Whisper Of The Soulbound

The surface greeted them with the pale light of early dawn. After hours inside the Shrine of Forgotten Names, the open sky felt too bright—almost foreign. Emelai stood quietly beside the shattered entrance, arms wrapped around herself, soul aura still trembling with the aftershock of awakening.

No one spoke for a long while.

Liaen broke the silence. "We need to move. The Cult will feel what happened here."

Asher nodded, scanning the horizon. "We head north. There's a safehouse two days away. From there, we regroup."

Elira hovered near Emelai, watching her closely. "Your soul is still adjusting. That power you released—it was raw, untrained."

"I felt like I was burning," Emelai whispered. "But also… free."

Asher met her eyes. "That's because you broke a binding. That always comes with pain."

They walked through ash-laced grasslands, avoiding main roads. Emelai kept to herself, the name Emilia now feeling like a fading mask. She turned over the name Emelai Vas in her thoughts—testing its weight, its truth. And with it came memories.

The fire.

The chanting.

The knife against her chest.

Runes etched in soulblood.

She had been just a child.

And they had erased her.

That night, they camped beneath a crumbling watchtower, hidden by trees. Emelai sat alone while Liaen scouted and Elira shimmered faintly near Asher, who was tending to a wound from the shrine battle.

"Elira," Asher murmured. "She's not normal, is she?"

"No. And not just because of what was done to her. She was born different."

"You mean the soul-mark?"

Elira nodded. "It's rare. A soulbound mark shows when a soul is destined to be connected—either to another person… or to fate itself."

Asher frowned. "You had one."

"I did." Her glow dimmed slightly. "Mine was tied to you."

He looked toward Emelai. "And hers?"

Elira hesitated. "It's not complete yet. But it's reacting to us."

"To me?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"No," she whispered. "To me."

Emelai stirred from her trance, walking over to the fire. "I heard you talking."

Elira appeared beside her, unafraid. "Then you know. Your soul carries something ancient."

"I don't want to be part of anyone's prophecy," she muttered. "I just want to survive."

Elira reached out, her ghostly hand brushing Emelai's chest—over her heart. "Sometimes surviving is the prophecy."

Suddenly, the mark appeared.

A glowing sigil blazed to life across Emelai's sternum—spiraling curves intersecting with a teardrop shape. Asher stood immediately, sword half-drawn.

"What is that?" Liaen asked, returning from the woods.

Elira's voice was calm, reverent. "The first stage of a Soulbound awakening."

Asher's eyes darkened. "She's being claimed."

"Not by us," Elira said. "By something older. The soul realms. The very force the Cult is trying to corrupt."

Emelai gritted her teeth. "I didn't choose this."

"No," Elira whispered. "But neither did I. And still, I found purpose."

Later that night, Emelai dreamed.

She stood in a mirror-world of silver and shadow. Faces formed in the mists—dozens of them. Children. Mothers. Warriors. All bearing her face. All reaching toward her.

And one stood closest. A version of herself cloaked in black, eyes glowing gold.

The other Emelai spoke: "You're waking up too fast. You'll burn if you don't learn control."

"Who are you?" Emelai asked.

"I'm what they tried to erase."

Suddenly, runes appeared in the air, and the other Emelai raised her hand, pressing it to Emelai's heart.

The soulmark flared.

Pain surged.

And she awoke—gasping, drenched in sweat, the mark still glowing faintly beneath her shirt.

At dawn, they resumed travel. No one questioned the mark again—not yet. But the air around Emelai had changed. She no longer looked like someone being protected.

She looked like someone becoming dangerous.

And Asher, though silent, noticed something unsettling.

The mark on Emelai's chest…

Matched one he'd seen before.

Long ago.

Branded into the altar of the Cult of Shattered Names.