The Realm of the Unseen was quiet now.
Not still.
Just… listening.
The sky above swirled in slow spirals, stitched from stormlight and shadow. The platform beneath Ivy and Tieran shimmered faintly, threads of light curling upward like vines. The air was thick—not with magic, but with ache. The kind that hums beneath the skin.
Tieran knelt.
His breath shallow.
His fingers curled into the marble.
His seal—gone.
His power—returned.
But his body—
burning.
The poison wasn't loud.
It didn't scream.
It sang.
Low. Steady. Cruel.
His veins pulsed with it.
Silver-black. Threaded. Ancient.
Ivy knelt beside him.
Her fingers on his shoulder.
Her breath—ragged.
Her seal—flickering.
Her skin—damp with sweat.
She felt it.
Through the bond.
Every pulse.
Every tremor.
Every sting.
Tieran gasped.
His back arched.
His eyes wide.
His jaw clenched.
"I can feel everything," he whispered. "Every thread. Every breath. Every cut."
Ivy's fingers trembled.
She pressed her palm to his chest.
His heartbeat was wild.
Erratic.
Alive.
"You're burning," she said. "It's in your blood."
Tieran nodded.
His voice cracked.
"I thought the seals were the cage. But this—this is the cost."
The platform pulsed.
The realm shimmered.
And the poison surged.
Ivy cried out.
Her body convulsed.
Her seal flickered.
Her breath hitched.
She collapsed beside him.
Their foreheads touched.
Their fingers tangled.
Their pain—mirrored.
"I'm sorry," Tieran whispered. "You shouldn't feel this."
Ivy shook her head.
Her voice was soft.
"I choose to."
The air thickened.
The light dimmed.
And the realm—
Held them.
Not as heirs.
Not as casters.
But as us.
Tieran's power surged.
His strength returned.
But his body—
Still poisoned.
Still burning.
Still bound.
Ivy's seal pulsed.
Her breath steadied.
But her skin—
Still aching.
Still trembling.
Still with him.
They didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just breathed.
Together.
And somewhere deep beneath the marble—
A new thread stirred.
Not stitched from memory.
But from healing.
The Realm of the Unseen was quiet now.
The sky above no longer swirled—it hovered, stitched in soft spirals of silver and dusk-violet. The platform beneath them pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat slowing after a sprint. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and old magic, but the sharpness had dulled. The pain had receded.
Tieran knelt, one hand pressed to the marble, the other glowing faintly with silver light. His fingers trembled, but the cast held—woven from instinct, memory, and something deeper.
A healing thread.
Not to cure.
But to contain.
The poison still pulsed in his veins—slow, coiled, waiting.
But the pain had dulled.
Suppressed.
Ivy sat beside him, her back against his, her breath syncing with his in slow, uneven waves. Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her cheeks, her seal flickering like a candle in wind.
But she was upright.
Breathing.
Present.
She turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing his shoulder.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Tieran didn't answer right away.
He stared at his hand, still faintly glowing.
Then let the cast fade.
"Healing thread," he said. "A suppression weave. Temporary."
Ivy blinked.
"You know healing casts?"
Tieran gave a tired smile.
"Remember who my mother was?"
Ivy's lips parted.
"Oh."
He nodded.
"Orie. Strongest threadbound in the world. Or… she used to be."
He flexed his fingers.
Watched the light fade.
"I couldn't use it before. Not with the seal. It was like trying to cast with gloves on. No—like trying to feel with gloves on."
Ivy studied him.
Her eyes soft.
Searching.
"And now?"
He looked at her.
Met her gaze.
"I feel everything."
She nodded.
Then hesitated.
"Can you… cure it? The poison?"
Tieran's smile faded.
He looked down.
Shook his head.
"Not unless I know what it is," he said. "I can't cast against something I can't name."
Silence.
The realm pulsed.
A low, steady hum.
Ivy's brow furrowed.
She looked around.
The platform.
The sky.
The empty air.
"Wait," she said. "Where are—?"
Tieran's eyes widened.
He stood too fast, staggered, caught himself.
"Aldi."
Ivy pushed herself up.
"Thimble."
They turned in a slow circle.
The realm stretched around them—vast, surreal, stitched from floating platforms and memory trees. But the others were gone.
No footsteps. No voices. No pulse.
Tieran's jaw clenched.
His seal pulsed.
He reached out with his hand, casting a locator thread—thin, silver, flickering.
It vanished into the air.
No response.
"They're not nearby," he said.
Ivy's voice was tight.
"Then where?"
Tieran didn't answer.
He just looked at the horizon.
Where the realm bent into itself.
Where the unseen still waited.
The platform beneath them dimmed.
The light that once pulsed like a heartbeat now flickered—erratic, uncertain. The sky above had unraveled into a tangle of black threads, coiling and uncoiling like serpents. The realm no longer shimmered with memory. It twisted.
Ivy stood first.
Her legs shook.
Her boots scraped against the marble, now cracked and veined with red.
She reached down, offering her hand.
Tieran took it.
His grip was firm, but his breath was shallow.
"We need to move," Ivy said.
Her voice was hoarse.
The bond still hummed with residual ache.
Tieran nodded.
He looked around.
The floating platforms were gone.
The memory trees had withered into ash.
Only corridors remained—narrow, shifting, stitched from stone and thread.
They walked.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The walls pulsed with faint sigils—some familiar, some wrong.
The floor beneath them changed with every step—marble to moss to bone.
The air was thick with silence.
Not peace.
Omission.
They turned a corner.
Another.
Another.
And found themselves—
Back where they started.
Ivy stopped.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes wide.
"This is the same platform," she whispered. "The same cracks. The same dust."
Tieran's jaw clenched.
He looked up.
The sky was still tangled.
The realm was folding in on itself.
"It's a maze," he said. "Or worse. A loop."
Ivy turned to him.
"What do we do?"
Tieran stepped forward.
Raised his hand.
His seal pulsed.
"I'll cast a pathfinder," he said. "But I'll need your help."
Ivy nodded.
She stepped beside him.
Their hands touched.
Their seals aligned.
Tieran began the thread.
Silver light spiraled from his fingers.
Ivy followed—her thread thinner, softer, but steady.
Until—
A flicker.
A tremor.
A slip.
Ivy's thread tangled.
Just slightly.
But enough.
The cast snapped.
The air shattered.
A rupture.
A pull.
A fall.
They didn't scream.
There wasn't time.
Just—
Darkness.
They landed hard.
Stone. Wet. Cold.
No light.
No sky.
No realm.
Just—
A cave.
The air was thick.
Metallic.
Wet.
The walls pulsed.
Not with magic.
With blood.
Ivy gasped.
Her hands scraped against the floor—slick, sticky.
She couldn't see.
Only feel.
Tieran groaned.
His breath ragged.
His fingers curled into the stone.
"Ivy," he called.
His voice echoed.
Too loud.
Too alone.
"I'm here," she whispered.
Her voice shook.
They crawled toward each other.
Hands outstretched.
Fingers brushing.
The bond pulsed.
Dim.
But present.
Tieran's hand found hers.
Held it.
Tight.
"This isn't memory," he said.
Ivy nodded.
Even though he couldn't see it.
"I know."
The cave pulsed.
The blood dripped.
And somewhere in the dark—
Something moved.
The cave pulsed.
Not with magic.
With rot.
The air was thick—wet, metallic, sour. Ivy gagged as they walked, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other gripping Tieran's sleeve. Her boots squelched against the floor, slick with something she didn't want to name. The walls were veined with black-red threads, pulsing faintly like veins. The ceiling dripped.
Bones littered the path.
Not scattered.
Arranged.
Skulls stacked like altars. Ribs curled like cages. A spine stitched into the wall like a warning.
Ivy stumbled.
Her breath hitched.
Her seal flickered.
"I hate this," she whispered. "I hate this."
Tieran didn't speak.
He just moved closer.
His arm wrapped around her shoulders, firm and steady. His seal pulsed—low, protective, anchoring.
"I've got you," he said.
They kept walking.
Slow.
Careful.
And then—
The lake.
It wasn't water.
It was blood.
Dark. Thick. Still.
The surface shimmered faintly, reflecting nothing but red. At the edge, half-submerged—
A man.
Barely breathing.
His robes were torn, soaked in blood and thread. His chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic waves. His fingers twitched. His eyes were closed.
Ivy gasped.
Tieran knelt.
He pressed two fingers to the man's neck.
A pulse.
Faint.
"Ivy," he said. "Help me cast."
She nodded.
Knees trembling.
Hands shaking.
Together, they wove a healing thread—silver and violet, stitched from memory and instinct. The cast wrapped around the man's chest, pulsing softly.
He gasped.
Jerked.
Eyes flew open.
"Who are you?" he rasped.
Tieran stood.
Ivy stepped back.
"We're heirs," Tieran said. "Of this realm. And the ghost town."
The man blinked.
Stared.
Then—
He lunged.
Grabbed Tieran's leg.
Ivy yelped.
Staggered back.
Her seal flared.
Her hand reached for a cast.
But the man didn't attack.
He sobbed.
"Help me," he cried. "Save me. Get me out of here. Please."
His voice cracked.
His body shook.
His tears mixed with blood.
It was dramatic.
Too dramatic.
Ivy frowned.
Tilted her head.
Her nausea faded just enough for her to whisper—
"Is this a soap opera?"
Tieran didn't answer.
He just stared down at the man.
His seal pulsed.
His eyes narrowed.
"This place twists memory," he said. "And maybe… people."
The cave pulsed again.
The blood shimmered.
And somewhere in the dark—
Something laughed.
The cave pulsed.
Not with magic.
With memory.
The walls shimmered faintly, veins of blood glowing in slow, rhythmic pulses. The air was thick—wet, metallic, and heavy with silence. Ivy stood just behind Tieran, her hand still faintly glowing from the healing cast. Her breath was shallow, her seal flickering. The nausea had dulled, but the dread remained.
Illan sat slumped against the wall, his robes soaked in blood, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His eyes—wide, dark, rimmed with exhaustion—searched their faces like he was trying to stitch them into something familiar.
"I'm Illan," he said, voice hoarse. "Apprentice of Iris Valley."
Tieran's brow furrowed.
"Iris Valley?" he echoed.
Illan nodded.
"The valley of medicine. Of healing. The best in the realm. I came here for herbs—rare ones. Ones that only grow in cursed places."
He looked around.
At the bones.
The blood lake.
The pulsing walls.
"But I didn't know this place was alive," he whispered. "Didn't know the men here would kill each other for power. I hid. I survived. Barely."
Ivy stepped closer.
Her voice soft.
"You've been here alone?"
Illan nodded.
"For weeks. Maybe months. Time doesn't move right here."
Tieran knelt.
His eyes narrowed.
"You said your name is Illan?"
Illan looked at him.
"Yes."
Tieran's voice dropped.
"Annel's son?"
Illan blinked.
Stared.
"You know my father?"
Tieran shook his head.
"Not me. But my mother does. For sure."
Illan's breath caught.
"Who's your mother?"
Tieran stood.
Straightened.
His seal pulsed.
"Orie."
Silence.
The cave held its breath.
Illan's eyes widened.
His mouth parted.
He stared.
"The queen," he whispered. "Sealed years ago."
Tieran nodded.
Illan's voice cracked.
"Then you're—"
He staggered forward.
Grabbed Tieran's arm.
"You're the missing crown prince."
Ivy gasped.
Her seal flared.
She stepped back.
Illan's voice trembled.
"You're my cousin?"
Tieran nodded.
Slowly.
"We've had a lot of family gatherings lately," Ivy muttered, half to herself.
Tieran smirked.
"Yeah. You, me, Illan. Turns out his father's my mother's cousin. So… distant cousin. Healers. They've always lived in Iris Valley"
Ivy raised an eyebrow.
"Iris Valley?"
Tieran nodded.
"Places stitched from sorrow. Iris Valley's full of them. That's how they learn to cast healing threads—they live inside the ache."
Ivy shivered.
"that description is Romantic."
Tieran turned to her.
"Ready?"
She nodded.
He stepped closer.
Held out his hand.
"Portal casting is like threading a needle through memory," he said. "You need three things: a location, a bond, and a pulse."
Ivy closed her eyes.
Focused.
Her seal flickered.
Together, they cast.
Silver and violet threads spiraled from their fingers, weaving into the air. The cave trembled. The blood lake rippled. The walls groaned.
And then—
A blast.
Not a ripple.
Not a shimmer.
A full-body, realm-shaking rupture.
Light exploded.
Air twisted.
Memory screamed.
They fell.
Not down.
Through.
Through threads. Through time. Through stitched silence.
And landed—
Hard.
On moss.
On a floating platform.
In the middle of the Realm of the Unseen.
The air was warm.
The sky stitched with soft spirals.
The ground pulsed with gentle light.
And beside them—
Smoke.
Sizzling.
Laughter.
Thimble and Aldi.
Sitting cross-legged beside a makeshift grill stitched from casting stones and enchanted iron. A slab of meat sizzled over a flickering flame. A pot of sauce bubbled beside it. Aldi was flipping skewers with a wand. Thimble was fanning the fire with a scroll.
Ivy sat up.
Her hair wild.
Her cloak singed.
Her eyes wide.
Tieran groaned.
Rolled onto his side.
His seal flickering.
His face—
A mix of awe and disgust.
"What—" Ivy began.
Thimble looked up.
Grinned.
"Barbecue?"
Aldi waved.
"Realm's weird. Got hungry."
Ivy blinked.
Tieran stared.
Illan coughed.
The platform pulsed.
The sky shimmered.
And somewhere in the distance—
The realm laughed.
Illan stumbled forward—robes torn, hair wild, eyes wide.
He collapsed beside the grill.
Grabbed a skewer.
Shoved it into his mouth.
"I haven't eaten in days," he mumbled, mouth full. "Or a week. Or a year."
Ivy giggled.
Her seal flickered with relief.
"Then fill your stomach first," she said.
Aldi shrugged.
"Realm's weird. Fire's real. Meat's real. Hunger's real. Might as well eat."
Tieran sat down slowly.
His cloak still damp from the blood cave.
His seal pulsing low.
He reached for a skewer.
Ivy joined him.
Cross-legged.
Hair wild.
Eyes soft.
Thimble passed her a plate.
"Try the sauce," he said. "It's stitched from memory and regret."
Ivy raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds delicious."
They ate.
Slowly.
Greedily.
Gratefully.
Illan devoured everything in reach.
Sauce dripping down his chin.
Eyes wide with joy.
"This is the best thing I've ever tasted," he declared.
Tieran smirked.
"You were eating moss two hours ago."
Illan pointed a skewer at him.
"Don't judge me, cousin."
Ivy laughed.
"Family reunion and barbecue. What's next, a talent show?"
Thimble perked up.
"I juggle knives."
Aldi groaned.
"Please don't."
The fire crackled.
The sauce bubbled.
The platform pulsed.
They bickered.
They laughed.
They ate.
Tieran leaned back.
His eyes on the sky.
His seal steady.
His breath calm.
Ivy nudged him.
"Still poisoned?"
He nodded.
"But I can feel the food fighting it."
She smiled.
Soft.
Real.
Illan burped.
Thimble clapped.
Aldi rolled his eyes.
And somewhere in the distance—
The Realm of the Unseen exhaled.
The portal shimmered behind them—silver and violet threads folding into themselves like a sigh. The Realm of the Unseen was quiet now, stitched shut, its trials complete. Ivy, Tieran, Illan, Thimble, and Aldi stepped through the final thread and into the castle courtyard.
The air was different here.
Cool. Still. Scented with stone, moss, and memory.
The sky above was soft—dusk-blue, streaked with gold. The castle loomed ahead, its towers stitched from marble and shadow, its windows glowing faintly like watchful eyes.
Illan staggered forward.
His robes still torn.
His hair wild.
His face streaked with dried blood and barbecue sauce.
He stopped.
Stared.
Mouth parted.
Eyes wide.
"This is the castle?" he whispered. "It's… real."
Thimble grinned.
Aldi rolled his eyes.
"Come on," Aldi said. "Let's get you cleaned up. You look like a haunted mushroom."
Thimble nodded.
"Time to look like a physician, not a blood-soaked ghost."
They led Illan away—through the side hall, past the casting fountain, into the healer's wing.
Ivy and Tieran stayed behind.
Alone.
The courtyard was quiet.
The wind stirred the ivy vines along the stone walls.
The fountain trickled softly.
They stood facing each other.
Not speaking.
Just breathing.
Ivy's eyes met Tieran's.
His met hers.
And then—
They both turned away.
Too fast.
Too synchronized.
Their hearts thudded.
Loud.
Too loud.
Ivy blinked.
Tieran swallowed.
Silence.
Awkward.
Charged.
Then—
Ivy stepped back.
Her boot caught on a loose stone.
She tripped.
Straight into Tieran's arms.
He caught her.
Instinct.
Reflex.
Their faces inches apart.
Her breath hitched.
His eyes wide.
Silence.
Again.
Then—
Footsteps.
Thimble. Aldi. Illan.
Fresh.
Polished.
Clean.
Illan's robes were crisp.
His hair combed.
His seal glowing faintly.
He looked like a physician from a royal scroll—elegant, composed, slightly dramatic.
He stopped.
Stared.
Grinned.
"Oh," he said. "How romantically heart-fluttering."
Thimble clapped.
Aldi smirked.
Tieran panicked.
Dropped Ivy.
She landed with a thud.
Groaned.
"Seriously?" she muttered. "You caught me and then yeeted me?"
Tieran stammered.
"I—They startled me!"
Illan bowed.
"Apologies, cousin. But your romantic timing is impeccable."
Ivy sat up.
Dusting herself off.
Her cheeks flushed.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Next time," she said, "just let me fall."
Tieran offered a hand.
She took it.
Grudgingly.
The castle courtyard shimmered in the soft light of late dusk.
The sky above was streaked with gold and violet, stitched with slow-moving clouds. Ivy vines curled along the stone walls, swaying gently in the breeze. The fountain trickled nearby, casting ripples of silver across the marble floor.
Tieran stood still.
Too still.
His breath hitched.
His seal pulsed—wild, erratic.
His fingers curled into his cloak.
Then—
A tremor.
His knees buckled.
His veins turned black.
His eyes—red.
Ivy gasped.
Her seal flared.
Her body convulsed.
She staggered forward, one hand clutching her chest, the other reaching for Tieran.
"Tieran—" she whispered.
He collapsed.
She almost did too.
The bond screamed.
Pain. Heat. Darkness.
Illan rushed in.
His robes fluttered.
His eyes wide.
His breath sharp.
He knelt beside Tieran.
Pressed two fingers to his neck.
Watched the black veins pulse.
"Is this—" he whispered. "Is this burning darkness?"
Tieran's eyes flickered.
"What?"
"The poison," Illan said. "I've read about it. In Master Elen's book. It's rare. Ancient. It burns the blood."
He reached into his satchel.
Pulled out a small bottle.
Uncorked it.
"Here," he said. "It's a suppression pill. All-rounder. Won't cure it. But it'll stop the pain."
He placed the pill in Tieran's hand.
Tieran swallowed it.
The effect was instant.
The black veins faded.
The red in his eyes dimmed.
His breath steadied.
Ivy collapsed beside him.
Her seal flickered.
Her pain—gone.
She exhaled.
Shaky.
Relieved.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Illan nodded.
But his face was grim.
"I can't cure it," he said. "I've only read about it. I'm not trained for this. But… maybe my master can."
Tieran sat up.
His voice low.
"Where?"
"Iris Valley," Illan said. "Where I trained. Where the grief walls live."
Ivy looked at Tieran.
Tieran looked at Ivy.
They nodded.
Together.
"We'll go," Ivy said.
Thimble popped his head around the corner.
"Go where?"
Aldi followed.
"Did someone say journey?"
Ivy blinked.
Tieran groaned.
Illan looked confused.
Thimble grinned.
"We're tagging along."
Aldi nodded.
"Obviously."
Tieran sighed.
Ivy smiled.
Illan blinked.
The courtyard pulsed.
The sky shimmered.
And somewhere in the distance—
Iris Valley waited.
Some places cast with light. Some with silence. And some—like Iris Valley—cast with ache.Here, pain is not buried. It is named. Threaded. Listened to.
The valley does not promise cures. It promises presence. A hand on your pulse. A voice that says, "I see it. I feel it. I'm still here."
Tieran's poison has a name now. Burning darkness. And Ivy—through the bond—feels every flicker of it.
But the valley waits. And the healers are listening.