Kaltrava, the morning after the Rite
Tavian woke to the sound of breathing that was not his.
Not Raijara's either. He knew her cadence now, like thunder pacing across distant hills. This was smaller. Quicker. Curious.
He opened his eyes expecting ruin, maybe ash or mist. But he was back in his alcove. The carved ledge dug into his side. The mat was bunched at his back. The air held the scent of oil, bark, and smoke.
He didn't remember walking home.
But the bond remained.
Raijara rested deep inside him now, quiet and vast, like fire sleeping under snow. She said nothing. But her presence shaped every part of him, like a weight behind his ribs that belonged there. The room seemed brighter, crisper. The Pulse of things around him hummed just a little louder.
Then came the breath again.
He sat up.
A beast sat on the windowsill.
Small. Long-limbed. Cat-like in shape, but too lean, too fluid. Its fur shimmered green and silver like wet leaves catching light. Where eyes should have been was a smooth plate of bark-bone. Its ears flicked with uncanny accuracy.
It chirped once.
"…Hi," Tavian said.
The creature tilted its head.
Raijara stirred in his mind.
"A Whisperkin," she said. Her voice was unimpressed. "Verdant Pulse. Common class. They nest near memory trees and eavesdrop on dreams. Likes warm corners. And drama."
The Whisperkin chirped again, louder.
It leapt lightly from the windowsill to the floor, then pounced up onto the edge of Tavian's mat. Its head swiveled side to side. Then, like it owned the place, it crept forward and curled against his side.
Raijara sighed.
"Absolutely not."
Tavian blinked. "What?"
"You are not bonding with that."
The Whisperkin let out a tiny, warbling squeak.
"I wasn't planning to," Tavian said, trying not to laugh.
"Good. I am still your first bond. One does not follow a storm-phoenix with a vine-sniffer."
"I think it just wants to say hi."
"It is licking your elbow."
Sure enough, the Whisperkin was gently nuzzling the inside of his arm with a tongue like wet moss. Tavian froze.
"Should I… stop it?"
"You may attempt. It will not listen."
Tavian cleared his throat. "Hey. Little one. You're… cute. But I'm kind of taken?"
The beast chirped and rubbed its face against his bondmark.
Raijara's sigh deepened into something close to a growl.
"They will follow you now," she said. "Beasts feel Pulse shifts before mortals do. Yours is loud. Raw. Unclaimed space always draws interest."
"I didn't expect that."
"Common-class beasts come first," she continued. "They are drawn to emotions. To instinct. They test the surface. But they do not stay unless there is room. You already have me."
"So… I can't bond with more?"
"You can." Her tone sharpened. "But not with anything that licks its own tail while you're speaking."
Tavian glanced down.
The Whisperkin was, in fact, licking its tail.
He tried not to laugh.
"It's not so bad."
"It is undignified," Raijara said flatly. "And persistent. You will see more like it in time. Some will flatter. Some will bite. Most will not understand what you carry."
"But it's still here," Tavian said.
"Because it's not trying to understand you. It just wants warmth."
The Whisperkin chirped again and stretched across his lap.
Tavian sighed. "So what do I do?"
"Let it follow. Do not name it."
"You're serious?"
"Names are ties. You have no more room for accidental ones. Not with me in your bones."
Tavian leaned back against the wall, watching the soft light spill through the wood slats. The Whisperkin purred faintly, its body pulsing with quiet rhythm. It wasn't bonded. But it was there. He didn't feel alone.
And Raijara, even annoyed, felt steady.
"I guess this is what the stories mean when they say a Speaker walks between," he murmured.
Raijara didn't respond right away.
Then: "They speak for those who cannot. You are not yet a Speaker. But something is beginning."
Outside, birds trilled faintly through the branches. Far off, the clan-horns sounded low and measured. Another day had begun.
And Tavian was no longer invisible. He was not entirely seen yet either. But the Pulse was starting to listen.
The village had quieted. Not with peace, but with anticipation.
People moved like a stream around a stone, parting around Tavian without a word. No one stopped him. No one met his eyes. But heads turned. Whispers passed. They felt something had shifted, even if they didn't know what. The hearthring drew them all in.
At its center, Sariah stood, not as a candidate, but as a Speaker.
She wore no ceremonial cloak, only bare shoulders and arms inked with fresh glyphs. The marks across her collarbone were still raw, edges pulsing faintly with Hollow and Verdant. Maerith crouched at her right, eyes steady, tail a slow sweep across the dust. Seyla stood silent at her left, still as rooted stone. Behind them, Elaris loomed with wings half-folded, veined like old scrolls, as if the air itself dared not move too loudly.
Tavian stopped at the salt-line. No one needed to tell him where his place was. The boundary was felt, not seen. A hush between breaths.
Amahra stood near the seven clan-stones, her staff driven into the earth. She didn't speak. Her gaze swept over the gathered crowd like a pulse seeking rhythm. It passed over Tavian without pause. Not ignoring him, but measuring.
Raralund's princess stood near the edge, flanked by her second, jaw tight beneath her crest of antler-thread. Clerinto's Paladin remained a statue of grey iron, though his beast, hidden behind a veil of pulsewoven thread, stirred once like a breath behind glass. The Lyceum observer beside him traced her fingers through the air, drawing slow, deliberate circles of magic Tavian didn't recognize.
The Juza had not left either. Their priest now carried his bronze flame-mask under one arm. His gaze didn't wander. He stared only at Sariah, unmoving, like he was reading a story no one else could see but already knew the ending.
Then she looked at Tavian.
"You came," Sariah said.
Her voice was soft but rang clearly across the circle.
Tavian met her eyes.
"I had to."
"You were seen."
He blinked. "What?"
She stepped forward once. Not far. Just enough to change the shape of the moment.
"Last night. The Veil opened. We all felt it. Thunder without clouds. A storm inside the earth."
Tavian looked around. The circle had not turned to face him. Their attention stayed fixed on her.
Not him.
Not yet.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Sariah smiled. It wasn't a triumph. It wasn't pride.
It was wonder. Quiet and certain.
"She chose well."
At his shoulder, the Whisperkin shifted slightly. But Raijara stirred first, her presence moving through Tavian like the roll of warm wind beneath heavy water. There was no spoken thought. Just knowing.
Then Sariah turned back, returning to the center. The circle adjusted with her. The ritual moved on. But Tavian remained where he was, just inside the edge. Present. Felt.
The Whisperkin didn't move. It simply settled again, tail wrapping neatly around his shoulder like it had always been there.
For the first time, Tavian didn't feel outside the Rite. He felt like the part of it no one had dared read aloud. Not yet.
Kaltrava, just before dusk
When the gathering thinned and the clan stones cast longer shadows, Tavian slipped down the path behind the lower tier. No one called his name. A few watched as he passed, but not the way they had watched Sariah. Not yet.
He followed instinct more than memory, feet carrying him to the quiet grove near the whisper-bark trees. The wind had not returned, but the leaves above still twisted gently, moved by something older than weather. Raijara remained silent inside him, her presence settled like a folded wing against his spine. Steady. Watching. Waiting.
Tavian sat beneath the oldest tree. He let his fingers brush the bondmark on his wrist. It pulsed faintly. Not pain. A kind of living memory, just beginning to shape itself into permanence.
"Why now?" he whispered aloud.
The trees said nothing.
But Raijara answered.
"You listened. That was enough."
He closed his eyes, letting her words settle. He did not yet know what it meant to listen the right way. He only knew that he had heard something, and it had changed him.
Movement stirred above.
The Whisperkin had followed again. It perched on a low branch, paws curled neatly under its glowing green form. Its head tilted. The bark-like plate of its face caught the low light, making it look briefly like carved bone.
"You really like watching me, huh?" Tavian murmured.
The Whisperkin chirped and leapt down beside him, tail swishing as if it had been part of the conversation the entire time.
Raijara's voice came softer now, touched with something between irritation and humor.
"Of course it followed. You carry Pulse now. Storm and Veil together. They will come. Beasts. Spirits. Worse."
The Whisperkin chirped louder, almost proud.
"She wants to bond," Tavian said.
"I know," Raijara replied flatly.
There was a long pause. Then Tavian asked, "Can I?"
"No."
The answer came quick and dry.
The Whisperkin gave a disgruntled squeak and flopped dramatically onto Tavian's lap.
"She is too small," Raijara added. "Too simple. You need something with purpose. With reach."
"She has personality."
"She also has fleas."
Tavian chuckled despite himself.
The Whisperkin let out a soft snort and began grooming her side, entirely ignoring both of them now.
Raijara's presence sharpened.
"Do not mistake affection for fate, Tavian. There will be many who want to bind themselves to your Pulse now. Not all will be harmless. Not all will wait for your permission."
He nodded, the weight of that truth settling in his chest.
"So what now?" he asked.
Raijara's tone shifted again. Less queen. More whisper.
"Now we begin."
He opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but the trees changed before he could speak. The wind came back.
Not a breeze, but a pressure. A pull. Like something had opened far beyond the grove. Like a gate had turned in its hinges and memory was leaking out.
Raijara's voice turned quiet and precise.
"Something felt your bond. Something close. You need to leave."
"Is it a beast?"
"No. It is curious. And curiosity with no name is often dangerous."
The Whisperkin straightened suddenly, ears flat, body tense. Tavian stood. The pulsemark on his wrist burned again, brighter this time. A warning.
He looked toward the edge of the grove.
A shimmer moved between the trees. No shape. Just motion. Like breath pulled from a forgotten lung.
Raijara flared inside him. Not angry. Ready.
"Walk," she said. "Do not run. The Veil is watching now. You don't want to show it fear."
Tavian turned and began down the path. The Whisperkin followed, close to his heel now.
He didn't speak again.
The shimmer behind him did not follow. Not yet. But the wind told him it would not be the last to notice.