Aurora woke before the sun.
For a moment she did not remember where she was.
The ceiling above her was unfamiliar — lower than her bedroom’s, crossed with dark beams that caught the pale gray of early morning. The air smelled faintly of cedar and ash.
Then the memory settled back into place.
The eastern room.
The bed had been brought in late the previous evening. Gideon and Darian had carried it from the guest room downstairs while their mother prepared the windows, pressing thin lines of gray ash along the frames the way the council had instructed.
Aurora had watched the entire process without speaking.
Now the room felt stripped of personality.
The desk had been removed.
The bookshelves emptied.
The curtains replaced with plain linen that allowed only dull light to pass through.
The only remaining furniture was the narrow bed, a wooden chair beside it, and the small table where the Binding Journal rested.
She sat up slowly.
The floorboards creaked under her bare feet when she stood.
Five days.
The number arrived immediately.
It seemed the house itself was keeping count.
Aurora walked to the window.
Outside, the forest stood motionless under a pale morning sky. The trees were so thick along the northern ridge that the sunlight rarely touched the ground beneath them.
That was where the Veil stretched.
Not visible.
Not tangible.
But present.
Everyone in town knew where the boundary was. Children were warned away from it before they were old enough to understand why.
Aurora rested her hand against the window frame.
The ash line her mother had drawn last night was still intact.
It looked fragile.
Too fragile for something meant to protect against whatever pressed against the Veil.
Behind her, the door opened quietly.
Elara stepped inside carrying a tray.
Breakfast.
Aurora turned.
Her sister’s expression was tight with exhaustion, but she forced a small smile as she set the tray on the table.
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“Mother said you should eat while you still can,” Elara said.
Aurora raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
Elara sat in the wooden chair and folded her arms.
“The fasting begins tomorrow at sundown.”
“Right.”
The tray held simple food — bread, fruit, tea.
Aurora sat down and began eating.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
Finally Elara broke the silence.
“I hate this room.”
Aurora looked around.
“It’s not very welcoming.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Elara leaned forward, lowering her voice.
“This place feels like it’s waiting for something to happen.”
Aurora took another bite of bread.
“Everything in this town feels like that.”
Elara didn’t smile.
“Darian went into the archives this morning,” she said. “He’s trying to find records about the first Binding.”
Aurora’s interest sharpened slightly.
“And?”
“He hasn’t found much yet.”
“Of course he hasn’t.”
The council controlled most of the records.
History in their town had always been… curated.
Elara watched her carefully.
“You’re calmer than you should be.”
Aurora sipped her tea.
“I don’t see the benefit of panic.”
“You don’t seem scared.”
Aurora paused.
That question deserved honesty.
“I am,” she said.
Elara blinked.
“You hide it well.”
Aurora gave a faint shrug.
“Fear is useful only when it helps you observe.”
Elara studied her sister for a moment.
Then she stood.
“Mother wants to start preparing the garments today.”
Aurora stiffened slightly.
The garments.
White linen.
Unstitched wrists.
Open spine.
The image made something cold move through her stomach.
“She shouldn’t have to do that alone,” Elara continued.
Aurora nodded.
“I’ll come down after I finish.”
Elara hesitated before leaving.
“Try not to stay in this room all day,” she said quietly. “It’s… unsettling.”
Then she closed the door behind her.
Aurora finished eating slowly.
The house beyond the room was already alive with movement — footsteps in the hall, distant voices, the quiet scrape of furniture being shifted somewhere downstairs.
Preparation.
Every sound reminded her what was coming.
When she finished eating, Aurora carried the empty tray to the hallway.
The house smelled faintly of soap and fresh linen now.
Her mother stood at the long dining table measuring white fabric with careful hands. The cloth was bright against the dark wood.
Gideon sat nearby sharpening a knife that did not need sharpening.
Darian was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Darian?” Aurora asked.
“In the archives,” Gideon said without looking up.
Their mother glanced at Aurora.
“You slept?”
“Enough.”
Her mother nodded.
Then she lifted the fabric.
“This will be the outer garment,” she said quietly.
Aurora stepped closer.
The linen was soft.
Too soft.
“Does it have to be white?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her mother hesitated.
“White reflects the Veil.”
Aurora frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” her mother agreed softly. “But it is tradition.”
Aurora touched the edge of the cloth.
The fabric trembled slightly in her mother’s hands.
“You don’t have to do this perfectly,” Aurora said.
Her mother met her eyes.
“I do.”
Gideon stopped sharpening the knife.
“We still have five days,” he said. “A lot can change.”
Aurora knew what he meant.
The unspoken possibility.
Stopping the ritual.
But no one said it aloud.
The front door opened suddenly.
Darian stepped inside carrying a stack of dusty ledgers.
“I found something,” he said.
Everyone turned.
He dropped the books onto the table.
“The first Binding wasn’t voluntary.”
Silence flooded the room.
Aurora felt her pulse slow.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Darian opened one of the ledgers.
“According to these records, the first Ashbourne who performed the Binding didn’t choose it.”
He flipped a brittle page.
“She was forced.”
Their mother shook her head immediately.
“That can’t be right.”
“It’s written here,” Darian insisted. “The council at the time ordered it.”
Aurora leaned closer to read.
The handwriting was faded but legible.
The Veil weakens. The Ashbourne heir must perform the ritual whether willing or not.
Aurora’s chest tightened.
“So the tradition started with coercion,” Gideon said quietly.
Their mother looked shaken.
“The council never told us this.”
“Of course they didn’t,” Darian said bitterly.
Aurora closed the ledger slowly.
Five days.
And the truth was already shifting.
She looked toward the eastern hallway.
Toward the room where she would sleep again tonight.
“Keep searching,” she told Darian.
He nodded.
Because if the beginning of the Binding had been forced—
Then the ending might not be what the council claimed.
Outside, the wind rose through the trees.
And far beyond the northern ridge, the unseen Veil continued to press quietly against the edges of the world.
Five days remained.
