cherryblossoms__
Eryndor reached for her wrist-
-when the door slammed open.
He did not turn. Two fingers pressed lightly against Ayaana's pulse.
"Oh," he said mildly, "we seem to have acquired some late, uninvited souls."
Celestine's voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "Have you no sense, barging into a lady's chamber unannounced?"
"I consider this extremely improper," Jubeline added sharply.
"Oops," Eryndor said, tilting his head to study Ayaana. "I rarely encounter a soul this... old."
"Five centuries," he continued, "give or take. Hard to be precise when memories rot unevenly."
The room went cold. Ayaana gasped, clawing at her chest, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes though she did not wake.
"She's fighting," Eryndor said. "Not possession. Not madness. More like... echoes. Old lives pressing too close."
Slowly, his gaze lifted. Valthorne stood rigid, silent.
"Ah," Eryndor murmured. "That explains the resonance. Wolf-blood, aren't you? Descendant."
Valthorne's jaw tightened. "You speak too freely."
"Your soul is old too," Eryndor added. "Not as frayed. But just as ancient."
"The solution?" Jubeline asked.
"Bonding," Eryndor said simply. "A tether. Temporary at first. His presence steadies the fracture."
Valthorne stiffened. "That is not a choice to be made lightly."
"Nothing involving old souls ever is," Eryndor replied. "But without it... she'll keep drowning in memories that aren't finished with her."
He adjusted his monocle. "Decide quickly. Old lives are impatient."