Lira woke to the sound of her own heartbeat.
Fast.
Too fast.
Thudding against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
Her room was dim, the early morning light weak and colorless through the narrow window. Her blankets were twisted around her legs, sweat dampened her neckline, and her breath wouldn't settle.
She wasn't panicking.
Not exactly.
It was something else.
A pull.
A thread tightening, humming, vibrating with urgency—
something calling her
warning her
trying to reach her.
She pressed a hand to her sternum.
The bond burned softly beneath her palm.
"Caelum…?"
Her voice cracked.
The bond shifted in answer.
Not a voice.
Not a whisper.
Just a direction.
A location.
Her breath caught.
Her door clicked open before she made it to the handle.
Marenne stood there, pale, wide-eyed, hair disheveled, notebook clutched like a weapon.
"You felt that, right?" Marenne demanded.
Lira nodded quickly.
"Yes—what is it—?"
"Jalen thinks we're going to die."
Lira grimaced. "That's… normal for him."
"No," Marenne said. "He said it loudly enough to wake the upper floors."
Jalen appeared behind her, wrapped in a blanket like a shawl, eyes wild.
"We're going to die," he announced. "We're all going to die."
Lira shoved past them.
The bond pulsed again—
harder.
Sharper.
More urgent.
Something was wrong.
With Caelum.
The Bond Drags Her
She didn't run.
She flew.
Down the hallway. Down the steps. Through the courtyard where students were only just waking and blinking at the world like confused animals.
They parted for her without knowing why.
Something in the air around her
something in her expression
something in the bond
told everyone:
Don't get in her way.
Her feet carried her toward—
Where?
Where was Caelum?
The bond throbbed again.
Left.
She turned left.
Across the stone bridge.
Through the east garden.
Down the slope behind the library.
Her legs burned.
Her breath tore in and out.
The bond kept tightening.
Strong.
Steady.
Pulling.
The closer she came, the louder it grew—
until the world itself seemed to hum with it.
And then—
she saw him.
Caelum Stands on the Edge
He stood on the far side of the training cliffs, overlooking the ravine that cut across the academy grounds like a wound.
The sunrise behind him cast a pale halo around his silhouette.
He wasn't moving.
He wasn't breathing.
He wasn't… normal.
Threads swirled around him.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
More than she had ever seen.
Bright.
Sharp.
Alive.
Almost alive.
And wrong.
They twisted a fraction out of sync.
A fraction misaligned.
A fraction dangerous.
Lira slowed, chest heaving, sweat stinging her eyes.
"Caelum…?"
He didn't turn his head.
Didn't acknowledge her.
Didn't speak.
Marenne and Jalen caught up behind her, both gasping for air.
"Oh gods," Jalen whispered. "He's doing magic. Alone. At dawn. At the ravine. That's how legends die."
"That's how the academy dies," Marenne corrected quietly.
Lira took a step forward.
The threads shifted instantly—
toward her.
Like a thousand blades turning in her direction.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Marenne grabbed her arm.
"Lira—stop."
"I need to go to him."
"No. You need to NOT DIE."
Lira shook her off.
"I'm fine."
"YOU'RE WALKING TOWARD AN UNSTABLE CATASTROPHE—"
"He's Caelum," Lira said, voice trembling but firm. "He won't hurt me."
Jalen slapped both hands to his face.
"He might not hurt you on purpose," he said, voice cracking, "but have you considered the possibility he might hurt you BY ACCIDENT while doing reality surgery with THREADS?!"
Lira took another step.
The ground vibrated.
The threads flared brighter.
She felt it—
a spike of emotion through the bond.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Not pain.
Restraint.
He was holding something back.
For her.
Something he didn't want her to touch.
To see.
To feel.
Her heart squeezed.
"Caelum?" she whispered.
His fingers twitched.
The threads around him rippled like disturbed water.
Slowly—
very slowly—
he turned his head.
And Lira froze.
His eyes were glowing.
Not faintly.
Not reflecting threadlight.
Glowing like white fire.
Deep inside them—
threads spiraled like galaxies.
Her breath shook.
Marenne whispered, "…That's not normal."
Jalen whispered, "…We're doomed. Yes. Doomed."
Caelum blinked once.
And the glow dimmed just enough that she recognized him again.
"Lira," he said quietly.
Her knees weakened with relief.
"I—what's wrong?" she asked. "What happened?"
He exhaled.
And the world seemed to steady with the sound.
"I am stabilizing," he said.
"That does NOT look like stabilizing," Marenne hissed.
Caelum ignored her.
"The entity pushed again," he said. "It was testing the boundary. I had to contain it."
Lira stepped closer.
He did not move.
He did not warn her back.
He simply stood there—
like the center of a storm
waiting to see if she would step into it.
She reached him.
The threads parted for her.
Every blade-soft filament bending away
curving gently
making space.
She stopped only when she could touch his sleeve.
"Caelum," she whispered. "You're shaking."
He looked down at his hand.
He was.
Only slightly.
"It is temporary."
"What did the entity do?" she asked.
"It tried to… open something."
Her blood ran cold.
"What did it try to open?"
Caelum's expression didn't change.
"The seal beneath the academy."
Jalen collapsed.
Marenne cursed.
Lira swallowed.
"And did it… open?"
"No."
"Because you stopped it?"
"Yes."
Her breath trembled.
"But the threads— why are they moving like that?"
He hesitated.
"Because," he said quietly, "something in me changed."
Her heart thudded.
"Changed how?"
He lifted a hand.
Not toward her.
Toward the ravine.
Threads answered instantly, swirling into a shape—
a sigil.
Not a known one.
Not an academy one.
Not any classification she'd ever seen.
A circle of loops.
An inner spiral.
A twisting central line cutting through reality like a needle pulling stitches.
Lira sucked in a breath.
"That's your Proto-Sigil…"
"No," Caelum said.
"This is its second form."
The air went cold.
Jalen whispered, "…He evolved. He EVOLVED. BEFORE MIDTERMS."
Marenne whispered, "This is… not academically appropriate."
Lira swallowed hard.
"Caelum… is this dangerous?"
"To me?" he asked.
She nodded shakily.
"No," he said.
Her chest loosened—
until he added, quietly:
"Not yet."
Her breath stopped.
The bond flared with something heavy.
Something cold.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
"Caelum…" she whispered, trembling. "What do you need?"
He finally looked at her fully.
And the threads around them settled like a thousand held breaths.
"I need you," he said softly.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Marenne made a squeaking noise.
Jalen fainted quietly onto the grass.
Lira barely noticed.
She stepped closer.
"Tell me what to do."
He moved his hand—
slow, controlled—
and took hers gently.
Her pulse thundered.
He didn't grip tightly.
He didn't command.
He just anchored.
"You will steady me," he said.
"How?"
"By not breaking."
Her breath trembled.
"I… I don't know how not to—"
"You won't," he said.
And then—
his other hand rose.
He touched two fingers to the bond-thread at her sternum.
Warmth spread through her chest.
Her mind cleared.
Pressure eased.
The world steadied.
"I will hold the instability," he said softly.
"You hold the shape."
"The shape?"
"The shape of me," he whispered.
She blinked rapidly.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," he murmured, "that if something inside me snaps wrong—
you pull me back."
She stared at him.
At the threads swirling around him.
At the fractures in the air.
At the glow in his eyes.
And she whispered the truth she didn't realize she knew:
"I won't let you fall."
His lashes lowered.
The faintest sigh escaped him—
relief?
Impossible.
Unthinkable.
Real.
"Good," he murmured.
"Then we begin."
What It Means to Hold the Threadbearer
The moment their bond deepened—
the world roared.
Not literally.
Not with sound.
With pressure.
Threads whipped around them like white lightning.
The ravine cracked.
The stones under their feet vibrated.
The air thickened.
Lira choked on the sudden weight.
"C-Caelum—!"
He squeezed her hand lightly.
"Anchor."
Her mind snapped back into place.
Her breath steadied.
The ground stopped trembling.
Caelum closed his eyes.
And something inside him shifted.
Threads aligned around him—
pulling tight
coiling
twisting
forming patterns she couldn't comprehend—
until his Proto-Sigil spiraled open like a blooming star.
She didn't understand it.
She couldn't.
But she felt it.
A force.
A truth.
A concept.
A Threadbearer.
A Reality-Stitcher in the making.
A mind meant to unravel worlds and put them back in different shapes.
Her knees buckled.
Caelum caught her with an arm around her waist.
"Stay awake," he murmured.
She clung to him.
"I—I'm trying—!"
"Good."
The threads surged again.
A wave of power cracked the air.
And Caelum—
for the first time—
lost balance.
Just for a second.
Just a slip.
Just enough that the bond tightened painfully.
"Caelum!" Lira cried.
He steadied—but barely.
The air around his body fractured like glass.
He saw it.
She saw it.
The bond screamed.
"Pull me back," he said sharply.
"How!?" she gasped.
"Say my name."
She froze.
"What—?"
"Say it," he commanded.
"Caelum—"
"Again."
"Caelum—!"
"Again!"
Her throat shook.
"Caelum!"
The threads wavered.
Reality flickered.
She took a trembling breath—
and screamed it:
"Caelum!"
The air snapped back into place.
He inhaled.
Long and deep and real.
The glow in his eyes dimmed.
The threads settled.
Lira collapsed forward onto his chest, shaking violently.
He caught her gently.
"It's done," he murmured.
She trembled.
"You—you scared me—"
"I know."
"I thought you were—"
"I'm here."
She clutched his sleeve.
"Don't do that again."
He paused.
Then—
quietly—
"…I won't. Not like that."
She swallowed.
"Promise?"
He didn't promise.
Caelum never promised.
But he nodded.
Which, from him, was more binding than any vow.
Aftermath
Marenne dragged Jalen back to consciousness.
"You fainted," she informed him.
"I choose unconsciousness over dealing with whatever that was," Jalen said weakly.
Marenne sighed.
"That was evolution."
"No," Jalen said. "That was a crime against sanity."
Lira ignored them both.
She held Caelum's hand tightly.
He didn't let go.
His voice was soft when he finally spoke.
"You did well."
She blinked back tears.
"I… I thought I was failing."
"You held the shape," he said.
Her cheeks warmed.
"That mattered?"
"More than anything."
Her heart jumped.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
"You kept me here," he said quietly. "On this side."
Her breath caught.
"Caelum…"
He raised her hand slightly.
Pressed her knuckles to his chest—
just over his heart.
Her eyes widened.
His voice lowered.
Intimate.
Quiet.
True.
"You are my anchor," he said.
The bond glowed bright and warm between them.
Like a second heartbeat
finally falling in sync.