All Chapters of Bloodbound: The legacy of Serelai : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The valley was no longer just theirs. It was shared and Liora found she didn't mind. Ronan’s loud laughter as he chopped wood was a good sound. Elara’s quiet humming as she sorted herbs was a peaceful one. The little house felt more like a home with people in it.True to his word, Ronan started building a cradle, he worked with a surprising delicacy, his big hands carefully smoothing the wood. "It has to be perfect," he'd grunt, holding up a piece to the light. "No splinters for the little one."Elara took over the small garden plot Liora had started, turning the soil and planting seeds she had brought from the highlands. "Good, strong plants," she said. "They'll help with the milk when the baby comes."Liora watched them, her heart so full it felt like it might spill over. This was what family was not just blood, but the people who showed up and built your cradle and planted your garden.One morning, a few weeks after they had arrived, Elara came to her with a thoughtful look."Liora

Winter came to the valley, but it didn't roar in like the autumn storms. It settled quietly, like a blanket. A thick, soft snow covered the ground, muffling all sound. The world became still and white, the stone circle stood like dark giants in a field of pearl, their whispers softened by the snow, but never silent.Inside the little house, it was warm. The fire in the hearth was a constant companion, filling the air with the scents of pine needles and baking bread. Ronan had built the rocking chair, and it sat by the fire, a promise of nights to come.Liora’s belly was round and full now. Lyra was running out of room. Her movements were slower, more like stretches and turns than kicks. It felt less like being poked and more like being hugged from the inside.Elara was a steady presence. Her healer's knowledge was a comfort, she showed Liora how to brew tea from raspberry leaves. She massaged her feet when they began to swell. She was a calm anchor in the strange, waiting sea of late

The world outside the valley was full of small, hungry silences.They didn't talk about it much, but they all knew. The victory in the Blackroot Ravine wasn't a final one. It was a skirmish. A warning. The great Oblivion was bound, but its echoes, its children, were now loose in the world. Like weeds sprouting in a newly cleared field.Life in the valley became a rhythm of watching and mending. Liora’s days were divided between Lyra and the stones. She would nurse her daughter, rock her to sleep, and then sit in the circle, her mind reaching out across the land, feeling for the next cold spot, the next patch of grey hunger.She found two more that winter. One was in a frozen marsh to the north, a place where a forgotten battle had left behind a residue of despair. The other was near an abandoned mine, where the memory of back-breaking labour and cave-ins had worn the land thin.Each time, the method was the same. She didn't fight the silence with more silence, she didn't attack it wit

The peace was a living thing. It grew with the wildflowers in the meadow, it deepened with the roots of the ancient oaks. It hummed in the stones and sang in Lyra’s laughter and for a long, sweet stretch of time, there were no hungry silences. No cracks in the world. There was only the gentle rhythm of their lives in the hidden valley.Lyra was a whirlwind of discovery. She ran everywhere on sturdy, little legs, her dark hair flying behind her. Her vocabulary exploded. She named everything. The spring was "shiny." The hearth fire was "glowy." Ronan’s axe was "no-touch," a lesson learned after a firm but gentle talk. She held long, babbling conversations with the stone circle, and the stones answered with warm, rumbling vibrations that made her giggle.She was the heart of their world, and her song was a constant, quiet music that wrapped around the valley like a protective blanket.But Liora, whose soul was still tuned to the deeper frequencies of the world, felt the first discordant

The last days of Liora’s pregnancy were a quiet, humming tension, the valley itself seemed to hold its breath and the stones’ song was a low, steady thrum of encouragement. Lyra was a constant, warm presence, her small hand often resting on Liora’s belly, her head cocked as she listened.“The song is getting ready,” she would whisper, her eyes wide. “It’s all… gathered up.”Elara was a pillar of calm efficiency. Herbs were prepared. Clean cloths were stacked by the hearth. Ronan, looking more nervous than he ever had facing a werewolf, kept the woodpile impossibly high and the path to the spring meticulously clear.Ashiel rarely left Liora’s side. His restlessness had returned, but it was a different kind. It was the energy of a sentinel waiting for the most important arrival of his life. He would feel the baby move and his breath would catch, his hand covering Liora’s, his eyes full of a love so fierce it was almost painful to behold.The baby came on a night when the autumn moon was