Warning: This is a sequel to Heartbusters, which is a sequel to Fever. Reading 15 Seconds is not necessary, but recommended, as is Petra's Face is Hilarious, for plot reasons.

Martin's theme: "I'll Find A Way"- Zach Hemsey

"Thank you so much for coming here, sir!" the woman told him graciously, welcoming him into her home. She was a Warlock, and the pendant of the Astral Order hung from around her neck. Her hair was dark and curly, and was clipped back behind her neck. There was a man, a Hunter, sitting on the couch in the small living room.

In front of the couch was a coffee table, and there was a chair close by. There were wooden blocks scattered all around, and a toy train had been abandoned on the carpet; all the signs that a child lived here. The Hunter was sharpening his knife, brown hair swept back, light glinting off of the square glasses he wore. There was a frown on his young features.

"Holly, I keep telling you, there's nothing to be worried about!" the man insisted. The doctor smiled at him reassuringly.

"Mr. Anton, I must agree with you. An IQ test is very simple." he looked at Holly. " Your son will not be harmed in any way, and it is designed to be minimally stressful or invasive. Needing a test does not mean anything bad. It just means we want to check for deficiencies or, for genius."

Holly waved a hand in the direction of a tower of blocks; it was stacked in a rather complicated manner that should have been classified as an architectural miracle. "There is something going on with him! These aren't things that normal little boys do!"

"I'm certain that in his mind, they're as normal as can be." he told her gently. "Now, where is young Martin, anyway?"

"In his room, this way." Holly told him. Howard Anton got off of the couch with a sigh, sheathing his knife and following them. " Howard says I worry too much, and maybe your right, stupid Hunter; but Martin... he's just so sickly. He almost died of flu last year, and no matter what we do, he just keeps getting ill."

"A child's intelligence isn't the sum of his physical health. Unless these illnesses are neurologically deteriorating." The doctor looked at another block tower.

"How old is your son again?" He questioned as they neared a door with paint handprint's on it; a child's room, obviously. He couldn't help but notice the small rack near the door, which had several thesauruses stacked on it, all bearing the markings of the Tower library.

Holly gripped the handle of the door, and he was shocked as she answered him, opening it to reveal the little boy lying in bed, absorbed in a volume of "Quantum Physics for Noobs".

" He's five."

Two Years Later...

Run.

That was all Variks could do. The Ketch was under heavy attack, doomed to fall. And the House of Judgment burned all around him.

With an animalistic yelp, the young Eliksni threw himself to the side to avoid a heavy beam, rolling on the floor as one of his fellow scribes was crushed under it's weight. He lay there for a while, shaking with terror, trying to recover his breath.

Variks was only recently fully grown. He'd been, much to his pride, assigned as a scribe; he was now a keeper of Eliksni history, and a writer and enforcer of law. Things were harsh in the life after the Whirlwind, he knew now; but they were even harsher in the other Houses, of which he'd heard many horror stories of.

He counted himself lucky to have been hatched a House of Judgement Eliksni. Or rather... he had. Right now, he wanted to be anywhere other than here, on the Judgement Ketch.

Kell dead; must run. Those were the only words echoing in his thoughts right now. He saw a shock blade fallen onto the ground in front of him. He scrambled forwards, taking it in one upper hand, the hilt heavy in his palm. He knew how to use it; he just... never pictured himself actually doing it. He was a scribe, not a warrior.

The sight of Felkis, Kell of Judgment, being blown in half flashed through his mind once more, and he whined with grief, covering his head with his lower hands. Why? Why had this happened? Why had the warriors in blue breached the hull of their Ketch? Why were his housemates being slaughtered and cornered? He clutched the shock blade close, his only chance at survival, his only tool.

Suddenly, a figure appeared out of one of the halls, and he froze. It was one of the invaders, clad in blue and dark gray. Variks gripped the hilt of the blade harder, shifting his weight, feeling the muscles in his legs bunching up, ready to spring into action.

The invader was dragging a body with one lower hand; dead, unrecognizable, small, blood smearing on the ground in a trail behind it. Variks felt like he might be sick. It was a hatchling. For the first time, he noticed the pile of bodies on the other side of the hall, and he was certain that the enemy Eliksni could smell his horror as he threw the small, mutilated body onto the pile.

But it was not horror that caught his attention; it was fear-scent. Variks's fear-scent. And afraid he was. He was terrified, horrified by what was happening. The invader came closer, growling, almost laughing to himself. He didn't see Variks behind the pile of rubble, but he could smell him.

Variks, scribe of Judgment, lept. The invader, not having seen him, attempted to defend himself, but the shock blade peirced his armor, the honed edge going straigth through and through his chest, sticking out his back. He let out a shocked, horrible rasping sound. Looking into his eyes, Variks felt an anger like nothing he'd ever felt before, like something... dark, whispering to him from the shadows, feeding the flames of his rage. His blood-rage.

"Judgment," he told the enemy that had murdered his housemates, words slow and loaded with hatred, "has been passed."

He pulled the blade out, and let the blue-clad murderer fall to the floor with a terrible gasp, clutching at the wound with all four hands. Variks glared down at his would-be murderer as the blood rage faded. But the whispers from the shadows didn't. They seemed to goad him on, beg the rage to return, encourage mindless violence.

He looked down at the shock blade, the blood on his claws, then at the pile of bodies, then at the beam that had nearly crushed him, killing another scribe instead. One hand still stuck out of the pile of debris, blood pooling around it. He let out a choked sob. All the death-scent was just too much.

He threw the shock blade away from himself, scrambling backwards, falling to the floor. he backed himself up against the wall, trying to calm himself. He'd gotten rid of the blade, but the blood-scent was still thick in the air. The death-scent tainted the home-scents of the Ketch he'd been raised on. He couldn't smell anyone familair; just blood and death, blood and death, all covering up any familiarity, with the shadow-whispers screaming in his ears the whole time.

He clawed at his head with his lower hands, trying to banish the voices, trying to block out the smells. He looked up again, at the dead invader he had killed, and then shut his eyes tight, a low, grinding noise in his throat. Why? He sobbed mentally again.

Why were these strange Eliksni killing his House?

Welcome one welcome all, to Wolfsbane!

Before we begin, here are some refreshers on certain statuses in this AU:

* People have normal lifespans. Therefore, Saladin's generation of Iron Lords perished 20 years before Fever. Twilight gap took place 9 years before Fever.

* Ghosts can only revive once or twice per Guardian. Thus, Crucible is don with dummy bullets that release a level of sedative based on where they are hit, and Guardians are knocked out for several seconds to symbolize 'death'. In Iron Banner, however, these bullets are mixed with a nerve toxin that simulates actual bullet wound pain.

* The events of The Dark Below took place one year before Fever.

* The Iron Wolves perished at Twilight Gap.

* Tevis is not an old guy; his voice was permanently damaged after he was forced to inhale acidic vapors laced with Darkness.

* Visions and prophetic dreams do not haunt the Reefborns.

* There is a psychotic assassin on the loose. Like you need any reminding.

Okay, so here we begin. This fic is going to be significantly different from my others; it is not part of the main trilogy(Fever, Heartbusters, Taken King fic). This is where, like with 15 Seconds, we shift the spotlight onto some of the other characters. If this prologue wasn't a big enough hint, we'll be focusing some on Martin and Variks.

I've been waiting a long time to finally focus my full efforts on this story in particular, because this is really the launching point of all things to come. We're all, as writer and readers, about to explore a new cast of some very complex characters that I've been molding since before even Fever was finished!

There's not going to be as much Silverhawk in this as the other fics, but there will still be Silverhawk. it's going to be weird for me, writing so little for her. But I think you guys are going to love the stuff she does in this fic anyway.

Anyway, enjoy this first chapter, I'll be posting some time next week or afterwards(probably afterwards). Let me know how much you liked these little snippets of Martin and Variks' pasts! What are you most eager to explore here? The Reef? The bombshell I'm dropping on you all in chapter three? Meeting Padfoot at last?

Or the mysterious enigma that is Lyse?

Next Time: Martin uses his head(ha!), Uldren meets the team, and Padfoot WILL, RESTORE HIS HONOR!

Cheers!^^