Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The morning light filtered through the tall windows in Caelan’s tower, pale and silver-gold. Bright white orbs floated near the ceiling, their glow muted now that the sun was rising. The air was cool, but the fire crackled steadily in the hearth, casting a soft warmth across the wide stone floor.

Emily sat cross-legged on a plush fur rug in front of the fireplace, a tray of breakfast, maca, and tea balanced between her and Caelan. She took another bite of toast, savoring the rich, slightly spiced butter, then glanced sideways at him.

He was barefoot, still wearing his sleep pants and a loose black shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair was slightly mussed. And he looked more at ease than she’d seen him in days.

She didn’t want to ruin the mood—but the thought had been chewing at her since the farmhouse.

“Has Varis talked to you yet?” she asked, casually enough.

Caelan didn’t look up from his tea. “About?”

“The farmhouse. Her report.”

He exhaled. “She sent it. I haven’t read it yet.”

Emily frowned slightly. “You probably should.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow and looked over at her. “Why?”

She hesitated, then reached for her own tea. “Because… something weird happened before the fighting started.”

He didn’t respond. Just sipped quietly.

Emily leaned back against the cushions and said, “One of them—the cultists—they said something. Right before they attacked.”

Caelan tilted his head. “Oh?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He said, ‘She will be our queen. Chosen by blood.’”

Caelan blinked.

Then he lowered his cup slowly. “Queen?”

Emily raised her brows. “That was my reaction.”

“She’s four,” Caelan muttered. “She hasn’t even received her classification mark yet.”

“Right?” Emily shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Caelan stared into the fire for a long moment, thoughtful.

“I’ll look into it,” he said eventually. “See if anything surfaces. Blood cults have strange prophecies sometimes.”

Emily looked over at him, lips softening. “Thank you.”

His eyes met hers. “Of course.”

Emily took bite of her toast, chewing slowly before glancing over at him again. “Hey… can I ask you something else?”

Caelan looked up, attentive. “Of course.”

“The family at the farmhouse—the one we took Tess to. They were suggested personally weren’t they?”

His expression shifted slightly, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Yes they were and I looked into that,” he said, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “It was one of my guards. He’d mentioned them as a potential match. Said his wife’s cousin knew the couple and vouched for them.”

Emily’s brows furrowed. “And?”

Caelan exhaled slowly. “Turns out his wife was a Blood cultist. A secret one. He had no idea. They have three sons. The oldest just turned five and got his classification—it’s Basic Crafter. The other two are four and one. She’s been trying to teach their boys blood magic behind his back,” Caelan added, voice low.

Her stomach turned. “Oh my god. That’s… awful.”

“I brought him and the boys here to Viremoor,” Caelan said. “Set them up with housing, made sure they had what they needed. They’re under watch, obviously. But the boys are innocent. So is he.”

He paused, then added quietly, “They’ve lost enough.”

Emily stared at him for a long beat, lips parted slightly. “That’s… honestly kind of amazing, Caelan. A lot of people would’ve treated them like they were guilty too.”

His voice was softer now. “Children don’t always follow the parents.”

Without thinking, Emily reached across the tray and laid her hand over his. Her fingers curled lightly around his, a warm, steady touch.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, sipping tea as the flames cracked and popped beside them.

After a quiet stretch where only the fire filled the silence, Emily nudged the tray a little to the side and shifted her weight to face him more directly.

“So… what do you think of Varis and Tess?”

Caelan looked up from his cup, brow lifting slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Emily said, tilting her head, “they’ve gotten pretty close. Tess lights up around her. Varis practically hovers whenever she’s in the room. It’s… obvious.”

Caelan leaned back on one hand, watching Emily closely now. “Are you saying Varis wants to keep her?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. I talked to her a few days ago, and she said she’s been thinking about it since the night you brought Tess here.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just sat there, thinking, his thumb slowly circling the rim of his cup.

Emily watched him carefully, trying to read the flickers of thought behind his eyes.

After a beat, he shrugged. “If that’s what they both want, I’m not going to stop it.”

Her brow arched, surprised. “Just like that?”

Caelan’s eyes flicked toward the fire. “She’d be safer here. Now that the cultists are after her."

Then he glanced back at Emily, the faintest edge of amusement tugging at his mouth. “But she’ll have to bring it to court. Make a formal petition,” Caelan continued, more serious now. “Tess is in my care. There’s etiquette. Protocol. Varis knows that.”

Emily gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “You and your rules.”

His smile was faint, but real. “They exist for a reason. And if Varis is serious, she’ll follow them. I won’t make it hard.”

Emily leaned back a little, watching the fire as warmth spread through her chest—not just from the flames, but from the quiet way Caelan cared. No fanfare. No declarations. Just action.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He didn’t respond to that. But the slight softening of his jaw said enough.

They finished their breakfast slowly, savoring the warmth of the fire and the rare ease between them. Caelan stood first, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his hands and offering her one to help her up. Emily took it, letting him pull her to her feet, their fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

They moved through the room in quiet rhythm, adjusting robes, brushing out hair with fingers, gathering boots. Emily was just about to pull the door open when something caught her eye—a thick, weathered book resting on the side table near the armchair where Caelan had waited for her the night before.

She paused mid-step. “Hey,” she said, pointing, “is that… the Obedience Manuscript?”

Caelan turned, followed her gaze, and walked back to the table. “Yeah.” He bent down and picked it up, holding it easily in one hand. “I’ve been messing with it again. Still sealed. I only know what doesn’t open it.”

He let out a low, amused huff and held it out to her. “Here. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Emily reached out and took the book from his hand—and the moment her fingers made contact, something slammed into her.

Like lightning.

The jolt raced through her palm, up her arm, crackling down her spine. Her knees buckled slightly and she gasped, jerking her hand back on reflex. Caelan hadn’t released the book yet. His hand was still on the leather cover.

They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Did you feel that?” she asked, cradling her hand and looking for scorch marks.

Caelan’s brow furrowed. “Yeah,” he said slowly, eyes lowering to the book.

He tried the cover out of instinct—thumb pressing against the spine—and with a soft click, the book opened.

A faint pulse of light rippled across the pages, then settled. Caelan blinked, frozen, and Emily leaned in beside him, heart thundering in her chest.

“…Huh,” she breathed. “Well, I guess that answers something.”

Caelan didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on the first page, where words were slowly etching themselves into the parchment—as if the book were writing just for them.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Emily felt the hair on her arms rise.

The Obedience Manuscript

By Ennet Vahr

Original thoughts recorded under seal beneath Silverhold Citadel. Let no reader claim ignorance.

This volume is sealed by a dual-bond trigger. It will only yield to the simultaneous touch of both Master and Bound. No force, spell, or threat can bypass it.

I did not design this lock out of modesty. I did it because power attracts fools. And this book? This book is power, refined.

If it has opened for you, then congratulations. Your bond is real. Your roles are fixed. One commands. One obeys.

You have either come here desperate—or hungry. Either way, it’s too late.

I did not want a weapon. I wanted something greater. A living soul tethered wholly to mine. A servant, yes—but not one broken by chains. One shaped by purpose.

I wanted permanence. I got more than I asked for.

Emily stared at the page, heart pounding.

“So that’s why it opened,” she murmured.

[3rd Thawlight, 2nd Cycle, Year 378]

I was fourteen when I found the book.

Buried in the back of a condemned library, its pages torn and stained with blood. It was not the diagrams that stayed with me, nor the warnings. It was the obedience.

A conjurer attempted a soul-weapon summoning and instead pulled a girl—alive, thinking, bound to him by accident. He called it a curse. Spoke of pain, shared thought, the collapse of will. He spent decades trying to free himself.

Fool.

She obeyed. He gave a command; she acted. He raised his voice; she bled for him. The bond was imperfect only because he was imperfect. Afraid. Weak.

I am not.

I see the truth of it:

Bond the soul, and the body will kneel.

I will make one of my own.

Emily blinked at the page. “Okay,” she said slowly, “so… he’s insane.”

Caelan didn’t respond right away. He was still staring at the open book, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Emily looked over at him. “Like, full-blown megalomaniac. ‘Bond the soul and the body will kneel’—who writes that?”

Caelan finally exhaled through his nose. “Someone who should’ve never had access to soul magic.”

She nodded, eyes scanning the page again. “And definitely someone who shouldn’t be writing instruction manuals.”

There was a flicker of something unreadable in Caelan’s eyes as he turned the page. “Let’s see what else he thought was worth recording.”

[9th Thawlight, 2nd Cycle, Year 378]

Objective: To replicate the original bond—but intentionally. The summoned subject must be human, living, and stripped of volition. The ritual must integrate all three known soulbond types: ceremonial, weapon, and servitor.

I have modified the runes. I have woven command threads into the circle itself. Obedience shall not be a side effect. It will be the design.

[15th Frostwake, 2nd Cycle]

First Attempt:

Catalyst: boar’s blood. Sigil drawn from bone ash.

Result: Circle collapsed. Inversion effect scorched the chamber. Nothing summoned.

Note: I spoke the incantation too softly. Will matters. Voice matters. They must know who owns them.

[27th Frostwake]

Second Attempt:

Catalyst: condemned man. Marked him before death. Bound his essence to the invocation.

Result: Failed. Materialization partial—form incomplete. Skin sloughed. No obedience. Only screaming.

Conclusion: The subject must be summoned, not harvested. Living entry, not dying exit. Control requires design from origin.

[10th Emberline]

I re-read the original book today. The conjurer writes of shared pain. Of seeing her thoughts. Of guilt. He was inside her, and still he feared her.

I feel joy at the idea. A mind I can walk into. A soul that opens like a window. If it weeps, it weeps under my will. That is purity. That is order.

I will not weep for them. I will command them. And they will thank me.

[3rd Hollowreach]

Third Attempt:

Emotional catalyst applied—anchored with longing.

Result: I summoned something. It crawled from the circle, twisted and incomplete. Its soul barely tethered, its body writhing like wet cloth draped over broken bones. And it screamed. Screamed without breath, without language, just sound. Endless, shattering sound.

I tried commands. Tried shouting. Willed it to obey.

It didn’t.

It wouldn’t stop screaming.

I ended it.

Note: Something came through this time. Progress. No more emotion. Desire muddies control. Strip the will. Strip the history. My work is close. I can feel it—right beneath the skin of the world.

Caelan’s eyes didn’t leave the page, but his jaw had tightened. Muscles shifting beneath his skin.

Emily leaned back slightly, staring at the words with a queasy twist in her stomach. “God,” she muttered. “That’s… horrific.”

Caelan finally looked up, his voice low and cold. “He created something just to kill it.”

“And didn’t even flinch,” Emily said, her lips curling with disgust. “He talks about it like it was a failed draft. Not a living thing.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the firelight flickering softly behind them.

After a long moment, she cleared her throat. “I… think we should skip to the final entry. For now.”

Caelan nodded, silent agreement in his eyes. He reached for the pages and began flipping carefully toward the back.

[Final Entry — Date Unclear]

Success (partial):

Subject summoned. Stable. Breathing. Eyes followed my movement.

Classification appeared on forearm: Servant-Class.

She obeyed the first command. Delayed on the second. Watched me too long.

But she obeyed.

Pain echo confirmed. When I pricked my palm, she flinched. I asked her name. She gave none. I asked her to kneel. She did.

It is not perfect yet. But it is mine.

More trials to come.

Caelan’s eyes scanned the final page without a flicker of emotion. He exhaled slowly through his nose and closed the book with a soft thump.

Emily sat back a little, staring at the shut cover like it might open on its own again. Her stomach turned.

“That was awful,” she said quietly. “He treated her like a pet. Like she wasn’t even a person.”

Caelan didn’t disagree, but his tone was measured. “He got what he wanted. More or less.”

Emily gave him a sharp look. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t disgusting.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” He rubbed a thumb along the edge of the leather spine. “Just… not surprising.”

Emily blinked at him. “Not surprising? Caelan, he summoned a living girl just to test how well she would kneel.”

He gave a short nod. “And he documented it like a research project. I’ve seen worse.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “I haven’t.”

Silence hung for a beat.

Caelan flipped the book open again, brows furrowed. “Wait. Back at the beginning—there was something…”

He skimmed the first few pages, fingers moving with precision. Then he stopped, tapping the open parchment lightly. “‘I was fourteen when I found the book. Buried in the back of a condemned library, pages torn and stained with blood. It was not the diagrams that stayed with me, nor the warnings. It was the obedience.’”

Emily leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “He’s talking about another book.”

He nodded once, then flipped forward, scanning again. “Here—look. He references it again.” He pointed at a different section near the middle. “‘I re-read the original book today. The conjurer writes of shared pain. Of seeing her thoughts. Of guilt. He was inside her, and still he feared her.’”

Emily sat back slowly. “So this… this wasn’t his original idea.”

“No,” Caelan said, his voice low. “He found it. Learned from it. Built on it.”

Caelan closed the book again with a firm snap. “Whatever that original conjurer recorded—it might be the only true record of what this bond actually is. If it was accidental, like he claimed… then it might be closer to what we’re dealing with.”

Emily looked over at him, heart ticking faster. “But we don’t have it.”

He nodded grimly. “This is the only book like it here.”

Emily’s voice was barely a whisper. “So we have to find the other one.”

Caelan began to pace, the book still in his hand, his brows drawn tight in thought.

Emily sank into the nearest chair, tucking one leg beneath her. She watched him silently, arms folded, the last traces of unease from the Manuscript still coiling in her gut.

“He said he found it in a condemned library,” Caelan murmured, almost to himself. “Which means it was already old when he got it. That original text—the conjurer’s account—it could be centuries older.”

“Would the Threadkeep have it?” Emily asked softly.

Caelan shook his head without looking at her. “No. I’ve cross-checked every soulbond-related volume in the archive, and this one wasn’t even listed until I found it physically. Someone scrubbed it.”

Emily frowned. “Then how did it survive?”

He turned slightly, still pacing. “Books like this aren’t meant to. They’re either destroyed, buried, or hidden in collections that don’t follow the rules. And if this conjurer considered the bond a curse, he wouldn’t have published it openly. He probably kept it secret—maybe even anonymous.”

Caelan ran a hand through his curls, frustrated. “If I knew the conjurer’s name…”

“Could he have been someone important?” Emily asked, voice quiet.

Caelan stopped mid-step. “If he summoned something that wasn’t a weapon, yes. That would have made noise in the magical community—especially if it was a failed ritual with soulbond effects. But if the event was covered up…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “We’re looking for a ghost in a graveyard.”

Emily gave him a dry look. “Helpful.”

He let out a faint laugh and started moving again. “There might be a record somewhere in Silverhold’s restricted stacks—or maybe in the Deepbind Archives. But I’d have to send someone in quietly. Any reference to an anomalous soul-summoning… we need that trail.”

Emily watched him go back and forth across the hearth light. “So what’s the plan?”

He stopped in front of her and met her eyes. “We find the original conjurer’s book. Whatever it takes. Because if he was bound to someone by accident—if he shared pain and thought like we do—then he might have written down how it happened. And maybe even…” He hesitated. “How to undo it.”

Emily’s stomach tightened, but she nodded.

Caelan straightened, jaw set. “First, I’ll send word to the old record-keepers at Deepbind. Quietly. They still owe me a few favors.”

She raised a brow. “Quietly?”

A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “Very quietly. The kind of quiet that comes with shadowcoin bribes and veiled threats.”

Emily leaned back into the chair with a sigh. “Well. At least you’re consistent.”

He looked at her, serious again. “If we find this book… it could change everything.”

Emily met his gaze. “Let’s find it, then.”

Caelan turned back toward the desk, already pulling out parchment and ink, the Obedience Manuscript set carefully to the side.

Emily stayed seated by the fire, warmth licking at her legs, but her thoughts colder than they’d been moments ago.

If we find this book… it could change everything.

That’s what he’d said. And he was right.

Because maybe—just maybe—it meant she could go home.

That possibility should’ve filled her with hope. Relief. It did. Mostly.

But beneath it, under the surface where even her own thoughts didn’t always dare wander, something else had begun to take root.

A quiet unease. A slow, creeping hesitation.

She wanted to go home. Of course she did. She missed her world. Her people. Her job, her apartment, the noise and color and chaos of it all. Her life had been full—rushed, yes, but hers.

But…

She looked over at Caelan, bent over the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. One hand smudged with ink. The other still flexing slightly, as if remembering the moment their hands had brushed over the book.

But what if leaving meant severing this?

What if it meant breaking the bond?

Emily’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to be bound. She hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet… when he touched her, when he looked at her like she was something worth waiting for—

She wasn’t sure anymore.

Not about him. About herself.

The idea of going home still lived inside her. But it no longer screamed.

Now, it whispered.

And for the first time since arriving in this world, Emily wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to listen.