Part 3: A Circle Drawn in Flesh
The room was quiet when Siora stepped inside.
Sylvia stood near the window, tail twitching once—then still.
Sacha was seated on the floor, back to the wall, arms crossed. She didn't say a word, but her gaze raked Siora from head to toe, as if measuring her for armor or a burial.
Amelia, of course, smiled. "A fourth? My, my. He does move quickly."
Yuji entered behind Siora, setting his blade down beside the door.
"She passed the test," he said simply. "She stays."
Sylvia didn't move, but the tension in her shoulders spoke volumes.
Sacha finally spoke. "She's calm."
"That's a problem?" Yuji asked.
"It means she's hiding something. Or waiting to pounce."
Siora met Sacha's eyes. "I don't fight for attention."
"Then why are you here?"
Siora's voice was quiet. "Because I was dying out there. And this man smells like change."
Amelia sipped from a cup she hadn't poured. "Smells like something."
Yuji stepped between them. "Enough. She's earned a bed. The rest comes in time."
Siora nodded. "I don't want your loyalty. Just your honesty."
Sylvia turned then, finally meeting Siora's gaze directly.
"If you hurt him—"
"I won't," Siora said, without blinking. "But if I did, I'd use words sharper than spells."
Sylvia seemed to accept that. For now.
That night, Siora chose the smallest corner of the room. She didn't remove her cloak or boots. She sat on the floor, back straight, hands folded in her lap.
As the others fell into rest—some into sleep, some into magic dreams—Siora remained awake.
She watched Yuji breathe.
And she whispered something in an old, forgotten dialect.
A druid's prayer.
Not to bless him.
But to ask the forest—if any still listened—to forgive her for following a man instead of the trees.
Part 4: The Bonded Ritual of Healing
It was well past midnight when she approached him.
Yuji was seated alone at the edge of the tower's rooftop, cloak wrapped around his shoulders, watching the moon carve soft light across Ironhorn's crumbling skyline.
Siora moved without sound, but he didn't startle when she appeared beside him.
"I thought you'd sleep," he said.
"I rarely do."
She sat. Not close. Not far.
Her eyes were distant. "I've been watching the way you move around the others. You don't order. You lead."
Yuji didn't answer.
She looked at her hands. "My power—it's better when it has something to anchor to. Something… steady. If I link it to you, I can cast faster. Stronger. More precise. But it has to be willing."
Yuji turned to face her. "You want to bond?"
"I want to protect you," she said simply. "But I don't want to feel alone when I do."
That was enough.
They didn't go far—just to the center of the tower floor, where dust had settled in a ring like waiting ash.
Siora drew no runes. No blood. No scrolls.
Just breath.
"Sit. Face me."
He obeyed.
"Now close your eyes."
He did.
She placed one hand over his heart. One over his lower back.
Then, she breathed.
A pulse passed through her skin. Slow. Gentle. Like roots moving through soil.
Yuji matched it. One inhale. One exhale.
Mana flowed—not like Sacha's crushing surge or Sylvia's heat bloom.
This was quiet. Cool. Whispering.
She pressed her forehead to his.
And in that moment, he saw her.
A forest. Burning.
A girl, maybe nine, screaming spells that turned grass into blood.
A mother, dying.
A priest's ring slipping off a father's hand as he walked away.
Then: years. Alone. Studying. Surviving. Pretending to be someone smaller.
And through it all—the ache.
Of never belonging.
Never being safe.
Until now.
Yuji didn't speak.
He didn't open his eyes.
He just reached up, placed his hand over hers, and let the magic settle between them.
The bond clicked.
And Siora exhaled—sharp, shuddering.
She leaned against him just slightly, whispering, "Now I can breathe."