Page 97 of Roaring Spell

“Witches and shifters paired freely.” Sakura’s voice is quiet. “The claimings strengthened the Warding Lines. Protected communities. Created bonds that made both species more powerful.” She sets the page down. “It was normal. It was just... what happened.”

“And then certain factions decided it was dangerous.” I find the passage and read it aloud. The language is careful but the meaning isn’t: the pairings made individuals harder to control, harder to manipulate. Power that couldn’t be managed was power that needed to be eliminated. “Fear,” I say. “That’s all it was. Fear of what they couldn’t own.”

“So they performed the Severing.”

I nod. The ritual is documented in the later pages—a massive, coordinated working that weakened the natural affinity between witches and shifters. Made claiming bonds rare instead of common. Stripped centuries of knowledge from the record, so that the generations who came after would believe the rarity was natural. Would believe that what the Preservers protected was an order that had always existed.

“It wasn’t a natural order.” Sakura’s voice has an edge to it now. “They built an artificial one. Created through violence and deception, and then told everyone it was the way things had always been.”

“And each new claiming weakens it.” I set the last page down. “Leire and Aslan. Us. Every bond that forms pulls at the ritual’s foundation.”

“Is that dangerous?”

I consider this. The Network has been watching the Warding Lines for years, noting the shifts, the strengthening in areas with recent claimings. “The Preservers won’t give up easily. There will be more cells from other places, more attempts.” I meet her eyes. “But the direction of things has changed. We’re not fighting against something inevitable. We’re⁠—”

“Part of something inevitable.” She finishes it. Her hand covers mine on the table. “The old ways coming back.”

We sit with that for a moment. The weight of it and the warmth of it at the same time.

Then Sakura looks up. “I want to feel the Warding Line.”

We walk the Warding Line.

The forest is beautiful in late afternoon light. Pine and earth and the distant sound of streams. Bears in the distance, going about their daily routines, offering nods of greeting when they spot us. The community knows. News travels fast, and claiming marks travel faster.

“Elder.” One of the younger bears—barely out of his teens—approaches with barely contained excitement. “Is it true? You claimed the weather witch?”

“She claimed me, actually.”

“That’s so romantic.” His eyes are wide. “The cubs have been telling stories all morning. About the storm in the Overgrowth. About how you absorbed a magical weapon and she saved you with a kiss.”

“That’s... not entirely inaccurate.”

“Can I tell my sister? She’s been following your courtship for weeks. She has a journal full of observations.”

I exchange a look with Sakura, who seems torn between mortification and amusement.

“Sure,” I say. “Tell your sister.”

He bounds away, all but tripping over his own feet.

“Your people are adorable.” Sakura links her arm through mine. “And apparently very invested in our love story.”

“We’re a small community. Entertainment is limited.”

“I noticed.” But she’s smiling.

We reach the Warding Line.

The shimmer in the air is visible even in the fading daylight—that sense of where Mistvale’s protections end and the wild beyond begins. Usually, it’s subtle. A suggestion of magic rather than an obvious barrier.

Today, it’s stronger.

I feel it immediately—a pulse of power that resonates in my chest, in my claiming mark, in the part of me that belongs to Sakura now. The Line is more solid here. More present. Fed by our claiming in ways that defy explanation.

“I feel it too.” Sakura reaches toward the shimmer, not quite touching. “It’s... singing. The magic is singing.”

“Leire mentioned this. After her claiming with Aslan.” I take her hand, lacing our fingers. “The Line strengthened near their territory too.”