Page 44 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

Kellan’s fingers find mine, and for a second, I let him hold on. Behind me, I feel Ryker’s energy shift—not into a flare of heat, but a sense of loss. He isn't jealous. He's mourning the best friend I'm about to lose.

He’s sad…for me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“No, not really.” He sighs. “Can we talk?”

I look back at Ciara and Ryker. “Yes. After. Why don’t we meet at the fountain?”

He nods and keeps my hand in his, refusing to let go when I try to pull away. Ciara and Ryker return, but Ryker doesn’t say anything. He sets the book on the table, with a look of boredom masking his emotions, before his hand settles on my thigh. He squeezes before he starts talking again.

“You brought the books?” I ask, looking at the Book of Beginnings.

He nods. “And the scrolls. I thought Elison would want to study them.”

I can’t help but smile. Amid the chaos and travel, he’s always prepared, always thinking ahead.

He opens the book as if it’s already been tabbed, but when he shares a glance with me, I know the magic built into the book opens it as if sensing what we need. A chill skirts up my spine.

Ryker clears his throat and reads, “Canticle III: The Aethermark.”

“Before word was given form, before starfire kissed the sky, a force of creation itself—the Mark.

It was not forged by hand nor willed into being. No god carved it, no council decreed it. It is the oldest law, woven into the marrow of creation itself—a Bond written not in ink or blood or magic, but in the language of the soul—a thread of breath and bone.

When two are born whose essence is aligned in perfect harmony—whose hearts beat not beside, but within one another—the Aethermark stirs. It binds what was once separate, tethering soul to soul across ages and endings. Through it, their power flows as a single river, one source—each drawing from the wellspring of the other, each strengthened beyond measure by what they share.

The gods may only bear witness, but do not intervene. The stars illuminate but do not guide. For the Aethermark is beyond all dominion—an inevitability that even the universe cannot command.

Few have ever borne its weight or known its power. Across millennia, their names are echoes—half-remembered, half-believed—yet each has shaped what is to become.

And so it is written: when the Aethermark appears again, when the runes bind the souls, it will herald the turning of an age and the birth of a new dawn. It will awaken what slumbers, unite what was broken, and summon forth a power that neither time, nor shadow, nor god can unmake. With this Mark, the divine may only watch what creation itself has set in motion.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. The Lumos Bond was a battery for the Veil—a requirement. But this? The Aethermark is an inevitability. It means even if the gods had never intervened, even if the Veil had never been forged, Ryker and I would still be standing here, destined to collide.

An unnatural chill settles within me, as if the magic is testing me as I lay my finger upon the script and read, “Carved upon the Stone of Celyrion, beneath the roots of the Elderwood—a fragment of the Lost Prophecy, sealed and guarded by the Elven for five thousand years.”

“What does that mean?” Ciara asks, looking between the two of us.

I glance at Ryker and find him already studying me. “I think it means that Ryker and I are perfect for each other in every way. Even the gods couldn’t have ordained our match.” I swallow the emotions threatening to spill over as warmth replaces the chill, as if the magic approves of my realization.

It’s a strange thing to be a part of something so big, so cosmic that even the gods couldn’t have changed it or chosen someone else. It’s why, since I first recognized our Bond, everyone else has faded away into irrelevance. The Lumos Bond has never held any true power, especially not against something born of creation.

Since accepting Ryker into my life, I’ve felt this pull, this need to be around him, in him. This whole Canticle confirms that. We are linked in unexplainable ways. I don’t fully understand it, I never have, but I hope I can with time.

“There’s more,” Ryker says, this time linking our fingers and bringing my hand to his lips as he presses a kiss to my knuckles, like he understands the settling of some ancient emotions happening within me.

He reads, “Canticle III—Fragment II: The Runesong.

“Yet the Mark alone is but the seed—dormant until it is tempered. In the shadow of awakening, the Bonded must walk the path of the Runesong—a forging older than any rite, older even than the stars themselves. Across distance and division, the souls will cry, for what is sundered yearns always to be made whole. Through trial and tempest, revelation and ruin, the runes shall rise to test the marrow of their Bond. Each mark unVeiled is a mirror—reflecting not only their strength, but their fear, their faith, their very essence. Few have passed unbroken. Fewer still emerged unchanged. For it is said that only when the final rune is claimed will the river run whole, and the Aethermark shine with the fullness of its design.”

“We have to find a way to complete the Aethermark Bond, Raea. The Lumos Ceremony means nothing. We do not have a Lumos Bond, and I’m not even sure there will be any more.” He glances at Kellan and Ciara. “Have either of you experienced any Bonding sensations since the Veil fell?”

Ciara shakes her head. “Before we left school, I was barely starting to feel anything. Some tingling here and there, nothing substantial. But now, nothing.”

The four of us go through the book again, looking for any more clues. I grab a book Elison brought about Auralan, studying what little knowledge it holds. Ciara grabs one of his maps, unrolling it across another table so we can study the galaxy.

“We have to reach Auralan,” Ryker says, his voice low and serious.