Nora. The Weaver. The woman who had manipulated him, caused Faaron's death, and engineered his exile three years ago. She looked exactly as he remembered her — unremarkable in appearance, easily forgettable to anyone who didn't know to look beyond the careful disguise.
Ithor's hand tightened on his knife, every instinct screaming at him to rush forward, to finally take the vengeance he had sought for so long. But something held him back — a caution born of hard experience, and perhaps the lingering influence of Faaron's more measured presence.
Nora was here, with the Bearer and what must be the Word — the Sylarei researcher studying the Dead Zone. This couldn't be coincidence. She was implementing whatever plan the Lady of Shadows had set in motion, manipulating these two just as she had once manipulated Ithor.
He needed to warn them. But how? He was an intruder, an exile, a man with no standing or credibility. If he burst in making accusations against someone who had clearly gained their trust, he would more likely be arrested than believed.
As he hesitated, the conversation within the room became audible, the participants' voices rising with what sounded like disagreement.
"...cannot simply ignore what it told you," Nora was saying, her tone reasonable but insistent. "If the entity within the Dome is trying to communicate directly, that's unprecedented. Potentially world-changing."
"I'm not ignoring it," the prince replied, his voice carrying the confidence of command despite his apparent youth. "But I'm not rushing to judgment either. We need to understand more before taking any action."
"Understanding is precisely what I'm trying to achieve," the Sylarei researcher interjected, rising from her position by the Dead Zone. "But I can't do that if I'm not given full access to the records of your communication with the entity. The Council at Ny'theras has texts that might help interpret — "
"The University Council has already demonstrated their preference for concealment over truth," Nora cut in smoothly. "They sent you here because they couldn't contain your curiosity, Merial, not because they want you to discover answers."
The Sylarei — Merial — bristled visibly at this. "You don't know my mentors or their motivations. Yes, there are factions within the University that prefer caution, but — "
"Caution?" Nora laughed, the sound lacking any real humor. "Is that what we're calling deliberate suppression of knowledge now? How many texts were you denied access to? How many questions were deflected? They've been hiding the truth about the Dome for centuries, both at Ny'theras and here in Olkaris."
The prince — Karel — held up a hand, silencing both women. "This isn't helping. We need to focus on the immediate situation. This Dead Zone appeared in the heart of the city, in a location that should have been protected by ancient wards. And it appeared immediately after my return from Mount Ilhyr. That can't be coincidence."
"It's not," Nora agreed quickly. "It's confirmation. The entity within the Dome is reaching out to you specifically, Bearer. Just as the texts predicted."
Ithor tensed at the use of the title. So Nora knew about the prophecy, about the three who would determine the outcome of the cycle. Of course she did — she served the Lady of Shadows, who sought to control these individuals for her own purposes.
"The texts you conveniently discovered," Merial said skeptically. "Texts that neither the University nor the Olkhar archives have copies of."
"Because they were deliberately removed," Nora countered. "Hidden or destroyed by those who feared what would happen if people learned the truth — that the Dome is a prison, not a protection. That what lies beyond it is not chaos, but our creator, our potential liberator."
The argument continued, but Ithor was no longer listening closely. His mind was racing, trying to determine the best course of action. Nora was clearly attempting to manipulate the Bearer and the Word, just as the Sangor elder had warned. She was sowing distrust of established authorities, positioning herself as the only reliable source of information, gradually steering them toward whatever the Lady of Shadows had planned.
It was the same technique she had used on Ithor three years ago, though more subtle and long-term. And it had to be stopped.
But how? Direct confrontation would likely fail. Nora was too skilled, too prepared. She would have contingencies for any straightforward attack.
As Ithor deliberated, fate — or perhaps something more deliberate — made the decision for him. The crystal amulet against his chest suddenly flared with heat and light, bright enough to be visible through his clothing. At the same moment, Faaron's presence surged in his awareness, stronger than it had been since the night of their separation.
Inside the room, both Karel and Merial reacted as if struck, turning toward the door behind which Ithor hid. The prince's hands began to glow with multicolored light — all seven gifts activating simultaneously — while the runes on the Sylarei's skin shifted into what Ithor recognized as defensive patterns.
"Someone's there," Karel said, his voice tight with tension. "Someone... or something."
Nora's expression shifted from surprise to calculation as she reached for something concealed in her robes. "Be careful. It could be another manifestation from the Dead Zone."
But Merial was shaking her head, her eyes wide with what looked like wonder rather than fear. "No... it's something else. Something I've never felt before, but somehow recognize." She took a step toward the door. "It's the third, isn't it? The one you mentioned from the prophecy. The Broken Bond."
Nora's face hardened, all pretense of confusion dropping away. "Stay back," she commanded, her voice taking on that same hypnotic quality Ithor remembered from the forest. "Whatever's out there is dangerous."
But her attempt at manipulation seemed to have no effect on either Karel or Merial. Perhaps they were somehow protected by their own connections to the Dome, or perhaps they had already begun to see through her deceptions.
Realizing that concealment was no longer an option, Ithor made his decision. He pushed the door open fully and stepped into the room, keeping his hands visible but ready to move if Nora attacked.
"My name is Ithor," he said, addressing Karel and Merial while keeping Nora in his peripheral vision. "And yes, I believe I am the one you call the Broken Bond. But more importantly, I know this woman. Her name is not whatever she has told you. She is Nora, also called the Weaver, an agent of the Lady of Shadows. And she has been manipulating you, just as she manipulated me three years ago."
Nora's expression would have been comical under other circumstances — shock quickly masked by outrage, then calculation as she assessed her options. "This is absurd," she said, her voice steady despite the situation. "This man is clearly deranged. Possibly influenced by whatever is leaking through the Dead Zone."
But Karel was studying Ithor with an intensity that suggested he was seeing more than just physical appearance. "No," he said slowly. "He's telling the truth. At least, he believes he is." He turned to Nora, his expression hardening. "And you... there's something not right about you. Something I should have noticed before."
Merial had opened her book, quickly tracing a revealing rune in the air. The symbol glowed briefly before dissolving into motes of light that swirled around Nora, causing her appearance to flicker like a candle in wind.
"A concealment spell," Merial said, surprise and anger mingling in her voice. "Advanced Verithil magic, not the simple disguise charm you claimed to use for protection during your travels."
Nora's disguise was failing, her unremarkable features shifting to reveal her true appearance — the golden eyes characteristic of the Verithil race, features that were beautiful but cold, calculating.
"You've made a mistake," she said, but her tone had changed — no longer the reasonable advisor but something harder, more threatening. "The Lady of Shadows offers you understanding, elevation. Those who oppose her seek only to maintain their power through ignorance and fear."
"The only one using manipulation and fear here is you," Ithor said, taking a step forward. The crystal amulet was burning against his chest now, and Faaron's presence was so strong that he almost expected to see the wolf materialize beside him. "I don't know exactly what you're planning, but I know it involves these two, and I know it serves your Lady's desire to free whatever is imprisoned within the Dome."
Karel looked from Ithor to Nora, his expression troubled. "Is this true? Have you been lying to us about your identity? About your purpose here?"
Nora seemed to realize that the situation was beyond salvaging through further deception. Her posture shifted subtly, becoming more predatory. "The Lady of Shadows serves a greater truth than you can comprehend," she said, all pretense abandoned. "The First created us, gave us consciousness and purpose. And in return, our ancestors imprisoned it, feared its power, denied their own potential."
"So you admit it," Merial said, her book now glowing with activated defensive runes. "You've been manipulating us, feeding us selected information to lead us toward some predetermined conclusion."
"I've been guiding you," Nora corrected, her hand moving to a pendant around her neck — a small crystal that glowed with the same blue light as the fragment she had used on Ithor years ago. "Helping you fulfill your destined roles. The three must meet, must face the truth together. That part of the prophecy is correct. But the choice you make must be the right one — freedom, not continued imprisonment."
"A choice made under manipulation is no choice at all," Karel said, the multicolored light around his hands intensifying. "Whatever decision we make about the Dome and what lies beyond it, it will be based on complete information and our own judgment — not your Lady's agenda."
Nora's expression hardened further. "I had hoped to avoid this approach. It's so much cleaner when subjects believe they're making their own decisions." She raised the blue crystal, which began to pulse with energy. "But the cycle is too advanced for further subtlety. The Dome fractures. The silence ends. The three have met where shadows fall. Now you will come with me to the Lady, who will ensure you make the correct choice when the time comes."
The crystal flared, and a wave of compulsion washed over the room — the same magical influence Ithor had experienced in the forest, but far stronger. He felt it pressing against his mind, trying to override his will, to replace his thoughts with obedience to Nora's commands.
But something unexpected happened. As the compulsion reached Ithor, Faaron's presence surged in response, the broken bond flaring with protective energy. At the same moment, Karel's seven gifts blazed brighter, creating a shield of multicolored light that surrounded both him and Merial, whose verbal magic manifested as glowing runes that spun in a defensive pattern around her.
The three of them — Bearer, Word, and Broken Bond — stood united against Nora's magical assault, each drawing on their unique connection to the powers of Inhevaen to resist her influence.
Nora's expression shifted from confidence to disbelief as her magic failed to overcome their combined resistance. "Impossible," she whispered. "The fragments have never failed before."
"Perhaps because we're exactly who the prophecy spoke of," Karel said, his voice steady despite the strain of maintaining his shield. "The three who will determine the outcome of the cycle. Not pawns to be manipulated by your Lady, but individuals with our own power, our own purpose."
Realizing that her magical attack had failed, Nora shifted tactics with frightening speed. From within her robes, she drew a small, dark object that pulsed with malevolent energy — a corrupted Shyrr fragment, black as night but shot through with veins of sickly green light.
"If I cannot bring you willingly, I will bring you unconscious," she snarled, all pretense of reasonableness gone. She crushed the fragment in her hand, and the corrupted energy within it exploded outward, filling the room with choking darkness.
Ithor felt rather than saw something rush past him — a presence that moved with unnatural speed through the darkness, heading for the exit. Nora was escaping.
Without thinking, he lunged after her, driven by three years of pent-up rage and the need for justice for Faaron. His hand closed on fabric, and he felt a moment of triumph —
Then pain exploded in his side as something sharp pierced his flesh. A knife, wielded with expert precision. Nora had been prepared for physical confrontation as well as magical.
Ithor gasped, his grip loosening involuntarily. He felt warm blood soaking his clothing, but more concerning was the immediate numbness spreading from the wound — the blade had been treated with some kind of toxin.
"We'll meet again, Broken Bond," Nora's voice came from the darkness, already moving away. "When you've had time to reconsider your position. The Lady is patient, but the Dome is not. Remember that."
Then she was gone, leaving Ithor collapsing to his knees in the darkness, fighting against the spreading numbness that threatened to claim his consciousness.
The corrupted energy from the Shyrr fragment was dissipating, allowing light to return to the room. Karel and Merial rushed to Ithor's side, their expressions concerned as they saw the blood staining his clothing.
"He's wounded," Merial said, quickly examining the injury. "And poisoned, from the look of it."
Karel knelt beside them, his hands still glowing with the power of his seven gifts. "Can you help him?"
"Not here," Merial replied, already tearing strips from her robe to create a temporary bandage. "We need to get him somewhere safe, with proper medical supplies. And quickly — his pulse is already weakening."
Ithor tried to speak, to warn them about Nora's likely next moves, but his tongue felt thick and unresponsive. The toxin was working quickly, shutting down his body system by system.
As darkness began to encroach on his vision, he felt Faaron's presence more strongly than ever — not just a flicker or impression, but an almost physical sensation of the wolf beside him, lending strength, fighting against the poison's effects.
Stay with me, brother-soul, came a thought that wasn't quite his own. The three have met. The truth awaits. Your journey is not over.
It was the clearest communication he had received from Faaron's spirit since their bond was broken. And it gave Ithor something to hold onto as consciousness slipped away — a promise, a purpose, a connection that transcended death itself.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him completely was Karel and Merial leaning over him, their faces concerned but determined. The Bearer and the Word, his companions in whatever lay ahead.
The three had met where shadows fall, just as the prophecy foretold. Now they would face the truth together — whatever that truth might be, and whatever it might cost them.
The wolf without a pack had found a new purpose, a new connection. And perhaps, just perhaps, a new pack.