Not as it had been in life, not the full communion he had once shared with Faaron, but something new: a protective force that surged against the Lady's intrusion.
Ithor gasped as he felt Faaron's essence flowing through him—not returning to the bond as it had been, but transforming it into something different. The broken connection that had been his greatest vulnerability became, in that instant, his strongest defense.
The Lady recoiled, her expression shifting from confidence to confusion. "Impossible," she hissed. "The bond was severed. The poison ensured it could not reform."
"You're right," Ithor said, a new understanding dawning as he felt Faaron's presence stabilizing within him. "It can't reform as it was. But it can become something new."
With sudden clarity, he understood what the old blind hunter had meant about listening with what he had lost. The broken bond had never been meant to heal in the conventional sense—it had been meant to transform, to evolve into a different kind of connection that could serve a purpose neither he nor Faaron could have imagined in their former life together.
The Lady's attack had catalyzed this transformation, forcing the scattered fragments of their bond to reconfigure into a new pattern—one that existed partially in the physical world and partially beyond it, spanning the boundary between life and death itself.
Ithor felt strength flowing into him—not just Faaron's physical power, but a spiritual resilience born from their shared suffering and separation. The curved blade at his belt began to glow with a soft blue light, responding to this new energy.
The Lady of Shadows assessed the situation quickly, her plans adjusting to this unexpected development. "Interesting," she said, her form stabilizing again. "The bond has indeed transformed, but not in a way I anticipated. This requires... reconsideration."
She glanced toward the ongoing battle at the village entrance, where flashes of intense magical combat illuminated the night. "It seems our meeting was premature. We Will continue this conversation when you better understand what you have become."
With those words, she stepped backward into a shadow and simply vanished, the Dead Zone collapsing with her departure. The black crystal crumbled to dust, its purpose served or perhaps its energy exhausted.
Ithor stood alone, trembling with the aftermath of what had just occurred. The presence of Faaron within him was stabilizing, settling into a new configuration that felt both familiar and utterly foreign. It wasn't the return of their bond as he had known it—Faaron wasn't fully restored to life—but neither was it the empty void of separation. It was something between, a state of being that had no name in any language he knew.
A distant howl caught his attention—not Faaron's voice within him, but an actual sound from the direction of the battle. Drawn by an instinct he couldn't explain, Ithor ran toward the conflict, his transformed bond giving him speed and strength beyond his normal capacity.
He arrived to find the Bearer's party surrounded by attackers—black-robed figures wielding weapons that glowed with corrupt energy. In the center of a protective formation stood a young Olkhar man who could only be the Bearer himself, his eyes glowing with golden light as he channeled multiple forms of magic simultaneously.
Beside him, a Sylarei woman—presumably the Word mentioned in the prophecy—was inscribing glowing runes in the air, creating barriers that the attackers struggled to penetrate.
Without hesitation, Ithor threw himself into the battle. The curved blade in his hand seemed to move of its own accord, guided by instincts that were partly his and partly Faaron's. Where he struck, the corrupt energy animating the attackers dissipated, their forms collapsing like puppets with cut strings.
The Bearer noticed him immediately, those golden eyes widening in recognition though they had never met. The Sylarei woman followed the Bearer's gaze, her expresión shifting from suspicion to cautious hope as she observed Ithor's effect on their enemies.
When the last attacker fell, silence descended on the village square. Ithor stood panting, the transformed energy of his bond still surging through him like a tide finding its level.
The Bearer approached slowly, his guards moving to intercept until he raised a hand to stop them.
"You're the one I've seen in my dreams," the Bearer said, his voice carrying strange harmonics similar to those Ithor had heard when the Lady spoke, yet fundamentally different—warm where hers had been cold, constructive where hers had been corrupting. "The Broken Bond."
Ithor nodded, unable to find words adequate to the moment.
The Sylarei woman joined them, her calculating gaze assessing Ithor with scholarly precision. "The prophecy speaks of three," she said. "The Bearer, the Word, and the Broken Bond. Together, we either renew the cycle or break it forever." She extended her hand. "I am Merial of the University of Ny'theras."
"Ithor," he replied simply, accepting the offered hand. "Formerly of the Silverclaw Pack."
The Bearer completed their circle. "And I am Karel of Mount Ilhyr." He looked between them, a weight of destiny settling on his young shoulders. "It seems our paths were meant to converge here."
As the three stood together for the first time, Ithor felt a resonance building between them—a harmony of energies that seemed to call to something vast and ancient. Within him, Faaron's presence stirred in recognition, as if this moment had been the purpose toward which all their suffering had been directed.
"The Lady of Shadows was here," Ithor said, breaking the momentary silence. "She planned this attack—and something more. She spoke of the prophecy as if she's been manipulating events to bring us together."
Karel's expression darkened. "She appeared to me as well, during my Awakening. She seeks to use the prophecy for her own ends—though what those truly are, I don't yet understand."
"I've encountered her agents in the Dead Zones," Merial added. "They're systematically creating corruption points across Inhevaen, following some pattern that I haven't been able to decipher."
The three looked at each other, three strangers bound by prophecy and pursued by forces beyond their full comprehension. Whatever destiny awaited them, it was clear they would face it together.
"We should not remain here," Karel said, glancing at the village buildings where curious and frightened faces were beginning to appear in windows. "My uncle, the Regent, expects us in Olkaris. The Crystal Council must be informed of what has happened here—of the three of us finding each other as the prophecy foretold."
Ithor nodded, though a part of him—the part that had lived as a solitary exile for so long—recoiled at the thought of entering the political arena of Olkaris. Yet he knew there was no turning back now. The path that had begun with Faaron's death had led him here, to this moment, to these companions.
As they prepared to depart, Ithor felt Faaron's presence settle more deeply within him, no longer a separate consciousness but a transformed aspect of his own being. The wolf was gone, yet not gone—changed into something that transcended the traditional bond, existing in the space between life and death, between separation and unity.
He was still the Wolf Without a Pack, but perhaps he had found something else instead—a purpose that might yet redeem the mistakes of his past and honor the sacrifice that had brought him to this moment.
With firm steps, Ithor followed Karel and Merial into the night, toward Olkaris, toward the Crystal Council, toward whatever fate the prophecy had written for the Broken Bond.