The knock at the Ashbourne estate was firm, deliberate, and utterly unmissable.
Aurora had been seated in the east wing library, the afternoon sunlight falling in long bars across the floor. The silver thread around her mother's wrist pulsed faintly in the corner of her vision, a quiet, patient reminder that the Veil was alive and watching.
She did not rise immediately.
When she finally opened the door, the council stood there. Not the full seven, only the three assigned to deliver the Journal.
Master Corbin, Lady Myra, and Jorin Hale.
"Miss Ashbourne," Corbin began without preamble. "We have come as agreed."
Aurora stepped aside. "Enter."
The hall smelled faintly of beeswax and old wood. A subtle warmth lingered, as though the building itself held its breath.
Lady Myra carried the object between her hands as though it were fragile — which it was, in more ways than one. The Binding Journal. Its leather cover was plain, unmarked, yet the weight of it was unmistakable. A promise and a threat folded into a single object.
Aurora's eyes lingered on it. "It is mine," she said softly.
"Yes," Jorin Hale replied, placing it carefully on the table before her. "As promised. The council honors agreements when they are reached. Provided… the terms are clear."
Aurora studied the Journal without touching it. She had agreed to this on her terms: the opportunity to see, to read, to understand before the Binding began. She had agreed. But that did not mean she trusted them.
Master Corbin's hands were clasped behind his back. "Seven days remain, Miss Ashbourne. Seven of the fourteen granted. The Binding begins automatically after that period unless otherwise determined by council review. That review requires evidence that the Ashbourne line continues under guidance of its appointed Veil."
Aurora's fingers hovered near the Journal. "And the Journal?"
Lady Myra's hands smoothed the edges of the leather. "The Journal contains the formal record. Instructions, observations, and the requirements for initiation. Your consent to the Binding was conditional upon access to this knowledge. That condition has been met."
She finally touched it. The leather was cool, soft. The faint scent of old parchment rose, carrying with it centuries of Ashbourne history.
"Seven days," Corbin repeated. His voice was firm, but not cruel. "Use them wisely. You may read, you may study, but remember — time is finite."
Aurora opened the Journal carefully. The pages were lined in black ink. Diagrams of sigils, columns of instructions, and annotations written by Ashbourne hands long deceased. She let her fingers trace the markings slowly, deliberately.
"Do not presume," Jorin Hale said quietly, "that the Journal grants safety. It only grants knowledge. The Binding itself is not negotiable. Only your approach may be measured."
Aurora nodded. "I understand."
"And the council," Lady Myra added, "is here to ensure clarity. You agreed to the terms. You now have the tools. The remainder of the time is yours to act — or not."
There was a beat of silence, heavy with expectation.
Aurora's gaze lifted from the Journal to the three faces before her. "And if I find something amiss?" she asked. Her tone was measured. Controlled. Sharp. "If I determine that the Binding cannot proceed under the conditions it demands?"
Corbin's lips pressed into a line. "Then you must present your case. The council is bound by procedure. But the Binding itself — the mechanism, the Veil — waits for no argument. Only your choice delays it."
Aurora closed the Journal slowly. The weight of it was tangible in her hands. "Seven days," she repeated softly. "Exactly half of the time granted. Not a moment longer."
"Yes," Myra said, stepping back slightly. "The council will return when necessary. Until then… your path is your own. But know this — the Veil watches even as the Journal rests in your hands."
Aurora's jaw tightened. "And I watch it."
The council inclined their heads, turned, and left as deliberately as they had arrived.
The hall seemed quieter after the door closed. The Journal sat before her like a silent challenge.
Seven days.
Seven days to understand, to prepare, to resist, to decide.
The silver thread pulsed faintly, and Aurora felt it, faintly, almost like a heartbeat beneath her awareness.
She opened the first page.
The ink was faded, the diagrams precise. And somewhere between the sigils and the annotations, she felt it — the echo of expectation.
The Binding was not yet active.
The Veil was not yet pressing.
But the countdown had begun.