The attic shuddered, griefstone walls straining as if they could no longer bear the weight of what was breaking loose.
Orie's stabilizing cast fractured in her hands, threads of light snapping apart and scattering like sparks before vanishing into the dark.
In Tieran's arms, Ivy convulsed weakly, her lips moving in a ghostly rhythm, whispering "Dad… Dad…" as though the word itself was keeping her tethered. Her seal bled strange energy, curling upward in smoke-like coils that pressed against the walls, making the air heavy and suffocating.
Tieran staggered under her weight, blood spilling from his mouth, his seal flickering like a dying flame. His arms locked tighter around her even as his knees buckled, refusing to let go.
"She's slipping!" Orie's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate.
Her braid swung forward as she reached toward Ivy, panic flashing in her eyes. "The cast won't hold—she's breaking through!"
Aldi didn't scream this time.
She dropped the blankets she had gathered and rushed to Tieran's side, pressing her hand against his shoulder to steady him.
Her seal flared faintly, trembling, but she forced her voice into steadiness. "Hold her, Tieran. Don't let go. I'll keep you upright."
Her other hand brushed Ivy's forehead, recoiling at the chill.
Her eyes widened, but instead of panicking, she turned toward Orie. "She's colder than stone. If we don't anchor her now, she'll vanish."
Tears streaked her cheeks, but her movements were purposeful — dragging a chair closer, bracing Tieran against it, trying to keep him from collapsing completely.
Her voice cracked only once, softer, almost to herself "Please… don't take them both from us."
Nia stood rigid, Jaspher's book pressed hard against her chest. The sound of Ivy's muttering — that fragile, broken "Dad" — pierced her like a blade, grief and fury colliding in her heart. She felt the book tremble faintly, as if it too had heard.
Then Ivy's head lolled, her lips parted, and a thin line of blood slipped down her chin. It fell, unnoticed at first, until it struck the book's cover.
The attic froze.
The drop sank into the seal like ink into parchment. The book shuddered violently, its bindings glowing, trembling, then cracking open with a sound like stone splitting. Pages fluttered though no wind stirred, and from within spilled a fragment — not Jaspher himself, but something older, deeper.
A soul's echo. An ancestor's memory.
It swirled like smoke and flame, curling into the air above Ivy. The fragment pressed against her leaking seal, weaving into her body.
Her muttering slowed. Her breath steadied. Her pale skin warmed faintly, color returning to her cheeks.
Relief hit them like a wave.
Tieran sagged, gasping, blood on his lips but eyes wide with disbelief. His arms trembled, but he clutched Ivy tighter, whispering hoarsely, "She's breathing… she's breathing again."
Aldi sobbed, dropping to her knees beside them, clutching Ivy's hand. "She's alive… oh gods, she's alive…"
Orie's shoulders dropped, her braid slipping forward as she exhaled sharply. "The cast failed… but the book—her blood opened it. It saved her."
For a heartbeat, the attic was filled with fragile relief. Ivy's lips no longer whispered. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Tieran's seal flickered but held.
But the fragment did not vanish.
It lingered, pulsing, growing. Its voice was faint, layered with centuries: a whisper of grief, of rage, of something lost too long.
The air thickened again, pressing against them all.
Nia's hands shook as she stared at the book, realization dawning. "This isn't Jaspher," she whispered, voice trembling. "It's older. It's his bloodline. Ivy's bloodline. We've awakened an ancestor's soul."
The attic trembled harder, griefstone walls groaning as the fragment expanded, its presence pressing against them all.
Relief curdled into dread.
They understood one thing, shared in silence and fear: Ivy was stable — but something dangerous had been unleashed.
The attic trembled, griefstone walls humming as the fragment of soul swirled above Ivy. It thickened, shaping itself into a figure — tall, shadowed, eyes burning with the weight of centuries.
The ancestor's soul spoke, its voice layered, echoing like many voices at once.
"So… the bloodline still breathes."
The air grew colder, pressing against their seals. Ivy stirred faintly in Tieran's arms, her breath steadier now, though her lips still trembled. Tieran's body sagged, blood dripping from his mouth, his seal flickering erratically.
Then another presence stirred.
The Threadkeeper book, long silent, shuddered on the shelf. Its cover glowed, its bindings unraveling into light. From it rose a spirit — woven of threads and ink, its form shimmering like parchment caught in flame. It bowed low, its voice calm and resonant.
"Greetings, Master Nia," it said, inclining its head toward her. "Greetings, Empress Orie."
The ancestor's soul turned sharply, its eyes narrowing. Recognition flared. "So… you also did not die," it said, voice edged with disbelief. "You became a book spirit instead."
The Threadkeeper's form pulsed faintly, threads weaving tighter around its body. "I endured. I bound what was broken. I kept the line alive."
Tieran's eyes widened, memory flashing through his haze. He recalled the Threadkeeper — the book that had bound him and Ivy together, sealing their fates. His voice was hoarse, broken, but urgent. "Where… were you…?" he rasped, staring at the spirit. "When she… when I…"
His words dissolved into a cough, blood spilling from his lips. His body collapsed against Ivy's, his strength finally gone.
Aldi cried out, rushing forward, clutching his shoulder. "Tieran! Stay awake!"
Nia and Orie froze, their eyes locked on the ancestor's soul. The spirit's presence pressed against them, heavy, undeniable.
The ancestor's gaze softened, just slightly. Its voice lowered, carrying the weight of command. "Enough. Let us heal these two children before we speak further."
The attic fell silent, the tension suspended. The ancestor's soul extended its hand, light gathering at its palm. The Threadkeeper spirit mirrored the gesture, threads weaving outward. Together, they bent toward Ivy and Tieran, the air thick with power.
Relief flickered in the room — fragile, uncertain, but real.
The attic held its breath. Dust hung suspended in the air, griefstone walls humming like a low dirge. Ivy's body lay limp, her seal leaking faint wisps of smoke, while Tieran sagged against her, blood staining his lips, his own seal flickering like a dying ember.
The ancestor's soul lifted its hand, light gathering at its palm — not a gentle glow, but a fierce radiance, heavy with centuries of memory. It pulsed like a heartbeat, each thrum echoing through the attic.
Beside it, the Threadkeeper spirit unfurled its arms. Threads spilled outward, shimmering strands of ink and parchment, weaving themselves into patterns that glowed faintly in the dim light. The threads reached toward Ivy and Tieran, wrapping around them like a net, delicate yet unbreakable.
The ancestor's voice resonated, layered with many tones at once: "Bloodline must endure. Memory must not shatter."
The light from its palm sank into Ivy's chest, pressing against her leaking seal. The smoke recoiled, curling back, as if forced into submission. Her lips parted, a faint gasp escaping, her breath steadier now.
The Threadkeeper's threads wound around Tieran, binding his trembling body. Each strand pulsed with warmth, knitting into his seal, coaxing it back from collapse. His ragged cough softened, his chest rising with steadier rhythm.
Nia's eyes filled with tears as she watched the two forces — ancestor and spirit — working in tandem. Orie's braid slipped forward, her hands clenched tight, whispering under her breath, "Hold them… hold them both."
The attic glowed brighter, the resonance of light and thread filling the space. Ivy's pale skin warmed, color returning to her cheeks. Her muttering ceased, replaced by a soft, steady breath. Tieran's seal steadied, its flicker smoothing into a faint, persistent glow.
Aldi pressed her hand to her mouth, sobbing with relief. "They're… they're breathing. Both of them."
The ancestor's soul lowered its hand, the radiance dimming but not vanishing. The Threadkeeper drew back its threads, though faint strands remained wrapped around Ivy and Tieran, protective and binding.
The air eased, the suffocating weight lifting. Relief spread through the room — fragile, uncertain, but undeniable.
The ancestor's gaze swept over them all, its voice calm but commanding. "They will live. For now. But the bloodline's fracture is not healed — only bound. We must speak."
The Threadkeeper spirit inclined its head, threads shimmering faintly. "Yes. The binding holds. But the cost remains."
The attic, once trembling, now stood in fragile silence. Ivy and Tieran lay stabilized, their breaths steady, their seals glowing faintly — alive, but tethered to forces older than themselves.
The attic glowed faintly, threads and light still lingering in the air like embers after a storm. Ivy's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her lips no longer whispering. A faint sound escaped her throat — not words, but a fragile breath, the first sign of waking.
Her eyelids fluttered. She stirred against Tieran's arms, her fingers twitching as if reaching for something unseen. Tieran's head dropped against her shoulder, his body trembling, half-conscious. His seal glowed faintly, steadier now, but his strength was gone.
Aldi pressed her hand to his back, whispering through tears, "You're alive… both of you. Stay with us."
Nia's grip on Jaspher's book loosened, her knuckles pale. She stared at Ivy, at Tieran, at the two fragile bodies bound together by forces older than any of them. Relief washed through her, but it was sharp, edged with dread.
The ancestor's soul lowered its hand, the radiance dimming. Its eyes burned with centuries of memory, gaze fixed on Ivy. "The fracture runs deep," it said, voice layered with echoes. "This child carries more than her own seal. She carries the wound of the bloodline itself."
Orie's breath caught. "Bloodline fracture… what does that mean?"
The Threadkeeper spirit stepped forward, threads shimmering faintly. Its voice was calm, resonant, but heavy. "It means the seals of this family were never whole. They were bound, broken, and bound again. Each generation carried the fracture forward. Jaspher's death did not end it — it deepened it."
The ancestor's gaze swept the room, lingering on Nia, then Orie. "Your line was marked long ago. A soul was lost, torn from the weave. That absence echoes still. Ivy's seal leaks because she carries both memory and absence. Tieran bleeds because he is bound to her fracture."
Tieran stirred faintly, his voice hoarse, broken. "Bound… to her… fracture…" His eyes flickered toward the Threadkeeper, confusion and pain mingling. "Where… were you… when she broke?" His words dissolved into silence as his head dropped, half-conscious.
The ancestor's soul extended its hand again, but this time not to heal — to command silence. "They will live. But if the fracture is not mended, they will break again. And when they break, the bloodline itself will collapse."
The Threadkeeper spirit bowed its head, threads tightening around its form. "We kept the line alive. But survival is not healing."
The attic fell into silence, the weight of truth pressing against them all. Ivy stirred faintly, her eyes half-opening, confusion clouding her gaze.
Tieran lay against her, breathing shallow but steady.
The ancestor's voice lowered, heavy with finality. "To mend the fracture, you must face what was lost. The missing soul. The shard torn from memory. Only then will the bloodline endure."