Chapter 7 Threads Of The Past

• The morning sun filtered weakly through the narrow windows of Cael’s workshop, casting long shadows over scattered parchments and ancient tomes. Lena sat quietly, fingers tracing the worn edges of the silver pendant, its surface cool despite the rising heat outside.
• The visit from the Severed Order had left a weight pressing on her chest, heavier than the memories she’d uncovered in the Spine. Their words echoed in her mind—*choose silence willingly*. But silence felt like surrender, and surrender wasn’t in her blood.
• Cael stirred from his thoughts and finally spoke. “You’re not alone in this.”
• Lena looked up, meeting his steady gaze. “I know. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s memory is a thread unraveling, and I’m the only one holding the tapestry together.”
• He nodded slowly. “The Archives aren’t just a place of memory—they are the city’s soul. And souls can be fragile.”
• She rose, pacing the cramped room. “I need to understand more about the Triumvirate—and why my mother sacrificed everything to hide me.”
• Cael pulled a dusty leather-bound book from a high shelf. The cover was embossed with the same silver thorns as the pendant.
• “This is the Chronicle of the Triumvirate,” he said, flipping it open. “Written before the Silence, it holds secrets the Archives have tried to bury.”
• Lena leaned in as the pages whispered stories of power, betrayal, and ancient magic woven into the city’s foundation. The three ruling houses—Marlowe, Veylan, and Sorin—had ruled through control of memory itself. Their reign was a delicate dance between remembrance and erasure.
• “But the Silence shattered it all,” Cael explained. “The Purge wiped them from history, but not from the roots of the city.”
• Lena’s eyes caught an illustration—a crown entwined with thorned vines, half-buried beneath roots that pulsed with light.
• “That crown,” she whispered. “It’s the same as the one my mother wore in the vision.”
• Cael closed the book gently. “The crown is a symbol of the Triumvirate’s power—the ability to bind memory and shape reality. Whoever wears it holds the city’s fate.”
• “And now it’s mine?”
• Cael’s expression was grave. “You hold the key, but the crown is lost. You must find it before the Severed do.”
• Lena’s heart hammered. The path ahead was clearer—but also more dangerous.
• Outside, a sudden cry shattered the morning calm. They rushed to the window and saw a crowd gathering in the square, faces twisted with confusion and fear.
• “Another memory slip,” Cael said. “The city’s forgetting faster.”
• Without hesitation, Lena grabbed her cloak and pendant.
• “We have to stop this.”
• They hurried down winding streets, weaving through forgotten marketplaces where vendors blinked in confusion, unable to remember their wares.
• At the heart of the square stood a monument—a carved stone lion with eyes of onyx. Its surface shimmered and flickered as if struggling to hold its shape.
• Lena approached, feeling the pulse of lost memories in the air.
• She reached out, placing her hand on the lion’s cold stone.
• A surge of images flooded her mind: a battle fought centuries ago, the roar of crowds, the betrayal of a trusted friend.
• She gasped, pulling back.
• “The monument is a memory anchor,” Cael said. “When it falters, the city’s past frays.”
• Lena closed her eyes, focusing on the echoes within her.
• She whispered, “Remember.”
• Slowly, the lion’s form steadied, the flickering stopped, and the eyes of onyx gleamed with steady light.
• The crowd gasped in wonder.
• But Lena knew this was only the beginning.
• As the sun climbed higher, shadows lengthened in the alleyways—watching, waiting.
• The choice was hers.
• Remember—and risk everything.
• Or forget—and lose the city forever.