Palace corridors aren't made for soulbeasts.
They're made for intimidation, echoing footsteps, and nobles who wear their egos like armor.
I waddled beside Arwen, claws ticking softly on polished marble. She walked like she owned the place — because technically, she did.
We were on our way to see her mother.
The Empress.
She of the seven crowns. She of the thousand judgments. She who had allegedly smiled once, but no one could confirm it.
I chirped in protest.
Arwen didn't slow. "She knows. About Fallen Bonds. About you."
I tried to flee into her cloak. She caught me mid-flop and cradled me like a grenade with feathers.
"We need answers," she said. "No more secrets."
We passed guards, scholars, statues of dead emperors who probably hated soulbeasts. None stopped us.
They knew better.
The Empress's receiving hall wasn't just large. It was vast.
Columns stretched into the sky. Curtains of starlight draped the windows. At the far end sat the throne — carved of obsidian and threadstone, veined with gold.
And on that throne, she waited.
Empress Lysandra Nightveil.
Mother of Arwen. Ruler of the Empire. Soulbound to no one.
Her gaze fell on me immediately.
"So this is the anomaly."
Arwen didn't bow. "He has a name."
I chirped.
"He's not registered," the Empress noted. "Then he has none."
Arwen stepped forward. "We found something. About Fallen Bonds."
Silence.
"I want the truth."
The Empress rose. "Truth is dangerous. Especially to those who carry stolen sparks."
We were shown to a private chamber. Fewer thrones. More books. Still too many mirrors.
The Empress poured tea herself. Arwen refused to sit.
I hid behind a pillow.
"Fallen Bonds," the Empress said at last, "were forbidden for a reason."
"Because they're stolen," Arwen said.
"No. Because they are legacy. A reminder that souls do not end. They… linger."
She looked at me. "He was someone. Once. Before."
I froze.
"He was bound to another. Long ago. That spark survived. And now, it's yours."
Arwen's hands curled into fists. "He's not a relic."
"No. He's a liability."
I hissed.
The Empress continued, "If others discover this — the Binder's Assembly, the court — they'll claim him. Study him. Control him."
"I won't let them."
"Then name him."
Silence.
"Bind him," she said. "Name him, and the law protects him. Refuse, and you leave him open."
Arwen stared at me. Torn.
I chirped, trembling.
The Empress extended a small collar. Black silk. Gold clasp. "For his safety."
Arwen didn't move.
She took the collar.
Then, with a flick of her fingers, set it alight.
"I choose him. Not control."
The flames danced in her eyes.
The Empress did not flinch.
"You are still a princess," she said. "And the Empire will expect you to act like one."
Arwen's voice was cold. "Then the Empire will be disappointed."
We left in silence.
But I saw the Empress smile — just once.
"Then may you both survive what comes."
Back in our tower, Arwen collapsed into a chair.
"I almost… I almost did it."
I climbed into her lap, pressing my beak to her hand.
"You're not a weapon," she said. "Not a legacy. Not theirs."
She cradled me close. "You're… mine."
I chirped, heart full.
The bond shimmered — but she didn't name me.
Not yet.
A storm rumbled in the distance, distant but growing.
Arwen stood abruptly, pacing.
"She never denied it," she muttered. "She knew what you were — before. She let me bond you without telling me."
I chirped, tilting my head.
"I need to know what else she's hiding. About you. About Fallen Bonds. I need… proof."
She crossed to the window, throwing it open to the cold air.
"We're going to the archive. Not the public one. The Empress's."
Chapter 13 – Part 2/2 (Final Expanded Version)
That night, we snuck through servant tunnels beneath the palace, the kind lined with forgotten doors and too many spiderwebs.
At the end, a sealed archway loomed.
No guards. No light. Just the sigil of House Nightveil etched in stone.
Arwen held up the token from the grey-cloaked stranger — the key to the Nightveil Vaults.
With a whisper, the door creaked open.
Inside: dust, shadows, and the weight of centuries.
I shivered.
Torches lit with blue flame as we entered.
"This place… it remembers," Arwen whispered.
Ancient tomes lined the walls. Scrolls bound in silk. Objects in glass — collars, pendants, shattered runes.
A single pedestal stood in the center. Upon it: a cracked mask.
My claws trembled.
I knew it.
Arwen approached slowly. "Fallen Bond Records. This is it."
She unrolled a scroll. The name faded, unreadable.
But beneath it:
Soul Spark Reclaimed. Status: Bound. Memory: Sealed.
I chirped in horror.
"This was you," Arwen whispered. "They erased you."
Footsteps echoed behind us.
The grey figure appeared.
"You should not be here."
Arwen turned, furious. "Tell me everything."
Silence.
Then: "Some sparks refuse to fade. Some souls… return."
She stepped forward. "What was his name?"
Silence again. Then:
"That name was unbound. Lost. Only the Empress remembers."
And they vanished.
Back in the tower, Arwen didn't sleep. Neither did I.
We sat by the window, staring into the storm.
"They'll force a Trial," Arwen whispered. "To take you."
I chirped.
She smiled faintly. "Let them try."
A knock echoed. A scroll slid under the door.
The seal of the Binder's Assembly.
Summons: Soulbeast Trial. Attendance Mandatory.
I chirped softly.
Arwen's eyes glinted with fury.
"They want a fight? They'll get one."
She stood, eyes stormy, and began drawing runes on the floor — not simple wards, but something deeper. Forbidden.
I watched, feathers puffed, as she murmured words I didn't understand.
"This bond will not be broken," she whispered. "Not by law. Not by force."
The ward flared. Then the door burst open.
A noble stood there — Lord Corval, Arwen's cousin. Behind him, guards. Court mages. All wearing the Assembly's crest.
"The Trial has been moved," he said coldly. "Effective immediately."
"By whose authority?"
"The Empire's."
His eyes flicked to me. "And that soulbeast… is no longer yours."
I hissed.
Before Arwen could respond, the ward beneath her flared. Energy surged. I glowed.
Everyone froze.
I rose into the air, feathers blazing with golden light.
The spark inside me—ancient, unbound—awoke.
Lord Corval staggered back. "What—"
The magic snapped.
I fell.
Arwen caught me.
"Enough," she said, eyes burning.
She reached for a scroll. One marked with a black seal.
"I invoke the Challenge Clause," she said.
Corval paled.
"That's illegal—"
"It's ancient law. And binding. If they want him, they fight me. Publicly. At the Arena of Threads."
Silence.
Then: "So be it."
They left.
Arwen sank to the floor, cradling me.
"We have one chance," she whispered.
I chirped, still glowing faintly.
She smiled.
"And we're going to win."