All Chapters of Bloodbound: The legacy of Serelai : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

The rain in Oakhaven did not stop, but it changed. It was no longer the weeping of the stones, a suffocating mist of shared grief. It became just rain, normal, clean, sometimes gentle, sometimes pounding, but always washing, not drowning. The villagers, having finally released the sorrow they had been holding for a generation, began the slow, messy work of remembering how to live. They repaired roofs, planted hopeful seeds in Elara's cleared plots, and their children, tentatively at first, began to play in the puddles.Liora and her family stayed for a full turning of the moon, helping to guide the village's first steps back towards balance. They did not perform miracles. They worked alongside the people, showing them how to build drainage channels so their fields wouldn't flood, how to compost the waterlogged vegetation into rich soil, how to sing while they worked, not to banish sadness, but to make room for other feelings alongside it.When they finally left, the farewell was diffe

The knowledge was a cold stone in Liora’s stomach. They were a listed entry in a ledger. A problem to be solved. The safety of the shadows was gone. The Overseer’s sharp, calculating eyes had felt them, even if he hadn't seen them."We have to move," Kael said, his voice low and urgent. "Now. He will not wait. A man like that, his entire world is about control. We are a loss of control. He will move to eliminate us with the same efficiency he counts his seed heads."They didn't bother to pack properly. They shoved their few belongings into their packs and slipped deeper into the monotonous rows of the tree plantation, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the Overseer's compound. The sighing of the Grey Sorrow field was a constant, anxious soundtrack to their flight.Lyra was crying, silent tears cutting through the grime on her cheeks. "The trees are scared," she whimpered, her hand clutching Liora's. "They don't want to be here. They want to be tall and diffe

The tiny, rhythmic tapping from Ronan’s stone finger changed everything. It was a spark in the absolute grey. It was a message in a bottle from a shipwrecked soul.H-E-L-PD-A-R-KThe words, spelled out in the dust by Kael, were a lifeline. They were also a horror. Ronan was conscious. He was aware of his own entombment, trapped in a silent, lightless, feelingless prison, screaming with the only movement he could muster.Elara’s grief transformed. The broken, sobbing despair was burned away by a fierce, determined fire. She held his stone hand, her tears now falling with purpose. "We hear you, my love," she whispered, her voice steady and strong. "We hear you. We're going to get you out."But how?They couldn't stay in the dip in the land. It was only a temporary hiding spot. The Reapers, or the Overseer's patrols, would find them. And they could not continue to drag a stone man across the countryside. It was too slow, too exhausting, and left a trail a child could follow."We need to

Ronan was free, but he was a ghost of himself.He could walk, but his steps were slow and shuffling, as if he'd forgotten how his own legs worked. He could speak, but his voice was a hoarse, broken thing, and he often trailed off, his eyes losing focus, staring into a middle distance only he could see. The grey was gone from his skin, but it had left a film on his soul."It's so… loud," he would whisper, flinching at the sound of the waterfall or the call of a bird. After the absolute, soundless dark of the stasis, the world was an overwhelming, violent cacophony of sensation.Elara never left his side. She was his anchor to the present, her hand always on his arm, her voice a steady, gentle guide. "That's just the wind, my love. It can't hurt you. This is water. It's cold, see? This is bread. You need to eat."He was relearning the world, like a newborn, but with the memory of a nightmare haunting every step.They couldn't stay in the cave. The energy released when the stasis broke h

The piece of scrap metal felt like a promise and a death sentence in Liora’s hand. The cold, rough texture bit into her palm. The Forgemaster’s words hung in the air, heavier than the anvil she stood beside.Walk into the heart of the machine and remind it that it was never supposed to be a machine at all.It was madness. A beautiful, terrifying madness.Corvus, the silent hunter, led them away from the central forge and into the winding passages of the rust-city. The air grew cooler, and the sounds of industry faded, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sound of… weaving?He brought them to a wide cavern where the light was softer, filtering down from cleverly placed crystal shafts in the ceiling high above. Dozens of people, mostly women and elders, sat at looms made from salvaged pipes and wire. But they weren't weaving cloth. They were weaving memories.Stretched across the looms were thin, flexible sheets of a metallic, mesh-like material. Using sharp, heated styluses, the weavers were