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236. THE ONE WHO LISTENS
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2025-07-11 16:24:00
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The Healer's Bond 243. ECHOES THROUGH THE ICE
The Sovereign sat atop a throne of still-ice, in a room that never changed. Its domed ceiling shimmered faintly with frozen time, flickers of moments suspended in crystal: the raising of hands, the writing of names, the kissing of lovers—all trapped before they could become past tense.To move here was to remember too loudly.But now, in his stillness, something remembered him.Not by name—he had long erased it—but by opposition.The Ember.Emma.---Sensing the PulseThe Sovereign extended one hand.The wall before him shimmered and split—not into vision, but into truth-streams, the quiet threads of existence that only an entity like him could interpret.He followed the new ripple backward:– A pulse from the Flame Archives– A restored name in a girl’s mind in Birch Hollow– A faltering in Irsi’s unweaving threadHe watched the sequence like a conductor studying dissonance.She had passed the first Flame Trial.The White Flame had accepted her.And worse...It had synchronized with
The Healer's Bond 242. TRIAL OF THE FIRST FLAME
The flame did not burn. It pulsed. It not only pulsed, it existed with a sentient life of its own. It seeked for connection with any being that had an affinity to fire. It was the first flame.It was one of the first fires that burned into existence and it was as old as time itself. Winds and storms have passed and yet it flared with a silent strength and shined through time and evolution. Even when the first virus struck and civilization fell, it burned brighter than ever. The flame represented the spirit of civilization itself and for as long as great minds with brave heart existed, it would continue to burn. Soft and white, cradled in the center of the first pedestal like a sleeping heart. The White Flame of Memory, they had called it in the etched walls above. A fire not meant to sear flesh or ignite war—but to anchor who you are, even when the world tries to make you forget.
The Healer's Bond 241. THE VILLAGE THAT FORGOT
Irsi was hungry for memories. It's tongues, although cold was salivating with a ravenous need for people's lives.It did not kill them. Where was the fun in that? It did not want them dead, it loved how they were left empty and aimless. Their soul screaming for a meaning to their unwritten existence.It loved how confused they were when it was done eating up their personal history, their goals and their purpose.There was a village near the edge of the world. It shuned the technology of that once ruled the world but ever since the mysterious virus wiped out almost half of humanity, the village had reverted back to the olden days.There were no cars or malls. Only vast farm lands and some surviving goats and cattle.The call of desires and memories drew Shatter Tongue to this place. It salivated from the smell of innocence.It wasn’t large—no more than twenty-three homes built in crescent shape around a central well, cradled in the roots of the northern cliffs. They called it Birch Hol
The Healer's Bond 240. THE SHATTER-TONGUE
It began with a scream. Not loud. Not panicked. A child's scream trapped in glass—fragile, looping, echoing in the still air of the Vault of the Forgotten, where no breath had stirred for centuries. Inside that icy tomb, beneath the surface of a frozen lake so ancient it had petrified into crystal, the shard-pillar cracked. Not from heat. From memory. Nhen stood before it, his mask freshly mended, his voice silent. He had returned not just to report—but to awaken her. And she was listening. The Sovereign’s orders had been clear: > “Send Irsi. Let her unravel what flame remembers. Let her tongue split the mind.” The shard-pillar cracked again—this time from within. Fingers emerged first. Thin. Jointless. Semi-translucent
The Healer's Bond 239. WHERE FIRE REMEMBERS
Emma had never seen mountains burn.Not in the way the Ashthorn Range did, with smoldering red cracks that bled down the rock like veins of molten memory. The air itself shimmered with heat, and the sky was permanently cast in bruised reds and greys. It felt like standing beneath a sun that had lost its mind.And somewhere inside it lay the Flame Archives.“It’s like the world is holding its breath,” Emma said, pulling her cloak tighter against the heat.Long, walking beside her in a half-draconic form to resist the sulfur, gave a soft grunt. “It remembers too much.”Behind them, Steve, Marcus, and Sarah navigated the narrow path with care, skirting edges where lava gurgled beneath fragile crusts.Steve glanced around. “This is the place you said was sealed by the Ember Elders, right?”Emma nodded. “The Flame Archives were buried after the Ember War—when the fire mages burned too hot and nearly ruptured the world’s core. It’s been dormant since.”“Until now,” Marcus muttered. “Because
The Healer's Bond 238. CRACKS IN THE MASK
Somewhere Beyond the Ice, in the Sovereign's Domain Nhen walked in silence, leaving no trail. Not because he hid—Cryo-Scions did not hide—but because the world simply refused to remember him. Forests blurred behind his steps. Winds whispered warnings and then forgot who they whispered to. Even the ice beneath him did not crack, because it no longer acknowledged weight. He passed from village to glacier, from breath to memory, and finally into the frozen halls of the Stillness Keep, where time pooled like fog and the Sovereign's mind beat with planetary certainty. He had failed and he was going to face his master. At the core of the citadel, the Frost Sovereign waited—still as a statue, tall as a mountain. When Nhen arrived, the ice along the floor shimmered in silent welcome. He knelt, folding his limbs like ribbon. And
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