The ancestor's soul stood tall, its shadow stretching across the attic walls. Its voice carried the weight of centuries, layered with echoes that seemed to come from countless mouths.
"Long before Jaspher, before Nia, before even the first griefstone was laid, your line was whole. The seals of your blood were woven strong, each soul bound to the next like threads in a tapestry. Memory flowed cleanly, inheritance unbroken.
But then came the tearing. A soul — one of your ancestors, a keeper of memory — was ripped from the weave. Not by death, but by force. Torn away, cast into silence. That absence left a wound, a hollow place where memory should have been.
The line did not heal. Instead, it carried the wound forward. Each child born after bore the fracture. Seals weakened, leaking at the edges. Some carried grief too heavy, others bled themselves dry to hold the line together.
Jaspher knew. He bound himself to the book, hoping to patch the wound. But binding is not healing. His death deepened the fracture, leaving Ivy with both his memory and his absence. That is why her seal leaks — she carries not only her own soul, but the echo of the missing one.
And Tieran… bound to her fracture, his seal bleeds because he shares her wound. He is tethered to what was lost, suffering the cost of her inheritance."
The Threadkeeper spirit shimmered, threads weaving faintly around Ivy and Tieran. Its voice was calm, but heavy. "I bound what was broken. I kept the line alive. But survival is not healing. The missing soul remains torn away, and until it is faced, the line will break again."
The ancestor's gaze swept the room, burning into Nia, then Orie. "To mend the broken line, you must seek the shard of what was lost. The missing soul. The memory torn from the weave. Only when it is returned will Ivy's seal hold, and Tieran's bond cease to bleed."
The attic fell silent, 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. "The bloodline fracture is not a curse. It is a wound. And wounds demand to be healed — or they consume everything."
The attic was hushed, the glow of threads and ancestral light fading into dim embers. Ivy's lashes fluttered, her breath shallow but steady. A faint sound escaped her lips, broken and fragile, yet sharp enough to cut through the silence.
"…Eryndor…"
The name hung in the air like a ghost. None of them had spoken it, none of them had heard it in years — perhaps centuries. Yet Ivy's voice carried it with eerie certainty, as if it had been etched into her blood.
Nia's head snapped up, her eyes wide. "Eryndor…?" she whispered, the word tasting foreign and familiar all at once.
The ancestor's soul stiffened, its shadow deepening against the griefstone walls. Its layered voice trembled with recognition. "So. Even in fragments, the blood remembers. Eryndor was the one torn from the weave. The missing soul. The shard that left the line broken."
Orie's braid slipped forward, her voice sharp. "Then that's who we must find. That's where the fracture leads."
The Threadkeeper spirit shimmered, threads tightening around Ivy and Tieran. Its voice was calm, but heavy. "Eryndor's absence is the wound. His memory was ripped away, his soul cast beyond the weave. To mend the line, you must seek him — or what remains of him."
Tieran stirred faintly, half-conscious, his lips moving against Ivy's shoulder. "Eryndor… where…?" His voice dissolved into silence, but his seal pulsed faintly, resonating with Ivy's whisper.
The ancestor's gaze burned into them all, heavy with command. "The path will not be simple. To find Eryndor, you must walk where memory collapses — where the weave itself frays. Only there will the shard reveal itself."
The attic fell silent again, but the name lingered, echoing in each of their hearts. Eryndor. The missing soul. The broken line's origin.
The ancestor's shadow loomed, its voice layered with echoes that seemed to come from countless mouths.
"Eryndor was once the Keeper of Memory — the soul entrusted to hold the weave of your bloodline together. His seal was strong, his spirit bound to the threads of remembrance. He carried the weight of every ancestor before him, and in him the line was whole.
But envy and betrayal tore him away. A rival spirit, one who sought dominion over memory itself, ripped Eryndor from the weave. He was not slain — no, death would have been mercy. He was cast into silence, his soul exiled beyond the threads, leaving only absence where his presence should have been.
That absence became the wound. Each child born after carried the fracture. Seals weakened, leaking at the edges. Some bled themselves dry to hold the line together. Others drowned in grief they could not name.
Jaspher knew. He tried to bind the wound with his book, to patch the absence with threads of his own soul. But binding is not healing. His sacrifice deepened the fracture, leaving Ivy with both his memory and his absence. That is why her seal leaks — she carries not only her own soul, but the echo of Eryndor's loss.
And Tieran… bound to her fracture, his seal bleeds because he shares her wound. He is tethered to what was torn away, suffering the cost of her inheritance."
The Threadkeeper spirit shimmered, threads weaving faintly around Ivy and Tieran. Its voice was calm, but heavy. "Eryndor's exile was not forgotten. His soul lingers beyond the weave, in places where memory collapses. To seek him is to walk into the frayed edges of existence. Dangerous. Unstable. But only there can the shard be found."
The ancestor's gaze burned into them all, heavy with command. "To mend the broken line, you must face Eryndor. Bring him back, or bring back what remains of him. Only then will the bloodline endure."
The attic fell silent, the weight of centuries pressing against them. Ivy stirred faintly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked, confusion clouding her gaze, then pressed a hand weakly to her stomach.
A soft, almost childlike sound escaped her lips. "…I'm hungry."
The words broke the tension like a crack of light through storm clouds. Aldi let out a shaky laugh through her tears. Orie exhaled sharply, her braid slipping forward. Nia pressed her hand to her mouth, torn between sobbing and smiling.
Even Tieran, half-conscious, managed a faint, broken chuckle.
The ancestor's soul tilted its head, its burning gaze softening for the briefest moment. "Then let her eat. Even the broken line must be fed."
The ancestor's radiance dimmed, threads of light fading into a softer glow. The Threadkeeper spirit hovered nearby, its woven form shimmering faintly, threads still wrapped around Ivy and Tieran like protective bindings.
Ivy's breath steadied, her lashes fluttering. Tieran sagged against her, half-conscious, his seal glowing faintly but no longer bleeding. The ancestor's hand lingered above them, light pulsing gently, while the Threadkeeper's threads tightened and loosened in rhythm, coaxing their wounds closed.
Aldi knelt beside Tieran, her hand pressed firmly against his shoulder, steadying him. Her eyes were wet, but her movements were precise — adjusting his posture, brushing damp hair from his forehead. Orie crouched near Ivy, her braid slipping forward as she checked the girl's pulse, her expression taut but softening as warmth returned to Ivy's skin.
Nia, still clutching Jaspher's book, exhaled shakily. Her gaze softened as she watched the ancestor's light and the Threadkeeper's threads weave together — ancient power and delicate craft, binding wounds that had nearly consumed her child.
The ancestor's voice rumbled low, almost teasing. "Fragile children. You bleed and break, yet cling to each other as if that alone will keep you alive."
The Threadkeeper's spirit tilted its head, threads shimmering with faint amusement. "And yet, it works. Look at them — bound together, stubbornly refusing to let go. Perhaps that is strength enough."
Soon, the attic filled with the clatter of pots and the warmth of firelight. Aldi and Orie moved quickly, their seals steadying as they worked side by side. Aldi chopped herbs with swift, practiced hands, her movements sharp but calming. Orie stirred a pot over the small hearth, her braid swinging as she leaned in, steam curling around her face.
Nia joined them, her hands trembling at first, then steadying as she kneaded dough, pressing grief into rhythm. Thimble darted about, carrying bowls and spoons with quick, eager steps, while Illan balanced trays with careful precision, his expression solemn but proud.
The ancestor and Threadkeeper lingered near Ivy and Tieran, their presence heavy but oddly gentle. The ancestor's soul leaned closer, its layered voice teasing. "Hungry, are you? You wake from death's edge only to demand food. Typical of your bloodline."
The Threadkeeper's threads shimmered, weaving faintly around Ivy's wrist. "She is practical. Hunger means life. And Tieran…" It glanced at the boy, half-conscious but smiling faintly. "…he will eat too, if only to prove he still can."
Ivy managed a weak smile, her cheeks flushed with warmth. Tieran's hand twitched, brushing against hers, his lips curling faintly.
When the food was ready, the attic transformed. Bowls of steaming stew were passed around, bread torn into pieces, herbs sprinkled over the top. Aldi pressed a bowl into Tieran's hands, steadying him as he lifted the spoon with trembling fingers. Orie guided Ivy's hand, helping her scoop broth, her sternness softened into quiet care.
Nia sat close, her gaze flickering between them, grief and relief mingling in her eyes. Thimble and Illan served with quiet pride, their movements careful, reverent.
The ancestor's soul watched, its shadow flickering against the walls. "You eat together, laugh together, bleed together. Perhaps that is why the line endures, even broken."
The Threadkeeper's spirit inclined its head, threads shimmering faintly. "Threads fray, but they can be rewoven. Even in hunger, even in laughter, the weave remembers."
The attic, once trembling with catastrophe, now hummed with warmth. Steam curled upward, laughter broke through tears, and the clatter of spoons replaced the echo of seals. Ivy leaned against Tieran, her stomach full, her eyes heavy but alive. Tieran's head rested against hers, his breath steady, his seal glowing faintly.
The ancestor's gaze swept the room, its voice low, resonant. "Eat well. For the path ahead will demand more than hunger. To mend the broken line, you must face Eryndor. But tonight… you are children again. And children must be fed."
The Threadkeeper's threads shimmered, weaving faintly around them all, binding the moment into memory.
The attic had quieted, the bowls emptied, the warmth of food lingering in the air. Shadows stretched long across the griefstone walls, softened by the glow of embers in the hearth.
Ivy was the first to rise, her steps slow, her body heavy with exhaustion. Aldi steadied her, guiding her toward her small room down the hall. Ivy's lashes fluttered as she leaned against the doorway, her eyes half‑open, then closed again. A faint sigh escaped her lips as she sank onto her bed, curling beneath the blankets. Her hand lingered on the fabric, clutching it loosely as sleep claimed her.
Tieran tried to follow, but his legs faltered. Orie and Nia caught him between them, steadying his weight. His head dropped, his breath shallow but steady. They led him to his own room, laying him carefully onto the mattress. His lips moved faintly, whispering something fragile into the quiet. "…don't… let go…"
Aldi brushed damp hair from his forehead, her expression tender. Orie adjusted the blanket around him, her sternness softened into quiet care. Nia lingered at the doorway, Jaspher's book pressed against her chest, grief and relief mingling in her eyes.
The ancestor's soul stood tall in the attic, its shadow stretching across the walls. Its layered voice lowered, resonant but calm. "Rest now. At dawn, I will guide you toward Eryndor. The path will be perilous, but the line must be mended."
The Threadkeeper spirit shimmered beside it, threads weaving faintly in the air. "The weave remembers. And when dawn comes, it will lead you where memory frays."
The house fell into silence, broken only by the soft rhythm of Ivy's breathing in one room and Tieran's faint murmurs in another.
The group sat together in the glow of embers, grounded in warmth, bound by the fragile relief of survival.
Outside, the night deepened. Inside, the broken line held — for now.