They were said to be seven in number, or nine, or thirteen—depending on which tale survives the telling. Half-legend, half-light, The Jadebound were the fae realm’s last archangels: not divine, but devoted. Warriors who bound themselves to protect the fragile shimmer between worlds, sworn not by blood but by brilliance.
No true record remains of their faces. Only fragments. Hints. Symbols.
Like this necklace set.
Formed of red, white, and blue jade—an echo, perhaps, of the colors worn by The Jadebound in ceremony or battle—these strands carry a quiet power. Unattached but made to be worn together, the pieces can be layered or separated: one long, one short, or both entwined as a twin-strand declaration. Their adaptability is not a trick of style, but a trait of legacy—because the fae did not craft their relics for fragility.
No one knows if The Jadebound fell, or if they simply vanished when their vow was fulfilled. But this much is certain: whenever jade gleams where it ought not, wherever stories insist on being remembered, their oaths still echo.
