CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

The morning fog had not yet lifted when Orrin called me to the stone circle.

The Guardian bird stood beside him, tall and still as a statue, its feathers shimmering with the glow of early light. Its golden eyes watched me, not with judgment, but with an ancient knowing.

"Today," Orrin said, "you begin the Fifth Way. The path of Soulbinding."

I looked from him to the bird, my heart already pounding.

"What is Soulbinding exactly?"

Orrin knelt beside the stone altar and placed a small bowl carved from moonrock on top. "It is the act of tethering your spirit to another’s. It is rare, sacred, and dangerous. If done wrongly, it can break your mind. If done well, it will open your soul to power, pain, and clarity."

He looked up at me, serious. "You will bind your soul to the Guardian. Just for a moment. But in that moment, you will feel its truth. Its memories. Its pain."

I nodded slowly. My chest felt tight, like my breath had caught somewhere deep inside. "What if I can’t handle it?"

Orrin didn’t soften his tone. "Then you are not ready for what lies ahead."

The Guardian stepped forward. Its beak touched the bowl. A soft hum filled the air.

Orrin took a moon-etched dagger and made a small cut across my palm. I didn’t flinch. Blood dripped into the bowl, mixing with water Orrin had poured from the Vale’s sacred spring.

Then the bird lifted one talon and, in a slow and deliberate motion, pressed it into the bowl as well.

The moment their blood mixed, I felt it.

A pull.

Like my spirit was being stretched, unwound, drawn through a thread too thin to hold me.

"Don’t fight it," Orrin said calmly. "Let the bond take you."

I closed my eyes.

And fell.

---

I wasn’t in the Vale anymore.

I was flying.

Wings beat beside me. Wind tore through my hair, then through my feathers. Because I had feathers now. I could feel them. I could feel everything.

I could feel the ache in the Guardian’s chest as it soared above mountaintops. I could feel the loneliness in its heart as it watched from afar. I could feel hunger. Love. Rage. Longing. Fear.

Then the memories came.

They weren’t mine, but they poured into me like a flood. An endless sky full of memory.

A time when the Vale was untouched, when wolves bowed before the Guardian as their bridge to the Moon.

A time when the sky held more stars, when the rivers spoke, and the trees whispered old names in the wind.

A time when betrayal came.

When dark wolves rose from the cursed lands, when the Guardian was chained, wounded, and left to bleed in silence. It had fought. Hard. But it was outnumbered. Their magic twisted the air. Their eyes were hollow.

It cried out for help.

None came.

The wolves that had once honored it turned their backs.

It wept under the moon, its wings torn and twisted. And it waited.

Waited for a Chosen.

Years passed like minutes in the memory. And yet every second was heavy.

I saw it all through its eyes, but I felt it through my heart.

The pain wasn’t sharp. It was deep. Endless. The kind that doesn’t scream, but settles inside you like stone.

I tried to pull away, but the bond held tight.

Then the worst memory came.

The Guardian saw a young girl, running through the woods. Hair like fire. Eyes full of sorrow. She was my mother.

The Guardian called out, but Aira couldn’t hear. She passed right through the boundary of Thornridge and into the human world. The Guardian shrieked, but she vanished.

It tried to follow. It couldn’t.

Then the bird curled itself into a tree and didn’t move again for years.

I sobbed.

Not because of the sadness in the memory—but because I understood it.

That feeling of being left behind.

Of crying out and getting silence.

I had lived that too.

I remembered waiting by the door as a child, thinking maybe my mother would come back from wherever she had gone. I remembered the long nights. The quiet.

The Guardian had waited too.

The connection between us tightened. The Guardian no longer felt like another being. It felt like me. A version of me shaped by time and wings and loss.

A new emotion bloomed.

Understanding.

And after that—compassion.

---

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the stone ground.

My hands trembled. My breath came in gasps. Orrin knelt beside me, his face unreadable.

The Guardian stood a few feet away, but I could still feel it. Like a thread from my soul to its heart.

"You survived," Orrin said quietly.

"It hurts," I whispered.

He nodded. "Truth often does."

I looked at the Guardian. It took a slow step toward me, then another. It lowered its head and touched mine gently with its beak.

A silent thank you.

The bond still pulsed between us. Faint now, but real.

"Did you see it?" Orrin asked. "The girl?"

"My mother," I said.

He gave a short nod. "The Guardian has carried that sorrow for many years. And now you carry a piece of it too."

"Why show me that?" I asked, voice shaking. "Why not show me something easier?"

"Because the Fifth Way is not about control," he said. "It is about connection. True strength doesn’t come from forcing power. It comes from sharing burden. From holding another’s pain without losing yourself."

I sat back, still reeling. My body was sore. My heart felt raw.

But something inside me had changed.

Before, I had wanted strength so I could protect the people I loved.

Now, I wanted strength so I could understand them.

So I could carry their pain too, not just shield them from mine.

---

Later that night, as the Vale darkened and the mist returned, I sat near the small campfire Orrin had built.

The Guardian perched on a stone above me, silent.

I didn’t need to speak to feel its thoughts.

They pulsed softly in the back of my mind like a heartbeat.

I closed my eyes.

And for a moment, I let my thoughts reach it too.

Thank you, I whispered from within.

Not just for the memories. But for trusting me with them.

The Guardian stirred, then let out a low, echoing cry. It didn’t sound sad this time. It sounded like release.

Like the wind finally blowing through a broken tree.

I breathed deep.

The fire cracked beside me. Orrin had gone quiet. I wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep or just knew I needed this silence.

The Guardian’s gaze drifted toward the stars, and mine followed.

They looked different now.

Not because the sky had changed, but because I had.

I saw a story in every shimmer. A loss behind every light.

But also, a hope.

The Fifth Way had opened a door.

To power. To pain. To others.

And to myself.

I was still afraid of what came next. But it wasn’t the same kind of fear.

Before, I had feared not being strong enough.

Now, I feared not being open enough.

Because power without empathy was just a weapon.

And I was done being a blade. I wanted to be a bridge.

---

I slept restlessly that night.

Dreams of wings and forests and chains. Of cries that went unanswered.

But also dreams of light. Of feathers catching moonlight. Of eyes that knew me.

When I woke, the Guardian was still there.

Watching.

Not as a teacher.

But as a companion.

I stood slowly, my muscles stiff.

"Is it always like that?" I asked Orrin, who had woken before me and was stirring a pot of something warm.

"No," he said. "Sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes better. But it is always true."

I nodded.

I understood now why so few chose this path.

Why so many failed it.

To walk the Fifth Way was to allow another being’s truth to live inside you.

Even if it shattered you first.

But I hadn’t shattered.

Not fully.

And what broke?

Would grow back stronger.

Not hardened.

But whole.

And I was ready for the next way.

Whatever it asked of me.

Because my spirit was no longer my own.

It was part of something older.

Something true.

And it would never be silent again.