SOUL BOUND

Thea sighed, trying once more to tame her wild red curls, tugging them back from her pale face.

She screwed up her nose, staring into the ornate gold mirror. Her wide green eyes flicked over every detail she knew by heart—down to the faint freckles scattered across her small, upturned nose. She had nine freckles. She knew it. She'd counted them a hundred times, memorized each one like a flaw etched into her skin. She hated every single one. Hated the murky green eyes that shifted like ripples in a stagnant swamp. Hazel. Brown. Green. Sometimes, rarely, emerald.

It wasn't often she saw the emerald. But when she did, her whole face changed. It lit up. Glowed. Something exciting. Something... other.

It happened so rarely in her nineteen years that she sometimes wondered if it was real at all—just a figment of her imagination. A daydream. The kind therapists used to ask about, scribbling notes while she sat in silence, unwilling to explain what the words in her mind sounded like to everyone else's ears.

She pulled her hair back again, securing it with a clip. The therapists had never helped anyway. None of them could explain why she wouldn't speak—why the words that filled her mind sounded wrong to everyone else.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she reached for her mascara. It wasn't until she was ten that she finally felt love. Real love. The kind that made her feel like she belonged. Like she was home.

She blinked, brushing the mascara onto her lashes as the memory surfaced—the way it always did when she thought of Elizabeth and Peter. That moment in the foster home when the couple walked in. Thea had been drawn to them instantly. There was something in the air—a strange charge, like static before a storm. She couldn't name it, but it felt powerful.

Ten-year-old Thea had locked eyes first with Peter's warm brown gaze. No pity. Just calm, quiet strength. A look that said: *You're safe now.*

She set the mascara down and picked up her lip gloss, remembering how her gaze had shifted to the small woman beside him. Shoulder-length brown hair. A genuine smile behind plump, rosy lips. And then—those eyes. Crystal blue, swirling with secrets and stories. When their eyes met, both Thea and Elizabeth gasped. A short, sharp breath. A connection that couldn't be seen—only felt. In that moment, Thea felt as if she had found herself.

She snapped back to the present with a jolt. One last glance in the mirror, then she turned away—just as her phone buzzed with a message. She smiled, already knowing who it was. Grace. Her best friend. Her only friend. Probably running late again, nose buried in a fantasy novel.

"Just coming. Runnin a little L8 soz!"

Thea chuckled. Called it.

She grabbed her denim jacket and handbag and ran lightly down the stairs, the scent of freshly baked bread wrapping around her like a hug. Elizabeth stood at the table, placing a warm loaf on a wooden board.

Elizabeth smiled brightly at Thea, as she always did, as if the room had just lit up because Thea had come into it. "Off out now, sweetie? Got your phone? Your key?" Elizabeth's voice dropped, worry creeping in. "Make sure you stay in crowded areas, remember, and for God's sake, please, please don't cut through the park. The lights are useless there and you never know who could be lurking..." Elizabeth shuddered as if someone had tickled her spine.

Thea nodded and hugged her. She used to find Elizabeth's worrying strange—until she understood what it meant to be loved. To have someone care if you came home. The foster families before had never worried like this.

Pulling away, Thea stepped back and signed her reply.

"We'll be fine. Please don't worry. Yes, I have my phone and my keys. We're only going to watch a band and have a few drinks. See you later. Love you."

She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek and waved goodbye, just catching the tail end of her whisper: "Be safe..."

Outside, Grace pulled up in her battered blue Ford KA. Thea opened the passenger door and jumped in.

"I'm so sorry!" Grace said, pulling away from the curb. "Misty finally took down Keiko the Warlock! You don't know how long I've waited for that sneaky little—" She glanced at Thea and giggled. "Right. You don't do fantasy. Honestly, how are we even friends?"

At the traffic lights, Thea signed with a laugh: "Because you're as crazy as me. And no one else will have us."

Grace laughed. "Too true. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Thea smiled as they drove through the little town of Aubrey Bay toward the Cauldron—Grace's favourite place for a night out. She glanced at her friend, realizing again how lucky she was to have someone like her.

They couldn't have looked more different. Thea—pale-skinned, with an hourglass figure and a cascade of red ringlets. Grace—petite, tanned, with black hair streaked with bright red, like flames wrapping around coal. Her thick eyeliner flicked out at the corners, framing almond-shaped brown eyes behind black-rimmed glasses.

Chalk and cheese. But inseparable since they were eleven.

"Ooh, it looks busy tonight," Grace said as they pulled into the car park near the Cauldron.

Thea's stomach flipped. She'd never been good with crowds. But Grace had been looking forward to this band for weeks. And Thea loved the atmosphere here—as long as people kept their distance.

Grace skipped round the front of the car and looped her arm through Thea's, tugging her toward the sounds of chatting and laughing in the bar, the guitars tuning and cymbals crashing as the band set up. As soon as they entered the double doors, Thea inhaled deeply. She loved the smell here. Not the beer or the stoners in the corner. No—something else. Sulphur and smoke. Bonfire night. And something older. Something ancient. A scent that tugged at something deep in her memory, though she couldn't say why. It was comforting. Familiar. Like freshly baked bread at home.

Grace was already at the bar, looking back at her expectantly. Thea smiled and signed her usual cocktail.

Grace rolled her eyes and laughed. "OK, I reckon we're in for a good night. I'll order us a cab later." She leaned over the bar, raising her voice. "One of your specials, Tim. And whatever doubles are on deal—twice." She winked.

Tim laughed and shook his head. Grace turned back to Thea with a grin. "What? Mum's antique shop—well, junk shop really—doesn't exactly pay well. Unlike some people who work at the library." She nudged Thea playfully. "Which means next round's definitely yours."

Thea laughed and took her drink from the bar, signing "Thank you" to Tim, who nodded back.

They pushed through the crowd, searching for a table near the stage. Grace spotted one—dirty, but empty—and quickly grabbed Thea's hand, dragging her toward it. Thea sat down slowly, the hairs on her neck prickling. She glanced around. Nothing seemed off. But the feeling lingered.

A crash of drums made her jump. The sensation vanished.

"Mystic Legends" launched into their first set. Grace gave a little whoop of delight and jumped up, bouncing on her toes. Thea followed her gaze to the bass guitarist—shoulder-length hair, unshaven, muscular arms. His head bobbed like one of those nodding dogs in a car window.

Grace clutched Thea's arm as the bassist started a solo, her whole body swaying with the music. Thea suspected Grace was their number one groupie and was tempted to wipe the imaginary drool from her chin. But instead, she laughed to herself and let herself listen.

The electric guitar twanged, earthy and raw. The bass thumped deep and punchy, echoing through the melody of the male vocalist as he rasped into the microphone. But it was the drums that pulled her in—rhythmic, hypnotic, alive. The rest of the band faded. The sounds of the crowds laughing, jeering, cheering—all muted. Glasses clunking. All sound disappeared.

Only the drum remained.

Thea sat motionless. Limbs like lead. Her eyes locked on the drummer—the rhythm of the sticks pounding on the snare, the foot pumping the bass drum, the stage lights flashing on and off. Everything felt like it was closing in, the drummer's rumble magnified with every beat.

Then—a whisper.

She couldn't make out the words at first. Just a soft lilt, hushed murmurs, rising with each beat. Like a chant.

"*Nuvai siora lethae.*"

She held her breath and listened again, feeling sure the words she heard were words that she spoke, words only she spoke.

"*Nuvai siora lethae!*"

This time she replied, in her own tongue, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. "*Zhael?*" Who? "What do you mean be free? Free from what?" Her words were ignored. The voice cut in, repeating the same words. Thea started to panic, screeching at the voice now. "From who?" Just as Thea screamed the last word, the drumming stopped.

The silence now was deafening. Suffocating.

Then—a whisper in her ear. Breath against her skin. Icicles down her spine.

"*Virael siora veylun. Zhael thari yomel.*" The soul transforms into light. The voice guides fate through shadow.

And then—a whoosh.

The world returned. Sound. Light. Laughter. Music. All of it rushing back at once. Too much.

In her own tongue, she asked, "Who is coming? Who?"

And then—darkness.

The last thing she heard was Grace's voice, calling her name from far, far away.

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Thank you so much for starting this journey with me. I would appreciate a follow and for you to continue to discover what unflods is Thea's world.