“You ever hear a forest go this quiet?” I asked.No answer.Bunny didn’t even glance my way. Just sat near the edge of the overhang, knees drawn up, eyes fixed on the dead treeline. Not twitching. Not snarling. Not muttering threats under his breath. Just still.It wasn’t right.He was always moving. Pacing, growling, shifting shapes, if only to feel the pull of his muscles. That constant restlessness was the closest thing to comfort he allowed himself.But now? He hadn’t moved in over an hour. And I was starting to feel like I was stuck in a grave with someone who’d already made peace with being buried.I tossed a pebble toward the cliff edge. It bounced once, twice, and vanished into the trees below.Still nothing.“Are you going to say something?” I asked.His ears twitched. Barely.I tried again.“You growled when I snored two nights ago. That’s communication.”Nothing.The fireless dark between us pressed in heavier than before. Maybe it was the Ash Shepherds. Or maybe the burnt

"You're burning up."The words left my mouth before I even thought them through. They sounded stupid once they hit the air—thin and obvious, like pointing out the rain during a storm. Bunny’s skin, where he still had skin, shimmered with heat. His breath came in short, snarl-like bursts, too shallow to be restful. The bolt hadn’t gone deep, but the iron had sunk near the bone. I’d seen fever before—how it crawled through the body like fire, burning more than just flesh."You need to shift."He didn’t answer. Just twitched, the edges of his form pulsing as if caught between skins again. Fur flickered along his arm, then vanished."You can’t heal like this. You know that."Still no response.I swore under my breath and leaned closer. The bandage I’d tied earlier was soaked through again, warm and sticky. I tore another strip from my shirt and pressed it down. Bunny flinched and half-growled."I know it hurts, but—fuck, just stay still."A low sound escaped him, half laugh, half whimper.

“Names burn quieter than oaths.”That was the first thing I heard when Ashlan shifted in the firelight, her voice soft and low as the leaves overhead.I didn’t turn. I just sat on the mossy stone, watching the glow catch her silhouette. The warded circle around us hummed faintly, like an echo of ancient power—quiet, strong, deliberate.“You said you were a binder’s apprentice,” I said.She nodded, her fingers tracing patterns in the dirt. “Yes. I learnt the words. The rituals. The smoke that erased voice.” Her eyes were hidden behind cloth, but I felt her look at me. “We were tasked with unmaking a boy like Bunny. They didn’t want me to watch.”I shifted uncomfortably. The word 'unmake' felt heavier than anything I’d heard so far. Closer to death than to binding.“He was shaking,” she continued, voice small. “Reminded me of a fledgling bird. Used his voice to beg for something. I knelt beside him and heard his throat break in half with the magic trying to force him. Some part of me sc

“Look at this.”My voice sounded hollow inside the ruin, swallowed by cracked arches and draped moss. We’d been walking through the collapsed remains of what might’ve been a temple or a place of binding, silence so thick it pressed against our skin. The air smelt of damp decay, of stone longing to be whole again. Sunlight filtered through holes in the roof, spotlighting walls stained with colour—reds bleeding into blues, gold dripping into green. The place seemed alive, even though it was dying.Bunny stopped mid-step beside me, body trembling. He stared at the massive ward marks carved into the stone, then painted over in sickly bright hues. My heart thumped against my ribs at the sight: loops and knots of magic etched into ancient stone, not used to protect, but to erase. The colours looked like bruises—binding spells designed to strip someone of memory, of identity, of being.He staggered, pressing a hand against the wall for support. I rushed to his side, easing him down onto the

“Let me see the pendant.”Fenn’s voice cracked the morning quiet like a whip. We were still huddled by the stream where Bunny had washed the ash from his fur. The water flowed steadily, but tension crackled between us like a stray spark.I sat forward, heart pounding. “You want to see it now?”He didn’t move. Just stared at the pendant beneath my shirt. I felt its weight, heavy as a promise.“Evin,” he said, calm but hard. “I need to know what it is.”Bunny shifted beside him, ears twitching, but he stayed quiet. Watching. Judging.I took a deep breath. “Fine.” I unclasped my shirt just enough to let the pendant slip from beneath it. The bone carving—cracked crown hovering over rising flame—gleamed in the sunlight.Fenn blinked. He leaned forward, eyes flicking across the sigil. He swallowed and straightened. “Line-Bearers”.“Line-Bearers?” My voice trembled.He nodded slowly. “Old rebels. Defied the Binder kings. Carried these pendants as oaths of lineage and blood memory.”“Lineage?