The elders conferred. Time narrowed into seconds that stretched like rope. Finally, the lead elder spoke.
“We will not exile,” the elder said. “But we will set terms.”
Terms. The word was law. The Tribunal outlined conditions that felt like a marriage contract: transparency in special rituals, limits on public declarations, a tempered path to any public bond recognition, and service to the Order for a fixed span. Corin would remain my guide, but our claim had to be integrated—not burned into the Order’s history overnight.
Corin stepped forward then, without mask, and addressed them in a voice that had been tempered by nights of teaching and the rawness of our private reclamations. “We accept terms,” he said. “But one: she remains at my side, not as property without voice, but as partner
