The path back from the seam-realm wasn't a straight one.
It felt like walking through glass—each step forward cracked something beneath them, though they couldn't see it. By the time they returned to Raven's realm, their skin was humming with energy, and the skies had deepened from red to an unsettling violet.
Lyra could barely catch her breath.
"I don't feel like I'm back," she murmured.
"You're not," Raven replied. "This realm is still shifting. The sigil left a mark here too."
They weren't alone for long.
As they stepped beyond the threshold of the forest edge, a shadow peeled from the trees—a tall figure cloaked in grey, face painted with runes that moved like water.
"I felt the sigil pulse," the figure said. "I knew it had to be you."
"Varos," Raven acknowledged him with a nod. "We need the texts. The forbidden ones."
Varos's expression darkened. "You know what the cost is."
"She's worth it," Raven said without hesitation.
Lyra blinked, startled by the weight in his voice. Varos looked between them, something ancient stirring behind his eyes. "Come, then. But understand—these answers cannot be unlearned."
They walked deeper into Varos's domain: a ruined library built into the roots of a dying tree. The walls shimmered with ink and ash. Scrolls and tomes hung suspended in webs of starlight. And at the center, an altar made of blackstone, pulsing faintly—like it had a heartbeat.
Varos placed his hand on the stone, whispered something, and the altar opened.
From within, he pulled out a book.
It looked like it was made from bone and bound in threads of silver hair. The title glowed: Of Blood and Binding.
He handed it to Lyra.
"Only she can open it," Varos said. "Only one touched by both light and shadow."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched the cover. It opened for her with a slow exhale of magic.
Inside—pages filled with inked illustrations, ancient scripts, and glowing diagrams that moved on their own. She skimmed until her fingers froze.
Raven stepped beside her.
"What is it?" he asked.
She turned the book so he could see. It was a depiction—of them.
Not just lookalikes. Them.
Her silver-streaked hair. His eyes like dark fire. A circle drawn between them, two hearts inside, joined by a serpent with wings.
Underneath, a single word in bold script: Animae.
"It means 'the bond between souls born to destroy or unite,'" Varos said. "Your connection isn't just rare. It's cursed."
Lyra closed the book. Her voice was thin. "We were part of this before we ever met."
Varos nodded. "Each age has a pair. Most don't find each other. When they do… either the realms shift—or collapse."
Raven swore under his breath. "What activates it?"
"Emotion," Varos replied. "Pain. Desire. Fear. And when both hearts open… when both truly fall—"
"They become the prophecy," Lyra finished. Her throat tightened. "So what do we do? Stop feeling?"
Varos gave her a sympathetic look. "Can you?"
Neither of them answered.
They spent the night in the ruins, too haunted to sleep, too tired to keep reading.
Lyra curled near one of the living roots, listening to the strange beat of the tree. Raven stayed close, tracing protective runes around the room, his hands never still. At one point, she looked up—and their eyes met.
He looked away too fast.
Something had shifted between them.
Not just the bond. Not just fate. Something personal. Immediate.
Lyra rose and crossed to him. "You were willing to pay the cost," she said.
"I still am."
"Why?"
He didn't speak at first.
Then, quietly: "Because when you screamed… I heard it in my blood. Not just in my head. Not just magic. You're inside me in a way that terrifies me. And I'd rather lose everything than lose that sound again."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she leaned in—and placed her forehead against his.
Neither moved.
Their bond pulsed softly between them. No surge. No explosion. Just… truth.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"So am I," he replied.
They stayed that way until the first false light of Raven's realm crept in—violet and cold.
The book still lay open on the altar, its pages glowing.
But the next chapter was waiting.
And tomorrow, they would face it.