Page 41

A ripple passed through the longhouse as Draken stepped forward.

No one breathed.

He walked slowly- his shoulders heavy beneath the weight of what had been said. And then, without a word, he dropped to his knees before her.

A stunned gasp rose from the crowd.

The Highclaw bowed to no one.

But here he was, kneeling at the feet of the girl he had helped build, burn, and betray.

"I didn't see it," he said hoarsely. "I saw the prophecy, the strength in the bloodlines. I saw what we needed - but not what I was asking of you."

He paused - then looked up, another truth heavy in his eyes.

"Veyr... Veyr spoke to me once. Weeks ago. He said he overheard Gaia speaking to Lia. Said she told her the bond could be broken."

A murmur stirred through the hall .

"I didn't believe it," Draken admitted, voice cracking. "I didn't think it was possible. Not with a fated pair. Not with a bond like yours."

His voice broke then, shoulders sagging.

"I was wrong."

"I am sorry, Seren. For all of it."

But she did not speak.

The aura of fury that had surged around her earlier - the storm that pulsed through the floorboards, through the bond - was gone now. In its place was silence. Dust. Ash.

She looked down at him, not cruel, not angry-just empty.

The Oracle, pale and stricken, stepped forward slowly. She stopped just short of Seren, hesitant, as if afraid to get too close.

"I-" she began, her voice trembling. "We thought we were protecting you. Preparing you."

Seren's gaze drifted to her. There was no heat in it. A short humourless snort escaped her .

When she spoke, her voice was low but clear-sharp enough to slice through bone.

"You're all so selfish," she said.

The words rang out like a bell, louder than shouting.

"Leeches ,every one of you. You think of no one but yourselves. Your prophecy. Your fears. Your bloodlines. How cruel do you have to be not to see what you're doing to the people you use?"

No one moved.

"You brought me here to serve, not to live...a child of twelve," she whispered. "You hid your prejudice behind purpose. You cloaked your manipulation in tradition. You all sit there-so proud, so righteous-but you're nothing but empty shells. Shame on you."

Then she turned to her.

To Lia.

Lia, who had said nothing. Who stood off to the side, pale and shaken like she wasn't the centre of some twisted game.

Seren walked right up to her, her gaze unwavering .

"You can have him," she said softly.

A gasp from the crowd.

"I don't want him anymore."

Hagan moved before he could think, reaching out instinctively-please-

She flinched before he could touch her.

As if his touch might burn her. As if she had forgotten what it meant to be touched with love and remembered only pain.

He froze. His hand hovered inches from her arm.

"I need to be alone," she said to no one in particular.

Her voice was soft, final.

Hagan stepped forward, a faint noise in his throat. "Seren-"

She turned her face slightly, enough to stop him without words. She still hadn't looked him in the eye.

"I said alone. "

Toward the door. She didn't know where to go.

She walked past them all-Draken still kneeling, the Oracle still stunned, the tribe starting to whisper-and slipped through the longhouse doors into the silver hush of twilight. For once, the constant buzz of voices in her head didn't intrude. There was only a ringing in her ears.

Veyr moved after her, hesitating only once to glance at Draken, whose head was still bowed.

Then he followed Seren into the evening light, the door closing behind them with a soft, definitive click.

No one dared speak.

Hagan just stood there, hand still outstretched.

And finally – slowly - he lowered it.

Seren didn't remember much of the walk to the cottage.

The world passed in fragments-blurred, dreamlike. The soft buzz of bees somewhere nearby.

The far-off rustle of birds taking flight. The shrill chatter of a red squirrel, agitated by her passage. She was aware of it all, and none of it .

The bond in her chest felt like a wound torn open-fresh, raw, and bleeding.

She reached the cottage on autopilot, her body moving even as her mind floated somewhere far above.

She stepped through the door and went straight to the cupboard without hesitation.

Her hands moved quickly, filling her backpack with the only things she could bring herself to care about - her few books, her phone, her laptop, and her camera.

In another bag, she stuffed a handful of clothes. Nothing else. She left the room untouched otherwise. Left behind the warmth, the art on the walls, the blanket Hagan had once wrapped around her shoulders when she'd fallen asleep on the couch.

She paused at the bed.

Just for a moment.

Her face crumpled. Just a flicker.

Then the mask dropped into place, and she turned away.

Only then did she realize she wasn't alone.

Veyr stood in the doorway.

Silent .

Watching her like she was something fragile that might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

She froze, her hands tightening on the bag straps.

"You're bleeding," he said gently.

She blinked, confused-then looked down.

Her bare foot was streaked with red. Somewhere along the way, she must've stepped on a stone.

Veyr stepped forward slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal.

"Sit."

When Veyr gently tried to guide her toward the bed, she veered away-choosing instead to limp up to the hard stool near the kitchen hearth. A small, silent defiance. A refusal.

Veyr crouched before her, took her foot carefully into his hands, and guided her toward the kitchen where the light was better. He found a clean cloth, water, and bound the wound with a strip of linen torn from a towel. His fingers were steady. Gentle.

She didn't flinch once .

She didn't speak.

She looked... hollow. Like something vital had been scooped out of her and left behind.

For once, Veyr wasn't expressionless.

His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tight. Rage simmered beneath his calm, his eyes nearly glowing with it-but he held it down. Barely.

When he was done, he slipped her worn moccasins over her feet, careful not to press too hard.

Then he looked up at her.

Words hovered on his lips-but he swallowed them.

It was too early for words.

Instead, he helped her to her feet. Collected her bags. And silently walked with her - each step slow, grounding - until they reached the Oracle's cottage.

The Oracle was already waiting .

Veyr left the bags near the threshold and stepped aside. Seren climbed the stairs like a sleepwalker and disappeared into the loft.

She didn't undress.

She just curled onto the mattress, clutching one of the pillows to her chest like a lifeline.

Veyr pulled the quilt over her.

He didn't say goodbye. Didn't offer promises or reassurances.

But as he turned to leave, his eyes caught the silvery trail of tears slipping silently from her closed eyes into the pillow.

His hand tightened on the doorframe.

The wood splintered beneath his grip.

Then he walked away.