Kael slept for eighteen hours.
He didn't toss. Didn't twitch. Barely breathed.
Lira sat beside his bed, curled in the window alcove, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and rage. She hadn't moved for hours. Couldn't. Every time she tried to step away, the bond flared sharply in her chest—as if it didn't trust her to leave. As if it knew he needed her close or risk unraveling.
She didn't tell the instructors what happened.
Didn't report the pulse of uncontrolled magic, or the faint tremor that had passed through the academy's lower warding rings. She said nothing about the silver glow still coiled around Kael's chest, or the shadow-ink leaking faintly through the veins in his hands.
She just waited.
Watched.
And felt the Mark throb with a heat that wasn't pain, but something older.
Memory, maybe.
Or warning.
When he stirred, it was slow—measured. He shifted once, then again, before his eyes opened without a sound. His hand moved instinctively toward his chest, then paused when he saw her watching.
"You stayed," he said.
"Obviously."
Kael sat up, wincing as the Mark flared across his skin. His breath hitched. "How long?"
"Long enough."
He looked at her.
Something had changed in his expression.
Not softness.
Not gratitude.
Just weight.
She stood and walked to the edge of the bed, arms crossed. "What did they try?"
He didn't answer at first.
Then: "A severance ritual."
"You said you'd already tried."
"I did."
"And this one?"
He met her eyes.
"They used the ancestral blade. The one meant to cut legacy-bound ties between cursed bloodlines. It was forged to kill… not unbind."
Lira felt her blood go cold. "They were willing to kill you."
"They were willing to kill you," he said. "Hurting me was the distraction."
Silence pulsed between them.
And the bond surged—soft, low, magnetic.
Lira felt her hand shift toward his.
She stopped it.
"I don't want to lose myself," she whispered.
"You're not the one fading."
She looked at him.
And for a split second, she saw someone else looking back.
A girl.
In gold.
Crying.
She stumbled back.
Kael caught her wrist without hesitation.
"Lira?"
She gritted her teeth. "I saw—"
The Mark ignited.
Not visually.
But internally.
A sharp, searing tug beneath her ribcage that knocked the breath out of her chest. Kael grabbed her shoulders as her legs gave out, lowering her to the bed just before her vision went white.
She was no longer in the room.
She was in a memory.
The world formed around her slowly.
Heat.
Stone.
A chamber lit with a dozen candles, the flames flickering as if blown by a wind she couldn't feel. A mirror sat in the center of the room—tall, oval, covered in a sheer black cloth.
She saw herself standing before it.
But it wasn't her.
The girl had her face—but older.
Or maybe younger.
It was hard to tell.
Her hair was longer, braided in intricate patterns down her back. Her clothes were unfamiliar—deep violet robes etched with gold thread that shimmered faintly under the candlelight.
And her eyes…
They weren't Lira's.
They were Kael's.
The girl raised a hand toward the mirror.
She whispered something.
Lira couldn't hear the words.
But she felt them.
Power surged through the dream like pressure building in her lungs.
And then—
The mirror screamed.
The black cloth burned away in an instant, revealing not a reflection—
—but a vision.
Of Kael.
Bleeding.
Alone.
Surrounded by flame.
"Eryndra!" someone shouted.
The girl turned.
A boy—her bonded?—rushed toward her.
He looked like Kael.
But it wasn't him.
His face was younger. Softer. More human.
He reached for her hand.
And she—
Lira woke gasping.
Her hands clutched at her shirt, the Mark pulsing violently beneath her palm.
Kael was at her side, eyes wide.
"I saw it," she choked out.
"Saw what?"
"Her."
She looked at him, wide-eyed.
"I saw me. But not me. And you. But not you."
He didn't speak.
Lira sat up slowly, skin pale, hands trembling. "The Mark doesn't just bind power. It binds memory. Line twelve didn't complete the bond. It opened it."
Kael nodded slowly.
"I think we're remembering our past lives," she said.
"No," he said quietly.
"We're remembering theirs."
They told Veylan everything.
The dream.
The mirror.
The mirror burning.
The boy who looked like Kael.
The girl who looked like Lira.
The blade of shadow magic rising between them at the end.
When they finished, Veylan sat in silence for a long moment, fingers steepled.
Then he said:
"You're not remembering."
Lira blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're reliving it," Veylan said. "The Mark doesn't show images. It carries imprints—emotional resonance strong enough to fracture the soul. You're stepping into their story… because it's becoming yours."
Kael stood, stiff. "Can we stop it?"
"No."
Veylan met Lira's eyes.
"But you can choose what parts of it become real."
That night, Lira didn't sleep.
She tried.
Curled in bed.
Breath steady.
Ward lights low.
But the bond was too loud. It pulsed with every heartbeat, whispered with every inhale, filled her skull with half-memories and fragments of spells she'd never learned.
She rolled onto her side.
Then onto her back.
Finally she gave up.
She sat up.
And Kael was already at her door.
He didn't knock.
Didn't explain.
Just opened it and stepped inside, barefoot, shirt wrinkled like he hadn't bothered to change.
"I can't sleep," he said simply.
"Me either."
He sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
They didn't touch.
But the room felt too small for how wide the bond stretched between them now.
She turned to him.
"I felt everything you felt. In that room. When they tried to break it."
"I know."
"You thought you were going to die."
Kael looked at her.
"I would've," he said, "if you hadn't been on the other end of it."
The air thickened.
Then—
"I saw her cry," Lira whispered.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"She looked like me."
"She was you."
They faced each other fully now, knees touching.
Lira reached forward, gently, brushing a finger against the edge of Kael's Mark where it rose faintly under his skin.
"It's not just power anymore," she said. "This bond… it's turning us into something else."
Kael caught her hand in his.
Held it.
Tight.
"I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," she said.
Her voice broke.
"I'm afraid I'll lose myself in you."
He didn't flinch.
Didn't deny it.
He just leaned forward—
And rested his forehead against hers.
Not a kiss.
Not yet.
Just closeness.
Heat.
Unspoken things.
And the Mark between them, burning steady.
Like a fire that remembered every version of this moment.