We didn't sleep much after that.
Not really.
Lira stayed curled against my side, barely dozing; every time my breathing shifted, she stirred. Seris kept herself awake through sheer stubbornness, sitting upright against the headboard, occasionally glaring at the door as if daring the entity to try again.
By morning, the three of us looked tired but determined.
When we entered the training hall, Halin took one look at us and stopped what she was doing.
"What happened."
Not a question—an evaluation.
Seris answered first. "It visited him. In a dream."
Halin's expression didn't change. Not a flicker. But something in her posture sharpened.
"Describe it," she said.
I inhaled slowly. "The academy. But wrong. Like something remembering it from far away. The Constellation Web was dragging across the floors. Everything felt… stretched."
"Distorted memory," Halin murmured. "Not vision."
"It spoke," I added.
That made her go still.
Lira took my hand gently. "It called him Anchor again."
Halin's brows lowered. "Which implies focal resonance. Central node."
Seris frowned. "Which means what in words normal people can understand?"
"It believes Arin stabilizes something it requires," Halin said.
My stomach twisted.
"It said it remembered the person bonded before me," I murmured. "Called them the 'binder.' Said they were… its."
Halin's expression turned grim.
"That word means claim," she said quietly. "Possession."
Lira stiffened. "But it doesn't think that about Arin."
"No," Halin replied. "It sees him as something else. A continuation. A path."
Seris growled under her breath. "It doesn't get to have paths through him."
"And then," I continued, "it said I wasn't ready to remember."
That stopped Halin cold.
For a moment, the silence felt like pressure.
"It's trying to manipulate your past," Halin said finally. "Memories connected to the original bond. It wants you to search for what it lost."
Lira's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why?"
"Because," Halin said slowly, "if you find something, it might find a way to use it. Or you."
Seris stepped forward, anger simmering just below the surface. "So what do we do?"
Halin looked at the three of us carefully.
"We change the rules," she said.
---
We trained differently that day.
Every exercise focused not on controlling the fracture, but on reinforcing the triad resonance around it—creating a buffer that wasn't a cage, but a boundary. Something that let the fracture move without letting it consume.
Lira guided breath techniques, voice soft and steady. Seris anchored me physically, hand braced at my back, grounding every tremor. Halin adjusted rune alignment, watching our synchronization like a strategist mapping a battlefield.
For the first time, I wasn't trying to suppress the fracture.
We were trying to teach it something.
Coexistence.
Connection.
Belonging.
The fracture resisted at first—not violently, just uncertain.
But the longer the three of us held resonance together, the quieter its resistance became. Like a wild thing slowly realizing it wasn't being hunted.
Lira exhaled softly. "It's recognizing us."
"Or getting comfortable enough to strike," Seris muttered.
"No," Lira said gently. "This feels different."
Halin watched us with sharp concentration. "Good. Again."
We tried another sequence.
This time, the fracture pulsed gently toward Lira. She flinched—but didn't retreat.
Instead, she reached inward with soft resonance—offering space, not control.
Seris felt it, too. "It's moving toward her."
Halin didn't move. "Let it."
I swallowed hard. "What if it—"
"Trust your bond," Halin said firmly.
So I did.
The fracture hovered—right where Lira's presence touched the bond—then pulsed, as if testing her warmth.
Something softened inside me—something that wasn't mine alone.
Lira gasped. "I feel it."
"What?" Seris demanded.
"Not pain," she whispered. "Just… loneliness."
That hit harder than I expected.
The fracture wasn't trying to consume.
It was trying not to disappear.
Halin said quietly, "That emotion does not belong to Arin. It belongs to the echo."
I closed my eyes.
And for a moment, I could almost feel it—the echo of a bond that had existed before me. A connection torn away abruptly. A voice once steady now faint and fractured.
That loss wasn't mine.
But it sat inside me anyway.
When the training ended, I felt drained—not physically, but emotionally. Like something inside had been touched that I wasn't ready to name.
Lira kept close, gently brushing her shoulder against mine as we walked. Seris hovered protectively, watching every corridor like she expected shadows to move.
Halin followed us out, stopping at the doorway.
"Arin," she said quietly. "Come tomorrow prepared to go deeper."
Seris turned instantly. "Absolutely not. Not without us."
Halin's gaze didn't change. "I didn't say without you."
Lira exhaled with visible relief.
Then Halin added, voice low:
"But understand this: the more you touch the fracture, the closer it will come. And the more it will try to shape you."
A cold fear curled in my stomach.
"And if it does?" I asked.
Halin's answer was quiet but unflinching.
"Then you must decide what you are willing to remember."
My pulse skipped.
Lira took my hand immediately—gentle, instinctive.
Seris stepped closer, voice low and fierce. "Whatever he remembers, we'll be there."
Halin studied us for a long moment.
Then, just before she turned away, she said:
"Then you may survive this."
Halin left us standing in the corridor with those final words echoing through the bond long after she disappeared down the hall. I didn't move at first. Neither did Lira or Seris. It felt like something unspoken settled heavily on all three of us at once.
Remember.
Survive.
How did those two ideas fit together?
Seris finally exhaled, scrubbing a hand through her hair. "She has a talent for making normal breathing feel dangerous."
Lira let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It's not the breathing she's warning about."
"No," Seris muttered. "It's everything underneath it."
She looked at me, eyes sharper than usual, searching for something. I knew what she was thinking without her saying it: How much did that dream take from you? How much did it give back?
"I'm still me," I said softly.
Seris held my gaze for a long moment before her shoulders eased. "Good. I like you better than anything that thing's trying to turn you into."
Lira stepped a little closer, hesitating only a fraction before reaching for my sleeve—like she needed the reassurance of contact but didn't want to push too far. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Do you think remembering… would be bad?"
I swallowed. "I don't know."
Seris crossed her arms. "Memory isn't the problem. Manipulation is."
"But the memory isn't mine," I said. "That's what scares me."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy, thick with words all of us were afraid to say.
Lira finally broke it, stepping in front of me fully. "Listen to me." Her voice trembled, not from fear, but intensity. "Whatever happened then was before us. Before this. And whatever it thinks it remembers, it doesn't get to rewrite what we are now."
Seris nodded, moving beside her. "Exactly. I don't care what the entity lost. I care about what we're building. And right now, that's us."
I looked between them—one soft and steady, the other fierce and unyielding—and for a moment, the fracture inside me felt less like a wound and more like something surrounded by warmth instead of darkness.
"We should rest," Lira said gently. "Before training tomorrow."
Seris hesitated. "Your room… or ours?"
There was no awkwardness in the question anymore—just concern.
"Ours," I said quietly. "If that's okay."
Their relief was instant.
We walked slowly, the corridors quieter at this hour, torches flickering like they were whispering secrets. Lira stayed close to my right, hand brushing mine every few steps. Seris walked on my left, posture alert but relaxed, like she was guarding us without needing to admit it.
When we reached their room, Seris held the door open for both of us—something she tried to make look casual but didn't quite manage. The moment the door closed behind us, the outside world felt far away again.
Lira sat on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. I sat, feeling the mattress dip and shift under our combined weight. Seris took the other side, leaning against the pillows like she planned to stay awake all night again.
But when Lira lay down, curling instinctively against my shoulder, Seris followed a moment later, settling at my back. Her arm draped over my waist—not tight, not possessive—just… there.
A barrier against anything that tried to reach.
It was instinct now.
I let my eyes close, the bond humming warm and steady between us.
"Arin," Lira whispered against my collarbone.
"Mm?"
"You don't have to remember alone."
I breathed out slowly. "I won't."
Seris's voice came low and fierce at my back. "Even if you tried, we'd drag you right back to us."
I smiled despite everything. "I believe you."
The room settled into darkness. The bond throbbed gently—three pulses syncing into one.
Outside, the wards shimmered.
Somewhere in the distance, the entity waited.
But tonight, it didn't pull.
Tonight, the bond held first.
And for a moment, remembering didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like something we could face—together.