The garden was quiet.
Petals rustled softly, stirred by breath and memory.
Tieran opened his eyes.
His body ached, but it was familiar—pain stitched into his bones like an old friend. He turned. Ivy lay beside him.
Still. Too still.
He sat up slowly, blood dried at the corner of his mouth, the sword pulsing faintly beside him. Nia knelt nearby, her hands glowing with soft magic.
"She's not used to pain," Tieran said, voice rough. "Not like this."
Nia looked at him, eyes full of questions.
"What happened?"
Tieran didn't flinch.
"She tried to cast. It didn't work. I broke the wall. The bond bled. She felt everything I did."
Nia's breath caught.
"She's threadsbound," Tieran added. "She didn't know how deep it ran."
Nia placed a hand on Ivy's forehead, whispering something in a language older than the forest.
The garden shimmered.
Ivy stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She saw Tieran first—bruised, bloodied, breathing.
Then Nia.
Her breath caught.
She sat up slowly, trembling.
"Are you…" she whispered.
Nia smiled, tears rising.
"I'm here."
Ivy didn't speak.
She just leaned forward—
And hugged her mother.
Nia watched Ivy and Tieran, her gaze soft but curious.
"You both fainted," she said gently. "At the same time. Why?"
Tieran glanced at Ivy.
Ivy nodded.
"It's the bond," she said. "Threadsbound. When he's in pain… I feel it."
"And when she's scared," Tieran added, "I feel it too."
Nia's eyes widened.
"You stitched yourselves together."
"Not on purpose," Ivy muttered. "It just… happened."
Nia leaned back, thoughtful.
Then she turned to Tieran.
"You've grown," she said. "Still quiet. Still stubborn."
Tieran smiled faintly. "Still chasing fireflies."
They laughed.
They talked.
Stories spilled—Orie's garden, old spells, the pact they made long ago,Things ivy couldn't understand.
Ivy watched them.
At first, quietly.
Then with a pout.
She crossed her arms.
"I'm literally the one who fainted first," she said. "And now you two are having a reunion tea party without me?"
Nia chuckled.
Tieran reached over, ruffling Ivy's hair.
"You're the storm now," he said. "We're just catching up before you take over."
Nia pulled Ivy close.
"You're my daughter," she whispered. "You're never left out."
Ivy sniffled.
Then smiled.
Nia stood at the edge of the garden, her gaze fixed on a small, still lake tucked between moss-covered stones.
"She's close," Nia said softly. "Your mother. Orie."
Tieran stepped beside her, breath catching.
"You know where?"
Nia nodded. "Beneath."
She pointed to the lake.
"The water hides a tunnel. It leads to the old dungeon. That's where they sealed her."
No more words.
Just motion.
Nia stepped into the water first, her threadsbound aura shimmering faintly.
Tieran followed.
Then Ivy.
They held their breath.
And dove.
The tunnel was narrow, stitched with glowing runes and cold silence. Ivy's fingers brushed Tieran's as they swam—his pulse steady, hers racing.
Then—
Light.
They surfaced.
The air was damp.
The walls were stone.
Chains hung like vines.
They had reached the dungeon.
And in the center—
A figure.
Bound.
Still.
Nia stepped forward, voice low but fierce.
"Let's rescue her now."
They stood in the dungeon.
Orie was there.
Or seemed to be.
Bound, still, her hair like silver moss, her body wrapped in glowing thread.
They stepped into the first chamber.
Cold.
Still.
Orie stood at the center—bound, silent, her silver hair trailing like mist.
Tieran's breath caught.
"I see her," he whispered.
Ivy reached for his arm.
But he was already moving.
He crossed the stone floor in five steps.
Reached out—
And hit something solid.
Not her.
Not air.
Stone.
The illusion shimmered.
The image of Orie flickered—then split.
One version turned to mist.
The other remained, farther away, behind a wall stitched with runes and longing.
Tieran staggered back.
"What—"
Ivy cast a clarity spell, her fingers trembling.
Light bloomed.
Then shattered.
The wall pulsed.
It wasn't just illusion.
It was memory.
Tieran saw flashes.
Orie laughing.
Orie crying.
Orie silent.
Each image stitched into the wall, layered like petals.
He reached again.
The wall pulsed.
And pushed him back.
Ivy gasped.
Her chest ached.
The bond was reacting—too much emotion, too fast.
She collapsed to her knees.
Tieran turned, panic rising.
"Ivy—"
Nia stepped forward.
Her eyes narrowed.
"This wall feeds on longing," she said. "It shows you what you want. Then traps you in it."
She raised her hands.
Her fingers glowed with threadsbound light.
She whispered:
"Let truth be seen. Let longing fall."
The runes flared.
The wall cracked.
A sound like glass breaking echoed through the chamber.
The illusion peeled away.
Behind it—
A second chamber.
Darker.
Deeper.
And Orie—
Still bound.
Still far.
Ivy stirred.
Tieran helped her up.
Nia looked at them both.
"One down," she said softly. "Two to go."
The second chamber pulsed with heat.
The walls glowed red-gold, stitched with runes that flickered like burning veins.
At the center stood the Flame Seal.
It wasn't fire.
It was emotion.
Grief, rage, longing—woven into heat, shaped into a wall.
Tieran stepped forward.
The seal responded.
Flames surged, licking his aura, whispering memories.
He saw Orie—smiling, then silent, then gone.
Pain bloomed in his chest.
Ivy gasped behind him, clutching her ribs.
The bond was bleeding again.
Tieran pressed his palm to the seal.
It flared.
His knees buckled.
Ivy screamed.
The fire fed on their connection, pulling threads of memory and pain into its core.
Nia moved.
Not rushed.
Not panicked.
But precise.
She stepped between them, her robes catching the light like woven dusk.
Her hands rose—fingers spread, palms glowing.
She whispered:
"Let grief burn clean. Let love remain."
The seal hissed.
But Nia didn't stop.
She stepped closer, her feet bare against the stone, her aura expanding like a protective tide.
She traced a sigil in the air—five strokes, each one glowing with threadsbound light.
Then she spoke again, louder:
"By the pact of blood and thread, by the garden that remembers—open."
The flames surged.
Then—
Split.
A path opened.
The heat faded.
The seal cracked.
Tieran collapsed.
Ivy fell beside him.
Nia knelt, placing a hand on each of their hearts.
She whispered a third spell—soft, like a lullaby:
"Rest, little storms. The fire has passed."
They stirred.
Breathing.
Alive.
The third chamber waited.
And at its center—
Orie.
Still bound.
Still silent.
The third chamber was silent.
No fire.
No illusion.
Just threads.
They hung from the ceiling like veins of light, pulsing faintly, woven into a maze that shimmered with spiritual power.
At the center, suspended midair—
Orie.
Bound in glowing thread.
Unmoving.
Unconscious.
Tieran stepped forward.
The threads recoiled.
A pulse of energy knocked him back.
Ivy tried to cast—her fingers sparked, her voice cracked.
The threads rejected her.
They weren't just magical.
They were spiritual.
Alive.
Nia stood still.
Her breath shallow.
Her aura flickering.
She was tired—her spells had drained her, her body ached, her hands trembled.
But she stepped forward.
The threads stirred.
They recognized her.
Not as a threat.
But as a memory.
She entered the maze.
Each step pulled at her—threads wrapping around her ankles, her wrists, her ribs.
They whispered.
Not in words.
But in feelings.
Grief.
Fear.
Love.
Loss.
She stumbled.
Her knees hit stone.
Pain surged through her chest.
Her vision blurred.
She saw Orie.
Not bound.
But laughing.
They were young—casting spells in the garden, chasing fireflies, stitching light into leaves.
Orie's voice echoed:
"If I fall, you catch me. If you fall, I carry you."
Nia gasped.
The threads tightened.
One wrapped around her throat.
Another pierced her shoulder.
She cried out.
Her aura dimmed.
She was fading.
But she didn't stop.
She crawled forward.
Each thread she touched burned her skin, but she whispered to them:
"I remember."
She saw Orie teaching her to cast with rhythm, not force.
She saw them dancing in the rain, spells stitched into their laughter.
She saw the day Orie left—silent, sealed, sacrificed.
Nia's tears fell.
She whispered:
"I'm here, Orie. I'm carrying you now."
The threads pulsed.
They trembled.
But they didn't release.
Not yet.
Nia reached the final knot.
It glowed violet—stitched with Orie's soul.
She placed her hand on it.
Her body shook.
Her breath faltered.
She whispered:
"If I die here, let it be for her."
The knot flared.
The maze shuddered.
The threads unraveled—
One by one.
Orie fell.
Not hard.
Not fast.
But gently—
Into Nia's arms.
Nia collapsed.
Her body broken.
Her aura flickering like a dying flame.
But she smiled.
"I found you," she whispered. "Even if it cost me everything."
Orie stirred.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes opened.
"Tieran?" she whispered.
He ran to her.
Ivy followed.
They knelt beside Nia and Orie.
Four threadsbound souls.
Finally together.
The garden was quiet.
Petals rustled softly, stirred by breath and memory.
Tieran opened his eyes.
His body ached, but it was familiar—pain stitched into his bones like an old friend.
He turned.
Ivy lay beside him.
Still.
Too still.
He sat up slowly, blood dried at the corner of his mouth, the sword pulsing faintly beside him.
Nia knelt nearby, her hands glowing with soft magic.
"She's not used to pain," Tieran said, voice rough. "Not like this."
Nia looked at him, eyes full of questions.
"What happened?"
Tieran didn't flinch.
"She tried to cast. It didn't work. I broke the wall. The bond bled. She felt everything I did."
Nia's breath caught.
"She's threadsbound," Tieran added. "She didn't know how deep it ran."
Nia placed a hand on Ivy's forehead, whispering something in a language older than the forest.
The garden shimmered.
Ivy stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She saw Tieran first—bruised, bloodied, breathing.
Then Nia.
Her breath caught.
She sat up slowly, trembling.
"Are you…" she whispered.
Nia smiled, tears rising.
"I'm here."
Ivy didn't speak.
She just leaned forward—
And hugged her mother.
Nia watched Ivy and Tieran, her gaze soft but curious.
"You both fainted," she said gently. "At the same time. Why?"
Tieran glanced at Ivy.
Ivy nodded.
"It's the bond," she said. "Threadsbound. When he's in pain… I feel it."
"And when she's scared," Tieran added, "I feel it too."
Nia's eyes widened.
"You stitched yourselves together."
"Not on purpose," Ivy muttered. "It just… happened."
Nia leaned back, thoughtful.
Then she turned to Tieran.
"You've grown," she said. "Still quiet. Still stubborn."
Tieran smiled faintly. "Still chasing fireflies."
They laughed.
They talked.
Stories spilled—Orie's garden, old spells, the pact they made long ago,Things ivy couldn't understand.
Ivy watched them.
At first, quietly.
Then with a pout.
She crossed her arms.
"I'm literally the one who fainted first," she said. "And now you two are having a reunion tea party without me?"
Nia chuckled.
Tieran reached over, ruffling Ivy's hair.
"You're the storm now," he said. "We're just catching up before you take over."
Nia pulled Ivy close.
"You're my daughter," she whispered. "You're never left out."
Ivy sniffled.
Then smiled.
Nia stood at the edge of the garden, her gaze fixed on a small, still lake tucked between moss-covered stones.
"She's close," Nia said softly. "Your mother. Orie."
Tieran stepped beside her, breath catching.
"You know where?"
Nia nodded. "Beneath."
She pointed to the lake.
"The water hides a tunnel. It leads to the old dungeon. That's where they sealed her."
No more words.
Just motion.
Nia stepped into the water first, her threadsbound aura shimmering faintly.
Tieran followed.
Then Ivy.
They held their breath.
And dove.
The tunnel was narrow, stitched with glowing runes and cold silence. Ivy's fingers brushed Tieran's as they swam—his pulse steady, hers racing.
Then—
Light.
They surfaced.
The air was damp.
The walls were stone.
Chains hung like vines.
They had reached the dungeon.
And in the center—
A figure.
Bound.
Still.
Nia stepped forward, voice low but fierce.
"Let's rescue her now."
They stood in the dungeon.
Orie was there.
Or seemed to be.
Bound, still, her hair like silver moss, her body wrapped in glowing thread.
They stepped into the first chamber.
Cold.
Still.
Orie stood at the center—bound, silent, her silver hair trailing like mist.
Tieran's breath caught.
"I see her," he whispered.
Ivy reached for his arm.
But he was already moving.
He crossed the stone floor in five steps.
Reached out—
And hit something solid.
Not her.
Not air.
Stone.
The illusion shimmered.
The image of Orie flickered—then split.
One version turned to mist.
The other remained, farther away, behind a wall stitched with runes and longing.
Tieran staggered back.
"What—"
Ivy cast a clarity spell, her fingers trembling.
Light bloomed.
Then shattered.
The wall pulsed.
It wasn't just illusion.
It was memory.
Tieran saw flashes.
Orie laughing.
Orie crying.
Orie silent.
Each image stitched into the wall, layered like petals.
He reached again.
The wall pulsed.
And pushed him back.
Ivy gasped.
Her chest ached.
The bond was reacting—too much emotion, too fast.
She collapsed to her knees.
Tieran turned, panic rising.
"Ivy—"
Nia stepped forward.
Her eyes narrowed.
"This wall feeds on longing," she said. "It shows you what you want. Then traps you in it."
She raised her hands.
Her fingers glowed with threadsbound light.
She whispered:
"Let truth be seen. Let longing fall."
The runes flared.
The wall cracked.
A sound like glass breaking echoed through the chamber.
The illusion peeled away.
Behind it—
A second chamber.
Darker.
Deeper.
And Orie—
Still bound.
Still far.
Ivy stirred.
Tieran helped her up.
Nia looked at them both.
"One down," she said softly. "Two to go."
The second chamber pulsed with heat.
The walls glowed red-gold, stitched with runes that flickered like burning veins.
At the center stood the Flame Seal.
It wasn't fire.
It was emotion.
Grief, rage, longing—woven into heat, shaped into a wall.
Tieran stepped forward.
The seal responded.
Flames surged, licking his aura, whispering memories.
He saw Orie—smiling, then silent, then gone.
Pain bloomed in his chest.
Ivy gasped behind him, clutching her ribs.
The bond was bleeding again.
Tieran pressed his palm to the seal.
It flared.
His knees buckled.
Ivy screamed.
The fire fed on their connection, pulling threads of memory and pain into its core.
Nia moved.
Not rushed.
Not panicked.
But precise.
She stepped between them, her robes catching the light like woven dusk.
Her hands rose—fingers spread, palms glowing.
She whispered:
"Let grief burn clean. Let love remain."
The seal hissed.
But Nia didn't stop.
She stepped closer, her feet bare against the stone, her aura expanding like a protective tide.
She traced a sigil in the air—five strokes, each one glowing with threadsbound light.
Then she spoke again, louder:
"By the pact of blood and thread, by the garden that remembers—open."
The flames surged.
Then—
Split.
A path opened.
The heat faded.
The seal cracked.
Tieran collapsed.
Ivy fell beside him.
Nia knelt, placing a hand on each of their hearts.
She whispered a third spell—soft, like a lullaby:
"Rest, little storms. The fire has passed."
They stirred.
Breathing.
Alive.
The third chamber waited.
And at its center—
Orie.
Still bound.
Still silent.
The third chamber was silent.
No fire.
No illusion.
Just threads.
They hung from the ceiling like veins of light, pulsing faintly, woven into a maze that shimmered with spiritual power.
At the center, suspended midair—
Orie.
Bound in glowing thread.
Unmoving.
Unconscious.
Tieran stepped forward.
The threads recoiled.
A pulse of energy knocked him back.
Ivy tried to cast—her fingers sparked, her voice cracked.
The threads rejected her.
They weren't just magical.
They were spiritual.
Alive.
Nia stood still.
Her breath shallow.
Her aura flickering.
She was tired—her spells had drained her, her body ached, her hands trembled.
But she stepped forward.
The threads stirred.
They recognized her.
Not as a threat.
But as a memory.
She entered the maze.
Each step pulled at her—threads wrapping around her ankles, her wrists, her ribs.
They whispered.
Not in words.
But in feelings.
Grief.
Fear.
Love.
Loss.
She stumbled.
Her knees hit stone.
Pain surged through her chest.
Her vision blurred.
She saw Orie.
Not bound.
But laughing.
They were young—casting spells in the garden, chasing fireflies, stitching light into leaves.
Orie's voice echoed:
"If I fall, you catch me. If you fall, I carry you."
Nia gasped.
The threads tightened.
One wrapped around her throat.
Another pierced her shoulder.
She cried out.
Her aura dimmed.
She was fading.
But she didn't stop.
She crawled forward.
Each thread she touched burned her skin, but she whispered to them:
"I remember."
She saw Orie teaching her to cast with rhythm, not force.
She saw them dancing in the rain, spells stitched into their laughter.
She saw the day Orie left—silent, sealed, sacrificed.
Nia's tears fell.
She whispered:
"I'm here, Orie. I'm carrying you now."
The threads pulsed.
They trembled.
But they didn't release.
Not yet.
Nia reached the final knot.
It glowed violet—stitched with Orie's soul.
She placed her hand on it.
Her body shook.
Her breath faltered.
She whispered:
"If I die here, let it be for her."
The knot flared.
The maze shuddered.
The threads unraveled—
One by one.
Orie fell.
Not hard.
Not fast.
But gently—
Into Nia's arms.
Nia collapsed.
Her body broken.
Her aura flickering like a dying flame.
But she smiled.
"I found you," she whispered. "Even if it cost me everything."
Orie stirred.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes opened.
"Tieran?" she whispered.
He ran to her.
Ivy followed.
They knelt beside Nia and Orie.
Four threadsbound souls.
Finally together.