Chapter Three — Threads of Yesterday
788 Words
The forest swallows me long before I stop running. Breath scorches my chest; blood thrums in my ears. Even when the trees fall silent, I feel him behind me still—Kael Ravaryn, blood-streaked and unyielding, staring through me with the weight of fate itself.
A mate bond.
The thought alone is enough to make me want to laugh—or scream. Fate never claimed me in my last life. No bond, no recognition, no tether. I was nothing more than a bargaining piece in a game far larger than me.
And yet…
My mind drags me backward, into memories I wish I could shed like old skin.
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In that life, I watched him from afar.
Kael, the son who defied his tyrant father. The heir who built loyalty not through fear, but brilliance. He turned the Ravaryn warriors into his army long before Malrik realized the throne beneath him was already rotting.
I admired him once, even as I cowered under his father’s shadow. I admired his defiance, his hunger, his ruthless vision of something better. But admiration from a powerless girl meant nothing.
I was too small, too insignificant, too trapped.
When his rebellion ignited into fire and steel, I did not stand beside him. I was erased in the flames, an NPC in a story that never bothered to write me a name.
I thought fate would never notice me. Now, it tangles me in silver threads and laughs.
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Some things, however, do not change.
Three nights later, the inevitable comes—the knock at my father’s door, the soft voices wrapped in sharp contracts, the signature inked with shaking hands. The Beta bows, satisfied with his own cleverness, and I am sold again to Malrik Ravaryn.
My cage feels no less suffocating the second time.
I am lodged in a wing meant for guests but patrolled like a prison. And with me comes my shadow.
Dorian Vale.
The watchdog. A man whose face reveals little but whose eyes miss even less. Assigned to watch me, to ensure I neither flee nor misstep. In my last life, I learned to hate the scrape of his boots outside my door, the cold stare he carried like a second weapon.
But I also remember the truth—the truth even he never knew.
The goddess grants me a second life. She does not forbid me to wield it like a knife.
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He trails me as I wander the frost-stained gardens, silent as stone. I stop beneath the bare arms of a willow, tracing a fingertip along its bark, pretending to admire. My voice is calm when I finally speak:
“Do you have a younger brother, Dorian?”
For the first time, his boots falter. Just slightly.
I glance back at him, catching the flicker of surprise before his mask resets. “I fail to see how that concerns you, my lady.”
My lips curl, not quite a smile. “He matters more than you think. Or rather, he will.”
His silence invites me to go on.
“During the next lunar eclipse,” I say softly, “Malrik Ravaryn will make his move against the rival pack in the north. He’ll offer peace, sealed by blood. A hostage.” My voice sharpens like glass. “Your brother.”
Dorian’s eyes finally lift to mine. Cold. Sharp. But behind the steel, a pulse.
“He will be sent under the guise of honor. To live among them, to ensure peace. And you, loyal dog, will stay here, serving the Alpha who betrayed him.” I let my tone drop, silk turned to venom. “You’ll never know that your brother doesn’t live past the first moon. That he dies screaming while you serve his killer.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and deliberate.
I see the crack form. It’s tiny, invisible to anyone else. But I see it. The way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers curl once before relaxing.
A man can wear loyalty like armor, but grief always finds the seam.
“I don’t believe you,” he says, but the words carry no weight.
“You will,” I murmur. “Because this time, I’ll make sure you do.”
I turn from him, leaving him in the garden’s half-light, staring into shadows that suddenly feel like strangers.
The first crack is always the hardest. And I have made it.
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Fate may bind me to Kael Ravaryn. But before I stand before him again, I’ll loosen every stone in his father’s empire until it collapses under its own rot.
And I’ll begin with the watchdog who doesn’t yet realize his chain is already snapping.
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- Writer
