All Chapters of Bloodbound: The legacy of Serelai : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

The peace was a delicate thing, a soap bubble shining in the sunlight. It was beautiful, and everyone inside the mountain handled it with care, afraid to pop it with a sudden movement or a harsh word.But bubbles, by their nature, are not meant to last forever.It was Kael who brought the first pinprick of the outside world back into their sanctuary. He emerged from the Remembering Room one evening, his usual scholarly calm replaced by a restless energy. He carried one of his crystalline sheets, its surface etched with fine, precise lines.“The mountain has been showing me something,” he announced, laying the sheet on the central table. “Through the memory orbs. It’s not a memory of the past. It’s a… a reflection of the present. A glimpse of what is happening beyond our stone walls.”The family gathered around. The etching was a map, but unlike any map they had ever seen. It was not of lands and rivers, but of energies. Liora could feel it more than see it: areas of vibrant, healthy g

The trail of green they left behind them was thin, a fragile thread in a vast tapestry of grey, but it was there. Each healed spring, each patch of silver-tipped seedlings, was a defiance. They were stitching the land back together, one careful stitch at a time.As they descended further from the mountains, the air grew warmer, but no less weary. The hills gave way to rolling plains, the soil here a pale, chalky color. The wind carried a fine, irritating dust that coated their throats and made Lyra cough.Kael consulted his mental map constantly. "We are on the edge of the grey zone," he announced one evening as they made camp in the lee of a crumbling stone wall. "The Valley of the Sunstone is just beyond that ridge." He pointed to a long, low line of hills to the south. "The black patch on the map begins there."The words hung in the dusty air. The grey land was sad, but the black land was a horror. They had all felt the echo of it from a distance—a cold, sucking emptiness that made

They did not stop running until the bone-white monastery was a distant speck behind them, until the air lost its deepest chill and the terrible pressure on their minds began to ease. They collapsed, panting, behind the shelter of a collapsed stone wall, the same one they had camped by days before. The grey land around them, which had once felt so desolate, now felt almost welcoming in comparison to the absolute void of the valley.For a long time, no one spoke. They just breathed, relearning how to fill their lungs without the weight of the Hush’s silence crushing them.Ronan was the first to break. He slammed his fist against the stone wall, a short, sharp sound that was wonderfully, blessedly loud. “Gods!” he snarled. “What was that? He didn’t even touch me, and I… I forgot who I was. I forgot Elara. I forgot Lyra.” He looked at his hands, his big, strong fighter’s hands, as if they belonged to a stranger. The violation was deeper than any physical wound.Elara went to him, placing

The waiting was the hardest part. It was a strange, stretched-out time, like the moment between a lightning flash and the thunderclap. The air in the valley grew so thick with impending silence that even the buzzing of their bees seemed muffled, as if the insects were flying through honey.The line of grey-robed watchers on the ridge did not move. They were statues of stillness, their collective attention a weight pressing down on the thriving green garden. The Rememberers who had been planting secret gardens in the valley’s hidden corners had stopped returning to the main terrace. It was too dangerous. The heart of the rebellion was now isolated, a glowing green target in a sea of white.Liora stood at the center of it all. She did not pace. She did not wring her hands. She simply tended the plants, her movements slow and deliberate. She watered the silver-leafed mint, she checked the leaves of the glowing root vegetables for pests, she hummed the garden song under her breath. It was

The peace in the Valley of the Sunstone was a sturdy thing, built not on the absence of trouble, but on the presence of good, hard work. The green patches were no longer just patches; they were fields. The main garden was now a small farm, with neat rows of vegetables, a thriving herb spiral, and the beginnings of the first new vineyard, the young grapevines staked and hopeful.The Rememberers were no longer just survivors; they were a community. They had built simple shelters from the stone Ronan cleared, with roofs woven from the tough, reedy grass that was slowly returning to the valley’s edges. In the evenings, the sound of their mingled voices, singing, talking, laughing, was a permanent part of the landscape, a gentle, human music that had banished the last echoes of the Hush’s silence.Liora found a deep, quiet satisfaction in this life. Her days were full of simple, physical tasks. She helped Elara harvest. She weeded alongside Mara. She let Lyra lead her to places where the l