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One hundred and seventy three: torn
Last Updated:
2025-07-24 05:43:15
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The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy nine: shimmered beyond us
Freya's pov “Careful,” Kye warned as he climbed down after me. “If we fall into another ‘echo fracture’ or ‘timeless void,’ I’m turning around and becoming a baker.”“You’d be terrible at it,” Finnick muttered, dropping beside us. “Too much fire. Not enough patience.”“I’m charming,” Kye shot back. “People would wait.”I ignored them both.We were back in the Hollow—that strange pocket of leyline-twisted terrain where time stuttered and the air carried the weight of memory. A new path had opened after the Watchers disappeared. The circle I had carved into the earth had dissolved the last boundary, and now…Now the leyline wasn’t just humming.It was singing and it was leading us deeper. I could feel it in the pull behind my ribs. Not painful—but relentless and it wanted something or someone.Freya’s memory clung to every shadow in this place.The wind still whispered with her defiance. The trees bent as if remembering the shape of her footsteps. This was where she’d once broken. And
The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy six: built to hold all
Finnick's pov “DOWN!”I tackled Kye just as the blast hit, a wave of black-gold energy tearing through the hallway like a scythe. Stone exploded behind us. Shards flew like knives. Something screamed—a sound with no mouth, no lungs, just fury.Finnick spun, blades flashing, cutting down a figure that shouldn’t have been there. A thing that looked like Freya, but its eyes were hollow. Echo-born. Fragment echoes of the leyline’s unraveling.“They’re multiplying!” Kye shouted, scrambling to his feet. “We’re too late—whatever you did at the Seal didn’t hold!”“It wasn’t meant to hold,” I growled. “It was meant to start something new.”Another shadow lunged. I turned, blade already moving my blade, The black one. The one now burning faint blue at its edges, whispering in a language I didn’t dare understand.The creature burst into light mid-strike, ripped apart from within. Its scream melted into wind.“They’re not real,” I said through clenched teeth. “They’re resistance. The leyline’s s
The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy five: under delkhar
Finnick's pov We reached Delkhar at dusk or what was left of it.The once-great city had collapsed in on itself like a dying star. Spires twisted sideways into the ground, streets sunken into crooked veins of stone and root, and archways that had once held sacred glyphs now bore only ash and claw-marks.Whatever had tried to hold Delkhar together had failed long ago. It felt less like a ruin and more like a grave someone kept reopening.The sky above hadn’t changed—not since the Catacline. Still burning that seething shade of red, but now there were streaks running through it: jagged lines of ink-black, like cracks in a stained glass window. Something had broken, and the sky had no idea how to hide it.Neither did we.Finnick was the first to speak, breaking the long silence that had stretched since we crossed the outer boundary.“This place shouldn’t still be standing.”Kye nodded, slow and grim. “It’s not. It’s remembering how to stand.”He was right. The leyline here didn’t sleep u
The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy four: city of delkhar
Finnick's pov It’s been thirteen days since Freya became part of the leyline.Time doesn’t move right anymore. Not here. Not after the Catacline split and stitched itself shut behind us. There’s no sun. No stars. Just that pulsing sky, always red, always shifting—like it’s bleeding memory drop by drop.The world feels… thin.Like it’s trying to hold itself together with broken string and breathless prayer.But I’m still breathing and she’s still with me.Not in the poetic way people mean when they talk about ghosts or grief. I mean she’s literally with me. In my veins. In the tremble of the leyline beneath my boots. In the way the sword in my hand now hums with a resonance I never gave it.She gave me something before she vanished. Not a power or blessing.I woke the first morning after with a circle of scorched earth around my body and her symbol burned into the skin over my ribs. Gold and silver both, the mark pulses like a second heartbeat, and when I sleep, I see what she sees.Wh
The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy three: torn
Finnick's pov The Catacline breathed.Not with lungs. Not like a beast or a god. But with the memory of every soul that had ever stood here before us, every wound that had never healed.It pulsed through the stone, through the leyline, through the marrow of my bones. A rhythm older than war drums. Older than time.Freya’s hand hovered just inches from the monolith.The silver-gold cracks spiderwebbed outward with every heartbeat—hers, I realized. The Catacline had tethered to her completely. There was no space left between them. And still, she hesitated.Kye flinched as another tremor rocked the ground. Finnick swore under his breath, but didn’t move. None of us dared step closer. Not because we feared Freya.But because we feared what would happen if we touched her now.She was the fulcrum.The axis the world had chosen to balance on and it was tilting.“I don’t know if I can hold it,” Freya said.The words were small. Human. And somehow worse than a scream. I took another step, clos
The cursed mate's return One hundred and seventy two: finnick's oath
Finnick's pov I felt her scream before I heard it. It was pressure, like a weight dropped into the center of my chest, sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs.Then came the echo: a ripple through the leyline that tore sideways through reality, folding the air in on itself. It didn’t just knock me down. It found me.Freya.I staggered to one knee in the clearing, bracing myself against the warped roots of a dead sycamore. Everything around me had gone still. Birds vanished. Wind died. Even the insects had gone silent, as if the entire forest was listening.I knew what had happened. I didn’t need a message or a sign or one of Kye’s dramatics to tell me. The leyline had responded. And only one person could’ve done that. Only one person still carried its mark and its memory like a splinter in her spine.Freya.She’d reached the point of no return.And the world was changing around her.The stars blinked, and I looked up.They moved.It was subtle—no grand reshaping, no fiery comet
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