We stayed close long after the whisper faded. None of us moved; none of us even tried. It was like something fragile and invisible hovered between us—something new, something we hadn't touched before.
Eventually, Seris let out a slow breath, leaning her forehead against my shoulder. Not dramatically, not intensely—just resting there like she finally allowed herself to be tired.
"Arin," she murmured, "you're shaking."
I hadn't noticed. "I didn't mean to."
"You don't have to mean it," Lira said softly. "Just let us notice."
Her hand slid down my arm, fingers brushing mine. It wasn't a request—more like a reassurance that she was here, that she saw the tremor, that I didn't have to hide it.
Seris shifted, voice low. "We stay with you. That's the rule. Remember?"
"I remember," I whispered.
But remembering didn't keep the fracture from pulsing again—soft, curious, almost like it was listening to what being held sounded like.
Lira hesitated, then spoke quietly. "If it learns us… then maybe it learns what we are to each other."
Seris frowned. "Which is what exactly?"
Lira glanced at me first—her cheeks warming—but she didn't look away.
"A bond," she said simply.
Seris blinked. "A magical one?"
"…more than that," Lira whispered.
I felt something lodge in my chest—something warm, something trembling, something I didn't have a word for yet.
Seris looked away quickly, pretending she wasn't blushing. "Fine. Maybe more. But don't expect me to say it out loud—"
She stopped.
Her eyes widened slightly, gaze snapping toward me again.
Because the fracture pulsed at that exact second—slow, warm, almost like agreement.
Seris stared. "…did it just—?"
"Yes," I whispered. "It reacts to you both. Not just me."
Lira covered her mouth, eyes wide with something halfway between awe and emotion. "Arin, that means it doesn't just recognize your feelings—it recognizes ours."
My breath caught.
That thought terrified and comforted me all at once.
Seris leaned closer, voice almost gentle. "So it's learning that you're not just one person sitting alone inside your head."
Lira's fingers threaded with mine again, steady and warm. "It's learning that you're ours."
---
We didn't talk for a while after that.
We just sat.
Together.
Close enough that our breaths touched, close enough that our hearts slowly slowed to the same rhythm. The bond hummed quietly, warm and alive, settling over the fracture like a blanket.
I didn't fall asleep, but I drifted in that space between wakefulness and dreaming—where thoughts softened and hearts spoke louder than fear.
Somewhere deep inside, the fracture pulsed once more.
And this time… the pulse didn't feel like a memory trying to return.
It felt like a presence trying to stay.
When the tremor in my hands finally faded, I realized neither of them had let go—not once.
Lira kept her fingers laced through mine, thumb brushing gently across the back of my hand, a repetitive, soothing motion she probably didn't even realize she was doing. Seris still leaned against me, head resting lightly on my shoulder, breathing quiet and steady.
For the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel dangerous.
It felt safe.
Lira shifted a little to look at me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Arin… do you ever think maybe the fracture isn't trying to hurt you?"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" she hesitated, searching for words delicate enough to hold the thought, "maybe it never learned anything except loss. Maybe that's why everything feels like pain to it."
Seris sat up slowly, brows furrowing. "You're saying it's reacting like something that… doesn't know better?"
Lira nodded. "Yes. Like a wound that never healed, so everything touching it feels like reopening."
That hit something deep inside me—something raw, something afraid to be understood.
Seris turned toward me fully. "But we're here now. And we're not leaving."
Lira's voice softened even more. "So maybe it can learn something else."
I let out a slow breath. "What if it learns the wrong thing?"
Seris squeezed my hand, gentle but firm. "Then it learns it from us."
Lira smiled faintly. "And we teach it right."
For a moment, the bond pulsed like sunlight warming skin after a long winter. And the fracture pulsed back—not resisting, not retreating. Listening.
Seris blinked slowly, voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "You know… I didn't think I'd ever be good at this."
Lira tilted her head. "Good at what?"
Seris motioned vaguely between the three of us. "This. Caring. Staying. Whatever this is becoming."
"It's becoming us," Lira whispered.
My heartbeat caught.
Us.
Seris exhaled shakily, almost laughing at herself. "Sounds terrifying."
"Only a little," Lira said, smiling.
I swallowed. "I'm scared too."
They both looked at me—really looked—like the honesty meant more than any reassurance ever could.
Seris leaned her forehead gently to mine. "Good. Then we're scared together."
Lira moved closer, pressing her shoulder to mine. "Together is all that matters."
And just like that, the fear eased—not because it disappeared, but because it wasn't just mine anymore.
---
We eventually lay back down—not out of exhaustion, but because being that close felt like the only place any of us wanted to be.
Lira curled against my right side again, her hair brushing my jaw. Seris moved behind me, arm sliding around my waist like a promise she didn't know how to say out loud.
The bond settled warm and steady.
They both holded mne hand strongly on each side. They are always to give them with me it flet like I am never alone anyone from the rest of mine life.
No entity whispering. No fracture screaming. No shadows pressing in.
Just three breaths, three heartbeats, woven into something quiet and real.
A triangle formed by pure bond. It was a auspicious day with lira and seris. We kept knowing each other more and more and our bond grew stronger .
As my eyes drifted closed, I felt the fracture pulse once—gentle, hesitant, learning.
Not alone.
Not anymore.
Together for eternity.