Spirit of Fire - 19. Dream Of Starlight

The sun had just begun to set when we left the citadel of the Seventh House. Fire was everywhere upon the heat-slagged ruin, the imposing silhouettes of the towers melting and beginning to collapse. The last glimpse I had as we flew away was of scattered flames, and the shape of a red dragon stark against the darkening sky, circling the abandoned fortress in his unforgiving wrath.

Though nobody I personally knew was on the gunship that I was riding in, I was assured by the Order officer in charge that Agent Crawley and Lucy were both on other departing craft. The allied dragons had taken to the air as escorts, and unsurprisingly I could not detect them anywhere near us. This simple fact was a comfort because it meant the disguising magic of a certain someone was in full effect. It was a reminder I was happy to have; a part of me was scared that I had somehow imagined the whole thing.

We were only flying for about forty minutes before we landed and the officer explained that Lucy and I were going to be staying where we were. The Order wanted to give the situation a chance to calm, as the destruction of the Seventh House's sanctuary and the death of its defenders was a significant event that would draw the attention of any remaining Conclave in the area.

Instead, we had gone into western Pennsylvania, to an area called Greene County. I was told we would be staying in one of several suites in an Order-owned property. It was a countryside-retreat apartment-block resort several miles outside some unnamed town, away from traffic and secluded. The officer also informed me that Mom already knew I was okay -- Celeste had seen to that, apparently -- and that excuses had been made to Lucy's parents so they thought she was simply at an unannounced sleepover and not several states away from home.

Though I wanted to talk to Lucy again, I didn't get to do so before the Order's militarised forces dropped us off and left, their part in the operation over, and the administrative staff took over. I was ushered inside and shown to my room, which was on the fourth floor. The woman in charge told me Lucy was in the next-door suite, and Crawley's was next to hers. All I could do once the door had closed and I was finally alone, was to walk over and sit on a lounge chair.

So much had happened.

It felt like the world had changed yet again in the last few hours. I was struggling to catch up.

There wasn't enough time for me to begin processing it all because less than a minute later there was a knock on the door. Only approved visitors could access our floor, so I wasn't worried when it opened before I could move. I was expecting Lucy, as self-invitations were her thing, but it wasn't her. It was an even more welcome sight.

Him.

The sight gave me chills, in the best way.

Perfectly groomed as always, he was closing the door when I stood; then we were both moving together.

We met halfway.

His arms were about my shoulders, mine around his back, the hug so close I could almost feel his heartbeat.

"I thought you were dead," I whispered. "I thought ... Kaia did it."

"So did she, but I tricked her. It was an illusion." He let go, pulling back just a little so we could see each other properly, his voice soft. "I was gravely hurt and would not have survived, but for ... the goddess."

The Spirit of Air ... did she intervene?

"Torsten, it was unlike anything else." The look in Sebby's eyes was distant and awed, and it was a strange emotion to see in him because he was normally so evasive, so wise. "All the tales from family and others of my kind spoke of nothing more than a ghost and a voice on the wind. Even when she commanded me to go to the Order, that was all I saw. Just a shadow of her presence. When I called out to her today?" He blinked, as if he couldn't quite comprehend it, and he focused fully on me again. "She came in person. She brought her power, her grace. She blessed me. She saved me."

"Then I want to meet her someday." I squeezed his lower bicep, my hands on his arms, and his on mine, enjoying the fact that I could touch him. "To thank her."

To tell her how grateful I am that he came back.

"I would like you to." Eyes downcast for just a second, he glanced back up, and it was impish. "I may be biased, but she is the best of the gods. The fairest, and the most free of conscience."

"Sebby."

"Mmm?"

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think ... it's true.

I couldn't be afraid any longer.

No more hesitating.

"Everything that's happened today has made me think -- really think -- about what's important, and about who matters and why. It scared me so much to think you were really gone. It hurt to believe it. So, um, yesterday you said you'd 'tell me more' when your feelings were returned?"

It took Sebby a moment to understand, but when he did, his eyes widened, and he began to smile as the realisation took hold, the unspoken statement clear.

"Then, we use another term in Celestial," he said, his voice slightly husky from the surprise of the confession, "and it is aruskâl, which is 'twin of my heart's desire'. In English, you might say 'second half' or 'beloved'."

"Do you mind if I call you that, sometimes?" I bit my lip, kinda terrified about where this was going, but also exhilarated. Am I really doing this? Oh god, I am really doing this. I'm making it into something 'official'. "A pet name in your own language feels ... right."

"I- ... " He trailed off, eyes glistening, his brow furrowing, for once lost for words. His grip on my elbows tightened. "Torsten, nothing would make me happier."

"Good." I breathed, my attention wandering over his face; the amazing silver of his eyes, the short line of his nose, and his lips. Mostly his lips. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

"Soon." He nodded, his attention as fixed to me as mine was to him. "Soon we will be kissing a lot, but first, allow me to romance you a little. It will require some explanation, but I want to show you something. Come." He let go and, taking my hand, he led me through the next room and out onto the balcony. There were no lights visible on other floors, and the building was quiet. It was just us, the countryside and trees below, and the mid-evening sky above.

"I know you are the seer now." We leaned on the railing, facing one another, standing as close as we were before. He shifted his grip so our fingers meshed together, interlocking, instead of holding hands. "When we met at their fortress, I could tell you knew more than the material world. It was closer to the way a dragon might look at me, but still, different from any normal child of the Spirits. The gifts you received from Triskeleth, they are how you became free and why you are alive, yes?"

"Yes."

"Did she teach of the elements before she passed on those gifts?" The light from inside was dim where we were standing, and his skin was brushed with it, a yellow tinge on the left side, the right pale, touched only by the moonlight. "Of the balance that existed between the four?"

"She did." I agreed, thinking back to her final lesson, and the ceremony of it. "They each have an ally, a neutral, and an opposite."

"Yes, they do. Long ago, when the world was in harmony, the natural magic of the gods would move in cycles, like seasons in a year. Two separate magical tides, yet linked; fire against water, earth against air. They waxed and waned in proportion to one another; high to low and back again. When one Spirit was ascendant, their opposing sibling was weakest, but so too on the other side was their ally. In that way, the two cycles would cancel out, and the influence of all four stay in symmetry. The catastrophe of the mad god ended one cycle as we know it; fire and water became broken and uneven, but the other half? It works as it always has."

"So air and earth are still acting as they're meant to?"

"They are," Sebby nodded slowly, "and the same points in the annual cycle are respected as they have been for millennia beyond remembering. The earth dragons have many traditions that are heavily steeped in ritual and worship, as is their way. My kind does not, although both of us observe those four dates and celebrate them. Just like the solar calendar, there are two equinoxes and two solstices, and they represent very different things to us, and are treated accordingly."

"This is fascinating," I told him. He had learned about my life, and it was a thrill to discover anything about his, and the culture he was from. "I want to know more."

"The equinoxes are meant to be spent alone, in travel and flight. The waxing equinox in English is called Freedom's Song, and the rising strength of the goddess is honoured through the beauty of exploration, thoughts of the future, and the favour of the sky's freedom. The waning equinox is the Voyage's Lament. It is about the remembrance and introspection of times gone, those we have lost, and the harder lessons of wisdom. In contrast, the solstices are intended as time with others. The terrestrial solstice is the Promise of Faith, when my lady's influence is least. It is the love of family, friends, and the bonds of our community."

"And the last?" I asked. "What is it?"

"The last is the celestial solstice. We name it the Dream of Starlight, and it is devoted to the finding of a mate, to romantic and sexual love, and the creation of new life. It is regarded separately from the others, treated uniquely, and is special."

Romantic and sexual love?

"Special h-how?" I stuttered, my nerves appearing out of nowhere and getting the better of me.

"During that solstice, the magic of the goddess reaches its peak, and on that evening alone, it is strong enough that we can see it flow in the sky. The custom is to fly with your mate, and dance together upon the currents. Torsten, you cannot follow me through the sky, but you do have the eyes of a seer. I was so distracted by all that has happened that I did not realise today is the day." He squeezed our meshed hands, and then pointed up with his other, voice dropping to a whisper. "So, turn your sight above, and see the Dream."

Focusing, I did as he said, and looked up.

There it was.

Bright lines of white ran everywhere through the darkened clouds, shooting like quicksilver, twisting and turning in veins of pure elemental power. It was a magical aurora, and the moving light cast was ethereal, invisible to the naked eye, but I could see it. In every direction, crisscrossing and weaving around itself, it was the blood of the sky goddess, its pulse her heartbeat.

Beautiful.

"It's- ... it's incredible. So clear!" I stared about the sky, taking it all in, lost in the wonder. "I can see the magic everywhere. It's like a tide made of the moon and stars."

"I wanted you to experience it." He slid closer, our hands still together, his shoulder touching mine. "I hoped one day to share the Dream with my aruskâl, but I never imagined I would seduce a human boy."

"Really?" I turned my attention back to him, and the invisible radiance of his goddess was reflected still in his eyes. They gleamed silver-white, and on his hair and skin, a sheen of glittering magic reinforced his beauty, made it more intimidating. Then there was his light, his own from within. It made him seem even more alien and inhuman, a creature of pure mystique. Yet it was still him, the Sebby I knew; somehow completely intimate and enticing at the same time. My breath was stolen, my voice coming out softer than intended. "If this is seduction, then I think you're succeeding."

"Oh?"

He leaned up a bit, and I leaned down, a flicker of a smile passing by, our faces drawing closer, the yearning all too clear. "Well, I think ... I need proof."

"Will this do?"

My lips met his, his hands sliding up my arms, and I pulled him in. His tongue was on mine, his arms around my shoulders, and in an agile hop, he was off his feet, legs around my waist. Instinctively, my hands went under him, and then I was carrying him inside while we made out, his weight surprisingly light. We careened awkwardly through the side room and then across into the bedroom, before my knee struck the edge of the double bed and I fell back-first onto it, Sebby on top of me.

"I'm convinced," he giggled, sweet and musical, "though if you want to really convince me, we can go further." His nose rubbed against mine, my hands on his hips. "I know what you've imagined, because I've imagined it too. It would be a joyful thing, to share your first."

"But ... doesn't that bother you -- what I want?" I frowned, biting my lip, my urges about Sebby's body seeming crudely obvious. I feel like I would be asking him to lessen himself, devalue himself, by doing what I want. "I'm a human, and, well, you're ... you."

"Hmm, is that your worry?" His head cocked a little, evaluating. "It doesn't concern me in the way you might think, and there is a reason. Suffice to say: all dragons are proud -- fire especially, but water and earth also, and even my own. Any sort of servile behaviour, sexual or otherwise, is difficult to accept."

"You've slept with men before though, right?" I asked. "Were you always the one on top?"

"Almost always," he nodded, "but even when I wasn't, I was still in control. I would charm them into acting how I wanted, manipulate them into doing the things that seemed the most enjoyable for me, first and foremost. They'd think it was their choice, and they'd still get an experience that filled their senses with bliss, but I was choosing which strings to pull and how to make the puppet move. That is, until I found you."

Me.

"The thought of forcing you, of working magic upon you, is repulsive in a way I cannot express. Every day, I learned more about you, and every day I fell a little more in love with this intelligent idealistic boy. Your flesh and blood is human, but your soul is that of a dragon. You are unique."

"In ... love?" I whispered.

"Was it not already plain? You are my equal, Torsten. I want to make you happy, to please you," he sat up, pulling me with him, the lust in his voice vibrant, "and I will please you, I can promise that. So, undress yourself, my innocent human. I'll be right back."

With that, he was off me and away, to the next room.

I wasted no time.

Sweater, shirt, pants, socks, underwear, cast onto the floor, then the covers were being pulled back in preparation, even though I didn't know exactly what was going to happen. Sebby was back again, a little bottle of lubricant in one hand. His vest was open at the front, the arms freed, and it fell off his body with a shrug of the shoulders. He was doing the same with the leggings, and with a shift of the hips as he crossed the room, they too dropped away. He was completely naked as he reached me and climbed onto the bed.

Sebby's upper half was slim but healthy, with subtle traces of athletic definition in his chest and shoulders. Like his hair and eyes, his skin seemed to have a faint silvery sheen to it, and it was both silky smooth and milky pale, like carved marble. Two tiny rosy pink nipples led into the line of his abdominals, and then, his lower half. His lower legs were ideally proportioned for someone as agile as he was; feet and calves compact, but his thighs were just a little thicker, butt just a little rounder, than I was expecting -- and my imagination had already created something very spectacular.

I tried not to stare, but I was failing miserably.

He's fucking gorgeous.

"Stay how you are." I was sitting with my legs in front, and he straddled me nimbly to rest on folded knees, a hand going between my legs to wrap around my half-erection. It was cool and slippery, and I shivered in surprise and anxiety at the touch, but he drew my attention back to his face. "Relax, my aruskâl. Let yourself be excited." He began to stroke me, spreading the liquid all over as I got harder in his hand. "No nerves. You can't hurt me. Think of how wonderful it will feel." He slid his grip up and down quickly as if to illustrate a point, and the sensation was fantastic. "Did you know you're a good size?"

"R-really?"

"Mhmm." Shimmying forward, Sebby held my gaze as he raised himself, his thighs brushing my waist. His hands withdrew between my chest and his stomach, to cradle my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. "Now, that's enough talk," he whispered, "because you're going to kiss me, and I ... am going to ride you."

Lowering onto my lap, he pushed down, then ... pressure, warmth. A grunt from him, and our lips were sliding together, my head tilted back, just as his midriff was rubbing against mine, his back arching. Further down, until he was all the way sitting on me, and my arms wrapped around him, hands clasped in the small of his back. His thighs pressed around my sides, his ass as soft and snug as any fantasy. Sebby began to move, rising and falling, forward and back, his hips in a slow gyration as he began to really ride me.

Our tongues were playing, and every second of his grip, every motion, sent a hot ripple of excitement, an erotic pins-and-needles across my exposed skin. A hammering pulse, the heated tightness, bodies pressed together, his hands on me, and mine on him; it was overwhelming. Each swirl of the hips, each surge and descent, was accompanied by the softest sexual whine into my mouth, his hardness rubbing my belly, his fingers pulling at my hair, his lower half quivering.

We kept a steady rhythm, and it was minutes later, though I didn't know if it was five or twenty or an hour, having lost track while we were wrapped up in each other. I wanted to keep going for as long as he could, because the sensation of fucking Sebby was already an addiction, but it wasn't to last. He sped up slightly, a little more forceful, and the massage intensified, the pleasure escalating in my lap. All too quickly it became too much, and first he shuddered, wetness spreading against my stomach, and then it was me following.

Release.

An ecstatic burst that sent me soaring, up, above and away, like magic but just him and me, and our bodies, melded together for that brief moment as if the veil between our different worlds was gone.

The two of us, dancing through the Dream of Starlight.

For a few seconds we were still, then I felt him lift off me, our lips and torsos separating. I slumped onto the bed, him with me, still on top but now relaxing, the passion spent, and he laid his head in the crook of my neck while I tried to catch my breath.

We ... did it. I'm not a virgin anymore. Staring at the ceiling, I considered what had happened, if I made an error, or rushed into it. A lot had changed in the last couple of months and there were mistakes mixed into my introduction to magic and dragons, but was this one of them?

No. The situation with Sebby is a few things, but 'mistake' isn't one of them. I like him. Hell, I basically told him we're a lot more than friends. Wait, what am I saying -- we are in a relationship. He's my ... boyfriend? Dragon-friend? That sounds silly and I don't think it's the right way to speak about him. That Celestial word is far more poetic and accurate, and didn't I tell him, he's my 'aruskâl'?

I don't regret it, because it was with someone I really do care about.

Besides, the sex was ... hot.

"Mmm, that was satisfying," Sebby murmured, and I felt his lips on my neck, placing a gentle kiss. "For a novice, you did very well."

"It was- ... uh, it was good. Really good." I instantly cringed inside at my lame nondescript response. Way to English, Torsten. That's all you can come up with? Shoulda said something nice. Ask him how he feels? "Um, are you ... sore, or anything? I know you're guiding me, but, I didn't want to be rough by mistake."

"No, not at all." The laughter in his voice was quietly amused, but also tender, with no mockery. "You could not hurt me if you tried. Literally; the sharpest steak knife in this suite's kitchen would not draw blood. No, you are sweet to be concerned, but, apart from a minor discomfort, it was only good. Technique, experience, prowess; those things do not matter to me. They are dressing, not the main event. I wanted you ... and I was not disappointed."

"Okay." I nodded, my breathing almost back to normal after the workout we'd just had. "I'm glad I waited, and I'm even happier it was with you. The day was terrible, but you made the evening something to remember. I ... don't want this to sound weird, but, when it's right, I'd like to do it again."

"Oh, Torsten." I could hear the subtle delight, as low as it was, and his hand traced across my left pectoral, his right index finger circling my nipple. "The night is still early and you are my beautiful aruskâl, young and fit." He kissed the same spot as before, a reassuring mark and a promise. "Why on earth would we stop after one?"

-o-0-O-0-o-

Agent Crawley opened the door, assuming it was the administrator wanting to bother him for some reason or other related to Order business, but he was surprised to see Lucy Atkinson standing there, expectant. Apart from retrieving the glove and expediting her transfer onto a waiting gunship, they had not exchanged many words during the exit from the ruined fortress, and the agent had not been intending to see her again so soon.

"Oh, it's you." He nodded gruffly. "Thought you'd be knockin' on yer friend's door, and not mine. Moral support after a rough day, and all that."

"I was gonna, but, um, Sebby was in there with him, and I heard some sounds," Lucy shrugged casually, her eyes darting around, "and um, long story short, I think they're probably fucking. Or about to. Whatever. I'm not interrupting."

"Seriously? Wait, so yer tellin' me that the cloud fairy princess really is a, uh, fairy princess?" She scowled at him, disapproving of the vaguely discriminatory language, and he shrugged, a mite sheepishly. "Hey, I don't mean no harm by that, it's just I had my money on the one that's busy rage-nukin' the castle when we left it, but, both of them?" Crawley doffed his fedora, ran a hand through his hair, and dropped it back in place. "Jesus, Terry's boy is gettin' himself tangled up in this a lot more than he should."

"No shit, Sherlock."

The agent chuckled, but then his tone switched, becoming serious. "Listen, kid, you should know that what you did today was risky and stupid, but ... damn ballsy and brave too. Ya saved my skin and I won't forget it, though I need t' ask: how? How'd ya do it? We tested the glove, and it never did anything like what you did. It weren't just a weapon on your hand, it also countered what Nero was doin'. Hell, you dominated a grown dragon, and that alone is a goddamned miracle from on high."

"I dunno." Lucy shrugged again. "Only thing I can think of is ... any time they try to compel me, it doesn't work. It takes some effort, like I can feel them attempting to control me, but I can resist it. Darren's tried. Araziah did too, once, when he wanted me to go away. Same with Nero. Maybe ... that's why?"

"Natural resistance, huh?" Crawley gave a thoughtful grimace, and then sighed. "That's somethin' to look into, if yer interested in experimentation and yer daddy can spare his little girl for some government face-time." He grunted, and waved at the door to Lucy's room. "Anyhoo, get some rest. Call room service, watch a movie, whatever. It's on the Order, so ya don't owe squat. You'll be home tomorrow and we can get back to figurin' out how to proceed through this mess."

He made to close the door, but she grabbed the handle.

"Wait! Um, can I come in?" Her look was pleading, almost begging him. "I- ... I don't want to be alone right now. Please?"

Crawley hesitated.

He really wasn't sure what to say.

It hadn't occurred to him that she might have suffered from the experience.

He couldn't just brush that off.

"Hrm, dunno." He grumbled. "Yer a minor, so I can't share the good stuff, but, uh, ya know how to play Texas hold 'em?"

Lucy's eye's lit up, and she grinned. "Know how? Try me. I'll bluff your ass into the ground."

The agent snorted. "Cocky. We'll see if that smile is still on yer face after a couple hands." He held the door open. "Go on then, get inside, before I change my mind."

-o-0-O-0-o-

He was insistent that we explore different positions, so the second time, it was Sebby on his back with me on top of him, his legs wrapped around me. We took our time, just like the first, and I got accustomed to how playful he was. It was a game as much as anything, and his kissing was fun and flirtatious even during mid-sex, and I began to have an understanding of what really turned him on. For his part, he kept on surpassing my fantasies, reading what I responded to with his worldly-wise understanding, and each successive motion seemed better than the last.

Then, the third time.

It was different again, and he encouraged me to be more self-assured. With that, he was on all fours and I was behind him, kneeling. The stance was more impersonal, because I couldn't see his face, but the view I got instead was pure awesome.

His shoulders, narrow and graceful, his arching back, tapering down to the slender waist, and finally his ass. It had a full curve and was small, but with a little extra layer of fat that was like a sexual cushion -- and I was pressed against that, buried deep inside him. It was difficult to think of anything but how amazing that felt, how horny I was, how hard his consent to the whole situation made me, and how badly I wanted us to fuck.

And ... fuck, we did.

Slow at first, while I was a still a bit light-headed, then with more enthusiasm. Part of the way through, my knee slipped, I went off balance, and my upper body fell forward. Instead of trying to pull myself up, I let go of his hips and landed on my hands, planting them on the sheets next to his, so I was truly on top of him, my front sandwiching his back. There was only a momentary pause, and both of us were still, adjusting to it.

"Keep going, Torsten." A soft gasped-out response, the signal to continue, Sebby's cheek rubbing mine, and I began to move again. "Show me- ... haah ... -your passion."

It didn't take long after that -- his slim frame yielding to each thrust, skin on skin, his hips swishing, his ass impossibly hot and tight, his short huffed moans -- and we were both done. He was shuddering underneath me, and a moment later I was too. We collapsed onto the sheets, and I lay there, warm and tingling all over, my muscles jelly, Sebby exhausted and spent.

A couple of minutes later, he was squirming around, dragging the the blankets over us, and then he was cuddled close, my arms around him, and we drifted off to sleep.

But, that still wasn't the end.

It was early-ish when I opened my eyes, and he was next to me on the pillow, waiting for me to wake. Without saying a word, he pulled back the covers, took my hand, and made for the bathroom, towing me behind him. We didn't speak at all, but his smile was enough to make me smile too, and that was all the language I needed, his eyes conveying the rest of it.

The shower cubicle was comfortable size for two, and he squirted bodywash into my hand from the dispenser, and another blob of it into his own, and we washed each other under the spray. He lingered on my chest and shoulders, giving more attention than was needed to get clean, his admiration and ulterior motives clear. The obvious body-worship sent a wake-up message straight to my crotch, and Sebby followed it down, crouching in front of me.

Receiving a blowjob in the shower was a wonderful way to start the day, and I wanted to just watch him, and drink in the amazing warm-and-wet sensation emanating from my groin, but his attempts to make me more confident had left an impression. As soon as I was fully hard, I nudged him off me, indicating him to rise. He did, and there was a curiosity and mild puzzlement at what I was doing, his hair plastered to his head from the soaking, until I gently spun him around and pushed him against the wall. Then it was realisation, a kittenish delight that I was taking the initiative, and he braced himself, chest against the tiles, while I stroked, lathering up some, then pushed against him, into him.

It turned out sex in the shower was just as fun as in the bedroom, and the fourth time was made all the more exciting and novel because of steamy warm water and my knowledge from the night before.

Sebby was out before me, and by the time I emerged and began to dress myself -- fresh clothing of my exact measurements was laid out and waiting, left by some ninja tailor -- he had already finished doing so. His was in the same costume he always wore, and it seemed as untouched as it always did, pristine and without a stitch out of place.

"How does that always look so good on you?" I finished donning the shirt left out for me, jeans already worn, hair still damp. He rose from his seat on the bed, taking my hands in his, and held them, and we just looked at each other. "Are your clothes magic too?"

"Yes, actually." His brow rose, in easygoing indifference. "Enchanted garments are much easier to keep clean and repair. Less bothersome for travel."

Travel.

"Are you leaving?" I frowned. "I'll be going back to Mirrorvale today, as soon as Crawley wants to leave, I guess, but what about you? What's going to happen next?"

"I am." He bit his lip, his typically coy smile fading somewhat. "Yesterday, I learned disturbing news about the Grey Prince, and I must clarify it. The Order's Grand Secretary might have the information I need, so, Northwood is my destination." His fingertips stroked over the back of my hands. "I know how dire our situation is. Michael will soon be in possession of everything he needs to bring the prophecy to fruition, but there are certain conditions that are bound to the phases of the magical world. The ritual cannot happen immediately, and must wait for the right time, but it will not be long. We have two weeks or three, before they attempt it."

"What should I do?"

"Go home and reassure your mother. Practice being the seer. The lady Celeste will tell us the next steps when the Order has a clearer understanding. They had to scramble to help us yesterday, so everything is still chaotic. Oh, and there is one other thing you must be prepared for."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Araziah."

A proverbial 'elephant in the room'.

The red dragon.

I had put him out of mind since the previous night, but my last memory of the burning citadel was unforgettable.

"What we saw yesterday was remarkable," Sebby continued, "and it would have terrified all of our allies who witnessed it. He is a dangerous unstable anomaly, and yet I cannot condemn him for acting as he does. Neither can you, and when he returns to you -- and he will find you -- you must give him every chance to prove his allegiance, to show his feelings and sway you." He squeezed my hands, brief but strong. "Do you understand me? Every chance."

"But, Sebby ... why?" I whispered. "Why are you saying this to me? He said it himself, you're his rival, and you're asking me to- ... to, what, choose him instead?"

"Torsten, my wonderful boy, I love you." He said it, plain and simple, and my heart raced at the words. "I would do anything for you, and I desire you in all ways, but ... so does Araziah. He is like me; he saw what I saw, he has protected you as I have, he has foregone his pride and ego for your sake, just like me. We are almost brothers of spirit, he and I, separated by time and chance." Sebby blinked, his eyes glazed, and for a second I thought I saw tears, the sparkle of emotion. "He deserves everything of you that I have known not because of any birthright nor power he wields, but because he is alone. Truly alone. Hated, feared, treated with mistrust and suspicion, marked for death, called a heretic and a blasphemer, subjected to torture that I cannot imagine, and why? Because he is Araziah and he chose you. You owe him, and yourself, that chance -- for his insight to be reality, just as mine is. Who am I to forbid you that possibility of happiness? Who am I to forbid him?"

I was speechless.

Is he really that selfless?

Take a deep breath. Don't cry.

"There is one more thing you should do, my precious aruskâl." The somber expression switched out, shifting to one of light humour, the edge of his lips curving up. "Lucy is going to say something, because she isn't blind and she certainly cannot help her curiosity. When she asks, I want you to brag about how thoroughly you gratified me with this." His right hand slipped down to cup my jean's front, and I twitched in surprise, a blush spreading, and he leaned up to plant a soft kiss. "Walk tall and proud, my love, and when I see you again, perhaps you will demonstrate it with an encore."

-o-0-O-0-o-

The trip back home was on a transport helicopter, not one of the Order's gunships. In hindsight, when I thought back to riding the Order's aircraft, there were a few things about the engines and shape of them I hadn't seen anywhere else. The design was unusual and outlandish, and I made the assumption that there was something in it that was magical or at least secret enough that they didn't want to fly them over the eastern United States in broad daylight for anything less than an emergency.

Predictably, once Agent Crawley was out of earshot, Lucy immediately did exactly as Sebby said she would. The question about what I got up to last night was innocent enough, but I knew what she was implying, and I responded with the blunt truth and tackled it head on. Oh, we had sex. Four times, actually. No, I'm not going to give you any details, so don't ask, except ... he was very satisfied, and so was I. That's all.

The candid approach was ideal, and it shocked her into silence, although that became small talk after a few minutes. Soon we were chatting like any it was another day, as if the crazy shit from the previous hadn't happened at all, and before I knew it, we were landing on the outskirts of Mirrorvale. A car was waiting to ferry us home, and in another couple of minutes Lucy was being dropped off. We hugged, the ordeal having brought us even closer as friends, and she promised me she'd text the following day, but today she needed to spend time with her mom and little sister, and make apology for the fact that she was missing school, since it was a Monday.

Then, it was home for me.

My own mom wasn't around when I got into the house. Crawley said she was going to wait for me to get home before she went to her job, but there was a note stuck to the fridge. It explained that work had an unexpected situation with a major client and they had asked her to attend it early, so she was out at least until that was taken care of. Wandering through to my room, I sat on my bed, took a deep breath, and tried to rationalise the world and the insanity of what I'd been through.

Evil fire dragons stole a piece of their dead god and are going to resurrect him? Check.

Paramilitary human-dragon allies staged a raid to rescue prisoners from a giant magical stone castle? Check.

Divine future-seeing powers acquired through a psychic dream-link to a dragon seeress who was then murdered for her troubles? Check.

Is this really what I want to spend my time doing on a day like this? Thinking about all this ... mind-exploding weird stuff?

It wasn't.

Stripping out of the jeans, I put on some soccer shorts, sports shoes, and grabbed the ball out of my closet, a water bottle from the kitchen, and took off. Normally, I would have gone to the school's field, but since it during class hours, I wasn't about to show up and have all sorts of awkward questions be asked by teachers and the grounds staff. Instead, ball under-arm, I made for the field at a nearby park, as as they often had nets up during the day.

The whole way there, I couldn't get a particular thought to go away. It was the last part of the internal monologue begun in my room, that I had avoided addressing specifically. On the walk to the park, it kept popping into my head over and over.

I got laid.

Four times.

It was awesome and he loved it. My growing smile was paired with the reminder that Sebby wanted me to be proud of myself, and I couldn't help a little swagger creeping into my walk. He wanted me to feel like 'the man' and, um ... I kinda do.

Four times.

I kept repeating it in my head.

Wonder how many guys in my year did it four times on the same night as their first?

Grinning, I dumped my bottle, the ball, and sweater, on the sideline, and began to warm up with a lap around the field. It was basically empty except for a few actual joggers and an elderly couple walking a dog.

Three times in bed, once in the shower.

Warmup done, I fetched the ball and began practicing place kicks from just outside the goal box. Hitting it just on the instep, good angle, not too much height, fast, accurate. I was solid with precision but not always a good judge of timing and power.

His ass was superb.

Finishing kicks, I started onto some keep-ups. Foot, knee, knee, foot, leg, chest, and on it went. My record was fifteen minutes without the ball touching the ground, but I had become rusty, and couldn't manage more than thirty seconds without dropping it. It didn't require much thought, just reflexes, and the same daydreaming monologue just kept coming.

Actually, all of him was superb and I wanna see him again. Guess 'lips of an angel' and 'ass of a total uke' wasn't all that wrong.

About half an hour of exercise and sunshine was plenty, and finally done, I picked up my things, took a long swig of water, and began the walk home. It was around midday, and there was a breeze to take the edge off the heat and cool the sweat, and I had reached the gate in front of home. The latch was under my fingers, about to be lifted, when a voice cut in.

"Torsten ... Wilde, is it?"

I glanced to the sound to see a man I didn't know approaching along the pavement at a steady walk. About six foot, he had neatly trimmed dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, a long nose and handsome sharp features. Twenty-something in age, wearing navy blue business pants and a white button-up dress shirt, he had a serious almost-humourless air, and he strolled closer to me, composed and calm.

"Er, yes?" Tossing my things over our hedge into the front yard, the ball bounced and then rolled along the grass, the sweater and bottle thumping into a pile. Hands free, I turned toward him, my recent experiences making me suspicious of anyone I didn't recognise, though something about this person seemed familiar, in some vague way. "Who are you? Don't think I know you."

"We've only met once." He raised his hand and waved it in front of his face, and when it passed, his hair was the same blue as his eyes, his skin a pale icy shade. Then the hand reversed course, and the mirage was restored, the human appearance put back in place. "Disguises are necessary. I prefer to not draw attention."

Wow. If my memory is right, that's advanced magic right there.

My brow furrowed and something in my brain clicked.

"Are you ... Viktor?"

"Good. You have some perception, at the least." He cast a disinterested look at our house, then back to me. "I do not enjoy having to explain myself."

"Are you looking for Sebby?" I asked. "He's not here. He went to Northwood."

"As much as I would like to see an honoured cousin, that is not why I came." Viktor's human voice was deep and almost hypnotic, like I could fall asleep listening to it. "No, it is not for any Order business that I am here. It is to speak with you."

With me?

"Me? Why?" A blink. "No offence, but what does someone like you want with me?"

"Nothing, normally." He shrugged a little, hands held out palm up, before slowly folding his arms. "Yet, I cannot help but find something about your presence odd."

"Like what?" My response was a challenge, but his tone was unsettling.

"Yesterday, the Order's operation on the Seventh House sanctum was primarily motivated because of the Fear and the captivity of the seeress. Small mention was made of human captives and their rescue, but our friend Sebby was very convinced of your necessity. It is not just that, however. The dragon, the fire-kin you bade me stop, he was doing exactly as you claimed." Viktor's gaze narrowed, his attention on me very pointed. "How did you know he would fly to the Grey Prince? How could you tell what would occur?"

Um, shit.

I don't want to share this.

He can't know.

"I, uh, I-" A stammer, before being interrupted.

"What secret knowledge do you have?" He stepped closer, and while I didn't think he was intentionally threatening me, the menace felt very real. "Why did you matter when the life of our high priestess was in the balance? She died in that fetid hell to those abject fanatics for their insane quest, and a human boy was more important, because ... why?"

"It's- ... it's not what you think!"

"What I think?" Viktor's suspicion was heavy, and there was a definite undercurrent of exasperation. Like his type, unlike the raw anger of the fire kind, his upset was cool, eerie. "What I think is that the application of logic fails me, because the most likely answer is that you utilised foresight, but that is preposterous. Only the chosen dragon of the goddess can do so, and you are human, and ... "

He trailed off, his words slowing, and he stopped.

Oh no.

Viktor's eyes went wide, and he froze altogether, back straightening, shoulders stiffening, hands falling to his sides.

"Is it ... true?"

There's no way I can lie to someone like him and get away with it.

I bit my lip, too nervous to speak, and nodded.

"You?" He growled, still staring. "The successor to Triskeleth, wise and noble servant of our cause? You, a human child?!"

"Yes." I found my voice. "She knew it. She taught me everything she could before- ... before the end."

"This is impossible!" He snapped, a flash of temper, but quickly his tone reverted to sober cold reflection. "Inconceivable, but I can see it is self-evident. I do not know how this travesty came to be. Something so small and fragile housing a gift so integral to our survival, is a vulnerability that is implausible as it is precarious. The reason for this miscarriage of tradition needs to be discovered. The Tempest must know, and I will tell her."

Oh god.

No. No way.

This CANNOT happen.

He made to turn away, intent on immediately leaving.

"Wait! You can't do that! Don't say anything!" Both a demand and a request. "Please!"

Viktor paused, looking over his shoulder at me, half turned away. "Can't? You would tell me that I cannot inform my goddess about something so utterly important as this? By what right do you command me?" He came back around and stepped close, inches from my face. "No human may come between the dragon and his Spirit."

As if in response, the seer's power activated, a burst of precognition striking me. A bolt of it came from nowhere, and a single fact jumped into my consciousness, simple but compelling.

That's ... it.

The only thing I needed.

I won't be pushed around. Not by him.

"I'm not just any human." My hands balled into fists. "I know you are a priest. I am the seer, and this also makes me the high priest, by your own religion. You are bound by the hierarchy, and must obey the laws. So, yes, I have the authority, and yes, I am telling you that you cannot let anyone know what you learned. Especially not the Tempest."

The look on his face was arctic, and his response was just as frigid, the words tortuously slow and low, despite that we were under the noonday sun and in the middle of suburbia.

"And why might that be, oh high priest?"

"Because the seers before me never told you the full truth about the Spirit of Water." I matched his body language, no longer scared. "She's not innocent. She did something in the beginning -- something that sparked this war in the first place, that made all of this shit happen. I don't know exactly what, but I'm not a water dragon, and I don't worship her. There's no blind faith and divine terror stopping me from finding out, and until I do, you will keep silent. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Viktor's eyes were glowing an unnatural blue, and I could almost feel the frost, the crippling bitterness empowering it, "but know this: your decree is profane to the point of real sacrilege, and if she is ever to know your duplicity, there is nothing in this world that can protect you from her retribution. Were you any other human, I would turn your bones to ice for such unfounded presumption."

"Viktor, I've already told you, I'm not an ordinary person." He was slightly taller than me, but I leaned up, closer, and spoke softer. "I don't like your attitude, and I won't be threatened. If you speak to me that way again, your 'friend' Sebby isn't going to be very friendly, and neither will Araziah. Next time I see you, keep it civil." I pointed down the street, in the direction he'd approached from originally. "You can go now. I'm done talking."

His expression was bleak, sub-zero, but also unreadable, and he turned, wordless, and strode off. Without watching him go, I did the same, unlatching the gate, grabbing my stuff off the ground, then unlocking the front door, only to stagger the distance to the couch before collapsing over the armrest onto it. My legs were aching and just about cramping from the muscle tension and my arms and hands were shaking from the pent-up stress.

Oh god.

What the fuck did I just do?

He could have killed me.

"Sebby," I murmured to myself, putting my hands over my face, "I think you gave me a little too much confidence."

-o-0-O-0-o-

Mom arrived home in the late afternoon, much earlier than she normally would have. The first thing she did was find me, in the back yard shooting targets, still in her business attire, and hug me.

"Baby, you've gotta stop doing this to me." She pulled away, and held me at an arm's length, hands on my shoulders, and just looked at me. "Every time you walk out the door, I'm anxious about you."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I don't want you to fret, but I'm a part of all this ... craziness, now." I shrugged, attempting a smile. "I've got people- ... uh, well, not all people, but, y'know what I mean. I'm not alone. We aren't alone."

"I know. That doesn't mean I won't worry though." She sighed. "My son. My special little boy, but more special than I thought. How did we end up here?"

"D'you think grandpa knew, when he met Triskeleth? Or suspected anything, about me. About our family being ... different?"

"He always knew you were exceptional, sweetheart." She smiled, and her eyes gleamed, wet with feeling. "Always, from when you were very small. Even if he didn't know why. You're a Wilde. You're not your father's son, you're mine."

Mom ...

"Okay, enough of that. Don't want you getting too conceited." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I'm going to put dinner on. I'm thinking Southern fried chicken. You keep practicing, while it's still light out."

"Okay, Mom. I will."

I went back to improving my drawback, trying to balance and steady my aim better.

What is it with today and everyone dumping emotions on me?

For the next half an hour, I continued shooting, concentrating on refining my archery skill. It was just starting to get dark, the first signs of evening appearing when I felt it, again.

Foresight.

It was calling me outside our property, and I put down my bow and arrows, and exited through the gate. The hunch turned into a certainty, and I crossed the public grass until the border of the stream, and the beginning of trees. I knew he was about to arrive, and right as I reached the forest's edge, there was the telltale sound of teleportation and he appeared in front of me.

Araziah.

His hair flowed about his shoulders, sprinkled with ash, his arms and chest spattered with steaming blood, a thick scent of metal, smoke, salt, hanging in the air about him. Both hands were encased in gauntlets of flickering flame, and his eyes were filled with a solid red light, fire licking from them too, to his forehead and temples. The moment he saw me, the fire went out, the gauntlets vanishing in a puff, his eyes fading to their normal red, and he fell to his knees, strength leaving him.

"Araziah!" I gasped, and stepped forward, hastily, to steady him.

"Torsten." He breathed it, his hand on my forearm, red smearing over the fabric.

"What- ... what happened?!"

"I am everything you feared." His grip tightened. "Everything, and more."

-o-0-O-0-o-

The dragon Saborius arrived late to answer word of distress, and after a first high pass, he landed in the abandoned sanctuary of the Seventh House. Transforming to a human shape, he beheld what had become of it.

Everywhere, everything that could burn was aflame.

No Scourge were left alive. The Occident and Boreal towers were reduced to slagged rubble. The outer eastern walls were lined with melted scars, the sky bridges gone. The grass of the inner courtyards was seared away, and the forest burned back, the blackened stumps and broken carbonised branches still alight. The ground was charred in at least three places, the pyre sites of defeated Conclave dragons, and the central tower had an enormous gouge torn from its side, though it remaining standing, kept vertical by the inherent magic alone, a symbol of the defeated inhabitants.

For four hundred years, Saborius had served the lord of the First House. He had honed his combat skill, advanced his knowledge of magic, bettered his psychic ability. Striving for the Conclave's ultimate purpose was his life's goal, and the common wish for a return to the height of grandeur, the days of antiquity, was understood and embraced by all.

Now, here he stood, in the wreckage of the most ancient and glorious Seventh House, their home undone by fire, and a chaos and slaughter unleashed.

By fire.

It was horrific because it was unconscionable to him that this could have occurred.

Who would turn fire upon fire?

It was sin, and blasphemous.

The perpetrator had to be sought out, punished.

Thankfully, no searching was required.

Within the devastated grounds between the collapsed towers, Saborius found the one responsible. Wandering, surveying the destruction about him with the callous deliberation of an intruder, he spied the dragon.

Young, lean, tall, long red hair, an imperious stature. His back was turned, his attention engrossed in the remnants of the fortress, alone and unheeding.

Saborius drew his short sword. His psychic power was put forth in suppression, dampening the offensive motions in the area, and in a dozen silent strides he charged over the blasted soil, the blade rising one-handed to deliver the Conclave's justice.

The second he reached his target, the dragon spun to face him.

The strike was stopped dead, caught in the left hand. It closed around the blade, unhurt, and jerked sideways in a sweeping motion. The sword was ripped out of his hand and tossed two score feet away, useless. With the right, he punched, and Saborius flew fifty paces back, crashing into the dirt, broken tiles and soot breaking his slide.

What was that?

Shrugging it off, he flipped upright from what was a dizzying physical hit. The opponent had not moved, still motionless, staring at him through the cinder-choked air, and Saborius drew his dagger, summoning a flame-fist on his offhand at the same time, the fire coalescing around his fingers. He lofted it, reasserting his psychic field, prepared to teach this young upstart why the Conclave was the regency of their kind, when-

-in the space of a blink-

-the other dragon was right in front of him.

A fist smashed across his jaw, then in another blink the attacker was to the side, and the second blow came. His head snapped back. Then again, from another angle.

Again.

And again.

And yet again.

On the seventh blow, the dagger was snatched from his hand, tossed away as the sword had been, the gauntlet extinguished, his psychic focus scattered as if it never were. A strangling one-handed grip was on his neck, and he was forced to his knees.

"Wh-what are you?" Saborius gagged, and the youth held the suffocating grasp in place; a pale apparition cloaked in red, fair-faced and beauteous, but merciless, dreadful, fell. "What manner of- ... hrk ... desecration is this?"

"Desecration. Blasphemy. Hatchling." The first whisper of his opponent's psychic strength entered the mind, and it was an undaunted predatory spectre, stalking the corridors. "Every affront possible is delivered, the lie of your superiority repeated endlessly. You assail with magic, with your mind, with fire itself, all the while ignoring the truth before you." The fingers dug into his skin, the nails piercing it enough to draw blood. "I am Araziah. There is more flame in me than all your Conclave combined. I am the truth, undiminished and imperishable. You? You are nothing."

"I- ... you- ... y-you c-"

It was too late. His psychic resistance was crushed as if it never were, and the disbelief at another dragon able to take control was overwhelming, incomprehensible. He was overridden effortlessly, dominated, and Araziah was terror incarnate, a colossus that filled his mind with an unholy fear.

"Obey me." The red dragon's eyes flared bright and flame erupted from them. "Where is Michael? Where is the Grey Prince? Give me their locations."

"I ... do not know." Saborius declared it, eyes wide, meek. "I was not told. I am not their house."

"Your sire -- and the others -- where are they? Where did the Conclave go?"

"I do not know!" He repeated it, desperate, the pressure of Araziah's hold increasing, both physically and mentally. "California! I am but a servant of Ruprecht on duty in the east. That is all I can say!"

"If that is all, then you are worthless."

With a thought, Araziah's hands ignited, imitating the gauntlets created earlier, but so much more intense, so much hotter. They burned white and the flame flared about the fingers cutting into Saborius' neck, the other hand laying across his scalp. It began to eat into his flesh, consuming, and he was set afire, the psychic force constricting at the same time, squashing what was left of his enslaved mind. He began to scream, flames covering him, bones crunching, skin punctured, blood vessels rupturing and gushing. The grip was held in place until it was no longer necessary, and the burned gory human-shell remnant was dropped to the earth.

Araziah gazed at the sight, at his hands, drenched in crimson, at the ruins of the fortress and what he had wrought, but, all he knew was the laughter, the distant sound of the mad god echoing through him, from the void.

-o-0-O-0-o-

"Don't you see? I murdered him. There was no mercy for the beaten foe. I am that monster." He pulled me closer, bloodied fingers leaving imprints, voice soft but urgent. "The others, he whispers to them, but for me it is a shout. It is a perfect song that follows no matter where I go, calling to me from within, to go to war. The lure grows stronger each time he speaks, and it is easy to believe it -- so easy -- and the anger, and power, and might, is a reward too bewitching to ignore. I am made for it; born to serve as his greatest weapon, to torch the world. Born to cover all living things in the destroying flame until there is nothing left." His brow furrowed, and there was confusion mixed with despair. "What if I were to lose control around you?"

"You won't." I didn't know where the courage came from, but it was there in spite of the awful tale he had just revealed to me. Then, foresight, again, and memory. Advice, that Triskeleth gave me only days ago, though it seemed like an eternity now.

Be the stability in his life. Be reason when madness whispers into his soul.

"How can you know this?"

I sank lower, so I was resting fully on my knees next to him on the grass. "Because I am the seer."

"You are the seer?" He repeated after me, the words and realisation of what I had accomplished sinking in. "You are the seer."

"I'm the counterweight to his voice. I'm the antidote. Whenever he poisons you, I'll cure it." I dislodged his hand from my arm, and took it in mine, the fingers clenching, ignoring the sticky wetness of blood. He watched me do it with a childlike expression of astonishment. "It's not just that, though. There's something else. Triskeleth, she showed me ancient history, taught me about the earliest of your kind. I saw the firstborn, the founders of the seven houses. They were the greatest dragons to have lived, and the greatest of them all was Xajarkith the Brilliant, your ancestor."

"I ... I know his name." He murmured it, barely audible, almost groggy. "I dreamed of him, once. Golden wings upon a vast desert, in blinding sunlight."

"He was honourable, valiant, loyal. He wasn't corrupt like those that came after. He wanted to fix the world and his father's madness, not help it along. Before he died, he saw us in a vision of his own -- me, the seer, and you, his descendent -- doing exactly that. Ending the war, thousands of years later." My voice started to break, my emotions getting the better of me, but I kept talking. "You're more like Xajarkith than any before you. You aren't your father's son, and neither am I. You made a choice to be free, and nobody can take that away from you. Not even a god, living or dead." I let go of his hand and pulled him to me, sliding my arms around his shoulders, not giving a damn about the ash, the smoke, the dirt, the blood. "You aren't alone. Not now, not ever."

For a second, he didn't respond, but then I felt him reach around me, at first tentative, then he pulled me in closer, tighter. "I believe it," he whispered, "and I will help you, to mend this damaged world."

-o-0-O-0-o-

The venue was a private one in the heart of Mirrorvale, and the assembled brethren were few in number, with only the most trusted and secure individuals making the cut to attend. They had waited approximately twenty minutes by the time the expected guests arrived, and the Scourge aides opened the double doors into the lounge room, before respectfully vanishing again after.

Mordred and his father entered; a tall imposing older man, longer grey hair tied back, brutally unforgiving steel eyes, and a stare that could alone reduce humans to a quivering wreck. They were met by a few lesser members of the Seventh House, relatives from other branches of the extended family, and the greetings were brief but courteous.

Following that, the main event.

"Cousin." Resplendent in a finely tailored suit, Michael embraced Mordred. "Here, you may speak freely." He glanced to the elder, Lothian. "Uncle, your participation is valued. Human communities are not to your taste, and I respect that."

Lothian gave a subtle tilt of the head in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

"And our gratitude goes to you too, my sire, and to you also, Darricus." The Grey Prince greeted them in turn, before addressing the eldest cousin once more. "I know the briefest part of our news has preceded us, but I must deliver you its entirety, and plainly. It is this: through the Order's assault, our sanctuary was destroyed. My sister was killed, as was your brother, Thoravir's heir, and all defending dragons of the Fifth."

"We paid a steep price and their boldness was a gamble of its own," Michael agreed, the calculating appraisal of his cousin's description laced with a premeditated estimation of cost, "yet not entirely successful on their part, as I understand the sacrifice of our blood was worth it?"

"They died as martyrs. The final message Nerunex sent was of a mighty gift, and the guarantee of victory in our war. He was right. I have the gifts, two of them, right here, and they are mighty indeed." He held out his left hand, a pulsing red memory orb in it, and Michael took it. "One, the translation of the incantation." Then the right hand, a small cloth bag. "The other, a lost shard of the Fear."

Slower, careful, the sire picked up the bag, and with delicacy, opened the drawstring and extracted the item from inside. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he gazed at the artifact, admiring.

The room was silent, the others lost in the moment too.

"Magnificent," he declared, "and just as extraordinary as I imagined. I can only- ... wait." He paused. "Why is it- ... no. That isn't right. Not at all." His attention flicked to the Grey Prince, and he held out the shard. "Morvalzîr, do you feel that?"

Something was out of place.

His cousin took it, pinching it between fingers to examine just as Michael had. His reaction went from inquisitive, to surprised, then concerned. "It ... can't be. How? I- ... do feel it. Or rather, I do not." As baffled as Michael, he offered it to Darren. "Your magical knowledge remains superior. What do you sense?"

Darren sat the Fear on the palm of his hand, and studied it. His brow furrowed, at first perplexed as the other two, then he concentrated, looking harder, deeper, seeming to peer into the strata of the shard itself, as if mesmerised.

Abruptly, he stopped, snapping out of the brief trance.

He began to laugh.

"Darricus?" Michael questioned, his bewilderment bordering on irritation. "Why is this amusing? It is a problem."

"No, brother," he chuckled, staring at the fraction of history where it lay, "it isn't a problem at all. Quite the opposite. In fact ... it is the solution to everything."