Raining ended early, but none of us felt ready to return to our rooms. Instead, we drifted toward the east garden again—the place that had slowly become ours without any of us naming it that out loud.
The afternoon sun stretched long strips of gold across the stone paths. Every now and then a breeze brushed through the blossoms, scattering petals across the ground like soft snow.
Lira sat beneath the largest tree, settling her skirts around her carefully. Seris dropped down beside her with far less elegance, legs stretched out like she planned to claim this patch of sun forever. I sat between them, knees drawn up, hands resting loosely on my legs.
For a while, none of us spoke.
It was Lira who finally broke the silence.
"Arin… do you ever wonder who they were?"
I didn't need to ask who she meant.
She played with a fallen blossom between her fingers, voice barely above a whisper. "The one who bonded to you before. The one the entity remembers."
My stomach tightened. "Every time I touch the fracture."
Seris watched me carefully. "Whatever it was, you're not them."
"I know," I said. "But I can feel… pieces. Sometimes. Like emotions that aren't mine."
Lira leaned closer, eyes soft with worry and curiosity both. "What do you feel?"
"Loneliness," I admitted. "Like something was torn away suddenly. And confusion—like the fracture keeps asking what happened, but can't remember the answer."
Seris went very still. "That's not your memory."
"No," I whispered. "It's theirs."
Lira placed her hand gently over mine. "That doesn't mean it belongs to you."
"But it lives inside me," I said quietly.
She shook her head. "Only because it was forced to."
Seris looked away, jaw clenched. "You don't owe it anything."
I swallowed hard. "Maybe I don't owe it. But if it's suffering, how do I ignore that?"
Lira's fingers tightened around mine. "By remembering that sympathy isn't the same as surrender."
Seris finally looked at me again, expression fierce. "And if that thing wants to drag you into its history, we'll drag you right back into ours."
The words hit deeper than I expected.
Our history.
Not just mine.
Ours.
Something inside me softened, easing pressure even before I realized I'd been holding my breath.
---
We sat like that until the breeze shifted and the blossoms rustled overhead.
Lira turned her palm upward, offering her hand openly this time—not tentative, not hesitant. Just offering.
"When you dream again…" she said softly, "let us in sooner."
I nodded and slid my fingers into hers. "I will."
Seris's shoulder brushed mine, not by accident. "And if it tries anything, it's answering to me first."
I laughed quietly. "I don't doubt that."
She smirked, but her eyes softened. "Good."
The bond hummed—a soft, warm vibration threading through all three of us. Calm. Present. Steady.
And then—something shifted.
Not in the garden.
Not in my chest.
In the bond.
A flicker of resonance—tiny, faint, but unmistakable. Almost like a fourth pulse brushing against ours, noticing, hesitating, and then stepping away.
My breath hitched.
Lira felt it instantly. "Arin—?"
Seris leaned in. "What was that?"
I listened inward.
Quiet.
Empty.
But not untouched.
"It wasn't the entity," I whispered. "It was… the fracture."
Lira's eyes widened. "Responding to us?"
"Listening," I said. "Curious."
Seris's voice dropped low. "Then it feels the bond changing."
I nodded slowly. "And I think… it wants to understand it."
Lira pressed closer to me, voice trembling with wonder. "Arin, that means it isn't just reacting anymore."
"It's learning," I said.
Seris stared at me like she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or terrified. "Learning what?"
I met both their eyes.
"Us."
Silence stretched, but not empty.
Full of meaning.
Full of possibility.
Lira's hand slid up to my cheek, her touch feather-light. "Then we teach it something worth learning."
Seris wrapped her arm around my shoulders—not possessive, just steady. "And we make damn sure it never learns how to hurt you."
The wind shifted again.
Blossoms drifted.
The bond pulsed.
And somewhere deep inside, the fracture pulsed in return—
once, soft, almost like a heartbeat.
But this time… not alone.
We didn't go back inside right away. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and for the first time in a while, none of us felt rushed by someone else's urgency. The academy halls could wait. The world could wait.
Seris leaned back against the tree trunk, arms folded loosely, gaze flicking between me and Lira like she was trying to memorize something she didn't dare say aloud.
"You know," she said after a long pause, "before all this started, I didn't think I'd ever bond with anyone."
Lira blinked at her. "Really?"
Seris shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not exactly—" she gestured vaguely at herself, "—bondable."
Lira whispered, "I think you're the most bondable person I've ever met."
Seris looked almost offended. "No I'm not."
"Yes you are," Lira insisted softly.
I smiled at both of them. "You are. Trust me."
Seris stared at us for a long moment, then looked away, cheeks a little warmer than before. "Whatever."
But her voice wasn't sharp. It was soft around the edges, like she was letting herself believe it, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud.
Lira turned to me next, her face thoughtful. "Do you feel… comfortable? With us, I mean. Like this."
I didn't need time to think.
"Yes," I said immediately.
Seris arched a brow. "Even with the constant near-death magical nonsense?"
"Especially then," I said. "Because I'm not facing it alone."
Lira's eyes shimmered a little, and she shifted closer, her shoulder brushing gently against mine. "I'm glad."
Seris nudged my other shoulder with hers. "Yeah, same. Don't get used to mushy compliments though. This is a limited time offer."
I laughed quietly. "I'll take whatever you're offering."
She gave me a look that was meant to be threatening, but the corner of her mouth tilted upward anyway.
---
As the sun dipped lower, shadows stretched across the courtyard, cooling the stone beneath our feet. Lira tucked her legs beneath her and leaned into my side more fully, like she was settling in rather than just resting.
Seris watched her, then me, and finally sighed. "Fine. This is our tree now."
"Our tree?" Lira repeated, smiling.
"Yes," Seris said firmly. "No one else gets it."
Lira giggled softly. "We'll have to paint a sign."
Seris immediately brightened. "Oh, absolutely not. If we paint anything, we'll get questioned for a week."
"So we don't paint a sign," I said. "We just decide."
"Good," Seris said. "Decided."
The simplicity of it—claiming a small place in a vast academy—felt strangely intimate. Like we were carving out a space for ourselves, even just for a moment. Even if the rest of the world tried to take everything else.
---
Lira rested her head lightly against my shoulder. "Arin," she murmured, "if the fracture learns… does that mean you're changing too?"
"Yes," I said honestly. "But I think I'm changing because of you. Not because of it."
Seris leaned forward, gaze sharp with something protective. "Good."
Lira smiled, soft and warm. "Then let us keep changing you."
I breathed out slowly. "I want that."
Seris's expression softened—not dramatically, not openly—just enough that I could see how much she meant it when she said quietly:
"Then don't go anywhere without us."
I turned to her. "I won't."
She nudged my shoulder again—almost shyly. "Good."
Lira's fingers found mine again, threading together easily. "Then we'll stay. As long as you need."
My voice came out quieter than I expected. "I think I'm always going to need you."
Seris inhaled sharply and looked away, ears flushing, but she didn't pull her hand away from where mine rested near hers on the grass.
Lira's eyes went softer still. "That's good. Because we're not planning to let go."
The sun finally dipped low enough that the courtyard cooled into evening. Lanterns flickered to life along the walkway, casting warm circles of light over stone and petals.
We stood up slowly—not because training waited, but because the night breeze grew colder.
Seris brushed a blossom from my shoulder. Lira fixed my collar gently. Their touches lingered longer than necessary, and I didn't mind a second of it.
As we walked back toward the academy, the fracture pulsed faintly—
not in warning, not in pain,
but like it was following the warmth of the bond rather than the shadows of memory.
And for tonight, that was enough.