Mira didn't answer immediately. She took a long sip of her tea, ancient eyes studying Faelyn over the rim of the cup.
"Tell me, child," she finally said. "What is your name? In all this chaos, no one thought to ask."
Faelyn blinked. "Oh. Um. Faelyn. My name is Faelyn."
"Faelyn," Mira repeated, testing the word. Her eyebrows raised slightly. "Strange name. Not from any clan I know. Where did you say you were from again?"
'Nowhere you'd recognize. Like, literally a different dimension.'
"I don't remember," Faelyn said, which was becoming her default answer to everything.
Mira hummed noncommittally, clearly not buying it but choosing not to press. Yet.
"Now, Faelyn," Mira continued, setting down her cup. "When you look at Chief Roshan or Chief Nyx, do you feel anything... unusual? Any pull? Any warmth in your chest?"
Faelyn froze, cup halfway to her lips.
Because she did feel something.
She'd been feeling it since she woke up in Roshan's arms. A weird tug, like an invisible string pulling at her sternum. A warmth that spread through her chest whenever she was near him.
But with Nyx...
"I feel it with Roshan," Faelyn admitted quietly. "The pull. The warmth. But with Nyx..." She hesitated. "I think he's... open to bonding? Maybe? But he also kind of terrifies me."
Mira laughed. Actually laughed, a warm, rich sound that seemed to fill the small space.
"Oh, child. Nyx terrifies everyone at first glance. But I've known that boy since he was a cub." Her expression softened with memory. "I remember when he and Roshan were young. A century ago, maybe a bit more. They were inseparable. The cutest, most loving pair of cubs you'd ever seen. Roshan with his bright smile and endless energy. Nyx trailing after him like a shadow, quiet but fiercely protective."
Faelyn's brain stuttered. "A century? They're over a HUNDRED years old?"
'I'm potentially bonding with men who are old enough to be my -great-great-grandparents. This is fine. Everything is fine.'
Mira nodded. "Roshan is one hundred thirty-two. Nyx is one hundred thirty-five. Still young by our standards, really. I myself am five hundred seventy-eight." She said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
'The pregnant woman with six kids is probably older than my grandparents were. Everyone here is ancient. I'm literally the baby in this scenario. What is my life right now?'
"They didn't care about clan differences back then," Mira continued, gaze distant. "They were friends. True friends. They hunted together, trained together, got into trouble together." Her smile faded. "It wasn't until the incident that everything changed."
"Incident?"
Mira's expression darkened. "A territorial dispute that turned violent. A betrayal, or what was perceived as one. Details were lost to anger and pride. But it pit both clans against each other for decades. Roshan and Nyx on opposite sides, forced by duty to become enemies instead of brothers."
She looked at Faelyn with those ancient, knowing eyes.
"The truce they have now? It's fragile. Built on necessity, not trust. They share the water source because they have to, not because they want to. But underneath..." She shook her head. "Underneath, I think they both mourn what they lost. That friendship. That bond."
Faelyn's chest tightened.
'So they were friends. Best friends, probably. And something tore them apart and turned them into rivals. And now I'm caught in the middle of it.'
"I hope," Mira said softly, "that your presence here will bring them back together. True unity, not this false peace that could shatter at any moment. The gods work in mysterious ways, child. Perhaps you were sent here for more than one purpose."
[Oh DEFINITELY,] Puffball chimed in. [Multi-purpose chosen one! You're like a Swiss Army knife of plot devices!]
'I hate everything.'
Mira leaned forward, expression serious again. "But that brings me back to the bond. If you're truly bonded to Roshan, and I suspect you are, then the three moon cycles won't matter. The bond will complete itself whether you want it to or not."
Faelyn's stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"
"It means your body and soul will demand the bond be fulfilled. You'll grow weaker. Sicker. Your body will ache. You'll develop fevers. You'll find it harder and harder to be apart from your mate. Until you either complete the bond..." She paused. "Or die."
"Die?!" Faelyn choked on her tea. "I'll DIE if I don't—"
'Again?! How many death discussion am I going to go through? I just wanted to help that mother fucker! Yet this is what I get?'
"Complete the mating bond, yes," Mira said bluntly. "The bond requires physical consummation to fully seal. Mating. Intimacy. The joining of bodies that solidifies the joining of souls."
Faelyn's face burned. "That's. That's insane."
"That's nature." Mira's tone was matter-of-fact.
"What if..." Faelyn swallowed hard. "What if that's not possible? What if I can't... or won't..."
'Please be different from the animal bonds I studied. Please tell me this works differently. Please—'
Mira's expression softened slightly. "There are ways to delay it. Deep intimacy that doesn't involve full mating can help ease the symptoms temporarily. Touching. Kissing. Acts that raise your body's... responsiveness." She said it delicately, like she was trying to be tactful about discussing Faelyn's libido. "Physical intimacy that builds arousal, that engages your desire, can satisfy the bond partially. But it's only a delay. Eventually, the bond will demand completion."
"And if I refuse?" Faelyn asked, even though she already knew she wouldn't like the answer. "If I just... don't do any of it?"
Mira's face went grim. "Then you'll experience what we call bond rejection sickness. Your body will fight itself. Fevers that won't break. Pain in your chest that feels like your heart is being crushed. Inability to eat. To sleep. Your mind will become foggy, confused. You'll grow weaker each day until your body simply gives out."
She set down her cup with a soft clink.
"I've seen it happen twice in my long life, child. Females who refused their bonds for various reasons. One lasted four moon cycles before she died in her sleep, delirious with fever and pain. The other made it six, but only because her mate was already dead and there was no bond to fight against, just the grief."
Faelyn felt sick.
'So my options are: mate with a chief I literally just met, engage in... intimate activities I'm absolutely NOT ready for, or slowly die a painful death.'
'GREAT. Just GREAT. This day just keeps getting better and better.'
[To be fair,] Puffball chimed in, [you DID trigger the bond by having physical contact and emotional resonance with Roshan! That's on you!]
'NOT HELPING, PUFFBALL. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE YOU ANNOYING PIECE OF SHIT!!!'
"How long?" Faelyn asked quietly. "How long do I actually have before the sickness starts?"
Mira tilted her head thoughtfully. "It varies. For most bonds, symptoms begin within two weeks of recognition. Given that you're apparently bonded to a chief, and that white hair suggests the gods have plans for you..." She trailed off. "I'd say you have perhaps a week, maybe two, before you start feeling the effects. A moon cycle at most before it becomes truly dangerous."
One month.
She had one month to figure out what the hell she was going to do about being magically bonded to a chief who was over a century old in a world that wasn't even hers.
'I hate my life. I hate this world. I hate magical bonds and prophecies and possessive beastmen and EVERYTHING.'
Faelyn buried her face in her hands.
Mira reached over and patted her knee awkwardly, like she wasn't quite sure how to comfort someone having an existential crisis.
"There, there, child. It could be worse."
"How?" Faelyn's voice came out muffled through her hands. "How could this possibly be worse?"
Mira was quiet for a moment.
"You could have bonded with Darius."
Despite everything, despite the absolute nightmare her life had become, Faelyn let out a slightly hysterical laugh.
"Yeah," she muttered. "That would definitely be worse."
Outside, she could hear the village settling into evening routines. Voices calling to each other. The sound of food being prepared. Children playing. Life continuing on like her entire world hadn't just imploded.
And somewhere out there, two chiefs who used to be friends were probably arguing about her.
Or thinking about her.
Or trying to figure out how to navigate this impossible political mess that she'd somehow become the center of.
Faelyn took a long drink of her tea, which tasted like flowers and regret at this point.
'One month. I have one month to figure this out.'
'No pressure or anything. Right?'