EVER BOUND

SEVENTEEN

The manor grounds stretched far beyond what Thea had explored. The hills bled into forest, and the forest into jagged cliffs that overlooked a black sea, churning in the distance like it held memories of everything that had drowned before her time.

She wandered.

The morning sun hung low, spilling gold across the landscape. Leaves trembled in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a raven called—deep and echoing. She welcomed the solitude. After the night she'd had—after Silas—she needed space to think, to breathe.

To remember who she was becoming.

The path beneath her feet curved toward the eastern edge of the property, a place she hadn't seen the night before when they'd arrived under the cloak of dusk. Tall hedges blocked the view at first, but when she rounded them, Thea stopped.

There, standing before a stone statue half-consumed by moss, was Varya.

The other woman didn't turn. Didn't flinch. She simply spoke.

"You should not be here alone."

Thea folded her arms, voice steady. "Then it's a good thing I'm not defenseless."

Varya slowly turned. Her pale eyes were unreadable, rimmed in shadow, like the past haunted her more than she admitted. She studied Thea with something close to disdain—but not quite. It was more complicated than that.

"I don't think you understand," Varya said coolly. "You're not just not defenseless, Thea. You're dangerous."

Thea blinked. "Excuse me?"

Varya stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Do you know how many stories there are about you?"

"I barely remember my own life. How could I know anyone else's?"

"In most of them," Varya said, her voice low and sharp, "you're the villain. The one who cursed entire bloodlines. Who scorched forests. Who brought armies to their knees not for justice, but for vengeance."

"That's not who I am."

"No, it's not who you remember being," Varya corrected. "But you've been her. Again and again. Lifetimes of power—unmatched, unbound, and uncontrolled."

Thea took a step back, the words striking something deep inside her chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

Varya's gaze narrowed. "Because we all live or die by your choices now. Not Silas. Not the others. You. You are the blade. The shield. The war."

Silence stretched between them, long and breathless.

"I didn't ask for any of this," Thea finally whispered.

"None of us did," Varya replied. "But it doesn't change the truth."

She walked past Thea then, shoulder brushing hers. "You can be the savior this time," she said as she passed. "Or the storm."

Thea stood rooted in place, her pulse thudding in her ears.

It was the first time she realized the full weight of her return—of the whispers that followed her, the legends that spoke her name not with reverence but with fear.

She had always thought she was running from danger.

She never imagined she was the danger.

~*~

The manor was quiet when Thea returned.

Varya's words clung to her like smoke — heavy and cloying, thick in the back of her throat. Villain. Undefeated. Weapon. No matter how many steps she took away from that conversation, she couldn't outrun what it had unlocked.

She pushed open the door to the study.

The air inside smelled like parchment and old magic — that dry, weighty scent of knowledge that had waited centuries to be remembered. The fire was out, the room lit only by the late afternoon sun spilling through stained glass. Shadows danced along the edges of the bookshelves. The room felt half-asleep.

She moved without speaking, pulling the second journal from the stack she'd left behind days ago. Its leather was cracked. Gold embossing flaked beneath her fingers. She sat on the floor by the fireplace, her knees drawn up, and opened the book.

Year of the Second Moon Eclipse

Season of Bloodletting

He dared to look me in the eye and speak of mercy.

I have bled for this land. I have screamed for it. And still, they whisper that I am dangerous. Unfit. A threat not because I've done wrong—but because I could. I will give them something to fear.

He thinks binding me will keep me docile. He does not yet understand the power of a woman who has nothing left to lose.

Let the world burn for what it took from me. I will not rest until the blood debt is paid in full.

Thea swallowed hard.

The looping handwriting was unmistakably hers—only... angrier. Unrecognizable in its fire. She flipped forward.

I felt him watching me in the garden today. Silas. Like he knew what I was becoming but still couldn't look away.

I hate that I don't hate him.

There was a time I would've died for him. I did die for him, didn't I? Over and over again. And yet I cannot forget the look in his eyes when he stood beside them instead of me. As if fear made him noble. As if his protection was worth my freedom.

If he thinks this binding will save me from myself, he is wrong. I do not need saving. I need power. And I will take it.

She let the page fall closed.

Thea stared at the floor for a long time, her heart quiet and full of ache. This version of herself was everything Varya had warned her about. Righteous. Vengeful. A force of reckoning.

And yet... she didn't feel like that woman anymore.

She understood her. Felt her grief. Knew what it meant to have your power stolen under the guise of protection. But the fire that once demanded vengeance now flickered with something gentler. Not weak. Wise.

"I don't want to punish the world," she whispered aloud, voice catching. "I just want to set it right."

She turned the page, and this time, found a different kind of entry. Short. Untitled.

I saw myself in a vision last night. Not a queen. Not a god. Just a girl in the woods, hands in the soil, laughing with her head tilted back like no one had ever broken her.

Maybe she's who I was meant to be.

Thea wiped at her eyes and closed the book gently.

The sun was gone now. The moon hung pale outside the window, casting silver shadows across the floor. Thea stood slowly, the journal still in her hands. Her feet carried her not to her room, but to the windowsill where the stars peeked in.

She didn't want to be the villain in anyone's story anymore.

She wanted to rewrite the ending.

~*~

Silas felt her long before he heard her.

The manor was quiet; the mercenaries he had "recruited" were kept far from the east wing, and his own steps were soft as he crossed the dim corridor. But Thea's presence—her energy—rolled ahead of her like a tide he had known in a hundred different lifetimes.

She was angry.

He could taste it in the air.

She approached his study with purpose, her footsteps clipped, her heartbeat pulsing sharp and fast. Silas closed the ledger he had been pretending to read. His jaw tightened. Something cold and tight cinched beneath his ribs.

He had known this moment was coming.

He just hadn't expected it so soon.

The door swung open before he could rise.

Thea stood in the threshold, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with betrayal that was entirely new—and painfully familiar. For a long moment, she simply stared at him. Not with fear. Not with confusion. But with the hurt of a woman who had just learned the shape of the monster in the room.

"Varya told me," she said.

Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled at her sides.

Silas swallowed. "What exactly did she tell you?"

"That you're afraid of me," she snapped. "That you've always been afraid of me. That the curse wasn't just to bind you—it was meant to bind me."

Silas exhaled slowly. A wish, once again, that he were the kind of creature who could lie convincingly to her face. But he had learned centuries ago—Thea could smell deception on him like smoke.

He rose from his chair. "Thea—"

"Don't," she warned, stepping back as though he might burn her. "I want the truth. All of it."

He hesitated.

And that was her answer.

Her eyes widened, the betrayal deepening. "You knew."

Silas's chest constricted. "Thea, listen—"

"You knew this entire time?"

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it!" Her voice cracked, but her glare didn't. "Tell me why all of this is happening. Tell me why people look at me like I'm a weapon they need to survive. Tell me why they think I'm a monster."

Silas closed his eyes.

And opened them into the storm.

"Because once," he said quietly, "you were powerful enough to unmake us all."

Thea went still.

"Your magic wasn't just strong—it was legendary," Silas continued, each word heavy and reluctant. "You were born with a connection to the old forces, the kind that existed before names or languages. You were feared, Thea. Worshipped. And hated."

"By who?" she whispered.

"By everyone who didn't understand you." He swallowed. "Including me."

Her breath shuddered.

Silas forced himself to speak the truth he had buried under centuries of guilt.

"The curse wasn't only cast on me." His voice was low, raw. "It was meant to bind you. To mute your power. To sever you from what you were capable of."

Thea shook her head slowly, like she was trying to clear water from her ears. "But...why you? Why curse yourself too?"

"Because I asked."

The admission left him hollow.

Her mouth parted. "You what?"

Silas took a single step closer and then stopped himself. "I thought—gods, I thought I was protecting you. Protecting the world. You were losing control, Thea. Your power was burning through you faster than I could keep you grounded. I was afraid it would kill you. I was afraid it would kill everyone."

"So you chose for me."

Her voice was soft, deadly soft.

Silas's throat tightened painfully. "I thought if the curse bound us together—my immortality tethered to your magic—you would be safe. That you wouldn't burn out. That I could keep you alive. I was so sure..."

He dragged a hand through his hair. "I was a fool."

Thea recoiled as though struck. "You didn't even ask me."

Silas's voice dropped. "I didn't know how. I was losing you. You were slipping into rage, into grief, into that prophecy that promised you would destroy us all. I—"

"You had no right."

Her voice wasn't soft anymore.

It was trembling, furious.

"You took my choice," she said, stepping backward until she hit the doorway. "You took my life. You took centuries from me. You let me die over and over again because you thought you knew what was best."

He felt the words like blades.

"Thea—"

She held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it."

Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked back the tears with a force that shook something loose inside him.

"I trusted you," she whispered. "Even without remembering why. My soul trusted you. And now I see why that was a mistake."

She turned.

Silas flinched.

"Thea—"

She didn't look back.

She left the room with her shoulders stiff and her chin high, and Silas stayed rooted in place, feeling centuries of regret settle into his bones like fresh chains.

The door slammed behind her.

He closed his eyes.

And then—

A c***k split the air.

A ripple of ancient magic tremored through the manor walls.

A pulse Silas hadn't felt since the night he lost her the first time.

His eyes snapped open.

"No," he breathed, dread coiling tight in his gut. "It can't be—"

Another pulse.

Darker. Heavier.

Familiar in a way that turned his blood to ice.

The ancient enemy had returned.

And they were close.