sheen of heat and adolescence.

She moved with the grace of one who had recently grown into her limbs—still startled by how her body no longer mirrored the girl she once was.

A folded stack of flatbreads waited to be flipped on the hot pan, and she tossed them deftly, like memories.

The oracle watched her from the long table, silent save for the occasional sip of tea. Her face was thoughtful, but her gaze was soft.

"You cook like someone chasing ghosts," the oracle murmured.

Seren didn't look up. "I remember the smell of this as I held on to my mamma's apron."

"Memories are their own kind of seasoning. "

Outside, the light was fading fast. The wind carried the hush of the woods—and something else.

Veyr. He never made a sound, but Seren had long stopped needing to hear him to know he was near.

Like the hum of electricity before a storm, he was always there.

At school, he was a shadow in her peripheral vision, in every class but never near enough to speak.

When the oracle sent her to gather herbs, she'd glance behind her and catch the whisper of movement. He never interfered.

But he couldn't protect her at all times. Like that day in the bathroom.

Seren's hand hesitated over the spices as the memory flickered—Lia's friends, the laughter, the chill of toilet water. Her throat burned at the thought of it, of how Lia just stood there, arms crossed, expression cold.

Until the spiders.

She hadn't called them, not really. But when panic rose like bile, the tingling energy within her had burst out—and the spiders had answered. Hundreds of them, spilt from the vents and the walls, skittering across tiles and porcelain. The screams of the girls still echoed in her ears.

Lia had been the last to leave, backing away with wide eyes. The spiders didn't touch Seren. They flowed around her, parting as though repelled by an unseen shell. And Lia had seen that. She had seen something she couldn't explain—and it scared her.

There was a knock at the door .

Seren jolted, the wooden spoon clattering onto the counter. The oracle raised a brow, then called out, "Enter."

The door creaked open and there he was. A dark shadow preceded the young Alphason who had grown in the last year. He was almost as tall as his father.

She froze. "You've got to be joking ..," she muttered under her breath, wielding the wooden spoon like a weapon.

He looked uncomfortable, holding a wrapped bundle in his arms. "Herbs," he said stiffly. "From the Western lands."

"Well," said the oracle, rising, "don't just stand there. Come in. Stay for dinner. And Seren, stop trying to murder those chickpeas. They never did anything to you"

Seren shot her a silent, desperate no, shaking her head furiously behind Hagan's back. When he turned, she glared.

He looked away. Like he did now. She could feel him watching her from the corner of her eye, but when she looked, he would be looking elsewhere .

They sat around the table, tension thick as molasses. Seren laid the flatbread basket on the table with an angry thud. Hagan fidgeted trying to not look at Seren as the oracle poured water into clay cups.

"So, Hagan," the oracle said lightly, "do you resent the bond?"

The question dropped like a stone into water. He stared, stunned. Seren stiffened, her heart thudding painfully.

The oracle turned her gaze to Seren. "You, child... You are giving up. Don't give up too quickly."

Seren looked down, her lashes trembling.

"I did too, once," the oracle said, her voice turning distant, threaded with old sorrow.

"I wasn't raised in Vargrheim, you know.

I grew up among the Dhemari. We didn't speak of bonds.

I loved a boy there... with the softest laugh and a limp from a wolf bite.

I thought we'd marry. But then, he arrived—my fated.

The bond snapped into place like a shackle. "

The front door creaked open again, and Veyr stepped in without knocking. He moved to the cupboard, retrieving plates like he'd done it a hundred times. He had shared many silent meals at this table.

"Well," the oracle chuckled dryly, "how crowded my house has become. "

Veyr met Seren's eyes. She didn't smile, but she didn't look away either.

"I loathed my fated," the oracle continued.

"Hated him when I couldn’t even look at the boy I used to love without feeling guilt.

Hated him when he negotiated with my tribe and took me away kicking and screaming.

Hated him when I couldn't resist him. And I made him suffer for it.

He was gentle, patient... always hoping I'd stop punishing him for being what he was.

I began to soften when I carried our child.

But before I could love him, truly love him. .. he was taken from me."

Her voice cracked.

"The Forsaken slit his neck and gut and left him in the borderlands. It took us too long to find him."

The silence in the room was absolute.

"My daughter was born five months after he passed," she whispered. "She... she wasn't right. She was cruel in a way I could not understand. I raised her as best I could. But I knew something had twisted inside her. Maybe my mistakes. Maybe the bond, severed too early."

She looked directly at Seren and Hagan. Her eyes were heavy with a sorrow which was still fresh in her mind .

"Your fate is not a thing you can ignore forever. At your age, the Sisters will start to draw you together. Even when you try to walk away, the lines bend until they intersect. You think it's a curse now. But if you nurture it... it becomes a blessing."

Veyr placed the plates gently at the table. Hagan stared at him; jaw tight.

Seren sat down, suddenly exhausted. Her hands still smelled of coriander and heat. The room felt too small for the four of them.

The oracle leaned back and sighed. The moment passed as quickly as it had come.

"Well," she said. "Let's eat."