The grief walls pulsed.
Not with light. Not with sound. But with recognition.
They stood tall before Ivy and Tieran—etched with sigils that shimmered like breath on glass, their surface rippling faintly as if stitched from water and memory.
Ivy stepped forward first.
Her boots pressed into moss that glowed faintly beneath her. Her fingers trembled, but her gaze was steady. Tieran followed, silent, his seal pulsing low and steady, his silver-streaked hair catching the light like a blade.
Thimble trailed behind, chewing nervously on the last of his carrot. "Okay, this is new," he muttered. "They don't usually pulse. They usually just… open."
Ivy reached out.
Her fingers brushed the wall.
It was warm.
Not like stone. Not like magic.
Like skin. Like something alive.
Tieran touched it too.
And the moment their palms met the surface—
The walls shuddered.
A pulse of light surged outward, wrapping around them like a thread pulled tight. The forest behind them blurred. The trees bent. The moss lifted.
Thimble yelped, ears flailing. "I didn't sign up for teleportation!"
Then—
pull.
Not a push. Not a step.
A pull.
Like being yanked through a thread of memory.
The world twisted.
The light fractured.
And suddenly—
They were somewhere else.
The air was thick with fog.
Not mist. Not smoke.
Fog.
Dense. Heavy. Silver-white and stitched with silence.
Ivy stumbled forward, coughing.
Tieran caught her elbow, steadying her.
Thimble landed in a heap beside them, ears tangled, eyes wide.
"Okay," he said, voice high and panicked. "This is definitely not the grief well."
They looked around.
No trees. No moss. No sigils.
Just fog.
Endless. Shifting. Alive.
Ivy's seal pulsed erratically.
Tieran's breath was shallow.
Thimble's ears twitched like radar.
"What is this place?" Ivy whispered.
Tieran didn't answer.
He was staring into the fog.
Because somewhere in the distance—
Something was moving.
The fog was thick.
Silver-white. Dense. Alive.
It clung to Ivy's skin like breath, curling around her boots, her fingers, her seal. Every step forward felt like walking through stitched silence—soft, heavy, and watching.
Tieran moved beside her, steady and silent. His boots pressed into the moss with quiet weight, his straight-black hair catching the faint glow that pulsed through the fog like a heartbeat. His seal was calm. Controlled. Sealed.
But Ivy could feel him.
Through the bond.
Not his thoughts. Not his words. Just the shape of him.
Still. Unmoved. Present.
Thimble stumbled behind them, ears twitching wildly.
"Okay," he said, voice high and nervous. "This is definitely not the grief well. This is something else. Something older.
The fog began to fade.
Not all at once.
Slowly.
Like a curtain being drawn back.
And what it revealed—
Was a city.
Not ruins. Not stone.
A city stitched from shadow and light.
No sun. No moon.
Just a soft, ambient glow that seemed to come from the buildings themselves—tall, narrow structures made of glass and memory, their windows flickering with scenes Ivy couldn't quite see.
The streets were empty.
But not silent.
There was a hum.
Low. Steady. Like breath.
Thimble stopped walking.
His ears drooped.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I know this place," he said. "This is the ghost city. Where the dead rest. Where memory sleeps. Where the afterlife waits."
Ivy froze.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers trembled.
She turned to Tieran, eyes wide.
"Ghosts?"
Tieran didn't speak.
But Ivy felt it—her own fear, pulsing through the bond like a storm.
She reached for him.
Gripped his arm.
Held on.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Just stood there, steady and silent.
But the bond pulsed.
And Ivy knew he felt it.
Her fear. Her ache. Her need.
It was awkward now.
They had confessed.
They had said the words.
And now every touch felt louder.
Every glance felt stitched with meaning.
Ivy looked away, cheeks flushed.
Tieran didn't react.
His emotions were sealed.
Still.
Unchanged.
But she felt the echo of something.
Buried.
Waiting.
Thimble hopped forward, voice hushed.
"We're not supposed to be here. Not yet. Not alive."
Ivy stepped closer to Tieran.
Her fingers curled into his sleeve.
"I don't want to see ghosts."
Tieran looked at her.
His eyes were calm.
But his seal pulsed—just once.
Soft.
Like a heartbeat beneath ice.
"I'm here," he said.
She nodded.
Didn't let go.
They stood at the edge of the ghost city.
The buildings shimmered.
The streets pulsed.
Tieran stood still for a moment, scanning the street ahead. His posture was sharp—shoulders squared, arms loose at his sides, boots planted like he was ready to fight or flee. Hiss hair caught the ambient glow, casting faint reflections across his cheekbones.
Ivy was beside him, her breath shallow, her fingers curled into the edge of his sleeve. Her voice was gone—not stolen, just… buried. Somewhere beneath the thudding of her heart.
Thimble hovered behind them, ears twitching like antennae. He clutched his satchel tightly, eyes darting between buildings.
"Okay," he whispered. "This is definitely the ghost city. And we are definitely not supposed to be here."
They began to walk.
Slowly.
Cautiously.
Their boots pressed into the glowing stones with soft clicks, each step echoing faintly in the stillness.
And then—
They saw them.
Ghosts.
Everywhere.
Not floating. Not moaning. Just… walking.
Like people.
Like echoes.
Some looked fine—whole, dressed in elegant robes or simple tunics, their faces calm, their eyes distant. Old men with silver beards. Young girls with flowers in their hair. Couples holding hands. Children skipping silently.
Others were broken.
One man had no arm—just a flickering thread where it used to be. A woman walked with half a face, her smile stitched into shadow. A child floated forward with no legs, her body trailing mist. Some had no eyes. No ears. No hands. Some were just heads—hovering, blinking, whispering.
Ivy stopped walking.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers tightened on Tieran's sleeve.
He turned to her, expression unreadable.
But through the bond—
He felt it.
Her fear. Her ache. Her need.
She didn't speak.
Couldn't.
Her voice was buried beneath the weight of what she was seeing.
Tieran didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Just stood there, steady and silent.
But Ivy stepped closer.
Pressed her body against his arm.
Held on.
She felt safe.
And shy.
All at once.
Her cheeks flushed. Her heart fluttered. Her fingers trembled.
Tieran felt it.
Through the bond.
Not the words.
Just the pulse.
He didn't react.
His emotions were sealed.
Still.
Unchanged.
But Ivy felt the echo of something.
Buried.
Waiting.
Thimble whispered, "Don't stare. They don't like being stared at."
Ivy nodded.
Didn't let go.
They kept walking.
The ghosts didn't speak.
Didn't look.
Just moved.
Like memories on repeat.
The air was thick.
Not with scent.
But with feeling.
Grief. Regret. Love. Loss.
It clung to Ivy's skin like breath.
It pressed against Tieran's seal like a test.
It made Thimble sneeze.
They turned a corner.
And saw a building that shimmered differently.
Brighter.
Older.
Waiting.
The ghost city pulsed around them.
Silent. Breathing. Watching.
Ivy clung to Tieran's sleeve, her fingers curled tight, her breath shallow. The streets were lined with ghosts—some whole, some broken, some barely stitched together. The air was thick with memory, and every step felt like walking through someone else's grief.
Tieran moved like a shadow—calm, precise, unreadable. His seal pulsed low and steady.
He didn't speak. But Ivy felt him through the bond. Felt his steadiness. His silence. His restraint.
Thimble was twitching.
His ears flopped with every step, his eyes darting between buildings, his satchel clutched like a lifeline.
Then—
They saw it.
A building tucked between two towers.
Shabby. Crooked. Flickering.
It looked like it had been stitched together from leftover bricks and forgotten wood. The sign above the door was faded, the letters barely legible:
"Library of the Unfinished."
Tieran didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward, boots clicking against the glowing stones.
Ivy blinked. "Wait—Tieran?"
But he was already pushing the door open.
Thimble squeaked. "Oh no. Libraries in ghost cities are never safe."
Ivy followed.
Because Tieran had gone in.
Because the bond tugged.
Because she couldn't be alone out here.
The door creaked open.
And the air changed.
Inside—
No ghosts.
No flickering memories.
Just dust.
And silence.
And books.
Shelves stretched upward, crooked and uneven, filled with tomes that pulsed faintly—like they were breathing. The floor was warped wood, the ceiling stitched from paper and thread. Candles floated in the air, flickering with soft, steady light.
And at the far end—
A desk.
Covered in scrolls, ink pots, and a half-eaten sandwich.
Behind it—
A woman.
Middle-aged.
Hair in a messy bun. Glasses perched on her nose. Ink stains on her fingers.
She didn't look up.
Didn't flinch.
Just spoke.
"So," she said, voice dry and bored. "Rebirth, past life, or revenge on your killers?"
Ivy froze.
Thimble gasped.
Tieran raised an eyebrow.
The woman continued, still not looking up. "No tabs. Cash payment. No refunds. Terms and conditions apply."
Then—
She turned.
And stopped.
Her eyes widened.
Her breath caught.
She stared.
"You're… alive."
Ivy blinked.
Thimble squeaked.
Tieran didn't move.
The woman stood slowly, her chair creaking.
She stepped around the desk, eyes scanning them like they were artifacts.
"Humans," she whispered. "In this city. Impossible."
She reached out, touched Ivy's cheek.
Warm.
Real.
"No human can enter again," she said. "Not after those two lads. No way."
Ivy's voice finally returned.
"Who were they?"
The woman stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wild animal.
She touched Ivy's cheek.
Warm.
Real.
"No human can enter again," she whispered. "Not after those two."
Ivy's voice was soft. "Who?"
The woman's eyes darkened.
"Orie and Nia."
Silence.
The library pulsed.
"They came here," she said. "Years ago. Broke every rule. Changed the laws. Ruled the city for a time. Left behind magic. Discovered secrets. And then… they left."
She turned, walked to a shelf, pulled out a book.
It glowed faintly.
She opened it.
Inside—
Two names.
Etched in silver.
Orie. Nia.
Tieran stepped forward.
His voice was low. "They're our mothers."
The woman gasped.
Staggered back.
Her glasses slipped down her nose.
She stared at Tieran.
Then Ivy.
Then Thimble, who waved awkwardly.
"No wonder," she whispered. "No wonder you look like storms."
The candles flickered.
The books pulsed.
And somewhere deep in the library—
A door unlocked itself.
The door behind the librarian creaked open.
Not like wood.
Like memory.
It didn't swing—it unfolded, layer by layer, revealing a passage stitched from candlelight and shadow. The air shifted. The dust paused. Even the floating books seemed to lean in.
Ivy's breath caught.
Tieran's seal pulsed.
Thimble muttered something about cursed architecture and clutched his satchel tighter.
The librarian—still unnamed—gestured toward the door.
"You should see it," she said. "What they left behind."
Tieran stepped forward first.
His boots pressed into the glowing floor with quiet weight. His posture was sharp—shoulders squared, arms loose, eyes unreadable. But Ivy felt it through the bond.
Curiosity. Ache. A pulse of something buried.
Ivy followed, her fingers brushing the edge of Tieran's sleeve. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her seal pulsing erratically. She didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just walked.
Thimble trailed behind, ears twitching like antennae, eyes wide.
The passage opened into a realm.
Not a room.
Not a hall.
A realm.
The ceiling vanished.
The walls dissolved.
And suddenly—
They were standing in a castle stitched from stormlight and shadow.
The sky above was dark.
No sun. No moon.
Just swirling clouds that pulsed with silver and violet light, casting reflections across the marble floor like dancing sigils.
The castle towers stretched upward, crooked and wild, their spires etched with grief runes and casting threads. Vines of emberlight curled around the pillars, glowing faintly.
The air was thick with magic.
Old. Untamed. Alive.
Ivy stopped walking.
Her jaw dropped.
Her fingers trembled.
Her eyes shimmered.
"I can't believe our mothers were that wild," she whispered.
Tieran didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Just stared.
"But I do," he said.
His voice was low.
Steady.
But Ivy felt it.
Through the bond.
Pride. Recognition. A pulse of belonging.
Then—
A figure stepped forward.
From the shadows.
A woman.
Tall. Elegant. Wrapped in robes stitched from fog and thread.
Her hair was silver-black, her eyes sharp and kind. She moved like someone who had danced with ghosts and argued with gods.
She smiled.
"Pardon me," she said, voice warm and amused. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Aldi. Your mothers' confidant in the ghost city."
She bowed slightly.
"Or, if you prefer… your godaunt."
Ivy blinked.
Tieran raised an eyebrow.
Thimble squeaked.
Aldi stepped closer.
Her robes shimmered.
Her presence pulsed.
"They ruled this realm," she said. "Changed the laws. Broke the rules. Discovered secrets. And left behind a legacy stitched into the bones of this city."
She turned.
Gestured to the castle.
"This is what they built. What they protected. What they left for you."
Ivy stepped forward.
Her boots clicked against the marble.
Her fingers brushed a vine of emberlight.
It pulsed beneath her touch.
Tieran followed.
His seal pulsed.
His breath was steady.
But Ivy felt it.
Through the bond.
Awe. Ache. A flicker of grief.
Thimble sat on a step, ears drooping.
"I need a minute," he muttered. "This is a lot."
Aldi smiled.
"You haven't seen anything yet."
The castle didn't feel like a building.
It felt like a being.
The moment Ivy and Tieran stepped past the threshold, the air shifted—thickening, humming, pressing against their skin like a second heartbeat. The marble beneath their boots pulsed faintly, silver veins glowing beneath the surface. The walls shimmered with threads of light, casting reflections that danced like memories.
Above them, the sky swirled—dark, moonless, stitched with violet clouds that moved like breath. There was no wind, yet Ivy's hair lifted gently, as if the realm itself was reaching for her.
Tieran walked first.
His boots clicked against the marble—sharp, deliberate, steady. His posture was precise, shoulders squared, arms loose at his sides. But Ivy felt it through the bond.
A pulse. A tremor. A flicker of something buried.
Ivy followed, her fingers brushing the edge of Tieran's sleeve. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her seal pulsing erratically. She didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just walked.
Her eyes were wide, shimmering with awe and disbelief.
Thimble trailed behind, ears twitching like antennae, eyes darting between the glowing pillars and floating sigils. He muttered something about cursed architecture and legacy drama, but his voice was drowned by the weight of the room.
Aldi—the librarian, the godaunt—walked beside them now, her robes trailing mist, her presence pulsing with quiet authority.
"They built this," she said softly. "Orie and Nia. Not with stone. With memory. With grief. With love."
They reached the center of the hall.
A circular platform.
Etched with two names.
Orie. Nia.
The moment Tieran stepped onto it—
The castle shuddered.
Not violently.
Just… deeply.
Like a breath held too long.
Light surged from the floor, wrapping around his boots, his legs, his chest. His seal pulsed—wild, chaotic, resisting.
Ivy gasped, stepping forward.
The light reached for her too.
And then—
The castle spoke.
Not in words.
In feeling.
The walls pulsed.
The air thickened.
And a voice—soft, stitched from wind and memory—echoed through the hall.
"Heirs."
Ivy staggered.
Tieran froze.
Thimble dropped his satchel.
The light wrapped around Ivy's arms, her chest, her seal. It pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, glowing brighter with every breath.
Tieran's seal cracked.
Just a little.
Just enough.
Aldi smiled.
"They've accepted you."
Ivy's voice was barely a whisper. "Us?"
Aldi nodded. "You are their blood. Their bond. Their unfinished spell."
Tieran stepped forward.
His eyes were wide.
His breath shallow.
But his posture remained steady.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
Aldi turned to him.
"It means the trials will begin. The memories will awaken. And your seal—" she paused, eyes narrowing, "—will break."
Ivy reached for Tieran's hand.
He took it.
Their fingers touched—soft, tentative, electric.
The castle pulsed again.
Brighter.
Louder.
Alive.
And somewhere deep beneath the marble—
A door unlocked itself.
There are places that do not sleep. They wait.
Not for footsteps— but for blood. For names whispered through sealed hearts. For the pulse of inheritance.
This castle was not built. It was woven. From grief. From stormlight. From the unfinished magic of Orie and Nia.
And now— it breathes again.Because Ivy and Tieran have arrived. Not as intruders. But as heirs.