The Sitting Room
Ivy sat curled on the couch, legs tucked under her, sipping ginger tea from a chipped mug.
Nia sat beside her, flipping through an old spellbook, though her eyes weren't really reading.
Ivy glanced toward the hallway."They've been in there a while."
Nia hummed."They needed to talk."
Ivy frowned.
"About what?"
Nia didn't answer.Not directly.She turned a page.Her fingers trembled slightly.
"They're stitching through old wounds," she said. "Some threads take longer to untangle."
Ivy looked at her.
Nia's face was calm.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were waiting.
The Study
Orie stood stiffly by the window, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Tieran sat on the edge of the desk, eyes shadowed, voice low.
"There's more," he said.
Orie didn't move.
"I didn't know at first," Tieran continued. "But I was being poisoned. Slowly. Over years."
Orie turned.
"What?"
"Subtle. Just enough to dull me. To weaken my casting. To make me forget things. I thought it was exhaustion from the war."
Orie's voice was ice.
"Zeyn?"
Tieran nodded.
"He wanted me erased. Not just stitched. Faded."
Orie stepped closer.
Her voice cracked.
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't care," Tieran said. "Not until Ivy."
Orie blinked.
"What does she have to do with this?"
Tieran looked up.
"She's bound to me now. Through the threads. Through the seal."
Orie's breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"If my seal ruptures," Tieran said, "she'll feel it. If I'm poisoned again—if the threads destabilize—she'll feel that too."
Orie stared at him.
"You mean—"
"She's in danger. Because of me."
Silence.
Orie turned away.
Her hands trembled.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"She's just a girl."
"She's threadsbound," Tieran said. "She's more than that."
The Sitting Room
Ivy laughed softly.
Nia smiled.
But her fingers gripped the edge of the book too tightly.
Ivy looked toward the hallway again.
"They're not just talking, are they?"
Nia closed the book.
"No," she said. "They're remembering."
And somewhere in the study, a thread slipped.
And Ivy's name was stitched into the storm.
The door creaked open.
Orie stepped out first, her face unreadable.
Tieran followed, slower, his eyes shadowed, stitched with something Ivy couldn't name.
Ivy stood from the couch.
She crossed the room in three quick steps.
"Tieran," she said, voice sharp with worry. "What happened?"
He didn't answer.
Just looked at her.
"Tieran," she repeated. "Tell me."
Still silence.
Ivy's jaw clenched.
Her voice dropped.
"You promised me."
Tieran blinked.
"What?"
"You said," Ivy whispered, "if I opened the portal, you'd let me restore your emotions."
He looked away.
"Well, I've opened it," she said. "Twice."
She turned before he could speak.
Storming toward the shelves.
"I'm finding the spellbooks," she muttered. "I'm doing it now."
Tieran watched her go.
His hand twitched at his side.
But he didn't stop her.
Orie moved to the window, arms crossed.
Nia joined her, quieter than usual.
"She's determined," Nia said.
"She's stitched to him now," Orie replied. "She feels what he won't say."
They watched Ivy pull books from the shelf, flipping pages with frantic fingers.
"We did everything to protect them," Orie said. "Both of them."
"I know," Nia whispered.
"But it didn't turn out right."
Nia nodded.
"I regret leaving."
"So do I."
Orie's voice cracked.
"We thought distance would keep them safe. But it only made them vulnerable."
Nia placed a hand on her shoulder.
"They're stronger than we were."
Orie looked at Ivy.
At Tieran.
At the thread between them.
"They'll need to be."
Ivy found the book.
Her eyes lit up.
She turned to Tieran.
"I found it."
He didn't move.
But something flickered in his eyes.
And somewhere in the attic, a thread slipped again.
Ivy sat cross-legged on the attic floor, surrounded by open spellbooks and scattered parchment.
Her fingers hovered over one particular book.
The one that had once whispered warnings.
The one that had flared with light when the seal cracked.
She reached for it.
It pulsed under her touch.
"I need answers," she whispered. "You know things. You've seen things."
The book didn't respond.
Not yet.
Nia walked in, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.
She saw the book.
Sighed.
"Oh stars, not you again."
She plucked it from Ivy's hands like a misbehaving kitten.
"You're causing trouble again," she said, tapping the spine.
The book shivered.
Literally.
A soft voice echoed from its pages:
"S-sorry, Master."
Ivy blinked.
"You called Mom master?"
The book creaked open slowly, like a child peeking through a door.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just… I only speak when the threads tremble."
Orie entered, watching the scene unfold.
She smiled faintly.
"You've never told her, have you?"
Ivy looked up.
"Told me what?"
Orie walked over, crouched beside the book.
Ran her fingers along its spine.
The pages fluttered like feathers.
"This book," Orie said softly, "isn't just enchanted."
Ivy leaned in.
"What is it?"
"It's our book spirit," Orie said. "Bound to us. Stitched into the threads years ago."
The book glowed faintly.
"I serve the threadsbound," it said. "I watch. I warn. I remember."
Ivy stared.
"You're alive?"
"In a way," the book replied. "I'm memory. I'm voice. I'm stitched to your story now."
Nia sighed.
"He's dramatic. But useful."
The book flared again.
"I am loyal!"
"You are nosy," Nia muttered.
Orie smiled.
"He's scared. He knows what's coming."
Ivy looked at the book.
Then at Orie.
Then at Tieran, still silent by the doorway.
And somewhere in the attic, the threads trembled again.
The attic was a mess of parchment and half-opened spellbooks.
Ivy stood in the middle of it all, hair wild, sleeves rolled up, and fury in her eyes.
The speaking book hovered midair, fluttering its pages nervously.
"You," Ivy snapped, pointing at it like it had personally ruined her breakfast. "You've caused so much trouble."
The book wobbled.
"I—I was only trying to help—"
The attic pulsed.
Not with light.
But with memory.
Ivy's hand hovered over the book, its pages trembling like wings caught in wind.
Then—
A flare.
A shimmer.
A sound like threads snapping and reweaving.
The book rose into the air.
Spun once.
Twice.
And burst into light.
When the glow faded, a man stood in its place.
Old.
Tall.
Draped in layered robes stitched with ink and thread.
His beard was long, silver and braided.
His mustache curled like spellwork.
His eyes were deep—like he'd seen centuries and remembered every one.
Ivy stumbled back.
"What—"
The man bowed low.
His voice was warm, crackling like firewood.
"Master Nia," he said. "Empress Orie."
Nia blinked.
"Oh stars."
Orie narrowed her eyes.
"You haven't used those names in decades."
The man straightened.
"I haven't had a body in decades."
Ivy stared.
"You're the book?"
He turned to her.
Smiled gently.
"I was the book. I am the memory. I am the threadkeeper."
Nia stepped forward.
"You stitched yourself into the binding?"
He nodded.
"To protect the seal. To watch over the threadsbound. To serve the vow you made."
Orie's voice was quiet.
"You remember the vow?"
"I remember everything," he said. "Even what you tried to forget."
The attic went still.
The thread trembled.
And Ivy, standing between them all, felt the pulse of something ancient.
Something stitched into her story long before she was born.
Ivy blinked.
Hard.
Then pointed.
At Orie.
At the man.
At the air.
"Wait," she said. "Wait wait wait—can someone please tell me what's going on?"
She turned to Orie, eyes wide.
"Why did the old book call you Empress?"
Nia sighed.
Orie didn't flinch.
"Because," Nia said gently, "she is."
Ivy stared.
"You're joking."
Orie raised an eyebrow.
"I don't joke about crowns."
Ivy pointed again.
"Aunt Orie is the Empress?"
Orie nodded.
"Was. Still is. Technically."
Ivy spun toward Tieran.
Then pointed at him.
"Then you—?"
Tieran met her eyes.
His voice was quiet.
"I was the Crown Prince."
Ivy's mouth dropped open.
"You were—were?"
He nodded.
" AYear ago."
Ivy threw her hands up.
"Okay. Nope. Someone sit down and explain this to me like I'm five and just walked into a royal soap opera."
Nia chuckled softly.
Orie sighed.
Tieran looked away.
And the old man—the book spirit—gestured toward the sitting cushions.
"Perhaps," he said, "we should begin at the beginning."
Everyone sits ready to explain everything to Ivy