The gate still carried last night's red ash.
SEVENTH DUE — BOND.
Rings, bracelets, and ribbons lay piled on the Office steps in broken pairs. Clasps snapped. Knots cut. None whole.
Teren's throat ached under the iron torc. It no longer hummed steady. It pulsed deep, like a drum under stone.
Tie. Untie. Break.
He pulled his cloak tighter. Anchors steady in his head. Rain. Rope. Apples.
The Marshal shoved through the press. Steel-gray hair. Flat eyes. Voice that cut. "Move. No speeches. Work."
Neris kept pace on Teren's left. Black braid. Quick hands. Pale green eyes that missed nothing. Brann stayed on his right. Broad shoulders. Calm brown eyes. Hands built to lift or to hold.
They passed through the gate. Stones bounced off the iron behind them. A voice shouted that Vale should pay. Another begged the Crown to knit a marriage back together. The crowd didn't know what to ask for. The city didn't know what it wanted.
Fractures
The market cracked first.
A man shoved his wife and swore she was a stranger wearing his wife's dress. Her hands shook so badly she dropped her basket. She whispered his name, forgot it, remembered it, and forgot it again.
Two carpenters argued over a beam they both swore they'd cut. When they went for the foreman, they couldn't agree on what a foreman was.
A guild captain stood on a crate and dismissed every apprentice. He claimed he'd never trained them. One boy cried. Another laughed like a broken hinge. A third carried his tools away as if they were heavy with years that no longer existed.
Mothers left infants at the Office gates, insisting the babies weren't theirs.
Brann lifted one and carried it for three streets. The Marshal stopped the woman who had abandoned it and shoved the child back into her arms. "Hold your own blood or I jail you."
The woman blinked, clutched the baby tight, and broke down sobbing. "I don't know what I was doing. I don't know why I set him down."
Neris wiped the child's face and checked his lips. "Breath is good." She met the mother's eyes. "Say his name. Now."
She did. The sound steadied the street.
The torc pressed cold against Teren's scar.
Choose who matters. Break the rest.
He spat iron taste onto the stones. "No."
Lovers and ledgers
On Lantern Row, a girl in a red shawl and a boy with coal dust on his cheeks stood three paces apart. They stared at each other like at a door that had slammed shut.
"We promised," the girl said. "It was last week. In the rain."
"We've never spoken," the boy said, voice tired and scared. "You're pretty, but we've never met."
Neris set the girl's hand on his sleeve. "Tell him one thing only you would know."
The girl's throat bobbed. "You nicked your thumb cutting rope because you ignored me."
The boy blinked. His left hand twitched. A smile cracked the dust. He pulled her close like he'd been falling for years.
The torc purred at Teren's throat. It liked the tie. He hated that it enjoyed it.
In the ledger hall, Archivists ran—black-stained fingers, ink on coats, fear sharp in their voices.
A clerk named Heler stared at his book as his marriage line browned and peeled away. His wife's name flaked to dust.
"My Mirin," he whispered. "We were—" He pressed his palms flat. "I can't find us."
The mirror on the central table fogged.
FRAGMENT SEEKING. BONDS SEVERED.
Threads rose in Teren's sight. Knots. Pulls. Some fraying, some cut.
Cut. Claim.
He slammed his palms on the table. "Not cutting."
The iron squeezed.
Then tie. Mine. Always mine.
"Rain," he forced. "Rope. Apples."
The urge dulled. He pointed at the clerk. "You made a promise by the river, not in this hall. Write it. Anchor it."
Heler's quill shook as he scrawled river promise. Letters bled back onto the page, Mirin's name one stroke at a time. He laughed once, too loud, then clapped his hand over his mouth.
Neris leaned close. "Careful. If it learns you can mend, it'll break for sport."
"I know," he said. He hoped it was true.
Breedwell Square
By afternoon, Breedwell Square held like a rope pulled to snapping.
Two soldiers from the same company stood with steel drawn. Both swore the other was an impostor. They lunged.
Brann caught one blade with bare hands. Sparks jumped. The other cut his arm. Blood striped his sleeve.
The torc surged.
Mine. Mine.
Teren shoved between them. "Carrow Bridge! Knee-deep in mud, same song, same night. Say it!"
The men froze, stared like down wells. One spoke the first line. The other finished it. Steel clattered. One sobbed. The other pulled him into a crushing hug.
The torc purred.
Neris clamped Teren's shoulder. "Don't let it taste that again."
"It already did," he said.
Serin speaks
By dusk the Office steps boiled. Torches. Stones. Pleas. Prayers.
Serin Haldrin walked out like the crowd had saved him a place.
Golden hair. Pressed uniform. Vowflame bright at his throat. He raised a hand. Warm light bowed over the mob and pushed the smoke back. People breathed easier. Stones fell from hands.
Serin didn't shout. "False ties don't bind you. Blood lies. Houses lie. You're not your father's mistake. You are the vow you choose."
Some cheered. Some cried. A boy lifted a broken bracelet and begged to know if a new promise could fix it.
Serin nodded. "Choose one you can carry." He pointed at random. "You. If your house turns its back, you still stand."
The torc pressed tight.
Yes. Break them. Choose me.
Serin's eyes cut toward Teren. "Hard day, Vale? Bonds never liked your name anyway."
Brann's jaw flexed. Neris glared. Teren kept his teeth clenched until his head ached.
Street work
They worked until the lamps burned low.
In a tenement stair, two old men forgot their debt. They counted coins twice and spoke the rules until the game made sense again.
In a temple, a monk raised a knife to his cord. The priest caught his wrist. They sat with the blade between them and named vows line by line. The knife went dull. The cord stayed.
In a laundry yard, two sisters packed separate bags and swore they weren't sisters. Neris stole both bags and swapped their shoes. Anger gave way to talk. One laughed. The other cried into shirts and admitted she hated washing clothes.
The torc pulsed at every save. Feeding on pain, feeding on relief. Teren hated learning the taste.
When his sleeve brushed Neris's, the collar pressed hard.
Keep one bond. Make it mine.
He set a hand to the iron. Not yours. She's herself.
The collar only listened. He counted that as a win.
The Vault again
The ledgers twitched worse underground. Marriage lines curled into lace. Contracts tore their signatures in half. Some pages turned blank until someone spoke a name, then bled back slowly, like remembering.
An Archivist dropped to his knees. "My mother's line is gone. I wasn't born alone."
The mirror fogged.
FRAGMENT SEEKING. BONDS SEVERED.
Threads yanked at Teren's head. The torc wanted to tie them all to itself.
Tie. Mine. Mine.
"Not yours." He set his palms on the table. "Point, don't pry." He pointed at the man. "Say her name. Tell the story."
The Archivist whispered her name and spoke of a meal she'd cooked. The page darkened, letters returning stroke by stroke.
The Marshal didn't blink. "This isn't riots. It's war."
Brann wiped his sleeve. Neris tied his bandage tight. "Then we draw lines and hold them."
The Bond Fragment
The torc clenched before they reached the Quiet Room. Teren staggered, both hands to the wall.
Visions struck. Neris bleeding. Brann on fire. Serin bowing with a crown. His mother's laugh erased like chalk.
Give me one. I'll keep it. Break the other.
"Anchor," Neris snapped.
Brann clamped his arms. "Stand."
"Rain," Teren gasped. "Rope. Apples."
They made it inside. Grooves lit red. Two iron rings floated above the floor. They twisted, locked, snapped apart, sparks bleeding into stone.
The torc crushed his throat. His sight went black at the edges.
Give me one. I'll keep it. Break the other.
"Rain. Rope. Apples."
The rings spun faster. Sparks clawed his skin. The iron reached toward the bond that would break him quickest.
Neris stepped close. Hand over his chest. "Not me. Don't let it use me."
He gripped her wrist. "It won't."
Brann rumbled. "Take weight from me. I carry better."
The iron ignored him. It pressed for leverage again.
Teren pulled one more memory. Not rain, not rope, not apples. A straw bed under a window. Dust in a sunbeam. The sound of his own breath when the house was kind.
"Mine," he said.
The rings slammed together. One half split and sank into the torc. Cold carved his throat from the inside. He swayed. Neris and Brann held him up.
The mirror scraped deep.
SEVENTH FRAGMENT CLAIMED. BONDS SNAP.
Teren pressed fingers to the iron ridges. Sharper now. Jagged as broken teeth. For a heartbeat, he swore it smiled.
Neris kept her hand on his chest until his breath steadied. "Not all of you," she said. "Still here."
Brann stood close, solid. "We hold. That's the work."
Teren nodded. The motion hurt. "We hold."
The torc purred, patient. Waiting for the next thing to break.
They left the Quiet Room slow. The hall smelled of old stone and iron. Teren touched the collar again. It fit his neck better now. He hated that.
In the stairwell, a baby cried. A man spoke a promise and forgot it. A woman whispered a name into her palms to keep it safe.
Teren set his jaw. "Rain. Rope. Apples."
The anchors held. For now.