The Threadbinding Grove had gone quiet after the ceremony, but the tension in the air hadn’t eased at all. It lingered like frost on the ancient, twisted branches, thick and suffocating. The sacred silver ribbons that had vibrated with ancient magic during the vows now hung limp from the boughs, their light fading into a dull, melancholy shimmer. Guests were starting to drift back toward the main halls, their voices low and careful, like they could all sense the storm building underneath everything. They moved in hurried clusters, casting sidelong glances at the newly bound couple, speaking in the hushed tones reserved for tragedies or impending wars.
Elara stayed close to Rowan, the silver thread of their binding still warm between their wrists. It was a tangible weight, a physical remin
