By the time they reached Merinth, the sky had turned to molten silver.
The ruins rose from the forest like bones — vast towers split in half, walls carved with fading sigils, the remains of a city that once breathed with power. Now it only whispered, its silence broken by the wind sighing through hollow corridors.
Lyra stood at the edge of the shattered archway. So this is it. The heart of the old world.
Kael's gaze swept the desolation. The heart of its failures.
They stepped inside.
The air was colder here, thick with the weight of memories. Faint blue symbols pulsed on the walls, following their movement like eyes. Lyra could feel the bond between them now — that strange hum under her skin, faint but constant, as if her heartbeat had synced to his.
Does it hurt? she asked softly.
Only when you worry, Kael said, giving her a sideways look. Which is constantly.
She almost smiled. Someone has to.
They moved through the ruins in silence until they reached a great hall — a domed chamber filled with collapsing shelves and drifting motes of blue light. At the center stood a figure draped in layers of ink-black fabric, its face hidden beneath a porcelain mask.
Kael Thorne, the figure said. Its voice was low, smooth, and oddly melodic. You return to the ashes.
Kael stopped a few paces away. Archivist.
You look unwell, the Archivist said. Dying, perhaps?
Not yet.
The Archivist's head tilted, gaze shifting to Lyra. And you brought a storm with you.
Lyra's fingers twitched toward her side. If you mean me—
I mean the bond, the Archivist said. Gold and blue intertwined. Impossible. Dangerous. A pause. Beautiful.
Kael's hand moved instinctively toward his sword. I didn't come here for poetry. I need your help.
Of course you do. The Archivist stepped closer, robes whispering like wings. The prodigal weapon returns, asking for salvation.
Lyra frowned. Weapon?
Kael's jaw tightened. Ignore him.
Ignore the truth? The Archivist laughed softly. How human of you.
He circled them, studying Kael with an unnerving calm. You were the first to break their design. The Council fears what you have become. But it's the girl they truly want.
Lyra stiffened. Why?
The Archivist stopped before her, head tilting slightly. Because she is the key that opens what they cannot control — emotion fused with creation. Power born not of code or command, but choice.
Lyra felt her pulse quicken. That doesn't make sense—
It makes perfect sense, the Archivist interrupted. You were never meant to exist, child. You were meant to be erased — the last memory of the original Soulbinder line. Kael carries the echo. You carry the spark.
Kael stepped between them. Enough riddles. I need to stabilize the link.
The Archivist's porcelain mask gleamed faintly. Ah, the link. Yes Your bond is strong. Unstable, but pure. If you stay close, you will feed each other's cores. But if one falters
He glanced at Lyra. The other will burn.
Lyra's stomach knotted. There has to be a way to fix it.
There is always a way, the Archivist said. The question is what it costs.
Kael's voice hardened. What do you want?
The Archivist's laughter echoed faintly, cold and amused. Nothing from you, Kael Thorne. You've already given me what I wanted.
He raised one pale hand, and the air shimmered. The walls flickered with light — projections forming scenes from Kael's past: sterile white rooms, wires threading through his veins, voices chanting commands in the dark.
Lyra gasped. What is this?
His memory, the Archivist said softly. The moment they took his heart.
Kael turned sharply. Stop it.
You wanted truth, the Archivist replied. This is the truth.
The image shifted — a young woman standing in a circle of light, her features blurred but her voice clear: Protect her, Kael. No matter what they do to us.
Lyra's heart clenched. That voice
Elara, Kael whispered, eyes wide. That was Elara.
The vision faded, leaving silence behind. Kael's breath came shallow. Lyra stepped closer, instinctively reaching for his hand.
She was my bond, he said quietly. The first one. They used her essence to create you, Lyra. That's why our cores linked — because somewhere inside you, her light still exists.
Lyra froze. You mean I'm—
You're not her, Kael said quickly. But you carry what she was — the memory of what I failed to protect.
The Archivist's voice cut through the heavy air. And that, dear children, is why the Council wants you both. Together, you are the one thing they could never control — love reborn.
Lyra's voice shook. Then help us.
The Archivist tilted his head. Very well. But you must decide what you're willing to sacrifice.
Kael met his gaze. Anything.
Not anything, the Archivist said, almost kindly. If you choose to stabilize the bond, you will share not just strength, but memory. She will see everything. Every command. Every death.
Lyra looked at Kael. I can handle it.
He shook his head. No, you can't.
Yes, I can, she said fiercely. If it means keeping you alive.
The Archivist spread his hands. Then it is decided.
He raised both arms, and the chamber filled with blinding light. Lyra felt it surge through her — heat, power, pain — until her knees hit the stone floor. Kael's hand found hers, steady and cold.
When the light faded, the Archivist was gone.
The air still hummed with energy. Lyra gasped, vision swimming. What—what did he do?
Kael's eyes glowed faintly, softer now, the blue threaded with gold. He did what we asked. He made it real.
Lyra could feel it — his presence inside her mind, faint thoughts that weren't her own, emotions she couldn't name. The bond was no longer a metaphor. It was alive.
Kael she whispered. What happens now?
He looked at her — and for the first time, his eyes weren't cold. They were human. Now, Lyra… we start remembering together.
Outside, the ruins of Merinth stirred as if waking from sleep. The old magic of the Soulbinders pulsed through the earth again, and far away, the Council felt it too.