Eraxis's POV
I've made a terrible mistake.
The silver chain connecting my thread to the witch's burns like starfire in my chest. I can feel everything she feels—her pain, her fear, her fierce determination. But worse, she can feel what I'm feeling.
And right now, I'm feeling things I haven't felt in three hundred years.
Theron stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. "Eraxis, what are you doing? She's a time-thief. The law is clear—"
"The law," I interrupt coldly, "also states that a Reaper Prince may invoke Bound Judgment for any criminal he deems worthy of investigation. Or did you forget that part of your training, Theron?"
His handsome face twists with barely concealed anger. Behind him, the two other Reapers—Kael and Sienna—exchange nervous glances. They're young. Barely a century old. They don't remember the old laws like Theron and I do.
"Bound Judgment hasn't been invoked in over five hundred years," Theron says carefully. "And never for a time-thief. You're violating protocol—"
"I'm using protocol." I step closer to him, letting him feel the full weight of my power. "Unless you're questioning my authority as Reaper Prince? Because I'm happy to settle that dispute the old-fashioned way."
Theron's smile returns, but it's strained. "Of course not, Prince Eraxis. I'm merely concerned for your wellbeing. Binding yourself to a mortal criminal is... dangerous. If she dies, you'll be imprisoned in the Void until her natural thread expires. That could be decades."
"I'm aware of the risks." I glance back at the witch—Calla. She's still kneeling on the floor, gasping, her hand pressed against her chest where our bond burns. Her father is sitting up in bed, staring at his own hands in wonder as color returns to his face.
The spell worked. Against all odds, this barely-trained hedge witch successfully performed the Thread Severance Ritual and saved her father's life.
It should be impossible. That spell requires power most trained Guardians couldn't manage. Yet she did it on pure instinct and desperate love.
Magnificent and terrifying in equal measure.
"Very well," Theron says, though his eyes promise this conversation isn't over. "But the High Overseer will want a report. Lady Morvess doesn't take kindly to unauthorized uses of ancient law."
"Then tell Lady Morvess," I say icily, "that the Reaper Prince is conducting a full investigation into suspicious corruption in the Loom. And if she has concerns, she can address them directly to me."
Theron's smile finally disappears completely. He gestures to Kael and Sienna. "Let's go. We have other criminals to hunt."
They vanish in a shimmer of shadow, leaving me alone with the witch and her father.
The cottage is a disaster. Broken windows, cracked walls, blood on the floor. The air still vibrates with residual magic from two cosmic spells performed in the same space within minutes of each other.
I should leave. Take the witch into custody and begin the investigation. That's what protocol demands.
But I can't stop staring at her.
She's nothing like the time-thieves I've executed before. Those were greedy criminals trying to extend their own lives or sell stolen time for profit. Selfish parasites.
This girl stole time to save her father. She knew the consequences. She knew she'd be hunted, tortured, damned for eternity. And she did it anyway because she loved him that much.
It reminds me of someone I used to be. A long time ago. Before I became this.
"Why?" The word comes out harsher than I intended.
Calla looks up at me. Her eyes are still glowing faintly gold from the spell—the sign of active Guardian magic. "Why what?"
"Why did you save me?" She struggles to her feet, swaying slightly. The bond between us pulses as her emotions flood through: confusion, gratitude, suspicion. "You were going to execute me. Now you're... what? Protecting me?"
"I'm investigating you," I correct. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" She touches her chest where the silver chain connects us. I feel the moment her fingers brush against her end of the bond—it sends a shock through both of us. "I can feel what you're feeling. You're scared. Not of me. For me. Why?"
Damn this bond. I should have remembered that Bound Judgment works both ways. She has access to my emotions just as I have access to hers.
I lock down my feelings, building walls of ice around them like I've done for centuries. "You're imagining things."
"I'm not." She takes a step toward me, and I'm startled by her boldness. Most mortals can barely stand to be in my presence. But she looks me straight in the eye, unflinching. "You said the corruption in my father's thread was manufactured. You called it a trap. What did you mean?"
Smart. She's scared and exhausted, but her mind is still working.
I glance at her father. Aldwin Thorne is watching us with sharp intelligence despite his recent brush with death. "You should rest, scholar. You've been through—"
"I'm fine," he interrupts. His voice is stronger already, the stolen time giving him vitality he hasn't had in years. "Answer my daughter's question, Reaper. Why was I poisoned?"
I consider lying. It would be easier.
But something about the way they both look at me—demanding truth, refusing to be intimidated—makes me tell them.
"Your family, the Thornes, were the Guardian Bloodline," I say slowly. "A hundred years ago, you worked alongside the Time Reapers to maintain the Loom. We harvested souls. You repaired threads. Together, we kept reality stable."
"I know this part," Aldwin says. "My grandmother told me the stories before she died. The Guardians were accused of trying to control the Loom. The Reaper Court hunted us to extinction."
"Not quite extinction." I look at Calla. "Someone made sure one Guardian survived. You."
She shakes her head. "That doesn't make sense. If they wanted us dead, why leave me alive?"
"Because," I say grimly, "someone needed you alive and hidden. Your magic was suppressed from birth—probably by your grandmother before she died. It made you invisible to our senses. We thought the Guardian line was extinct."
"Until tonight," Calla whispers.
"Until tonight," I confirm. "The moment you touched that spell book, the suppression shattered. Your magic blazed like a beacon across every realm. Now everyone knows the last Guardian is alive."
"Everyone?" Aldwin stands up, moving to his daughter's side. "You mean the ones who killed our family will come for her?"
"Yes." I meet Calla's eyes. "Your father's illness was manufactured to force you into awakening. Someone's been watching you for years, waiting for you to get desperate enough to break cosmic law. They wanted you to reveal yourself."
Calla's face goes pale. "Who? Who's been watching me?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out." I gesture to the silver chain between us. "That's why I invoked Bound Judgment. You're under my protection now. Officially, you're my prisoner and I'm investigating whether you're guilty. Unofficially—"
"You're using me as bait," she finishes. Her expression hardens. "You want to draw out whoever poisoned my father."
"Yes."
To my surprise, she doesn't argue. Instead, she turns to her father. "Papa, you need to leave the village. Tonight. Go to Aunt Iris in the capital like you always wanted me to. I'll—"
"I'm not leaving you," Aldwin says firmly.
"You have to! Don't you understand? Someone powerful enough to poison threads and manipulate the Reaper Court wants me. If you stay, you'll just be a target—"
"Then I'll be a target with you." His hand grips her shoulder. "I didn't survive death just to abandon my daughter."
The love between them is so fierce it makes my chest ache. Through the bond, I feel Calla's emotions—terror for her father's safety warring with desperate relief that he's alive and strong.
This is what I've forgotten. What I lost three hundred years ago when I was forced to reap my own family.
This is what it feels like to have something worth protecting.
"He can't stay," I tell them both. "Calla is right. He's a vulnerability now. Whoever set this trap will use him to control her."
"I don't care—" Aldwin starts.
"I do." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Because if he dies while connected to Calla's stolen thread, the backlash will kill her. And if she dies, I'm imprisoned in the Void for the next fifty years. So his safety is now my problem."
It's a lie. Well, partially a lie. The part about Aldwin's death killing Calla is true. But the reason I care has nothing to do with my own imprisonment.
Through the bond, Calla feels my lie. Her eyes narrow. "You're hiding something."
Damn this bond.
Before I can answer, the air pressure changes. The temperature drops. My senses flare with warning.
Someone's coming. Someone powerful.
I grab Calla's arm. "We need to leave. Now."
"What? Why—"
The front door explodes inward.
Standing in the doorway is a woman who looks about forty-five but radiates power that screams centuries older. She's elegant, dressed in flowing robes that seem to be woven from liquid starlight. Her smile is warm and motherly.
But I know her. And I know that smile is a lie.
"Lady Morvess," I say, my voice carefully neutral.
"Eraxis, darling." The High Overseer of the Loom steps into the cottage, her eyes fixed on Calla. "I heard there was some excitement here tonight. A Guardian awakening after a century of extinction? How thrilling."
She walks toward Calla slowly, like a cat approaching a mouse. "And you must be Calla Thorne. The last of your bloodline. How wonderful to finally meet you."
Calla backs up until she's pressed against my side. Through the bond, I feel her instinctive terror.
Her Guardian magic is screaming that this woman is dangerous.
"What do you want?" Calla asks, her voice shaking but defiant.
Morvess's smile widens. "Want? Child, I don't want anything. I'm here to help you. That's what I do—I help maintain the Loom and protect special people like you."
She reaches out to touch Calla's face.
And Calla's magic explodes in warning, showing her something I can't see.
"You," Calla whispers in horror. "You're the one. You poisoned my father."
Morvess's warm smile doesn't falter. But her eyes turn cold as ice.
"Clever girl," she says softly. "Just like your grandmother."
Then she raises her hand, and reality begins to unravel around us.