Claimed by my Sister's Fiancé 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 281 - 챕터 290

CORMAC POV"His name is Fenwick. According to his mother, he's never once run from home before, not even as a small child. Whatever happened three days ago, it frightened him more than anything in his life so far."I read the details aloud as our small party rode hard toward Reaveswood, the celebratory warmth of Isla's wedding replaced entirely by grim urgency.The late afternoon light fell in long, slanted beams through the jagged pines of the high country, the wind dropping five degrees with every league of elevation we climbed. Bridie rode alongside me, her shoulders set and determined, while Isla—still wearing her wedding linen beneath a thick wool traveling mantle—kept pace without a hint of hesitation.We reached the family's modest holding by nightfall, the small timber-and-stone farmhouse huddled against the sheer rock face of the northern ridge. His mother Sorrel met us at the threshold, pale and hollow-eyed from three sleepless nights, clutching an unspun hank of wool as tho

CORMAC POV"I didn't mean for it to be so strong. I didn't even know it could be that strong."Fenwick said it to his sister directly, both of them sitting close together on the holding's small porch, the whole family gathered in careful, hopeful silence around them.The late afternoon sun was dipping behind the jagged pine ridges of Reaveswood, throwing long, amber shadows across the packed dirt yard. Fenwick was wrapped in a dry, clean quilt from his own bed, a warm mug of herb tea cradled between his scraped hands, the steam rising softly into the crisp mountain air. Beside him sat his younger sister, Wrenna—who shared no relation to Ashgrove's own Wren, but possessed that same stubborn, unvarnished honesty—studying her brother with the particular seriousness only a frightened younger sibling could manage."I know you didn't mean it. I was just surprised," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest under her apron. "I'm not scared of you, Fen. I was scared of the light, and then I

CORMAC POV "The foundation's laid, the main hall's framed, and Wynn's already drafted half a curriculum before the roof's even gone up. I don't think I've ever seen this family build something this fast."I said it to Bridie, both of us watching the Weaving House take shape against the autumn sky, timber and stone rising steadily where empty ground had stood only weeks before.The scent of fresh pine shavings, damp lime mortar, and dried grasses drifted across the meadow. Up on the scaffolding, carpenters from Ashcombe shouted down to masons from the Umbral border, trading levels and plumb lines with easy, practiced camaraderie. The skeletal ribs of the great hall rose clean and true against the pale gold hills, promising high ceilings, deep hearths, and wide windows meant to welcome every variety of morning light."We've had considerable practice building things quickly when it matters," Bridie said, smiling, leaning her hip against the rough-hewn fence rail beside me.A cart rolled

CORMAC POV "Ness's colour isn't new at all, as it turns out. It's simply old enough that nobody currently living had ever documented it properly."Wynn delivered the discovery with visible excitement, spreading century-old fragments across the Weaving House's half-finished study.The scent of fresh plaster and dry vellum filled the room, competing with the crisp autumn wind that whistled through the unglazed upper transoms. Wynn's spectacles were pushed up into her unruly curls, ink smudging her cheekbone, her ink-stained fingers trembling with the particular fever that only ever took her when an impossible ledger finally balanced."Old how," Bridie asked, leaning over the wide trestle table where brittle parchment strips lay weighed down with brass tokens."There's a reference, barely a footnote, in records predating even the original Ironfang and Frostbound schism," Wynn said, tapping a faded scrap illuminated with curling vine-work. "A fourth current, considerably rarer than gold,

CORMAC POV "Two hundred and ninety chapters, and I find myself thinking about a burned banner outside my own family's gate, and how impossibly far that frightened morning feels from this exact evening."I said it to Bridie, both of us settled on the Weaving House's newly finished porch, the last of the ceremony's crowd finally dispersing into the gathering dusk.The scent of curing pine, crushed mint along the flagstone paths, and the clean autumn wind settled around us. Out in the courtyard, the last wagons were rolling quietly toward the guest cottages, their lanterns swinging in small, rhythmic arcs of amber. Inside the hall behind us, the great hearth had been banked for the night with thick logs of sweet apple-wood, casting a low, crimson glow through the leaded glass. There were no sentries standing rigid on the battlements, no dread-cloaked riders waiting at the tree line, and no ancient hunger whispering through the cracks in the world. Just the steady, peaceful respiration o