Chapter Text
Harry
The spell shot towards him with pinpoint accuracy at the moment that Charlie's blue eyes opened wide. He shouted Harry's name and threw a shield that cracked under the lethal magical pressure. Harry tried to scream, but the shield broke and the curse remnants hit Charlie in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
"Charlie? Charlie!" He bristled with unrestrained anger and the weight that whatever powers that belonged to him were nowhere near safe enough for immediate use, much less for revenge. "Charlie!" He screamed again, aware that he could not run directly to the body, but unable to keep himself from lurching forward towards the fallen redhead. Harry crumpled to his knees beside the fallen body, his distraught hands trembling as they skimmed quickly over the surface of Charlie's clothes and registered the fact that he wasn't breathing.
Charlie wasn't breathing.
For a moment, his throat and chest tightened painfully and the reality echoed.
Charlie wasn't breathing. Not a single breath.
Trembling fingers brushed lightly over the rise of Charlie's nose and closed those, wide, unseeing blue eyes before tracing a shaky outline around his lips.
It hurt.
As if someone had reached inside, ripped his soul out, and set him on fire.
Harry didn't think he could breathe either.
He stared, unseeing.
This was not happening.
This could not happen.
Charlie was his.
Charlie was part of him.
He couldn't live without Charlie.
Harry felt his breath hitch.
Didn't Charlie know that he wasn't allowed to die?
A shudder wracked through this body and Harry opened his mouth as his head fell back. He felt the chill in the air and saw the swirling darkness overhead, but everything was bleak and grey. None of it mattered.
None of it mattered without Charlie.
And so he screamed.
An unearthly shriek rent through the air.
Something shattered.
Maybe it was his heart.
Maybe it was something else.
Either way, the shattering pierced his soul that was already ripped out and on fire. The devastation wrecking his soul expanded outwards.
The harrowing shriek magnified itself.
Rowle didn't really understand what happened when the ponytailed redhead fell to the ground.
In hindsight, he would count it as a terribly counterproductive move on their behalf as immediately following afterwards, the most soul-stirring, heart-wrenching screech filled the air. The kind of screech that made him nearly jump out of his skin, with intent to hide and never come out. It promised horrible, dark things to the one it was intended for.
Theo
"…and so I'd like to ask your help on it. Please."
"Please?" There was a snort from the fuzzy image bearing the woman's face. "Theodore, my dear, you really shouldn't beg, it doesn't suit you." She gave another snort. "I'd be honored. Thank you for asking—very responsible of you to do so, as well, if I might add."
"I have learned something after all these years." Theo retorted, mildly. "So you will come?"
"Naturally. As if I could stay otherwise." She flashed a smile. "I might have to drag some unwanted weight along for the ride, but I'll be there. When would be best? Any particular preference?"
"Not really." Theo admitted. "Just as soon as you are able. I fear the bindings may-ugh!" He shuddered violently.
"Theo? What's wrong, what's going on?"
"…scream." Theo choked out. An agonized scream was wrenched from his lips and at once, the mental connection began to fade as Theo's consciousness returned to his body. He began to jerk and twist in uncoordinated moves before his body curled in on itself. He moaned softly.
"Theodore!" Ilsa's scream faded out as the magic invoked to place the long-distance call flickered out and died.
There was a flash of white-gold energy.
And then there was nothing.
A small crack in the ground appeared—a few feet away from Charlie and Harry—and a moment later, a great bolt of golden light shot out. It reformed into the tall scowling figure of one Theodore Nott.
A Theodore Nott in full halfling Dragel glory.
He stood tall, fury rolling off of him in tangible waves, clad in only a smooth pair of trim, black trousers, his upper body bare. His thick, dark brown wings, colored with a smattering of golden scales and armored spines, flared out behind and above him, growing exponentially larger than physically possible from such a small body until they towered well over him. His hands and feet were black, curled claws and his eyes, an angry, burning golden hue.
Fred & George
“Charlie? Charlie!”
Of all the names they expected to hear over the bedlam of battle, signifying a new loss on one side or the other, neither Weasley twin expected to hear that particular one.
Not Charlie.
Not the dragon tamer.
Not the one who was willing to face down a rampaging magical beast, whether it be a dragon or their mother.
Not the one who was the calm voice of reason always able to be heard over the chaos in the Weasley household.
Not their brother.
Fred slashed his wand in the direction of the nearest Death Eater as his hazel eyes burned and as his throat tightened. He pushed through the painful twinge starting to burrow into his chest, as he couldn’t let the pain distract him.
Couldn’t let the pain give someone else an opportunity to take him out.
“Charlie!”
“Fred?”
The wizard flinched as he felt a hand slip into his free one and a familiar back press against his. Normally his twin’s presence would be a comfort at a moment like this, but right now it seemed to emphasize what had just been lost.
A brother.
His brother.
“Keep an eye out, George,” Fred choked out as he spotted a Death Eater turn their way through his blurring eyes. He flicked his wand, but a spell was already heading right for the masked wizard.
George’s.
“He’s got no magic, Fred, and he’s not going to be paying attention. We can’t lose him too.”
Him.
Harry.
The only ‘him’ they had talked about since September.
“We can’t,” Fred agreed. “On three! One—”
An unearthly howl erupted above the battle’s tumult, interrupting his count. The painful twinge in his chest wrenched itself into a gaping hole.
Fred glanced down, eyes wide, expecting to see a fist-sized hole or a mark signifying that an enemy spell had gotten through his defense.
There was nothing.
But that wasn’t true.
Even as the rest of his body felt like it was being ripped to shreds, he could feel threads snapping back into place. Threads sewing his heart back together just as quickly as it had been ripped apart by his brother’s death, filling up the empty holes in his soul.
Empty holes that he hadn’t even known existed.
Hearing a choking cry from George, Fred started to turn toward his twin, but something stronger still demanded his attention.
His attention and his presence.
Sorry, George.
Fred expected to feel George’s hand slip out of his grasp as the magic demanding his presence at Harry’s side tore him away from the tree he had been using for cover. He truly did.
But when his mind processed that he was standing on firm ground once again, George was still there.
Ready to protect the Submissive that knelt between them, screaming in such agonizing pain.
Ready to protect Harry.
Now they just needed a third, to defend the open gap Fred had already spotted.
And then he was there, with a loud crack and a white flash that neither matched his dark skin or the subtle aura that pulsated out from him as he landed easily on the ground. As his feet touched the ground, large black and gold ombre wings snapped out and encircled them.
All of them.
Fred. George. Harry.
Charlie.
Fred breathed a sigh of relief as gold eyes met his and there was a quick nod, but the sigh quickly grew into a cry of pain as the burning started.
Ethan
“Will you be walking on Thursday or Friday?”
A slender man tilted his head at the question, not quite sure what the woman was getting at. “Doesn’t it have to be Thursday?” he asked. “Only High Nobles and Royals have their Introductions on Friday.”
“If you join the family’s Introduction, then yes, it has to be on Thursday. But Ethan, with your Royal connections, a Friday Introduction could be possible if you decide to walk on your own.”
Ethan grimaced, his nose wrinkling at the thought.
“A Thursday Introduction is fine,” he said carefully. “I didn’t make those connections for a reason like that.”
“But it would be a good decision on your part, wouldn’t it? The second-in-line heiress to the Earth Clans is Hunting this season, as is the Air Clans’ heiress. The Kalzik Clan always has a few of theirs Hunting, and there’s rumors about the Kuroes and the Orsenos. Walking alone would increase your opportunities to get noticed by any one of them.”
“Mera…” Ethan sighed, trying not to whine. All he wanted was a peaceful dinner and to catch up with his siblings on what lectures were upcoming in their departments of the University or from scholars in other realms. Not be pushed to Hunt before the Hunting Season had even started.
“Leave him be, love.” Ethan shot a grateful glance at the mother who intervened on his behalf. Matching gold eyes met briefly and his mother gave a tiny wink before gesturing for the parent sitting nearest to him to scoop another spoonful of rice onto his plate.
“It’s his first Hunt! I want it to go well, especially after he rejected that Calamaris Submissive two years ago—”
“It wasn’t a good fit,” Ethan broke in, pushing around the rice with a fork. “He wanted an Advisor with Royal connections, not another Pareya. I know my talent is for connections and names, but I’m still fundamentally a Pareya and want a Circle that will accept me in that role, not try to shove me into a role I’m not ultimately suited for.” He bit back a whine of distress when his words brought an unhappy frown to his Mera’s face.
“I don’t want you to get a reputation for being picky on your very first Hunt,” she said. “Submissives talk and that particular reputation is a difficult one to lose, even when you come from a rank that’s chosen, not one that chooses.”
Ethan chewed on a mouthful of rice as he turned a tempered gaze onto one particular sister. He knew exactly where his Mera had gotten that idea. His older sister flushed, but shrugged. She wasn’t going to apologize if it hadn’t been proven definitively false yet. Ethan took another bite of rice as he considered how he wanted to respond. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about his response since he was among family, but Hunting Season could be a touchy subject with them at times.
When he swallowed his current mouthful, he had a response in mind. But the words never came out.
As he swallowed, his hand reached up to rub at his chest, where he felt the slightest shift take place within him.
Ever watchful, the action was picked up on by several of his parents.
“Ethan?”
Gold eyes flared as the man’s ears picked up on a scream that only he could hear.
“Ethan?”
The dark-skinned dragel shot a look of apology at his Mera before the pull of the call grew too strong and the magic demanded he be elsewhere.
From the faint delay between hearing the scream and being forcibly summoned, there was no doubt that he was being called across multiple realms.
And yet, the bright white energy faded nearly as quickly as it had arrived, and he was standing on stable ground.
In those first few seconds, there was an assault on Ethan’s senses.
The scent of one fully inherited dragel and three additional scents that were rapidly taking on dragel-tones as well.
The piercing sounds of battle, overlaid with a desperate, haunting wail.
The sight of a still-screaming dragel Submissive kneeling over a taller, red-haired body and guarded on either side by two other red-heads that were going to collapse themselves within a few more seconds.
Instincts surged to the forefront. His wings snapped out and unfurled to circle around the group of four.
It was a risk to leave his back partially exposed in such a manner, without being pressed up against a wall or another person, but it was a necessary risk and Ethan knew that if he had been summoned, others weren’t far behind. Others capable of fighting and guarding his back.
And, if he was lucky, others capable of healing.
Quinn & Wikhn
“And you said there was a soulscream involved?”
Even as Kyle spoke for him, Quinn signed the next steps he was going to take to allow his adopted brother to move out of the way if necessary. He ran a hand through his blond hair as he started to run through the process that was needed to treat a cursed bite.
There was a hiss, a growl, and a sigh that was filled with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation.
“Yes,” a girl barely into her majority responded. “My mentor was supposed to bring me here for the Hunt, but as we were preparing to leave, there was an attack by a clan of made vampires. They had separated us and were talking about who they were going to eat alive and rip apart first and…” she trailed off and shuddered before continuing. “Needless to say, the next thing I knew, my lot had arrived. Of course, in the ensuing battle, about half of them ended up getting bitten in some form or another. It wasn’t an issue for my Gheyos or my few vampires, but apparently it’s a bigger deal when werewolves get bitten by a vampire, despite a few stubborn individuals insisting otherwise.”
Despite the forced cheer in her voice, the Beta and lone Pareya in the room flinched at her sharp glare. Any argument they might have made was quelled by the matching glare that came from their newly bonded Alpha.
You know, soulscreams are said to be perfect, but this particular one doesn’t seem to match that statement. A vampire Alpha and Gheyo with a werewolf Beta and Pareya? I’m tempted to add them to our regular patient list already.
Kyle glared at the teal-eyed Healer. I’m not repeating that, he said flatly through their mental link. And if you do, I’m not explaining your reasons why to the Matron. You’re already at capacity for the regular patients you can take on.
Quinn grimaced at the reminder. Ask them if they’re fully Bonded yet. If so, there’s no reason why the Alpha’s blood—
Kyle glanced up as the mental voice suddenly cut off. He paled as he caught sight of a brilliant bolt of light snatching Quinn up and porting him away to an unknown location.
“Yeah, it looked a lot like that.” The Earth Fae glanced at the young Submissive, whose glare had fallen into a bemused look.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, forcing the politeness into his tone. “If you don’t mind waiting for a while, I’ll ensure that you’re reassigned to another Healer and seen to today still, but I need to inform our supervisor and a family member of this … development.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as both the Alpha and the Submissive waved him off. “Believe me, we understand, probably more than any other patients” the girl said, and Kyle darted out of the exam room.
“Dahlia? Wikhn?” he called as he shut the door behind him.
“Is it an emergency, Kyle, or can it wait? Because now really isn’t the best time.” Kyle flinched as the woman standing nearest to their door turned towards him. How her voice hadn’t wavered or cracked astounded him, considering that violet magic was sparking off of her and her eyes were filling with devastation and heartbreak. He took a step towards her before forcing himself to stop, knowing that as much as he wanted to comfort her, he couldn’t and she wouldn’t accept his efforts.
“What’s happened?” he asked instead.
“Wikhn—” Dahlia’s voice did crack now. “He was—there must have been a soulscream—”
Kyle felt himself paling even further, even though his breathing eased somewhat. That couldn’t be a coincidence. While that wasn’t fantastic news, at least Quinn had someone he could rely on and who knew about his inability to talk with him. “Him too?” he heard himself asking, before he stopped with a wince.
There was a visible crack from the magic sparking off of Dahlia. Her eyes became an even more vivid shade of purple. “Too? What do you mean by too?”
Quinn flinched as he felt a hand grip his elbow to steady him and turned to face the individual who had landed besides him. Teal eyes widened as they met a familiar set of pink eyes. There was a curse from the other male.
Pink eyes roamed the immediate area and processed the scene, before landing on a set of large, dark wings circled around something close by and starting to take spellfire. Ears quickly pinpointed the ghastly scream from coming inside those circled wings, and Wikhn jerked his head towards the sight.
Quinn’s blond head bobbed in understanding and he darted for the circled wings, instinctively recognizing the posture of a Pareya protecting an injured or incapacitated Bonded. Wikhn followed close behind, drawing his red-and-black-bladed sword in preparation to protect the exposed back. Quinn’s feet stopped short a handful of paces away from where the two wings intersected as he reached inside himself to pull out his Healer’s aura that would hopefully allow those wings to part enough to allow him entry. He grimaced at the sight of three struggling individuals and checked his power levels. It would be a close call whether he had enough to handle three inheritances breaking through.
Funny, they were certainly old enough to have gone through their inheritances already. There was no reason their bodies should be responding in the way an underaged dragel’s body would when their inheritance was forced out.
Riven & Bran
Lavender-hued smoke curled through the air. Images of the future danced in the curls of smoke, changing as the winds shifted and as key players made decisions that voided entire possibilities. The vast majority of the images focused on events that may or may not take place within the next few weeks. The Hunt was always an interesting time, as Clans who rarely came in contact with one another inevitably crossed paths and as certain individuals set foot in Nevarah for the first time in a decade, if not longer.
Maia Kadel was focused on one individual in particular. Riven Cairothe. He was sure to make this Hunt an interesting one if his current planned destination was any indication. She could sense that he was between realms at the moment, heading towards one of the twenty Immortals’ resting places. Only time would tell if he was going solely to verify the Immortal’s presence or to wake the Immortal instead.
Either way, he was ahead of schedule. Maia rolled her neck as the thought process. Good. That eased the burden on her shoulders significantly. That also meant that Riven would visit Nevarah at some point during the Hunt, even if only momentarily. She hoped this visit would bring with it one of the rare opportunities for them to meet face-to-face, since there was plenty she had to say to him.
Especially regarding the current lack of care he gave to his magic and his body.
Maia sighed. She could lecture all she wanted, but the past had proven that nothing would change in the future regarding Riven’s habits and tendencies. He would seek her talents, both in healing and reading the future, and she would give advice that he would heed and warnings that he would ignore, especially when it came to his own personal future and health.
She enjoyed their face-to-face meetings, but many of them left her wishing that Riven would become Bonded already, if only so there would be someone to keep him in line that would also let him unburden his soul just a little bit.
The scrying bowl in front of her shattered, spreading water and shards of glass across the small room. As the sound of glass breaking faded, the echo of a scream hung in the air.
A platinum blonde eyebrow rose in slight surprise. Well, that was unexpected.
Maia turned at the sound of the door to her small room opening and rose to her feet at the sight of one of her Pareya. He became visible and material enough to brush the glass shards off of her dress as she searched his pale eyes for the reason he had sought her out.
“There was a scream,” he said after a minute.
“One of the children?” Maia asked in a quiet tone, her eyes flicking around as she processed the new information. That certainly explained the echo. At the nod of her Pareya, Maia forced herself to ask the next question and braced for the answer. “Who?”
“Bran.”
Maia’s thin, tall form quivered at the answer.
Bran.
Of course it was Bran. Her special child. The one that stood out from the others just by existing.
He was so young, but soulscreams had summoned younger.
“I’ll look for him,” she promised her Pareya. “Stand by, just in case.”
“You don’t expect we’ll be needed?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Maia’s thin hand clenched around her ever present pipe and she brought it to her lips. A stream of lavender-hued smoke filled the air once again. She wrapped a hand around his so he could see the visions and directed his attention to an image of her son being guarded by a snow-haired man wielding a tall, blackened staff.
“Not there,” she clarified. “But once they return…”
Bran’s Sire nodded, but didn’t leave her presence, choosing instead to hold her for a moment longer. As Maia relaxed into the rare physical embrace, her eyes rapidly scanned the images on the smoke. Her jaw tightened at the sight of dementors circling in the air. Hopefully the newly summoned Circle would be blessed with Gheyos ready and willing to fight such creatures on their own turf—the sky.
Idan & Minh
The Dive was starting to get crowded.
It was a detail that was vaguely irritating considering that Hunting Season hadn’t even started yet. Granted, the Dive was always a popular place to be, but the Hunt made it unbearable to be around as amateurs started to try out moves that they would never have tried if it wasn’t for the large number of Submissives that would flock to the spot.
White-silver eyes narrowed and ash-white wings pulled in sharply as another individual landed too close for comfort. The dragel that just landed flinched away under the intense glare, but no words were exchanged.
After a couple of heartbeats, Idan stepped up onto the nearest secondary platform and brought two thin fingers to his lips. He gave four short, high-pitched whistles and then rolled gradually lightening eyes at the rapidly descending swirl of reflected sunlight. It was a pretty sight, but one of these days, Minh was going to blind himself or someone else with those chrome wings of his.
Idan shielded his eyes in preparation for the usual dramatic, blinding landing and the oncoming pout.
Neither came.
Instead, a shudder passed through his body as he witnessed a bolt of light reach out and encompass his partner mid-dive. With a frown, he raised a pale hand and rubbed at his chest, where he felt the courting mark there start to burn.
Then he heard it.
A cry infinitely more desperate and pained than Minh’s had been.
A call that demanded his immediate support and attention.
He braced himself as the portal arrived.
And breathed a sigh of relief when it deposited him next to a pair of chrome wings.
Idan released a soothing trill at Minh’s questioning growl, and then rolled his eyes when the growl turned into a whine. He pushed the taller man forward, giving his approval to initiate an attack against the oncoming spellfire, and then winced as the spells shattered against metal wings and weapons.
Hopefully the others he could feel appearing around him weren’t nearly as dramatic as Minh could be when he was in a mood.
Alec
“Absolutely not! It’s impossible! He can salt me and burn me with the sun all he wants, but I need more if his Majesty wants anything useful to come from an investigation. I wouldn’t go chasing after Kesmar himself based on that information.”
Dark blue eyes glared up into a pair of glinting bright blue eyes.
“His Majesty has determined there’s enough information for an investigation—”
“For a megalodon hunt! That information is nothing! Any searches based on that will either lead nowhere or will result in more leads than there are aqua-kin’e.”
The older Merrow snarled. “Mind your manner, Alec! You think you know better than the King? Need I remind you that you should be grateful that he even deigns to take notice of you? There’s plenty with more experience than you that would be willing to carry out an investigation. If King Alcandor has ordered something, you should—”
“He’s already ordered something. In case you haven’t forgotten, I’m to train Goonter for the upcoming Introductions. Unless you know of another creature-trainer within the Court?” Alec waited for a few seconds before he continued. “Thought not.”
“You insolent piece of kelp—!”
Fluted ears flared at the insult but before he could give a suitable retort, a sharp pang in his chest and the electric jolt of ancient magic—soul magic—entering the water distracted Alec. It didn’t take a genius to put the two together and Alec rapidly shifted into his two-legged form, because there was no telling exactly where he was going to end up. “Kesmar, Kanto, and Poeira’s scales—”
Alec grimaced as a bolt of white light enveloped him, sending shocks of electricity coursing through his body. He now had a more personal understanding of why most Merrow dreaded the summons of a soulscream.
As the magic set him down on solid, dry ground, Alec was infinitely grateful for shifting his form. Of course it would be his luck that he’d end up in a landwalker’s Circle…. Considering how much Fate seemed to enjoy messing with his life, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Fire type in the Circle as well.
Scanning the area, Alec cursed his luck at the lack of any water source nearby. Hopefully there would be nothing requiring a great deal of magic or power on his part for the next few hours.
The only good thing about this entire situation is that he didn’t have to worry about dealing with Royal demands….
Raspen
Raspen resisted the urge to rub his temples to get rid of the headache starting to form. The Hunt hadn’t even started yet, and he could already sense that there were going to be numerous Clan quarrels and feuds that he would have to nip in the bud if the current arguments were any indication.
The Earth feasts and celebrations wouldn’t be until the near the end of the Hunt this time around and already some of the Earth Court was ready to take up arms over the order of hosting the various events. The current heated debate over hosting on Wednesday versus Thursday had been going on for over an hour at this point.
It was times like these when Raspen faintly resented his Crown Royal status.
The dark-haired man turned weary eyes on Lady Rampal, who was currently driving the argument, getting louder each time she spoke up. He had a feeling that he should intervene, but the plan he currently had in mind wasn’t formed completely yet.
Raspen held in a grimace and a sigh as the ground faintly rumbled. It was definitely time to intervene, whether his plan was complete or not.
“Prince Raspen?” The voice was low, barely audible among the other voices.
A pleasant and neutral look immediately fell over Raspen’s face as he turned his gold eyes on to an olive-skinned man.
“Lord Kalzik,” he said in acknowledgement, keeping his voice just as low. Lady Rampal could wait a few more minutes, he decided silently. He hated admitting that he had favorites in his Court, but the Kalziks would always take priority over the Rampals.
“Is everything okay?”
Raspen gave the Head Healer a bemused look until he followed the other man’s green-gold gaze downwards and spotted his own hand rubbing gently at his chest.
A faint blush crossed his face and he stilled the unintentional action. He hadn’t felt anything until the Healer had brought the action to his attention but now Raspen was growing aware of a faint ache in his chest.
No, not in his chest.
In his soul.
That wasn’t good.
A flutter of panic rose inside him. It wasn’t good at all.
Raspen silently pushed himself away from the table and held his hands in front of him as he walked away from the High Nobles of the Earth Court. It wouldn’t be good for them to see his hands clench and tremble.
He wasn’t ready yet. There were too many things that still had to happen and he couldn’t burden a Circle with that.
Once in the hallway, Raspen took a deep shuddering breath as he heard the door shut behind him. He waved off the Gheyos that immediately surrounded him upon hearing the unexpected sound.
“Prince Raspen?” Gold eyes snapped open to meet green-gold ones and Raspen gave Lord Kalzik a wry smile. Of course the Healer would have followed.
“It’s—” Raspen’s words cut off with a choke as he felt the summons start to begin. His eyes snapped over to the Gheyo ACE in the group, needing to let the head of his guards know what was going on, so the other dragel could initiate the appropriate response. The depth of the Earth magic inside him allowed the Royal to hold off the summons long enough to choke out a few more syllables. “Soulscream.”
Then the Earth Royal let the summons pull him across several realms and deposit him in the midst of a raging battle.
Gold eyes scanned the area and Raspen started to tally the ranks that he could immediately pick out. Alpha. Pareya. Gheyos. Mage. Merrow. Companion.
Raspen grimaced. He didn’t like their current odds. He took a few steps closer to the Storm Mage, breathing a bit easier as a familiar scent reached his nose. He was pleasantly surprised when he put the name to the scent. Maybe their odds weren’t as poor as he initially feared.
Still, he hoped more Gheyos were being summoned. The soulscream still pierced through the air, so more individuals were definitely on their way.
Brishen
It was something other than the chirps and twitters that he had come to expect in the background of his work.
It was something more than a howl that accompanied Death.
It was a cry that demanded Life.
And it was a scream that summoned him in a way that only the Divinities had been able to do until now.
Blue eyes snapped open.
A hand reached up to grab the spear that was pointed at his throat the moment he had moved.
Brishen saw the white-blue magic coming for him before it enveloped his entire being.
As the magic wrenched him away from the room he had called home for the past several centuries, Brishen focused on the spear his hand clenched and started to count the lives it had taken during those centuries. The task drew his thoughts away from the mixture of Ancient and Soul magic that determined he was a suitable fit for whatever came next.
Focusing his thoughts was critical at this moment in time.
Focusing his thoughts prevented his lips from solidifying into a beak and kept his feathers from taking over his hair.
As much as his instincts demanded that he do so, Brishen knew from the pure desperation of the cry, from the demands given to both Life and Death, that breaking out in feathers would be the last thing anyone needed when he landed.
So he focused.
And aimed his spear when his feet hit the ground.
Devrim
“You’re not seriously considering staying here? I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you if I knew you had a death wish. You’re not ready.”
A dark hand ran through shaggy black and and dark brown hair as a stocky man turned to look at his larger companion. “And where would you have me stay, Oret?”
“With the Clan?”
A loud, high-pitched laugh burst forth at that idea before a broad hand clenched and the sound cut off abruptly.
“Why not?” his companion demanded. “The Clan’s done nothing but treat you well—”
“Laya stabbed me the last time I stayed with the Clan,” the shorter warrior interrupted. “It punctured a lung. And you say I have a death wish.”
“To be fair, Devrim, you did steal her portion of the kill a few hours before.”
Devrim rolled his dark eyes that were rapidly lightening to a mixture of red and purple. The blood and magic emanating from the Pit was starting to pull at instincts that hadn’t come out since he had started traveling a couple of days ago. “To be fair, Oret, I hadn’t eaten all week. I needed something and the kill was fresh.”
“Right… Mentor. I still don’t know why your father demanded I take that title and responsibility,” his companion said with a sigh.
“Probably because you’re one of the only ones that was qualified.”
His mentor snorted at the comment. “I’m nowhere near qualified, by dragel standards.”
“You’re nowhere near qualified by anyone’s standards.”
Devrim was quick enough to dodge the head slap but failed to pull his head out of range before surprisingly long fingers gripped and twisted his ear. He bit back the high-pitched whine that threatened to break forth. He held his breath for a few seconds until there was a harsh pinch and the fingers drew back.
“What about connections on your other father’s side?”
“They won’t let me inside the Empress’s boundaries until Ren arrives and I’d rather avoid the Shadow Haunts altogether. The magic makes me twitch.”
“The magic makes you—Iansã, you have an affinity for that magic!”
“I also have an affinity for the Storm, and it wants to come out. Unless you want the entire Shadow Haunts’ population to drown in the resulting thunderstorms and hurricanes?”
This time Devrim was fast enough to dart away from the fingers aimed for his ear.
“What about them?” his mentor asked with a frown. “The family… Circle of your foregone Bearer?”
“They’re never an option.”
“Devrim…”
“Trust me, Oret. They’re never an option.” Red-violet eyes met black eyes. After a moment, Devrim’s mentor turned away.
“I still don’t think the Pits should be an option.”
“Again, where would you have me stay instead?” A hint of exasperation entered Devrim’s voice.
“I’ve been making connections while you’ve been playing messenger. One of Lady Pai’s training circles has a Storm ACE—the Black Dahlia herself—and a Shadow King. If you’d let me make an introduction—”
“No.” Devrim’s voice turned cold.
“No?” There was a dangerous undertone in his mentor’s voice, but Devrim steeled himself as he responded.
“No,” he repeated, then choked. His head tilted to the side and a soft squeal emitted from the back of his throat.
At the drawn out sound, his mentor stiffened. “Devrim?” he asked carefully, and then bit back a whoop as he saw spots start to break out across his student’s arms, shoulders, and back and a small mane of fur sprout from the back of his neck.
Devrim’s squeal continued as a desire to find and fight for the one crying out for him started to burn in his blood. To protect him. To guard him.
To die for him if necessary.
Red-violet eyes bled pure black and instinct took over as he felt himself being yanked away from the entrance to the Pits and to somewhere unknown.
A loud crack of magic marked his arrival.
An even louder crack of lightning made his presence known to his currently unidentified enemies.
Hadrian
Fingernails-turned-dark claws dug into the palms of his hands as he watched the ongoing duels. Key word, watched.
His claws broke through the calloused skin on his hands and the faint scent of blood drifted upwards.
Hadrian ground his teeth together, forcing himself to stay still. He knew what Mariana was trying to accomplish, preventing him from participating in any fights other than the bare minimum training that was needed to keep his abilities and talents honed.
She was trying to drive him mad—mad enough to consider doing something he otherwise refused to do. Looks inwards. ‘Reflect’ on the things he was running from.
She was in for a long wait and Hadrian was anticipating a long ban from the fighting arenas and the weekly duels that the Cunningham Circle utilized to continually reinforce and reaffirm their ranks.
It would be torture to not be able to indulge his instincts that were normally soothed by a good, bloody fight, especially since it was nearly Hunting Season and that was always a guarantee that there would be newcomers and challenges to face in the Pits. But he could handle torture. It would take more than that for him to do as Mariana commanded—at least for this particular command.
Hadrian purposefully avoided the dark glower that the Cunningham Submissive was now aiming in his direction. Something had drawn her attention to him—again—but whether it was the scent of blood from his hands or the pure defiance he was struggling to keep out of his temporary bonds with her, he wasn’t sure.
His jaw clenched even tighter when the doll-like woman moved to approach him. For all of her delicate and innocent-looking appearances, she could be vicious when she wanted to make a point and he had a feeling their upcoming encounter would be anything but pain-free for him. However, he had no desire to make whatever punishment she decided to inflict upon him a public spectacle, even if only the Cunningham Circle was currently present in the practice grounds, so Hadrian attempted to block anymore of the defiance he felt from reaching through the temporary bond between themselves.
And it was only because he was focused on his bonds that he felt the new one click into place and rip itself wide open. Dark eyes widened as his soul picked up on the first hints of the scream that forced the new bond into place and commanded his presence.
Unlike Mariana’s command, this was one that he could not fight against.
As a white light engulfed him—no doubt blinding many in the practice grounds and attracting the attention of others moving about the Shadow Haunts—Hadrian felt the battlelust flooding his system. His shadows shifted restlessly, just as eager to fight and rage as he himself was. As the battlelust took over, a dark grin appeared underneath his mask.
For the first time in weeks, he felt alive.
Charlie
Fire burned him everywhere.
I'm being burnt alive. It feels like a dragon's fire. How fitting.
Charlie thought, darkly amused as he felt himself drifting deeper and downward to the shadows that beckoned him to the underworld. He didn't really want to die, but of course, that wasn't really much of an excuse for anyone who wished to live. His mother would no doubt be stricken and heart-broken, his family would somehow fashion together a stronger bond in spite of his absence, in his memory. Everything would be fine, whether he came back or not.
But Charlie Weasley did not want to die.
In fact, now that he could think of it—and it was surprising to find thought as a current, active process in his given state—he wondered how long it took to die.
It seemed to be taking quite a long time.
An unearthly screech nearly deafened his ears.
It demanded that he remain among the living, challenging him to dare to live even as darkness loomed on the horizon.
His heart leapt and throbbed, frantically beating as if doing so would return him to life.
His soul ached, longing and burning to answer that eerie, haunting cry.
That cry that called to his very core.
Pain exploded and race through him in a way that he'd never before experienced.
As his own personal hell began, Charlie lost all ability to think coherently. He was vaguely aware of the pain after what seemed like an eternity but there was so much of it, that he no longer was able to process the feeling.
Everything ached. Everything burned and everything just plain hurt.
He knew he was living, somehow, but it seemed as if time had slowed and stopped to allow him this special treatment.
His hands were on fire and at some point, he looked at them, horrified to see that they had morphed into deadly, curled claws. The coppery tang of blood and bile lodged in his throat and he felt the fire rushing through his veins as a foreign substance attempting to overpower the blood that kept him alive. Lines and circles of fire blossomed on his back and centered about his shoulders.
And then, it stopped.
It was almost like someone had flipped a switch.
He'd died. That was the only logical conclusion.
Charlie knew he'd died, but then, he'd lived.
He was alive.
At least, he didn't feel very dead.
The pain settled in him as aches in his very bones and a hot, irritating heat feathered around his neck and shoulders.
Blue eyes popped open with startling clarity and Charlie heard the shouts and cries around him.
Yes, most definitely alive.
Harry
Harry wasn’t sure what hurt more—the scream tearing through his throat, the magic burning through his veins, or the impact of whatever his voice had shattered piercing his entire body. For a second, he glanced down, expecting to see shards digging into his skin, but there was nothing.
No, that wasn’t true. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw flashes of bright white light all around him. The scream coming from his throat cut off as he raised his head to see what spells were aimed at him now.
He choked out a small cry when he found Fred and George standing on either side of him. He shifted to block the sight of Charlie’s body, as there were some things that he instinctively knew that they didn’t need to see. As he shifted, the sound of unfurling wings and the sudden darkening of the immediate area surrounding Harry caused his cry to turn into a choking breath of relief. The sensation of being surrounded by wings felt like a warm, comforting embrace, and the feeling was only enhanced by the fact that he could no longer see the battle raging around him.
Harry shuddered and tears streamed down his face as a light trill rang through the darkened space, covering up some of the lingering sounds of battle. It was a sound intended to be soothing and relaxing, but those were the last emotions he wanted to feel right now. Didn’t they know that Charlie was—!
Feeling something brush against his body, Harry’s fangs surged forth and he twisted to sink them into the nearest body part he could—a shoulder. He choked on the foul-tasting blood, but refused to let go. Those around him were his and while he’d already lost Charlie, he refused to lose any others without doing something!
At the feel of a second body nearly collapsing onto him, Harry’s fangs released the shoulder within their grasp as he twisted the other way and latched onto that other person’s shoulder. He whined upon the second taste of that foul blood, as something just wasn’t right. Green eyes opened in confusion. Blood was supposed to be something good, something that brought life and magic. It wasn’t supposed to be so … repulsive.
A small stream of light entered the dark space and Harry’s breath caught as his eyes spotted a sight that he never expected to see again. Life-filled blue eyes and a chest that rose and fell. His fangs parted as he gave a loud chirp of surprised delight and Harry pulled his Beta’s body closer to him, eager to finally claim Charlie as his own. It nearly hadn’t been possible, but now that it was again, Harry wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass by. Once Charlie’s upper body was arranged halfway on his lap, Harry nearly folded himself in half to allow his fangs to claim his Beta’s neck. He choked for a third time on blood that didn’t taste quite right, but neither that nor the two sets of fangs settling into the biceps of both his arms deterred him from making a permanent claim on the body under him.
A set of foreign fingers lightly traced Theo’s claim mark on his neck. With a snarl, Harry pushed himself to his feet to deal with the one daring to interrupt his claiming, unintentionally headbutting the other person in the process. The other figure stumbled a few steps and brought his arm across his chest to shield it from the defensive Submissive Dragel. Instead of sinking into a vulnerable chest or neck, Harry’s fangs gripped tightly onto a pale bicep.
And then Harry started purring. If his other three had something disturbing lurking within their blood, this blood certainly made up for the foul, repulsive tastes. It was sweet, light, clear, and refreshing, with an ambrosia-like quality to it. The magic that ran through the blood was strong, nearly as strong as Theo’s, and provided an extra form of reassurance. He would definitely be safe with this individual beside him or standing behind him, provided he could ensure that this individual would stick around. Harry’s eyes clenched shut and he bit harder as he felt slender fingers wind through and grip his hair.
Well, you’re certainly a biter…
Harry tilted his head slightly as the sentence rang through his head. Those weren’t his words, so where had they come from?
During his momentary confusion, the fingers gripping his hair tightened and carefully pulled his head away from the lovely bloodsource. Harry whined as he felt his fangs leave the firm bicep and his body was forced to straighten and steady itself on his feet. He was guided a few steps forward, where strong arms wrapped around his waist and back.
Emerald eyes snapped open to meet pure golden ones. Harry let out a questioning chirp, which was answered by the same light trill he had first heard only a moment ago. Then, the golden-eyed man tilted his neck to reveal a greater expanse of dark skin and gave an inviting chirrup. Green eyes glittered in understanding and Harry happily slid his blood-covered fangs into the bared neck. He barely winced when he felt the other man’s own fangs pierce his shoulder, just below Theo’s claim mark. After a few heartbeats, Harry relaxed and let his weight rest on the other as he continued to feed.
After a few minutes, Harry drew his head away with a small sigh and tenderly licked the newly-formed claim mark, watching it heal. Once satisfied, he shifted to turn in those strong arms and gladly accepted the assistance until his back was pressed against the man’s chest and he could see the other four within the darkened circle of wings.
If it wasn’t for the arms still supporting him, Harry would have collapsed in relief at the sight of Charlie being pushed to his feet by a blond figure sporting a fresh claim mark on his bicep. Teal magic flowed steadily into both Fred and George as black and burnt orange tattoos started to form on their skin. With a small smile, Harry reached out his hands to beckon Charlie over to him, not even bothering to hide the relief that flooded him at the sight of Charlie on his feet. Roughened warm hands closed over his smaller ones as Theo’s familiar voice rang through the air.
“Temptrificus Portgas, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Hall!”