“When he realized what he’d done—when he saw her plummeting toward the water—he did not stay on the edge, he followed her into the abyss, begging the Gods for a second chance. He wanted to undo the moment his hands betrayed his heart. He wanted to save the woman he believed he loved.”
“But he didn’t love her,” I growl, Rhûven stirs in my chest. “He was obsessed. He wanted to own her light because he couldn’t find his own.”
“Yes,” the god’s voice is heavy with sadness, like a heavy sigh of wind. “And no.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Therin did not seek to own her, Caelen. He did not wish to extinguish her light or cage it. He wanted only to be the soil beneath her feet—to do whatever was necessary to watch her bloom brighter. He stayed for her. He jumped for her. He spent over three thousand years mourning the moment his hands failed her before he was thrust into this life.”
Guilt and anger rise up my throat.
“His love was not the lack of light,” the god continues, “but a lack of direction. He was the soil that tried to claim the sun. He poured his devotion into a vessel that was never meant to hold it, and in doing so, he let the weeds of his own soul take root. He did not see that while he was busy tending to a garden that was nevermeant to be his, his own true bond was waiting in the shadows, unwatered and alone.”
Lumi’s breath hitches beside me. She isn’t looking at me anymore; she’s staring at Micah with a devastating, soft-eyed pity.
“He was trying,” she whispers. “All this time... he was just trying to fix it.”
“He was,” the god confirms. “But one cannot fix a severed thread by tying it to the wrong soul. To do so only creates a knot that must be cut.”
“But—” I start, but I’m cut off.
“Just as you were tasked with judging souls, he was tasked with mastering the garden of his own spirit. To ensure the darker parts of his nature did not take root and choke the life from everything he touched.”
Lumi stiffens against me, her fingers digging into my arm.
“We sent him back with a twin. A twisted mirror—Mark. A soul prone to violence, to hunger, to all the things Therin was capable of becoming. His task was to guide that darkness. To prove he could protect a life instead of possessing it. To choose the slow growth over the vine of obsession.
“But he failed,” I say softly, looking at my brother.
“He failed.” The god’s eyes fall to the snow-covered ground. “He could not control the bane in his brother because he had not yet cleared it from himself. He could not let go of what was never his. And in the end, the bitter fruit blinded him again.”
“So what now?” Lumi asks, tears spilling down her face. “Does he just... die? After all that trying? After you let him fail because of a psycho brother?” she shouts, her voice echoing through the listening trees.
I attempt to tuck her behind me, my protective instincts flaring at her defiance, but the god waves me away with a single, shimmering motion.
“I understand your anger, Naya,” the god’s voice raises, vibrating in the air like a struck bell. “But as I said, the gods do not waste soulbonds—especially souls willing to jump into the dark for a mate that was not theirs to claim. Therin—Micah—will be given another chance. Reborn once more. But this time...” They pause, the golden fire softening, “This time, he will find his true bond. The one he was always meant to have. The one he overlooked becauseyoursoul was carrying fragments of hers.”
Lumi freezes, her breath clouding in the freezing air.
“Wait!” she whispers, her brows pinching together. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? My sister... Anna?”
“Anya,” the god corrects. “And Anna. Two names, one soul. She was the other half of the thread that broke on the cliff three thousand years ago. Not your bond with Caelen—but Therin’s with Anya.”
Lumi’s knees buckle. I catch her, hauling her against my chest, my arms the only thing keeping her upright as the world reorders itself around us.
“Anya was your guardian in your first life—the older sister who left these woods and took the burden of the scout’s path so you could remain within the safety of the Archive,” the god continues, their voice softening. “She bore the scars of the world so your hands could stay stained only by ink. But the wheel turns, and the debt of protection must be repaid. So, she returned as the younger sister... and you became the guardian she once was to you.”
I feel Lumi crumbling against me. The weight of it is staggering. It wasn’t just a sisterly bond; it was a reversal of fates.
“Micah did not love you, Lumi,” the god reveals. “He loved the piece ofherthat you were holding for safekeeping. Souls do not travel alone; they travel in constellations. He was chasing aghost that lived inside your heart, sensing the mate he hadn’t yet found, but looked at the wrong face to find her.”
Lumi’s face hardens. The grief is there, but I have an inkling that if I weren’t holding her right now, she’d walk straight up to the god’s face and spit in it.
“She had to watch me fall,” she whispers. “I had to watch her bleed. This time...” She looks straight in the god’s eyes. “I’ll burn the world before I let anything touch her again.”
The godfire dims, the blinding gold fading into soft, glowing embers that flick softly over the snow.
“Your bond is sealed—Caelen and Naya, Andrik and Lumi, whatever names you carry, you are whole. The prophecy is complete. The cycle of the fall is broken.”
