His friend grinned. “On occasion.”
Groaning, Brokk shook his head. “If we die...”
“Most of our plans could end with that option. They haven’t yet, and today, I have no intention of breaking our luck.”
Fear filled every ounce of his soul, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he caved. For himself and for Emory.
His eyes frantically ravaged the forest, looking for anything that could help them. A crack exploded in front of them, and he cringed and desperately whispered, “Please. Help us.”
He had spent his lifetime in these woods. A lifetime of endless nights. The pounding of his paws against the earth, the moonlight carving his path, all his fears and worries stripping 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 that he was being watched. The myths around their world, 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 who once lived in the lost city of Nehmai. Immortal fey whose magic could surpass wildest daydreams, and they would protect their border against the darkness breeding in the magic.
Over the years, the myth turned into many variations, saying that the Warriors had disappeared, sacrificing their magic into the very 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, tucking it 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 very 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 was whispered like a gentle caress. With a racing pulse, he allowed his senses to float beyond him.
“Brokk, find a way back.”
Fear tore through his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself, as he dove into his ability. At first, he was met with nothing, the enhanced metal having neutralized him. But there, underneath that void curtain, a flickering ember pulsed, straining to be there.
He did not falter as he slammed into it, and the world exploded.
Catching a glimpse of Memphis, who was looking at him, waiting for an answer, then fractured light erupted around him, and Brokk was falling. His scream ripped through him, and 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.
“They will think all is lost.” Brokk 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,” 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 for them to know that saying ceol would transfer the energy consumed by the metal back into them.”
Gortach rumbled a laugh as Bresslin brandished her sword in front of her. “It’s time.”
Brokk 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 again.
Howling wind surrounded him 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 against the shore, flashing and roaring in their spectrum. He was afraid but also mesmerized as one voice above all the rest stood out, “Brokk.”
Brokk dove toward the echo of Emory’s voice. She was his anchor, leading him back into reality. She was in trouble—and Brokk would be damned if he let anything happen to her, today or any other day.
Emory had known he had this...this time-traveling ability. In his heart, he had known but had always pushed it away, not allowing the part that 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.
“What the hell...”
Brokk said, low and harshly, “Ceol.”
The metal shuddered to life, the collars vibrating against their throats, and Memphis cursed by his side, putting most of his vocabulary to shame. Heat flared along his wrists and his throat, as the shackles fell, allowing his ability to stir once again.
His ebony claws slid back into his skin; his canines clicked back into his gums; and his body was no longer stuck, half shifted and broken.
Running over to Memphis, he murmured “ceol” and as Memphis fell, he turned to face the Academy, the smell of decay and the sharp tang of metal consuming his heart, as he shifted back to his wolf form.
Brokk was not one to take being chained like an animal lightly.
My name is Brokk Foster, and I will not break.
Shakily, Memphis came up to his side, his hand resting on his golden fur. “After all is said and done, you are going to tell me how you knew...” he trailed off, not able to find the rest of his words,
