His friend wolfishly grinned. “On occasion.”
Groaning, he shook his head. “If we die—”
“Most of our plans usually could end with that option. They haven’t yet, and today I have no intention of breaking our streak.”
Fear filled every ounce of his soul, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he caved. For himself and for Emory. With a pounding heart, his eyes frantically ravaged the forest, looking for anything that could help them.
A crack exploded in front of them, and Brokk cringed, desperately whispering quietly, “Please. Help us.” He had spent his lifetime in these woods. A lifetime of endless nights. The pounding of his paws against the earth, moonlight carving his path, all his fears and worries stripped away. It was those nights that he shifted, and the symphony of magic and mystery filled his senses. He wasn’t so oblivious to not know he was being watched.
The myths around their world, but specifically the woods around the Academy, were one of legends. That before the magic was born in them, in the form of abilities, their world was divided. It was said that the woods were a sacred place, defended by Warriors. Fae whose magic could surpass your wildest daydream, and they protected their border against the darkness breeding in the magic. Over the years, the myth changed into many variations, saying that the Warriors had disappeared, sacrificing their magic into the bowels of Kiero, seeping into the air, the trees, their food, their bodies. And as such, people born with abilities came about, naithe, or blessed.
At first, it started as a gentle murmur, children born from parents of no abilities, and it spread through Kiero like wildfire, tainting what started out as awe into madness. He didn’t believe that they were chosen, but the myths of the Warriors curled around his heart, tucked away, and only allowing himself to hope on those nights in the woods that they weren’t gone from their world. Maybe it was futile, but he had no other ideas, and as he whispered those words into the icy wind, he clenched his eyes shut, his heart lodged in his throat. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the clashing of the war raging beyond them.
Brokk.
He froze, straining against his imagination, but there again on the wind, his name whispered like a gentle caress. With a racing pulse, he allowed his senses to float beyond him, to give himself up to that part of himself even though it was temporarily lost from him.
Brokk, find a way back.
A way back home, which was never really lost. Fear tore through his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself as he dove into his ability, at first being met with nothing, the enhanced metal having neutralized him. But there, underneath that void curtain, a flickering ember pulsed, straining but there nonetheless. He did not falter as he slammed into it, and the world exploded. He caught a glimpse of Memphis looking at him, waiting for an answer, before fractured light erupted around him and he was falling. His scream ripped through him as he was blinded by the swirling of light, but also of memories. It was like standing on a hillside, watching the world spin into rewind, time having no meaning anymore because he was in control.
“They will think all is lost.” He dove toward Bresslin’s voice, not fully understanding what this part of him was, but he trusted it. Because he trusted himself.
“And they will watch as we destroy everything they love,” the Gortach grumbled. “You aren’t afraid they are more powerful than you think? Especially the shifter?”
Bresslin smiled. “The only way they could get out of their restraints is if they knew the spell protecting it, wouldn’t they? It would be impossible they would know that saying ceol would transfer the energy consumed by the metal back into them?” The Gortach rumbled a laugh as Bresslin brandished her sword in front of her. “It’s time.”
He felt like he was being wrenched back, diving back into that sea of endless blinding light. The energy crackled around him, and he could sense it, the currents raging around him, and he was falling. The wind howled as his eyes flew open, forcing himself to take in the scene. Brilliant slashes of gold, silver, and blue dove around him like waves crashing to shore, flashing and roaring in their spectrum.
He was afraid, but also mesmerized as one voice above all the rest stood out. “Brokk.” He dove toward Emory’s voice, his anchor holding him steady back to his reality. She had known he had this... this time travelling ability. In his heart, he had known but had always pushed it away, fiercely not allowing the part he didn’t understand to dictate his life. A sharp ringing filled his senses, and the light fractured and splintered once more, and he was slammed back into his present body—to a gaping Memphis by his side.
“By fire and flame...”
He growled, low and harshly. “Ceol.” The metal shuddered to life, the collars vibrating against theirs throats, as Memphis’s mouth hung open.
Heat flared along his wrists, and his throat, and he grinned manically as his ability roared back into his body, his ebony claws sliding back into his skin, his canines clicked back into his gums, his body no longer stuck, half-shifted and broken. His body exploded, the metal shattering from the force, shards flying every direction as he shook his head, his teeth bared and his hackles up. Padding toward Memphis, his growls climbed with every second.
He looked up to Memphis’s ashen face, and his smooth voice filled his mind. “Now, try not to catch any skin.”
His mammoth jaws spilt the metal as he bit down hard, the jagged edges ripping through his cheeks as he moved from the
