Creese

Three days before the wedding, Seraphina Vale thought she was living a fairytale.

Julian’s penthouse smelled like citrus and cedarwood, the kind of scent you could bottle and name Success. He stood by the kitchen island in sweatpants and no shirt, hair still damp from the gym, smiling at her like she was the prize he never had to chase.

“You’re staring,” he teased.

Sera smirked over her coffee. “I’m just trying to remember why I said yes.”

Julian crossed the room in three long strides, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her like a man who always got what he wanted. “Because I’m devastatingly handsome and your mother loves me.”

“Mm, two things I may soon regret.”

She laughed, but it caught somewhere in her chest.

Everything about her life looked perfect from the outside—magazine-worthy engagement, New York socialite status, a fiancé with flawless teeth and a startup about to go public. Her wedding hashtag had trended for two days straight.

But something in Julian had changed in the last few months. He was still charming, still doted on her in public, still gave her everything she asked for.

Everything except... presence.

His kisses landed like rehearsed lines. His touches didn’t linger.

And worst of all—he was always texting.

Constantly. Smiling at his phone when he thought she wasn’t looking. Swiping it away too fast when she was.

Sera asked once, lightly, “Who’s got you so entertained?”

Julian had smiled and said, “Work, babe. You know how it is.”

And she did. She wanted to believe him. She needed to.

Because the alternative was a truth too ugly to say out loud.


---

That afternoon, she met Madeline for dress fittings.

Madeline had been her best friend since prep school—the kind of friend who held your hair back while you puked and swore she’d take your secrets to the grave. She was tall, magnetic, unapologetically wild. If Sera was the grace, Madeline was the chaos.

“You’re glowing,” Madeline said, adjusting the bust of her lavender bridesmaid dress in the mirror. “You’re going to ruin every woman’s self-esteem on Saturday.”

Sera looked at herself. The silk gown shimmered like a dream. But all she could see was a girl pretending not to notice how fast her world was unraveling.

Madeline leaned in, voice low and teasing. “You sure you’re ready for monogamy? One man for the rest of your life? No more flirty brunch waiters or sultry European getaways?”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about giving up flirty brunch waiters?”

They both laughed, but Sera caught the flicker in Madeline’s eyes. A flash of guilt? Or just her own imagination turning shadows into monsters?

She told herself not to be paranoid. She had no reason to be.

Madeline had been there through everything—every broken heart, every public failure, every bottle of rosé drunk at 2 a.m. in their twenties while crying over boys who didn’t deserve them.

Julian was hers. Madeline was her best friend.

What could possibly go wrong?


---

Later that night, lying in bed with Julian’s arm thrown over her waist like a lazy anchor, Seraphina stared at the ceiling and whispered, “You still love me, right?”

Julian didn’t move. “Of course.”

“No hesitation?”

He chuckled, half-asleep. “You’re just having wedding nerves, babe. It’s normal.”

She wanted to ask about the texts. About the long nights at the office. About why he kept turning away from her in bed.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

And dreamed of waves crashing and silk burning.

Seraphina Vale

The morning after the bond broke felt like a world unmade.

Seraphina stood at the highest tower of Ravenhold, arms wrapped around herself as the wind clawed at her cloak. There was no sunrise—only a slow bleeding of gray across the sky, like the heavens themselves were mourning. Her chest was quiet. Too quiet.

The mark was gone. But the ache remained.

She had felt it vanish like a blade through silk. One moment it pulsed with familiar fire—Valen's presence humming beneath her skin—and the next, it was gone. As if he had died. Or worse, as if she had.

"Why would you do this?" she whispered into the wind.

There was no answer. Only the restless howl of the air and the hollow in her soul.

"I wasn't needed." Seraphina's voice was flat.

Mira approached, her gaze narrowing. "You're unwell."

Mira frowned. "The bond is gone, isn't it?"

Seraphina turned to her. "He severed it. I don't know how. Or why. But I felt it. He's not gone... but he's not with me anymore."

Mira's features softened for the first time in days. "You loved him."

Seraphina didn't answer. She didn't have to.

Elsewhere — Deep in the Ghostlands

Valen moved like a man already dead. The Ghostlands didn't welcome travelers—they consumed them. Trees twisted like claws. Shadows slithered without form. But he walked on, bearing the weight of what he had done.

The bond had been a lifeline. A curse, yes. But it had also been a tether to something real. Her warmth. Her rage. Her magic. And now, there was only silence.

He stumbled, blood still crusted on his palms. The ritual had taken more than his connection to Seraphina. It had cost him his strength. His clarity.

A voice echoed from the trees. "You bleed for love, and yet you run from it."

He didn't respond. Not to the spirits. Not to his guilt.

Because if he looked back now, he wouldn't be able to keep walking.

Ravenhold War Chambers — Seraphina's POV

She descended into the war chambers like a ghost. Everyone stopped speaking when she entered. The air held tension—respect, fear, uncertainty.

Mira stood at the head of the table, maps spread before her.

Mira gestured her forward. "There was movement near the Ghostlands. An old blood signature. He's there."

Seraphina's fists clenched. "Then I'm going after him."

One of the warlords scoffed. "Alone?"

"Would you prefer I bring him back in pieces?" Her voice was ice.

Silence followed. No one challenged her again.

Later — Mira's POV

Mira watched her go. The girl she had pulled from flame and ruin. The girl who had once begged to be anything but chosen.

Seraphina was becoming something else. Something terrible. Something beautiful.

And Mira feared what would happen if Valen didn't meet her halfway.

The Severed Thread