Chapter 5 The ties that bind

The scent of ash lingered on the wind, riding the dawn like a harbinger of loss. Elowen stood atop the bluff overlooking the valley- her valley once, before the curse and fire. Before Theron's army had clawed its way from the shadows. She hadn't been here in a decade, not since she'd fled with Calen swaddled in blood-soaked linen.

Now, she had returned. But this time, she wasn't hiding.

Behind her, warriors moved like ghosts through the charred remains of the village that once bore her family's crest. A massive oak tree, blackened and split down the middle, stood sentinel among the ruins. Its trunk was scarred by claw marks- some human, some not.

Kieran stepped beside her, the wind tugging at his cloak. "You think the roots still hold?"

"They have to." Elowen's voice was a blade. "The old magic was buried here. Before Theron poisoned the land."

She crouched and touched the soil, whispering words only the trees would remember.

The ground pulsed faintly beneath her palm.

Still alive.

"Help me," she said softly, and the earth answered with a whisper of leaves stirring on dead branches.

Kieran watched her, always half amazed, half terrified by the bond she had with the old forces. Most magic-users relied on chants or potions, but Elowen simply asked- and the world listened.

Before he could speak again, a cry rang out from the west perimeter.

One of the sentries stumbled toward them, bleeding from a gash across his chest.

"Raiders!" he gasped. "They're branded... shadows... with silver eyes-"

Elowen and Kieran were already moving. They reached the edge of camp in moments. The sight that met them chilled even Kieran's hardened heart.

A band of warriors, clad in black leathers seared with flame symbols, stood at the treeline. Their eyes glowed silver, inhuman. One of them stepped forward-a tall woman with raven hair and skin as pale as moonlight. Her blade shimmered with blood magic.

"You wear the mark of the forsaken," Kieran growled.

She smiled, baring fangs. "I wear the truth."

Elowen stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"I am Liora," the woman said. "Daughter of the Rift. The Seer of the Broken Veil."

Behind her, the other warriors knelt as one.

Elowen felt it then-a pull in the air, like something recognizing her... or Calen.

"What do you want?"

Liora tilted her head. "The boy. He belongs to the Gate."

Kieran drew his sword, his voice like ice. "You'll leave in pieces."

Liora laughed, cruel and knowing. "You can delay fate, but you can't kill prophecy, wolf. The boy is the Tether. When the final seal breaks, his blood will unlock the threshold."

"You're wrong," Elowen said. "He is not your key."

But Liora only smiled wider.

"We will return when the moons bleed. And you'll see." Her eyes flashed. "Even your blood can't stop the end, Elowen of the First Flame."

Then she vanished-no smoke, no fire. Just gone.

The raiders disappeared into the trees like shadows pulled into night.

Silence followed, heavy and grim.

Kieran turned to Elowen. "What's a Tether?"

Elowen's face was unreadable. "A being born with ties to both realms. Light and shadow. Mortal and immortal. They don't just unlock power-they become conduits for it."

"And Calen..."

She nodded slowly.

"He was born of my flame... and Theron's curse."

Kieran staggered back. "You told me Theron died before-"

"I didn't know what he had done until it was too late," she said bitterly. "He marked Calen from the womb. A binding spell woven into his bloodline. I broke what I could, but some magic..." Her voice cracked. "Some magic stains forever."

Kieran cursed under his breath.

"We need to move him. They'll come again."

"No," she said firmly. "We stand. We train. We gather allies."

"Elowen-"

She turned to him, fierce and unyielding. "If we keep running, Calen will never learn to fight what's inside him. And one day, it will consume him."

Kieran didn't like it. But he knew she was right.

"I'll summon the Lyric Blades," he said. "They owe me a blood-debt."

"I'll go to the Ashen Circle," Elowen added. "Even if they spit in my face, they'll want to stop the Rift more than they want to shun me."

He hesitated. "You'll leave him?"

She looked back toward the tent where Calen rested. "Lucien will protect him while I'm gone. He has the wards. He knows what to do."

Kieran nodded. "Then we ride before dusk."

That evening, as the stars pierced the sky with quiet fire, Calen sat alone outside the healer's tent.

He stared at his palms.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt... them-the voices behind the Rift. They whispered his name like a hymn. Promising him power. Purpose. Belonging.

But when he opened his eyes, all he wanted was his mother's arms.

Lucien sat beside him. The mage's eyes were soft, but wary. "You feel it, don't you?"

Calen didn't answer.

"The gift. Or the curse, depending on who you ask."

Calen whispered, "I didn't ask for any of it."

Lucien smiled faintly. "No one does. But we still carry it."

Calen looked up. "What happens if I lose control?"

Lucien's voice was calm. "Then we teach you to find it again. Because power doesn't make you dangerous. Fear does."

A long pause passed between them.

Then Calen asked the question he'd been dreading.

"Am I going to become like him?"

Lucien's eyes glinted in the firelight. "Only if you stop being yourself."

Elowen rode hard into the east under moonlight, the wind pulling at her cloak like the claws of old memories. The land shifted around her as the forest gave way to ash fields and rock- dead lands, cursed long before she was born. She crossed the Whispering Pass before dawn and arrived at the jagged cliffs where the Ashen Circle made their stronghold: a place where no birds sang and the sky seemed always grey.

They were already waiting.

Seven robed figures stood in a circle of obsidian stones, each marked with runes that pulsed a dull red. The Grand Matron, Ysara, stepped forward, her face lined with centuries of knowledge and sorrow.

"Elowen Flameborn," she intoned, "daughter of the exiled Emberblood. Why do you come?"

Elowen dismounted and strode forward, head high. "To call in an old oath."

"The Circle owes you nothing."

"You owe the world survival," she countered. "The Rift is opening. Theron's followers have returned. My son-he was born a Tether."

A murmur rippled through the elders.

Ysara's voice was low. "Then the prophecy is fulfilled."

Elowen narrowed her eyes. "You knew."

"We knew a child of two realms would rise-but not who. Or when." Ysara studied her. "And yet it's you. The fallen daughter."

"I need your help," Elowen said. "To train him. To shield him from what comes."

Ysara didn't answer at first. Instead, she turned and walked toward the edge of the cliff, where the ocean crashed against jagged stone.

"The Circle is dying, Elowen. Our wards weaken. Our blood thins. You ask for help we barely have."

"I don't ask for much. Just a chance."

At that, Ysara turned back. "We cannot stop the Rift. But perhaps... we can slow what crawls from it."

She raised a hand, and one of the younger women-barely older than Calen-stepped forward.

"This is Kaelen," Ysara said. "She will go with you. She's studied the ancient tethers, and she carries the blood of watchers."

Kaelen gave a small nod, eyes sharp and curious.

"Thank you," Elowen said, truly meaning it.

But Ysara wasn't done.

"One more thing," the Matron said. "The boy must come before the Circle for testing. If his power turns dark-"

Elowen cut her off. "Then I'll handle it. He is mine. Not yours."

Ysara studied her, then finally nodded. "So be it. Ride fast, daughter of flame. Time grows thin."

Back at the camp, Calen stood in the practice ring, sword too big for his hands, heart thudding in his ears.

Lucien watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed, offering no help.

Calen lunged forward and missed the dummy completely.

He groaned. "I'm not a warrior. This is useless."

Lucien didn't move. "And yet here you are."

Calen tossed the sword aside. "Why can't I just learn magic?"

"Because magic without focus becomes destruction." Lucien approached, picking up the blade. "Hold it again."

Calen hesitated but took it.

Lucien circled him. "You were born with power. But you need control. And to gain control, you must understand limits."

"I have no limits," Calen muttered bitterly. "That's the problem."

Lucien smiled sadly. "No. Your problem is you think being afraid makes you weak. But fear... is the beginning of wisdom."

Then, without warning, Lucien raised his hand-and a surge of wind knocked Calen to his knees.

"Hey!"

"Get up."

"That's not fair!"

Lucien's eyes gleamed. "Neither is the Rift."

Gritting his teeth, Calen rose again. This time, when Lucien struck with a burst of air, Calen planted his feet and pushed back-just enough to hold his ground.

Lucien nodded once. "Good. Again."

And so they trained until sunset. Until Calen's muscles ached and his breath came ragged. But in his chest, for the first time, was something stronger than fear:

Resolve.

Elowen returned that night, her horse lathered and wild-eyed. Kaelen rode behind her, calm as still water.

Calen rushed forward, wide-eyed. "You're back!"

Elowen embraced him tightly. "Always."

Kaelen dismounted and bowed slightly to Lucien. "I've come to help the Tether."

Lucien raised a brow. "You've come to help the boy. The Tether is only one part of him."

Kaelen studied Calen. "We'll see."

That night, the fire burned brighter.

Kaelen began teaching Calen the old tongue, the words that shaped reality. She showed him how to feel the lines between light and shadow. How to stand at the edge of his power and not fall.

And for a few days, there was peace. A fragile, precious calm. Until the moon bled. They saw it first in the sky.

A red haze blanketed the camp, turning the trees into black silhouettes and the river into a ribbon of blood.

Elowen looked up and felt her heart turn to ice.

"They've begun."

Kaelen's eyes flared silver. "The first seal is broken."

Lucien clutched his staff. "We have days. Maybe less."

Kieran returned that evening with the Lyric Blades-six warriors clad in iron and oath-magic. They had not aged since the day they bound themselves to Kieran's blood.

"I swore I'd return with an army," Kieran said. "This is what we have."

Elowen looked at the group-Kaelen, Lucien, Kieran, and the six Blades.

Then at Calen.

"This is enough."

That night, as they prepared for battle, Calen stood alone at the river's edge.

The water glowed red from the moon's reflection.

He spoke softly, unsure if anyone-or anything-listened.

"I don't want to be your key," he said to the night. "I don't want to open anything."

A ripple moved across the water.

And a voice-neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel-whispered back:

"Then close it."

Calen's eyes widened. He turned and ran back to the camp. He didn't know how. But he would find a way. He would close the Rift.