Chapter 7: The Binding Spell
The morning arrived wrapped in golden haze. Mist curled around the huts like drifting silk, and the forest surrounding the village pulsed with a strange stillness — as if holding its breath.
Avrielle stirred awake, blinking against the soft light filtering through the walls of the hut. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was. Everything felt... light. Calm. Peaceful.
She turned her head and saw Ian sleeping beside her, his chest rising and falling slowly. His features were relaxed — not like the boy who'd run through the forest terrified, but like someone content, at peace.
She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
"Ian," she whispered gently.
His eyes fluttered open. "Hey."
For a brief second, they simply stared at each other. No panic. No fear.
"How... how did we sleep so well?" Avrielle asked, sitting up slowly. Her limbs felt heavy but not tired, like she had sunk into the earth itself and the ground had held her gently through the night.
"I don't know," Ian murmured. "I feel... weirdly good."
Just then, the hut flap rustled, and the young girl from before entered with a tray. Warm steam rose from two clay cups filled with a golden liquid, and alongside them were bowls of fruit and something that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
"You must drink," the girl said with a smile. "Today is important."
Avrielle frowned. "Important for what?"
"Your joining."
Ian sat up straighter. "Joining?"
The girl didn't explain. She simply bowed and left the tray behind as she quietly exited the hut.
Avrielle looked at the liquid warily. "What do you think this is?"
Ian picked up one of the cups, sniffed it, then shrugged. "It doesn't smell bad. Kinda sweet."
"Ian—"
"We're starving, Av. It's just tea or something." He took a cautious sip. "It's not bad. Try it."
Hesitant, she lifted her cup and took a sip.
A wave of warmth washed through her. Not hot — not like coffee or soup — but warm like a childhood memory. Like safety. Like home. It made her head buzz faintly and her shoulders drop, her nerves unraveling in quiet waves.
She looked at Ian, who was sipping again with a dazed smile. "It's... kind of nice."
Avrielle nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is."
Moments passed in peaceful silence. The sound of drums drifted in from outside again — softer than the night before, almost melodic now. Like a heartbeat calling them forward.
When they stepped outside, the village looked transformed.
The clearing in the center had been decorated with long trails of white flowers. Silk banners floated between the huts, tied from tree to tree. Villagers stood along the edges of the space, wearing white robes and beaded necklaces, faces painted in symmetrical lines.
At the very center stood a stone platform surrounded by bowls of fire. And waiting for them there was the old woman.
Ian and Avrielle exchanged a look — half curiosity, half unease — but walked forward together, hand in hand.
As they reached the platform, the villagers began to hum in unison.
A low, resonant sound. One that vibrated in their bones.
The old woman held out her hands.
"You have come," she said, eyes sparkling. "You feel it, don't you? The bond. It is strong."
"We're not sure what this is," Ian said, his voice uncertain. "What are we doing?"
"A joining," the woman said simply. "Two spirits, chosen by the Hollow, bound in sacred unity."
"Wait, like... a wedding?" Avrielle's heart jumped.
"You are already joined," the woman said, her voice soft and sure. "This is only to awaken what the forest has chosen."
The humming grew louder. The villagers circled around them, eyes closed, swaying gently.
The old woman stepped forward and gently painted a symbol on both their foreheads with a red mixture that smelled of sandalwood and clove.
"Drink," she whispered, offering two more cups filled with the golden liquid.
Ian looked at Avrielle. "Should we?"
Her lips trembled. "I… I don't know…"
The woman's gaze held theirs like gravity. "It will free you of fear. Let you see what matters."
Without fully understanding why, they took the cups.
Together, they drank.
---
At first, it was just warmth again — familiar and soothing.
Then, light.
Not bright, but golden and glowing, like the inside of a dream. The edges of the world melted. The trees blurred. The sounds softened into a gentle echo, as if heard through water.
Ian turned toward Avrielle, and for a moment, he didn't see the girl he'd run from the city with. He saw someone radiant, glowing from within, her eyes like stars, her smile so familiar it felt older than memory.
"Avrielle…" he whispered, voice thick with awe. "You look…"
"Like you've always known me," she said, as if finishing his sentence.
They touched hands.
A jolt passed between them — not electric, not painful — but like roots entwining, pulling them closer. The forest around them faded into a golden blur. All that existed was her hand in his, her voice in his mind.
He saw flashes — not of their past, but of a life they hadn't lived yet.
Holding hands beneath the stars.
Laughing in a field of flowers.
Her face flushed, his hand on her stomach, their unborn child between them.
The visions pulsed gently in their minds, as natural as breathing. They didn't question. Didn't speak. Only felt.
The villagers' chanting grew rhythmic, louder. The fires blazed higher. The air was thick with perfume and ancient power.
And in the moment when their foreheads touched — symbol against symbol — the ritual was sealed.
---
The world returned slowly.
The humming quieted.
The villagers stepped back, smiling, murmuring blessings.
Ian and Avrielle looked at each other, dazed.
"I feel like I've known you forever," Avrielle said softly.
"You have," Ian replied, his voice dreamy. "We belong here."
They were led back to their shared hut, hands still interlocked. The forest around them felt warmer, more inviting. The villagers' eyes no longer felt like strangers' gazes, but like a family's welcome.
Inside the hut, candles were lit. Fresh flowers scattered the floor. The bed was made with new sheets of soft white cloth.
And for the first time, neither of them questioned why.
They sat on the mat, smiling lazily, shoulders brushing.
"Can you believe we used to be scared of this place?" Avrielle murmured.
Ian chuckled, brushing her hair back gently. "We were just confused. But it's clear now."
Her heart beat slower, calmer.
"I love how everything feels so… right," she said.
And as night settled in, neither of them realized what had begun — the slow, tender weaving of illusion over truth. The spell of forgetting. Of shaping memories that weren't theirs. Of turning a nightmare into a dream.
Outside the hut, the old woman watched the fire burn.
"The bond has awakened," she whispered into the flame. "The seed has been planted."
---