Guardians and Bonds
(This chapter shifts backward in time. Unfolding through Doya's perspective, back when he was still at the temple, before he set out in search of Dana. What unfolds here will slowly shed light on his choices, his secrets, and the weight he has been carrying since long before this journey began)
Enjoy :)
Doya's POV
The veil should have opened.
I stood at the edge of the chamber, blood drying stiff against my ribs, my breath shallow but steady. Pain I understood. Pain was familiar. It had never stopped me before. I reached for the veil anyway, my fingers lifting out of habit.
The air rippled.
For a moment, it worked.
I thought.
Then the veil recoiled.
Not shattered. Not collapsed.
It recoiled.
The force hit without warning, slamming me back against the stone floor. My breath tore from my lungs, sharp and violent, iron flooding my mouth. The light vanished instantly, the chamber snapping back into stillness as though nothing had happened at all.
I lay there, stunned, staring at the ceiling.
That had never happened before.
I forced myself upright, ignoring the tremor in my hands. My ribs burned, deeper than bone. I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to calm myself.
"You tried to cross," a voice said quietly.
I turned.
Ascend Kaelric stood near the entrance, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed on me with something that hovered between concern and calculation. It was hard to tell which unsettled me more.
"I've crossed injured before," I said. My voice was steady. "This isn't new."
"No," he agreed. "But that is."
He stepped closer. His eyes flicked briefly to my shaking hands, then to my chest, rising too fast, then away again, as if he had already seen enough and didn't like what he found.
"The veil didn't reject you," he said slowly. "It hesitated."
My stomach tightened.
"That's not possible. I'm doing everything right."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he asked, "Who were you trying to reach?"
I said nothing.
It was forbidden to abandon my duties, to use the veil for anything beyond sanctioned passage. If I spoke, he would know.
"You should not leave your responsibilities behind, Doya," Kaelric said, his voice firm. "The burden of a High Bound is not one to forsake."
I remained silent. Kaelric was perceptive. One misplaced word would betray me.
"I see you have a bond with the Guardian," he murmured. "Every Guardian before her was tethered to someone. And Dana…" His gaze sharpened. "She appears to be tethered to you."
I stared at him, my face carefully blank.
How did he know? Even I did not fully understand the bond.
"That explains it," he said quietly.
"Explains what?" I demanded.
For the first time since I had known him, unease crossed his face.
"You should not be carrying this much residual force," he said. "Not without consequence."
The words settled heavy in my chest.
"I'm not carrying anything," I responded.
He hesitated, then shook his head once.
"That," he said, "is what makes it dangerous."
Confusion crept in, slow and unwelcome.
"What's happening to me?" I asked.
Kaelric studied me for a long moment. Then he spoke.
"Dana is drawing closer to the Cranium." He paused, as if weighing how much truth I could endure. "Initially, whenever she exhumed power, the residual energy flowed to you. But the tether is fraying."
My jaw tightened.
"Power moves within her as naturally as breath," he went on. "Whether she can control it or not, you are tethered to the current of it. The excess seeks you. It feeds you."
I didn't blink. I couldn't. I just watched his mouth move, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest.
"It amplifies you," he continued. "It strengthens you beyond what your frame should be able to contain."
"And?" I pressed.
His eyes darkened.
"When she reaches the Cranium and becomes fully tethered to it, that current will sever." His voice lowered. "You will lose your source."
My heart lurched.
My source?
Dana is my source?
"What happens to me when I lose it?" I asked.
He did not answer.
Kaelric rarely hesitated. He never looked uncertain. The faint concern on his face was more unsettling than any warning.
Fear crawled up my spine, cold and deliberate.
"What happened to the bonds of the previous Guardians?" I asked again, my voice hard. "Tell me."
"What happened to them does not matter," he said. "The only thing that matters is that she reaches the Cranium." He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Even if it requires a great sacrifice."
My heart jolted at the word sacrifice.
I did not know what to think. Dana's mission mattered. The world depended on it. Yet her fulfilment of that mission might cost me my life.
"Clean yourself up and return to your duties," Kaelric commanded, already turning away.
I remained on the floor long after he left, the weight of his words pressing down on me. It felt as though my life was quietly unravelling, thread by thread. Eventually, I rose, obeyed his order, and washed the blood from my skin.
Days passed.
Sleep abandoned me. During the day, my focus fractured, even while on duty. High Bound Dorasmus began to notice my missteps, his gaze lingered on me longer than it should. At times, I felt Dana calling for me, sharp and distant. I tried to pass through the veil again and again, each attempt failing. Each rejection weakened me further.
The veil had thickened. It resisted me now, pushing back as if I no longer belonged.
It was torture. Feeling her, knowing her fear, her pain, and being unable to reach her.
Sometimes her location flickered at the edge of my mind when I felt her. She was in the north. I was certain of it. But leaving the temple was impossible. Not without being caught.
Then one day, during a meeting with the other Bound, it happened.
I felt her.
This time it was violent. Unmistakable.
The room tilted. My pulse spiked, my heart thrumming wildly against my ribs. Cold spread through my limbs as my body began to shake, uncontrollably. Whatever Kaelric had warned me about, the severing, the imbalance, it was accelerating.
I needed a solution. Even if it did not save me, I had to preserve my strength.
After the meeting, I went straight to the archives.
Many scrolls were restricted, especially those concerning Guardians, but my rank granted me access. I searched relentlessly, day after day, combing through brittle parchment and fading ink. It took a few days before I found it.
An old scroll, buried beneath dust and spider webs.
Guardians and Bonds.
Hope stirred, fragile but real. I carried it to a table and read carefully, line by line. Near the end, a drawing caught my attention. An urn. According to the text, it could store residual energy, sustaining those tethered to a Guardian after their source began to fade. It had bought previous bonds time. Not salvation. Time.
I still found no record of what ultimately became of them. I suspected the truth, but I refused to name it.
I rolled the scroll shut and made my way to the temple's reliquary. Relics lined the chamber, silent witnesses of forgotten lives. Then I saw it. An urn, matching the illustration perfectly. Medium sized, etched with unfamiliar symbols that seemed to shift when I looked too closely.
I lifted it carefully and eased the lid open.
Power surged out instantly, humming sharp and alive. It rushed into me, filling the hollow places, steadying something that had been fraying for days. I gasped, startled by how alive I suddenly felt.
Someone else's residual energy, I realised.
I sealed the urn and kept it close. No one noticed. I made sure of that.
Back in my quarters, I hid it well and began planning. An escape. A way out of the temple. A way to reach Dana.
Feeling her fear from a distance was unbearable. Doing nothing was worse.
When the day finally came, and everything was in place, I did not hesitate.
I was leaving the temple.
I saddled my horse, cradling the satchel close to my chest — the urn secured inside. I packed food, a water container, and a small pouch of coins; my new rank afforded me a modest wealth.
The night was quiet, almost peaceful. I rode toward the temple gates, careful but swift. The guards on night watch spotted me approaching from the distance.
"Who's there?" one called.
"I am High Bound Doya. A mission has been set before me. Open the gates and allow me passage," I said, my voice firm, unwavering.
I didn't need questions, and if the Ascend learned I had left, I would already be beyond their reach.
The guards didn't hesitate. They knew better than to delay a High Bound. The gates rose, and I passed through.
I rode through the night without rest. Sleep had become a stranger ever since the bond began to fray. Some nights I camped briefly, leaning against my horse, letting exhaustion weigh down my eyes. Other nights, I pressed on, refusing to stop. Days later, I reached the seaport and boarded a ship heading north.
The sea journey was harsh, the waves unkind, the wind relentless. But I endured. Dana needed me.
Finally, we arrived at the northern docks. Winter had settled in with a bite that cut deep, cold weaving through my clothes, my skin, even my bones. I dismounted quickly, scanning the area for an inn, a safe place to rest. This town was nothing like the calm of the temple. Every shadow, every movement demanded vigilance.
I found an inn at last and tied my horse outside, keeping my eyes sharp.
Morning came, and with it, shock. My horse was gone.
Frustration gnawed at me. I returned to the inn and paid for another night, sliding a coin across the counter without explanation.
Day by day, I siphoned small portions of my energy into the urn, just enough to keep myself standing. It drained me more than I liked, left my limbs heavy and my thoughts slower, but it was necessary. It bought me time.
The next morning, I resumed my search. I had no clear sense of where Dana was, only the persistent certainty that I was closer. I moved through the markets, scanning faces, listening without listening, when I saw it.
A poster.
Her face stared back at me, unmistakable. Kumbuye's likeness beside hers, rendered with unsettling accuracy.
A bounty?
I exhaled slowly. She had gotten herself into trouble again.
I tore the poster down, folded it, and slipped it into my satchel. The cold was relentless. My skin had grown dry, my hands pale, the winter settling into me like something permanent.
By dusk, I felt her again. The pull was sharp, then fleeting, her location flickering through my mind in fragments. I was exhausted, my steps dragging as I moved through the narrowing streets. I found a quiet corner and sat, cutting a small portion from the bread I'd bought earlier and tucking the rest into my bag.
Night deepened as I closed my eyes.
Then it happened again.
This time, the pull was clearer. Still fractured, but stronger. She was in the forest.
I stood immediately and followed it. Fear, urgency, longing — they all blurred into one driving force. At the forest's edge, I pushed through the trees, moving as fast as my body allowed. Smoke rose in the distance. I followed it, hope building with every step.
Then I saw her.
She was crouched beside Kumbuye.
I didn't realise I'd said her name until she turned. Our eyes met. I heard her voice — one I hadn't heard in far too long.
Only then did it hit me how much I had missed her.
I stepped closer. She did too. My hands found her face before thought could catch up. She had grown. She was different.
Before I could fully take her in, she reached for me and kissed me.
Her lips were warm and soft. My pulse surged. For a moment, I wanted the world to stop there, to freeze us in that breathless instant.
Then she pulled back. Her emerald eyes searched my face, filled with questions, confusion, things she wasn't yet ready to ask.
I needed her to feel safe. I drew her against me, resting her head on my chest. Part of it was for her. Part of it was selfish. I needed to feel her there, solid and alive.
I couldn't tell her the truth.
Not about the bond weakening.
Not about the Cranium.
Not about the urn, or my power slipping through my fingers.
That burden was mine alone. She already carried too much.
When she asked about my journey, about what I'd endured, I lied. Carefully. Completely.
As we travelled on together, her suspicion grew. I saw it in her silence, in the way her gaze lingered on me when she thought I wasn't looking. I knew she would turn to Kumbuye, would ask him to look inside my mind.
So I sealed it shut.
I blocked my thoughts with everything I had left. I wasn't certain if they saw anything but the way she stiffened at times, the way her eyes sharpened when she looked at me, told me enough.
She knew something was wrong.
She just didn't know how deep it went.
The moment we reached the towering ice wall, something inside me began to fracture. I felt it clearly, the slow breakdown, but I kept my expression neutral. I had learned how to hide pain long before this journey.
As we searched for a way through, my eyes caught on a stone stele half buried in the snow. Symbols were etched into its surface, mirroring a marking I had seen before.
The urn.
Recognition flared sharp and immediate. I called out to Dana and Kumbuye.
They hurried over. Dana asked if I recognised the inscriptions.
I lied.
She turned to Kumbuye instead. He studied the stone and admitted it looked familiar. I wondered where he had seen it.
Before either of us could say more, Dana reached out and brushed the snow from the stele, and suddenly, she collapsed.
The world narrowed instantly. I was at her side in seconds, calling her name, again and again. She didn't respond. Kumbuye joined me, his voice tight with urgency, but there was nothing. For a moment, she was completely gone.
Then her breath stuttered.
She stirred, consciousness pulling her back in fragments. When her eyes finally opened, there was no confusion in them. Only resolve.
Almost immediately, she announced her decision that she would cross the ice wall alone.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to stop her. But Dana had always been like this. Once her mind locked onto a path, nothing could divert her. Not reason. Not fear. Not us.
So she went.
She left Kumbuye and me standing there as the wall parted for her.
Dread climbed my spine, slow and cold, but I forced it down. This was her burden now. She had stepped fully into her role as Guardian.
All that remained for me was to support her, without hesitation, without condition and wait for whatever consequence would eventually claim me.