Aria woke with a start.
The cold of the servants' wing pressed against her skin, biting through the thin quilt she had wrapped around herself. Her breath curled in little clouds, misting in the narrow chamber, and vanished almost as soon as it formed. The chill gnawed at her bones, but it wasn't the cold that made her shiver—it was the lingering touch of a dream that clung to her like damp cloth. Heavy, suffocating, impossible to shake.
Her lantern lay beside her pallet, unlit. Yet for a fleeting moment, she had seen it blaze against the dark, a small defiance of flame in a tide of shadows. Her hands trembled violently—not from the cold stone beneath her, but from the memory of what she had felt. Raw. Vivid. Far too real.
She pressed her palms to her face, trying to scrub away the images: the endless gray ash, the shifting shadows, the faceless figures whispering in a language that scraped her bones. But the memory wasn't hers alone. Somewhere in that dream, she had felt him.
Erevan.
Her pulse thudded against her ribs, stubborn and loud. His presence had threaded through the void, delicate but undeniable. His voice, ragged and fraying at the edges, had brushed against her awareness. She could almost feel the tremor of him reaching, stretching across the emptiness between them—a spider-silk thread connecting them, fragile, almost impossibly thin, yet alive.
The lantern beside her quivered, faintly. She hadn't moved it. She hadn't breathed on it. And yet, a dim glow shimmered from within, patient and steady, as though it understood. As though it could feel her intention.
Her throat tightened.
"You're still there," she whispered, softly. Not to the flame. Not to the stone. To him.
The air thickened. Pressed heavier against her lungs. For a heartbeat, she imagined the Academy itself leaning closer, straining to hear her words. Her eyes darted to the door, expecting a watchful scribe, a patrol, Cassian's sharp gaze—but there was nothing. Only silence. Only the pounding of her heart, echoing off the walls, louder than the cold whisper of stone.
She curled closer, knees to chest, forcing herself to draw in slow, deliberate breaths. Fear gnawed at her, sharp and immediate—reminders of the Academy's grip, of Cassian circling like a serpent, of the Council whispering words of containment and control. Every instinct screamed at her: stay hidden. Run. Deny it.
And yet.
Beneath the fear, something burned brighter.
The dream had been too vivid. Too insistent. Too real. If he had reached her once—if even the faintest thread of that contact had existed—then she knew he could be reached again.
Her eyes flicked to the lantern. Its glow had dimmed, but it persisted. A small rebellion against the dark. Her cold fingers brushed the brass rim, lingering. "Wait for me."
She didn't know if he could hear. She didn't know if threads could stretch beyond the dreamscape, beyond shadows and stone. And yet, speaking the words rooted her as firmly as they did him.
The chamber seemed to exhale with her intention, just for a heartbeat. And in that heartbeat, she felt something impossible: hope.
Aria's fingers lingered on the lantern's rim, feeling the faint warmth pulse beneath her skin. Every beat of light seemed to echo the fragile thread she had felt stretch across the void. She could almost see him—Erevan—through the dim flicker: ashen skies, endless fields of shadows, the weight of chains biting into his wrists.
Her chest tightened at the memory. Muscles knotted, as though she could carry the burden of his confinement herself. He reached for me… I felt him… and yet he's still trapped. The thought cut deeper than any blade, and her heartbeat accelerated, staccato and urgent, rattling in her ears.
The Academy loomed, not physically, but in every shadow pressing against the edges of her awareness. Every corridor, every locked door, every candle-lit hallway whispered allegiance to containment and control. Cassian circled unseen, patient and precise, ready to strike at a moment's weakness. The Council murmured in their corridors of power, their influence subtle but unrelenting, always watching, always waiting.
Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to silence her own voice, to deny the thread that connected her to him. Yet beneath that fear, something stubborn refused to bend.
The thread existed. He had reached across the void. He had not turned away.
She exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of the lantern seep into her palms, grounding her. Wait for me… she whispered again, voice trembling but determined. The words seemed to vibrate in the air, threading across shadows, pressing against walls, reaching for him.
Her mind raced, spinning through possibilities. The Academy would tighten its grip. Cassian would notice. The Council would whisper, probe, manipulate. Yet, none of it mattered in this moment. None of them could sever what had crossed realms of shadow and dream. None could sever the bond they had shared.
She pressed the lantern closer, letting it warm her chest. It is real. It is him. It is alive. Each pulse of light beneath her fingers felt like a heartbeat, responding, affirming, waiting.
A shiver ran through her, but not from fear. From anticipation. The thread pulsed delicately, insistently. She had felt it once, and she could feel it still. And yet, every second she hesitated, every doubt that flickered in her mind, risked letting it fray. He could lose it. She could lose it.
"Hold on, Erevan. I'm coming. I will find you." Her voice wavered, but it carried weight, threading through the darkness, defying the suffocating silence of the chamber.
For a fleeting heartbeat, she imagined the darkness recoiling, as if the whisper of her words nudged something unseen. Gratitude? Recognition? Perhaps both. He knows I am here.
Her pulse thundered, but she forced her body into motion. Legs uncoiling, back straightening, every step careful, deliberate. She did not run—running was for those untethered to purpose. She walked, letting the lantern carve a path through the dark, letting its warmth remind her she was real, she was present, she was moving forward.
Her mind churned with strategy, but certainty burned brighter than tactics. If the thread existed… if he was reachable… if the bond was real… she would follow it. No matter the cost.
A draft swept through the corridor, catching the lantern's flame, making it leap wildly. Shadows danced along the walls like living things, and for a heartbeat, she felt her courage waver. She saw the reach of the Academy, the silent patience of Cassian, the Council's omnipresent gaze. But she gripped the lantern tighter. The brass rim bit into her palm. The heat was proof: she was real, she was present, she was moving.
"Wait for me, Erevan. I will find you. Always." Her voice was softer now, urgent, almost pleading, yet firm. She imagined the words threading across stone and shadow, across the void that separated them. And the lantern responded, flickering once, sharply, like a heartbeat echoing in kind.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew: it wasn't walls or chains or shadows that determined what could be reached. It was courage. Choice. Persistence.
And she had both.
Aria held the lantern close, letting the warmth seep into her chest, into her veins, threading through her very bones. The light pulsed softly beneath her fingers, steady, patient, a quiet defiance against the shadows that pressed from every corner.
She drew a trembling breath, tasting faint wax and the lingering iron tang of stone. It is real. It is him. I am here. He is there. And the thread… the thread is alive.
Her fingers tightened around the brass rim, feeling the subtle hum beneath her skin. Each pulse of light was a heartbeat echoing across the void, a fragile, trembling connection to Erevan. Somewhere, beyond walls, stone, and shadow, he could feel it. He must feel it.
Aria's chest rose and fell in ragged pulls, each inhale a tether to courage, each exhale a banishment of fear. Her mind reached through the silence, through the Academy's oppressive grasp, through Cassian's unseen watch, through the Council's whispered scheming. She did not flinch. She would not.
The thread is mine to follow. I will not lose it. I will not let him lose it.
A subtle tremor ran through the lantern, small, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Aria froze, heart hammering. It is him. Or the bond. Or perhaps both. She allowed herself a quiet shiver of hope. That tiny pulse affirmed what she had dared only imagine: the connection endured.
Her gaze lifted, soft but unwavering, scanning the narrow chamber as if the walls themselves could sense her determination. Shadows stretched and shifted, but they were powerless here. The flame in her hand was stronger. The thread was stronger. She was stronger.
She whispered again, voice steady now, firm as iron yet delicate as silk: "I will find you, Erevan. Always."
The darkness trembled with her words. The candle flared lightly, a tiny beacon that echoed the pulse she felt in her veins. Somewhere beyond the veil of dream and ash, across shadow and stone, the bond waited—patient, unyielding, alive.
And Aria knew, with a certainty that burned brighter than fear, brighter than doubt, brighter than the reach of any Academy chain: she would follow it. No matter the cost.
A faint wind stirred in the corridor, carrying the scent of stone, candle smoke, and a hint of ash. She shivered, not from cold, but from anticipation. This thread—this fragile, luminous line—was only the beginning. She could feel it thrumming in her chest, a pulse of possibility stretching forward, tugging at her every step.
Her grip on the lantern tightened, knuckles white against the brass, and she let herself smile, just slightly. Courage filled her, quiet, resolute, steady. The Academy would watch. Cassian would notice. The Council would murmur. But they could not undo this. They could not sever what had reached beyond dreams, beyond shadow, beyond despair.
I am here. I am coming. I will find you.
Her voice, the lantern, and the pulse of the thread merged into a single, unbreakable truth. The bond endured. The bond waited. And so would she, until she could hold him, until she could bring him back.
Aria inhaled deeply, chest swelling with a mix of fear, hope, and determination. She let the flame pulse against her heart, letting the warmth echo the pulse she felt in her veins—the pulse of Erevan, the pulse of the bond, the pulse of the thread stretching across the void, waiting for her to follow.
The shadows shifted. The stone pressed. The world held its breath.
And Aria stepped forward, lantern in hand, unshaken.