Lord Varyn knew something had gone wrong the moment the mirrors screamed.
Not shattered,screamed.
The sound ripped through the chamber like a living thing, sharp enough to make the lesser seers clutch their heads and fall to their knees. Silver light bled across the black stone floor, crawling up the walls, warping every reflective surface in the room.
Varyn rose slowly from his throne.
"Silence them," he ordered, voice calm despite the pounding in his skull.
The attendants scrambled to dampen the magic, chanting under their breath. One mirror cracked clean down the center. Another fogged entirely, its image dissolving into nothing.
Only one remained clear.
Varyn stepped closer.
In the glass, a valley shimmered into view—an outpost he recognized instantly. Neutral ground. Supposed to be quiet.
Instead, the image trembled.
Two figures walked side by side through the market.
A man with unmistakable royal bearing. Dark-haired. Armed. Controlled.
Prince Alric.
Varyn's lips curved faintly. "There you are."
But then
The image sharpened, pulling focus to the woman beside him.
Ayra.
Varyn's smile vanished.
She was not what the reports had described.
Not bowed. Not wary. Not clinging to the prince for protection.
She walked as if the ground accepted her presence willingly.
As if the air itself shifted to accommodate her.
The bond flared visibly between them, a living thread of power, luminous and stable.
Varyn's fingers tightened against the mirror frame.
"That's impossible," murmured one of the seers behind him.
"Yes," Varyn agreed quietly. "It is."
The bond was never meant to do that.
For centuries, it had obeyed the same rules. One dominant bearer. One anchor. One who led, one who followed.
Alric was the royal vessel. The bond should have bent to him.
Instead, it listened to her.
Varyn turned slowly. "How long has this been happening?"
The eldest seer swallowed. "Since the forest incident, my lord. When she resisted the extraction."
Varyn's eyes narrowed. "Resisted?"
"She didn't just block it," the seer said. "She… redirected it."
That earned a sharp, humorless laugh.
"Redirected," Varyn repeated. "Without training. Without lineage."
He turned back to the mirror.
Ayra spoke to someone off-screen. The bond responded immediately, flaring at her emotional shift not Alric's.
Varyn felt something cold coil in his chest.
"This changes everything," he murmured.
The bond was more than a political weapon. It was the foundation of balance between realms. Whoever controlled it shaped borders, wars, thrones.
And now
Now it was evolving.
A younger lord stepped forward, unease clear on his face. "My lord… if the bond is stabilizing through her instead"
"Then killing her becomes risky," Varyn finished.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"If she dies," Varyn continued, "the bond could collapse. Or worse, lash out."
"And if she lives?" another asked.
Varyn smiled thinly. "Then she becomes dangerous."
He turned from the mirror and returned to his throne, robes whispering across the stone.
"Send word to the southern enclaves," he ordered. "Cancel the retrieval order."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"We're… withdrawing?" someone asked.
"No," Varyn said. "We're adjusting."
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "If the bond has chosen her, then force will only harden it."
"What do you propose instead?" the eldest seer asked.
Varyn's gaze flicked back to the mirror one last time.
Ayra was laughing now softly, briefly at something Alric said. The bond pulsed warmly, almost affectionately.
Possessive.
Protective.
Alive.
"We remind her," Varyn said slowly, "what power costs."
The seers stiffened.
"You want to provoke her?"
"No," he corrected. "I want to pressure her."
He rose again. "The bond is strongest under emotional strain. Fear. Desire. Loss."
His smile sharpened. "Let's see how stable it is when she's forced to choose."
"Between what?"
Varyn's eyes gleamed.
"Safety and love."
Silence.
Then the eldest seer spoke carefully. "And the prince?"
Varyn considered. "Alric is useful. He grounds her. Anchors her humanity."
He waved a hand dismissively. "For now."
A messenger hurried in, breathless. "My lord reports from the valley. She spoke publicly."
Varyn turned sharply. "What did she say?"
The messenger swallowed. "She warned us not to touch the bond again."
The room went still.
Then Varyn laughed.
Not loudly. Not cruelly.
But with unmistakable interest.
"She warned us," he repeated.
He gestured toward the mirror. "Mark my words. That girl doesn't know it yet but she's already at war."
His smile faded, replaced by something colder.
"And wars," he said softly, "always demand blood."
The mirrors dimmed.
Far away, the bond pulsed unaware that it had just drawn the full attention of those who had shaped the world from the shadows for generations.