This chapter was betaed by the wonderful brissygirl to provide a smoother reading experience. All remaining mistakes are my own. See first chapter for disclaimers/additional warnings/summaries.

This chapter is dedicated to all my readers who have a March birthday. :P Happy birthday, you guys! I hope it's a fabulous one. Best wishes for the year ahead.

RECAP: Harry acquires his first Pareya, a handsome Earth elemental named Ethan Hartwood, hailing from a scholarly clan. After an exciting bonding, Ethan and Harry venture down to the Nevarean library to look up Harry's history along the Evanson bloodline. In the meantime, Theo and Charlie learn some disturbing news after meeting the famous Seer, Maia Kadel, who remembers Charlie for saving her daughter Megan, back at the Healer's Clinic. Henry and Cora work out a few things. Meanwhile, Jun, Briar and George have a few things to work out as well...

THE ROYAL QUARTERS : RASPEN, EBONY, DAWNE & ALCANDOR : THE HUNT : DAY 3

A sweet, warm scent tickled at Prince Raspen's nose. It was familiar, almost, dredging up old, forgotten memories of childhood and simpler times. Images flickered through his mind's eye and he stirred, faintly.

The logical reasoning behind the half-hearted trip down memory lane, sparked a bit harder than his fading dream, just enough for Raspen to jerk upright and wide awake. He froze at the sight of Alcandor's smirking face so close to his and realised, that the King's muted aura had startled him awake.

"Tea?" The Merrow King inquired, innocently. Dark blue eyes shimmered with open amusement, the same shade of the glittering sapphires that adorned his fluted ears.

Raspen glowered at him. He cast a hasty glance around himself and settled, as he realised that the day's activities were mostly over and they had retired to his personal quarters. He'd forgotten that.

A soft puff of air left him. The Hunt's activities for the day had been incredibly draining. He vaguely remembered walking through the doors and waving away his personal guard.

The transition to the settee and the current state of his rooms was an entirely different story. His fellow Royals were comfortably sprawled out between the luxurious furniture and the fluffy rug before the fireplace. They were sifting through the large file of digitized histories, backtracking through all that they could access for more information on one Maurice Elswood and the restricted files on the Immortals.

Raspen groaned inwardly. He really didn't want to think about those on top of everything else that had begun with the start of the Hunt. His mother had been right after all; he'd been borne into a wonderful year.

A hot cup of tea was pushed into Raspen's unresisting hands and the Merrow King gracefully seated himself beside him, instead of towering from his perch on the padded armrest of the settee. "What—no thanks? After all that effort? I don't make tea for everyone, you know."

"Shut up," came the grumpy, slightly childish reply, but Raspen didn't refuse the tea.

Alcandor made wonderful tea, when he was generous enough to share. It was sure to properly revive his good humours.

Raspen cradled it in his hands for a moment, allowing the warmth to seep through and further pull him away from the dreamland. He'd had such a confusing tangle of a dream, that it was taking longer for the current reality to register, now that he was awake. "How long was I-?"

"You passed out right after we settled in. I asked you whether you'd heard from the Cairothes' and you'd already left for the land of the dreaming. I'm guessing you have a soulbonded somewhere in your future," Dawne teased.

Raspen blushed bright red and hid his face behind his teacup. The implication was not anything he wanted to think about just yet. "Not funny."

Ebony chuckled. "So as long as they don't mind your snoring, it's nowhere near as adorable as it used to be."

Alcandor suppressed a laugh. He nudged the cup of tea up again, prompting his friend to take a sip—and allowing him to use the gesture to continue to hide his embarrassment. "Did you dream? I tried to wake you once, but you wouldn't respond."

Raspen's hand tightened on the cup. The dream had been bittersweet. Filled with longing and a deep sense of dread, as if some greater force would prevent the dream's reality from manifesting.

The mental struggle made his head hurt. He tried to push the thoughts away for later. He had to focus now. There were too many things to be dealt with. His own needs could wait—they had waited for a while after all. "…No. Nothing. Blackness." He lied. It wouldn't do for them to be thinking of him now, they needed to focus on the people.

Besides, some things were meant solely for the receiver.

Alcandor frowned, the expression seeming genuine. "I am sorry," he said, feelingly. "I haven't slept since I've surfaced, so I know nothing of such luxuries. Still, I would have hoped it would be some measure of comfort."

"It would seem I am the only one," Ebony said, with forced cheer. "I suppose I am more in need of support than I expected."

"Oh Ebony, no-!" Dawne hurried to soothe at once. "I simply—I don't dream much these days, you know that. It's—difficult. You're lucky to have such dreams." She threw a look to Raspen.

Belatedly, he attempted to school his features into some semblance of sympathy. So he hadn't been the only one to dream of such things—Ebony had dreamed as well, and she'd been brave enough to share with all of them.

"Dawne is right, Eby." He said, using her nickname.

Her smile was wan, but her shoulders relaxed a bit as she drew strength from deeper inside of herself. "Still. I cannot think of them this minute. Perhaps later."

"Definitely later," Dawne said, patting her arm with a knowing smile. "Call me, if you need to. I will always listen, you know that."

"Listen to me wax poetic of eyes I've yet to see and pretty smiles that I cannot match to a face?" There was a hint of dry humour in her tone now. Ebony managed a laugh, though strained. "You are a dear friend," she murmured.

They clasped hands then, a friendship promising to continue on and even past into adulthood and whatever would lie beyond.

"The Soulscream-?" Raspen faltered, having given them their moment. He could feel the tell-tale echo of emptiness hovering somewhere in his chest. It meant that the moment he was ready to call out for his own Circle, there were soulbonded somewhere out there, who would respond. He didn't dare give into that temptation—not yet anyway. "I didn't expect that. You could have warned us."

"No one expected it," Dawne said, easily. She settled back into her corner of the settee. "I would have said something, if I'd suspected, but I didn't see it coming any more than you did. Dahlia has ever been her mother's daughter. Lady Paielda has always brought me good reports of her talent and ever-growing skills."

"She's an heiress, you mean," Ebony corrected. "I was surprised. I expected her to take after Lady Ilsa. I didn't realize she had mixed heritage through Lady Greta. I thought the earth element was dominant."

"She doesn't hold a Casper like Lady Ilsa, though. I couldn't sense one at all." Alcandor said, quietly. "Most heirs would lay claim to one or at least a secondary."

"Ergen belongs to the youngest one then? What was her name—ah, Soula? That would make sense, I suppose." Dawne crooked a finger at a messy stack of paper. It floated over to her ready hands and she flicked through them, her eyes narrowing. This really wasn't the sort of encouraging material she wanted to feed into her brain. She'd been hoping for something useful when she started the task.

"Greta Deveraine doesn't hold a Casper?" Ebony looked startled. "But she's so powerful—I thought she did—"

"You are not asking me that question and I am not answering it," Dawne grumbled. There were some secrets that came with her Royal title and that was one of them. Greta had requested it of her Queen and it had been granted. Dawne was now held to that same oath. There were simply some things the Storm element did differently than the rest.

Greta Deveraine technically fell under the official responsibility of Lady Bianca, as far as Storm elemental ranks went, but in lieu of that, Greta would belong to the Air element. A detail that now niggled in the back of Dawne's mind, as if she were somehow missing something important.

"Would you exit that file if you're not actual reading it? It links to this one. Give it a skim." Dawne flicked her fingers across the glowing screen and the file flew across the main display, vanishing out of view.

Ebony hummed and did as requested. She was tired of reading them herself and had about given up. They needed more information and Raspen was the one they'd been waiting on. His deep sleep had concerned her—but he'd awakened on his own, minutes later. "Fair enough. I am fond of my own as well. Still, with that much power behind a Storm element, she's in good company. I do wager Lady Bianca will request Royal status soon."

"It would only be fair and fitting," Raspen drawled. "Which means someone for the Shadow clans will come forward next."

"Probably the Cunningham's," Ebony mused. "They seem to be the most powerful among their element."

"Aren't there any others?" Dawne asked. But even as she asked, there were no names that came to mind. The Cunningham's were ruthless and dominant, with their word carrying more weight in the past decades than expected. Her own parents had warned her against interactions, before allowing her to shoulder the royal duties and responsibilities for her first time as Crown Princess for the Hunt.

Raspen made a sound in answer. The Cunningham's as Royals felt—dangerous. But still, they had never caused any real trouble, beyond the occasional bloody incident—usually off-world somewhere. He sipped at his tea and tried to backtrack.

He'd been completely unprepared for the possibility of a Soulscream—after all, it really had been before his time since the last one was called on a public stage—and the resulting magical backlash had sent him straight into his mental storm.

Like Ebony had realized, Raspen had agonized over the decision to give the Cunningham's free will. Lady Bianca was in an equal position and it was only a matter of time until they were powerful and of high enough regard among the other elements, to request a Royal status. He wasn't sure whether anyone was ready to handle that kind of darkness on the same level as Royal authority.

It was a bit much.

Just a bit.

"Stop it," Alcandor said, calmly. He flicked Raspen upside the head, still facing forward, his bland look fixed on his face as if he were reading some invisible script before him. The only hint of his good spirits was the nearly cruel gleam in his deep blue eyes. When Alcandor meant to hide it, he would—when it showed, he trusted.

Raspen hid his scowl in the cup of tea. It was really starting to be a handy thing to hold today. Trust Alcandor to be the only one to realise that his mind was a million miles away. He drained the cup, swallowing the sweet, scalding mess and waited. His mind was still busily whirling and here, in the privacy of his rooms, he could indulge for a moment.

Alcandor magically refilled the cup, pretending not to notice the unspoken request in the first place.

With a nod of thanks, Raspen drained it again, feeling fresh warmth curling through his body as the warm liquid revived him.

"Better?"

"Worse." Raspen threw back. He tried not to sulk and somewhat succeeded. Lately, sleeping was a chore and with his element, it felt as if he'd been crushed beneath the weight of the world and then roughly shaken awake.

Alcandor smirked. The tea would work the rest of its magic in a few minutes. He could live with that. There were simply some things friends did for each other, royalty notwithstanding. "Report came when you were out," he nodded towards the opened missive that rested on a floating platter, just out of reach of the settee. "Hope you don't mind."

A rumbling grumble was the answer to that, but Raspen plucked it from the hovering tray and scanned the few lines quickly. His eyebrows arched clear up to his hairline, before he burnt it to a crisp. He sat back, his gaze slightly unfocused.

"Ras?" Ebony prompted, leaning in a bit toward him. "Everything alright?" She'd felt the slight tug on her fire element, right before her magic had answered Raspen's unspoken request to destroy the information contained within the missive.

"Perfect," Raspen said, as calmly as he could manage. "Absolutely perfect."

"Oh?" Dawne turned her penetrating gaze on him. "Care to share? Al's been sniggering away since he read it."

"The Cunningham's have found some very interesting things," Raspen said, slowly. He reinforced their privacy shield with a flicker of his magic. Better safe than sorry. "And they've found a nest of Torvaks in an unpalatable location."

"Torvaks?" Dawne repeated. She sat up ramrod straight. The air in the room thinned. "Raspen!"

"I know." He said, stiffly. His mind whirled, slotting possible outcomes into place and producing what options were his to manipulate. This would require some finesse.

"There hasn't been a discovery like that in decades…" Ebony trailed off, her mind putting the pieces together faster than words could leave her lips. "Ras—you don't mean the—she's—they'll."

With Lady Mariana at the helm, Ebony had no doubts as to the possible bloodshed ahead—in fact, she was even more certain that there would be no prisoners and far too much blood. It was almost too much to hope that perhaps, Lady Mariana might be discreet. She could be, when she had a mind to, but Arielle help them all, she'd yet to do so within their lifetimes and even before.

"I know," Raspen said, a bit louder than before. He'd already managed to reason up to the same degree as his fellow royal. "I know. I'll handle it."

"It's not something you can handle, if you hear it after the fact." Ebony shot back. A frisson of fear stabbed through her. They didn't need a war now and she could feel that something was brewing on the horizon. Something dark and sinister that would threaten the peace contained within Nevarah.

"I can't blame them for reacting." Raspen countered. "If Maurice was all that to them, there are bonds that aren't broken, even in death. You know that."

"Recall her." Ebony threw back, unable to keep the worry from her voice. "Ras—it won't end well. It can't."

"I can't." Raspen said, firmly. "What is done, is done."

"Raspen!"

"I gave them my word and I trust that they will—handle the matter appropriately." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lord Cunningham came to me personally—to me. Not to my parents. Not any of you in the room. He gave his allegiance to me and he asked for my permission. He didn't have to and he asked."

"You shouldn't have agreed," Dawne murmured, head bowed, hands tangled in her lap in worry, her emotions changing and playing off of the radiating distress from Ebony. "There must have been another-"

"What would you have me do? What would either of you have done, were you in my place?" Raspen asked.

"Carte blanche," Alcandor said, cheerfully. The expression of near merriment was almost eerie on his pretty features. The wicked gleam in his eyes showed that he agreed wholeheartedly with what had taken place and how it would play out. "You did very well, Ras. I applaud you. It would seem you need only to show your support and I am sure that they will listen, if you speak."

"And what's put you in such a good mood?" Raspen growled. He hadn't agreed in order to manipulate the Cunningham's; he'd simply understood what was at stake. It was unsettling though, to have Alcandor agree with him. The Merrow King's natural penchant for bloodshed made it hard to ascertain when he was joking and when he truly meant for heads to roll.

"Absolutely nothing." Alcandor said, sweetly.

Raspen glowered. "Don't tell me you've finally figured out what to do with your little troublemaker?"

"Alec?" Alcandor stifled a laugh. "I took care of him last night. He has since repented of his wrongdoings and will not put another scale out of line for the duration of the Hunt." Alcandor paused. "Or else, of course."

Ebony eyed him, warily. "What did you do to him?"

"Ebony!" Dawne hissed. "Don't ask." She cast a glance at Alcandor's decidedly gleeful expression. "Definitely don't ask." She stifled a shudder. "And don't tell me either. I'd really rather not know."

Alcandor laughed. "Not even for the sake of your Lady Baronsworth? It might inspire you."

Dawne grimaced. "Don't remind me. I still haven't decided exactly how to repay her for that embarrassment."

"Keep thinking," Alcandor hummed. "Do keep thinking. I am sure you could be half as creative as I, given half the chance."

There was a knock on the door and Raspen straightened. "Enter!"

The door swung open to reveal a slender, pale man with limp white hair barely brushing his elbows, stray strands having escaped the fancy knot atop his head to frame his gaunt face.

Clad in an assortment of ragged black and silver layers, belted twice around his skinny waist, a large metal belt was slung across his torso, holding tiny phials of shimmering liquids.

In his left hand, he held a tall, abnormally shaped staff—a blackened, scaled stick that grew into a bulbous shaped eye at the top. The heavy-lidded eye, yellow and ominous, blinked once and twice, before closing. The pale yellow glow on the newcomer's feet, faded away.

He shuffled into the room, his face downcast his expression one of torment. He glanced at the seat that Princess Dawne gestured to, then dropped to one unsteady knee, head turned toward Raspen.

"My prince," he said, hoarsely. "It is done."

"Riven!"Raspen was out of his chair and heading straight for him. "Arielle—What in Ergen's name happened?"

It was nearly an hour before Riven Cairothe was calm enough to explain his return and share the news he had brought. He was huddled close to the fire, hunched miserably towards the heat, in spite of Ebony's warming spells.

Dawne had sent for a Healer, but Riven had immediately quashed that idea. He didn't want anyone unnecessary knowing of his presence and the fewer who knew, the better. He'd threatened to leave when Dawne had threatened to insist.

Ebony had separated them and offered a spare vial of Healer's blood usually kept on her person.

Reluctantly, Riven had taken it. When he'd recovered enough to share his news, they'd gathered around, worry and agitation growing together in equal measure.

"…So we'll have to wait for them to gather?" Raspen said, at last. "That is troublesome."

Alcandor sniffed. "If troublesome is the only word that to comes to mind after such a revelation, I think you slept too deeply this afternoon." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "They may be Immortals, but they are only guardians on a pedestal. They cannot save us. They are incapable of doing so. They will aid us to the best of their abilities and then Nevarah will be on its own—"

"Then it is up to us," Dawne finished, quietly. "We know, Al. We've all thought about it, haven't we? How to survive a never-ending onslaught of Fabrine? How to protect our people without sacrificing too much in the process?"

"A pyrrhic victory has graced our history before." Ebony murmured.

"And the years that followed were hopelessly bleak," Raspen said. "Torvaks. Then Prophecies. The Immortals and even Death, herself. It was—bad."

Riven grunted. "There's been better and worse," he said, brusquely. "I don't care how you handle it, so as long as it is handled." He tugged at his ragged outer tunic. Exhaustion was settling in, the deep-bone-aching sort of tiredness that he'd been warding since completing his requested mission. Realm-walking was harder than he'd expected.

"It will be handled," Alcandor said, imperiously. "But there will be some other matters that must be taken care of first." He paused. "Is the blood helping?"

"It's fine." Riven glanced at the Merrow King, eyes narrowed. "Don't offer. I'd hate to refuse."

"I'd hate to be refused and so, I must decline to offer." Alcandor said, smoothly. "But if your health is faring well enough—"

"It's nothing I cannot handle, as soon as my energies are up to par," Riven muttered. "I knew Nevarah was on lockdown, but I didn't realize you'd locked everything."

Ebony stifled a snort. "That is what a lockdown implies." She said, dryly.

Riven shrugged at that. "Dare I ask why I have been summoned? You know I would have reported when I passed through this realm."

The summons had been expected at some point, but the summoner was not. Princess Dawne had endorsed the request—so it would be politically correct, but the one who had requested him had been none other than Prince Raspen himself.

Such a thing was curious enough for Riven to wrap up his affairs as quickly as possible and turn his steps toward Nevarah. He'd worried—and was still worried. There was something troublesome lurking beneath the surface of the polite façade the Royals were currently maintaining.

While he could understand their reluctance to place the same trust in him as their parents had, there was blind trust and absolute trust. He wasn't asking either of those—only that they give him the same benefit of doubt that he was affording them.

After all young Royals were still young.

Raspen's lips twitched, faintly. "I know," he acknowledged. "But I actually had two favours to ask of you and I appreciate your timely arrival."

Riven blinked. Two requests? That was unexpected. He'd already guessed what the first request would be, the moment he'd entered the room and seen the magic swirling around the Earth Prince. He'd expected to leave that detail out of things and attend to whatever matter had been their reason for requesting his presence. "I can guess the first," he said, slowly. "But the second?"

"Oh?" Alcandor perked up. "Ras?"

"Yes to the first," Raspen said. "And please to the second."

"…What exactly are you asking me to do?" Riven needed to ask. Deep violet eyes grew wide in a mixture of surprise.

"Dawne, would you please have Harry and the others brought here?" Raspen stood to his full height. "And if I could trouble the rest of you to allow a moment's privacy?"

"I can reach Charlie and Theo," Ebony offered. "He'll feel my request sooner, through our mentored bond."

Raspen nodded. "That will work." He nodded toward the files. "Are you almost through with those? I'll need to bring him up to date with what's happened since his last check-in."

"I'll finish sorting through these, then," Dawne scooped up a hefty armful of files. "You can keep the rest, if you need them. There's something that's bothering me with these, but I can't put my finger on it—yet."

"In that case, perhaps I can help," Alcandor offered, flashing a charming smile. "I do still have some interesting tidbits to share."

"My war room," Ebony suggested. "It'll be clear for now, unless the flames will bother you?"

"I'll drench them," Alcandor said, cheerfully. It would be stupid to convene in the private quarters of his elemental nemesis—neither of them would able to concentrate or relax and the resulting warring energies was sure to grant anyone present, a terrible headache.

Ebony gave him a look. "Fine. Dawne?"

"My quarters," Dawne agreed, easily. "My parents are touring The Dive, they won't interrupt. Ras, join us when you're done, alright?"

Raspen offered a smile, that seemed a bit too bright and a touch too sharp. "As soon as we possibly can." He agreed.

ETHAN AND HARRY : NEVARAH PUBLIC LIBRARY : THE HUNT : DAY 3

"Hadrian?" Harry stared at the dragel that had interrupted their private moment. The plumed mask and familiar set of those shoulders suggested that it was indeed, the Cunningham's hired Gheyo. No wonder the scent was familiar—he did know it after all.

"Harry," Hadrian acknowledged, a beat later. He had stopped, respectfully, several paces away, his stance relaxed.

Too relaxed, Harry thought. He'd seen enough of Gheyos at this point, to believe that Hadrian wasn't on guard. It was hard to judge any further than that, thanks to the elaborate, plumed mask that hid Hadrian's features from view.

For a moment, Harry wondered what he looked like without it. The mask didn't offer much of a hint, beyond the fact that Harry was reasonably sure that Hadrian didn't have feathered plumes sprouting from his head or ears.

"You know him?" Ethan glanced between the two, his Pareyic instincts somewhat roused, before he brightened, connecting the dots. "Ahhh. That Hadrian?" He looked to Harry for confirmation—and found it in the faint blush that touched Harry's cheeks.

So this was what Harry had meant when he was talking about a masked Gheyo. How curious. It was certainly unusual, but it also put things into perspective. Harry hadn't been talking about any old masked Gheyo—he'd meant the Blood Title holder, Lord Hadrian Maruke.

"Well. That's different, then." Ethan said, lightly.

Harry gave him a tortured look—torn between embarrassment and amusement. It never failed to amaze him how fate tangled with his strings. He supposed though, that this was some stroke of good luck—somehow.

Ethan suppressed a grin.

They stared at each other for a minute, stretching long into another, before Harry's lips twitched and Ethan chuckled. Then they were laughing and the awkwardness vanished.

Hadrian cleared his throat, drawing their attention once more.

"Has something happened?" Harry stepped back from Ethan, allowing the arm around his shoulders to stay. He could only think of two things that would have someone like Hadrian out and looking for him. Still, he hadn't felt anything amiss. "Is everyone alright? Theo and Charlie? My—mentor?"

"Several things," Hadrian acknowledged. "There's been word from Lady Mariana and I've been sent to retrieve you. Your Bonded are waiting at the Prince Raspen's quarters."

Harry took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. From the sound of it, they'd found something. He leaned into Ethan, grateful for the comfort offered by their physical closeness. He'd never realized how much strength could pour into him from such a simple thing.

"Is there a time limit?" Ethan asked, briskly. He couldn't help but take notice of the way that Harry was subtly leaning into him, his magic pressing up against their fledgling bond.

Hadrian's gaze flickered from Ethan to Harry, a question in their dark depths. He wouldn't ask, but his instructions had only included Harry. "There is no exact limit," he said, carefully. "But I have been instructed to escort you."

"This is Ethan, my new Pareya," Harry said, surprised at how easily that rolled off of his tongue.

"Congratulations," Hadrian said, politely, "To both of you on your Bonding." He offered a short bow to mask his surprise. He hadn't expected to pick up Harry and a new Bonded. He wondered how well that would be received.

Harry's face warmed. He hadn't expected that, but it also reminded him of one necessary detail. Right. He'd have to introduce Ethan to Theo and Charlie. A low whine slipped out. That would be fabulous.

Ethan's low chuckle in his ear, made Harry's face warm even more. "Second thoughts?" he inquired, innocently.

Harry gave him a sideways look, then twisted around to pull him down into a challenging kiss. "No," he panted, when they parted. His ears were warm now and Harry was keenly aware of the fact that he must have resembled a living tomato at this point. "Stop that." He mumbled, elbowing Ethan.

"You started it," Ethan hummed, breath tickling Harry's blushing ears. His strong arms slid around Harry's waist, drawing him even closer once more. "Are you sure you don't need some time? If there's no limit, there's no reason for us to rush."

Harry stared up at him, confused and somehow relieved. "B-but Hadrian-"

"Is a messenger. Gheyos often carry messages during the Hunt, because they are a neutral sort of rank." Ethan explained. "Unlike an Alpha that may be provoked into a power play or a Submissive that could be manipulative or manipulated—a Gheyo is simply there. They exist. They are confident in what they are, so they have no pressing desire to show off and as they are usually the ones making all sorts of deals, they catch on pretty quick if someone's trying to pull something over them. They also move around quite a bit and so you would see them more often than other ranks. You know enough of Hadrian to recognize him, so it's a safe bet that a message sent through him, will likely be heard, because you'll trust him enough to hear him out."

Hadrian's lips pressed together in a thin line, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he ought to. He offered no verbal protest, but merely waited. Ethan was right, after all. There had been no urgent summons according to Princess Ebony, who had stopped him in the hallway on his way out.

It wasn't any trouble to deliver a message or provide an escort—most certainly not where this charming submissive was concerned, though his new companion had been a recent development that Hadrian hadn't even expected.

As if sensing where Hadrian's thoughts dared to venture, Ethan glanced up, vivid golden eyes locking onto those pitch black ones. Holding that gaze, Ethan drew Harry even closer to him.

Harry nibbled on his lower lip, brow furrowed in thought. That made sense, if he thought about it the way Ethan was explaining it. Huh.

"You are too adorable," Ethan muttered, shivering. He bent his head and captured those bitten lips in another sweet kiss. "We could be here forever at this rate."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hands grasping at Ethan's arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his palms. He had to return the kiss—just had to. It was so nice. "Sounds…good." He managed to gasp out.

"Mmhm. I agree. Now tell Hadrian we're done." Ethan nuzzled his chin into Harry's head, unable to resist the urge to press his scent into his new Bonded.

Dazed, Harry turned to the side, still basking in the happy vibes sparking through the new connection forming inside of him. Bonded. His first Pareya. He wanted to shout the news to the world and yet, at the same time, he was hoping Theo's reaction would be manageable.

He hadn't expected things to progress so quickly, but one thing had led to another and there they were. Harry knew he wouldn't trade it for anything, he'd just have to be careful when making the first introductions.

Hopefully, Theo and Charlie would both feel the intense happiness flowing through their shared Bond and wouldn't have any objections. Harry looked to Hadrian. "Can you—would you take us? I mean, you'll have to take us both?" He asked.

Hadrian merely nodded, relieved that they would be leaving now. Magic sparked at his fingertips, a broad transportation medallion springing to life on the floor beneath their feet. "As you like. This will take us directly to the Royal's Quarters."

Ethan straightened up at that, a flicker of magic leaping between him and Harry. It gently twined around them, smoothing Harry's messy hair and straightening up their clothes—a neatening spell to make them presentable.

"Wait—the tapestry—" Harry twisted around to look at Ethan. "We were looking at—a copy? Can we get a copy? How does that work?"

"We request one and they send it to our current living quarters, the cost is deducted from our Circle vault." Ethan cocked his head to the side. "Or a duplication charm. There's a fee for that, but if you'd rather it right now, that usually is the quickest option."

"Yes please," Harry said, fervently. He wanted to show the tapestry to Theo and Charlie. To be able to spend more time poring over what possible secrets it held in relation to his heritage.

"Will do," Ethan murmured. He kissed the top of Harry's head once more, then gently tested whether he could step away or not.

Harry released him then, hugging his own arms to himself and missing the wall of warmth. Ethan was just—calm. And warm. And kind.

Ethan approached the table, fishing out a fat golden coin from his own money belt, hidden beneath his formal robe. He set it inside a carved square at the bottom left corner of the table. Then, he clapped his hands twice, before tracing the outline of the tapestry with his hands.

The golden coin vanished. There was a shimmer of white-green magic, before an identical copy of the tapestry popped into existence. It rolled itself up, knotted with a thread that Ethan had tugged free from the inside hem of one of his over tunics.

He slung it over one shoulder, then held a hand out to Harry once more, smiling when it was taken. "To the Royals then?" Ethan prompted.

Harry nodded, tugging down the sleeve of his robe over the slender cord and charm that Theo and given him. He didn't even know how to request actual currency like Ethan had used. He'd have to ask, when there was time. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Ethan said, simply.

"Hadrian?" Harry turned to the Gheyo, still standing there silent and proud.

The transportation medallion flared to life and Hadrian rolled his shoulders back. He reached up to reposition his mask and released a little more power into the medallion. "Hold your breath," he warned.

Ethan sucked in a breath. Harry copied him.

The shadows rose up to meet them—and they vanished.

ETHAN, HARRY AND HADRIAN : ROYALS RECEIVING HALL

Harry was vaguely aware of the sensation of the floor falling out from under him and then walking into nothingness, before the floor was back under his feet, where it ought to stay.

Rapidly blinking, brought some things into focus, but there were still dark spots dancing in front of his eyes, as the transportation medallion faded away into nothing.

He was grateful for Ethan's warm arms wrapped around him, a constant in the midst of the unexpected change.

"Alright there?" Ethan whispered, shielding him, partially from Hadrian and partially from anyone else that could be present.

That gesture meant more than Harry could put into words. He snuggled close—because he could—and squeezed his left eye shut, as Ethan kissed the corner of his temple. "Yeah."

Standing a few feet away, as before, Hadrian waited for them, his gaze fixed on the blank wall in front of them. He wouldn't begrudge them the privacy, though it made something inside of him ache, just a little.

Harry felt a slight twinge at that. It somehow seemed distant and impersonal. Not at all like the friendly moment they'd shared that night at the dinner with Lady Baronsworth. He reached out, blindly—and Ethan's hand slipped into his.

The question welled up in his throat, held back by fear of rejection, uncertainty and every emotion he couldn't put into words.

Ethan squeezed his hand, gently. "Lead the way, Lord Maruke."

Hadrian started, faintly. He couldn't place Ethan, just yet. It hadn't escaped his notice that Harry had happily introduced him—without a surname. A detail that did not sit well with Hadrian, but one that he would simply have to bear with, for the time being. His dark eyed gaze flickered from Ethan to Harry, before he turned on his heel, leading the way down the softly lit halls.

Ethan only smiled, falling into step, matching his pace to Harry's. That was good, perhaps there would be time to ask a few more questions.

A beat later, Hadrian's steps slowed accordingly.

"Harry tells me that you're a contracted Gheyo," Ethan began, conversationally. "You're contracted to—?"

Harry made a sound in his throat. He wasn't sure he wanted this conversation to start. Surely he'd mentioned the Cunningham's, hadn't he?

"The Cunningham's," Hadrian said, smoothly.

"Quite a Circle," Ethan hummed. "Are you on contract with them for the Hunting season and beyond?"

Hadrian stopped. "Are you asking whether I am available for the Hunt?"

Ethan closed the gap between them, pulling Harry around to face Hadrian. "Harry would like to know."

"Harry is standing beside you and can ask himself." Hadrian said, briskly. His eyes narrowed. His aura flared, softly. Pareya were tricky when it came to newly bonded Circles, especially the first Pareya. "If Harry honestly wishes to know."

"I do." Harry said, surprised at how quickly the words had come. "I wanted to ask before, but I couldn't. We—ran out of time."

Hadrian tipped his head to the side, the feathered plume somehow looking more ominous than ridiculous in their current circumstance. "Ask." He said, simply.

Harry sucked in a deep breath. "Are you available for t-the Hunt?"

"I am not." Hadrian answered.

The words hung in the air. Harry froze. It took one beat, two beats and a third, before he could consciously tell himself not to react too visibly. He didn't know what to say to that.

"But you are on contract," Ethan hummed. "And all contracts come to an end." He pulled his hand free from Harry's to drape it around Harry's shoulders instead. He gently nudged a bit of his elemental strength through their fledgling bond, a silent plea for Harry to remain strong. "Ask him when the contract ends."

"When does your contract end?" Harry asked, relieved. He hadn't been sure what to say to that statement, but Ethan was certainly turning out to be more than helpful.

A ghost of a smile flickered over Hadrian's face. "If you should be asking, it would depend on what you are offering."

"And if—if I wanted to see one of your, um," Harry twisted to look at Ethan. "One of his—?"

"Demonstrations. A live match or otherwise," Ethan supplied.

"One of your demonstrations," Harry repeated, looking back to Hadrian.

"There's a schedule in the pits and it's posted in the lower floor near the general information booths in the fire section." Hadrian paused. "Why would you ask?"

"Because I'd like to see you fight." Harry said, honestly. There was more he'd like to see, but to watch him fight—that would be a good start.

As if sensing that it was half an answer, Hadrian gave a slight shake of his head. "They are not public fights. They are scheduled demonstrations and they are only open to those who are open with their intentions."

"I want to—court you." Harry managed to say. His face warmed. "If I can. Is that open enough?"

"I'm not available," Hadrian repeated, but there was a renewed warmth to his features that hadn't been there before—what little of his face that could be seen. "I am not to be courting or courted without the express permission of the one who has taken me in, namely, Lady Mariana."

"Ah." Ethan murmured. So that was the catch. He'd wondered.

Harry frowned. He didn't know how that worked, but perhaps it was something written into the whole contract business. "She has to give you permission?"

Hadrian's lips twitched. "She has to approve of you," he explained. "And I am not currently on the—circuit—at the moment. As such, I am only giving private demonstrations, with specific weapons I am rated to use."

"Oh." Harry's face fell. "But if I asked her—?"

"Then she would give you an answer—so as long as we are both present."

Harry nodded, slowly and then more decisively. "Alright. Thank you. I-I will ask her when I see her again."

A flicker of surprise danced over Hadrian's face. "I am flattered by your interest and your honesty," he said, simply. He gestured to the hall. "Shall we—?"

Harry gave him a look. "It was a simple question," he huffed. "You didn't have to stop walking!"

Ethan stifled a laugh, his face the picture of innocence.

Hadrian ignored them, but began to lead the way.

"Hadrian?" Harry ventured, several steps later. He saw the Gheyo twitch and knew he'd been heard. "What kind of weapons are you demonstrating?"

There was a pause and then a muted groan. "The kinds of weapons that I'd have to show you a picture," Hadrian said. "Because words won't do it justice."

"Shadow type," Ethan whispered in Harry's ear. "They're likely one-of-a-kind shadow weapons."

Harry smiled. That sounded very interesting. He couldn't wait to see Lady Mariana again.

THEO AND CHARLIE + PEVERELL'S : PEVERELL' VIEWING BOX : THE HUNT : DAY 3

"Is Tauria the Clan Chief for the Peverell's?" Charlie asked, standing tall beside Theo, one hand on the small of Theo's back.

There was a quiet huff, though whether for the distraction or the change of subject, Charlie wasn't sure.

Cora and Henry had been ill-at-ease since returning from the strange meeting with Maia Kadel. They were whispering between each other, every so often, the words 'bloodstone' and 'gathering' and 'prophecy' mingled together.

Their oddness seemed to have put Theo even more on edge and Charlie hadn't liked that at all. He wished they had their own place to call home and enough time to split between Theo and Harry. They both needed him—as he needed them—and he felt stretched thin between both instinctive pulls.

It was easier to focus on Theo—when Harry wasn't there—and natural to fuss over Harry, when Theo wasn't there. Charlie gave himself a slight shake.

These awkward, but precious days would be few, he was sure. Especially, given Theo's primary worry for Harry and the Hunt. It would likely be a few weeks before everything changed.

"Clan Chief," Theo confirmed. "According to the Hall of Records, anyway. I believe she's held the position for a century or so." He pressed back into the touch of Charlie's hand on his back, surprised at himself for the needy gesture.

There had been a myriad of emotions dancing through Harry's bonds, before they'd settled into a deep sense of contentment and warmth. Something had happened—and he didn't know what it was.

In typical Slytherin fashion, Theo could feel his hackles stretching and raising. He did not like not knowing when something important was taking place—and he liked their current situation even less.

Given Charlie's efforts to calm and soothe him, however, he'd found himself becoming more aware of his prickly tendencies. Even if it was a bit belated to curb them, at least, Harry wasn't here to scold him about it.

Yet.

Theo stifled a yawn. Even with all the sleep he'd managed to snatch here and there, he couldn't fight the bone-deep exhaustion that lingered in the background.

Ilsa's words of speeding through Harry's resting period, teased at the back of his mind. A remembrance that they were all probably feeling the same way, as skipping such a natural dragel function, wasn't something that should be done.

At least, not without good reason.

Charlie stiffened.

Theo glanced up at him. He caught sight of the faraway gaze and the ripple of emotion in the dark blue eyes. Silently, he counted to ten—giving the chance for Charlie to ask on his own.

"…Theo?"

"Mm?"

"Ebony wants us." Charlie faltered, brow furrowed. "And I can't make out Harry."

"What?"

"I-I don't know. It feels muddled. How does it feel when Ilsa calls you?"

"…Like a headache," Theo deadpanned. "You're sure it's Ebony?" he shook his head. "What am I saying, of course you're sure. You'd have the connection to her." Theo ran a hand through his hair. Everything felt so complicated and it seemed as if it was destined to continue on that way, without even allowing a single pause for them to catch their breath. He wished, fervently, that they had time to regroup—at least enough for him to gather his thoughts together, to be sure about their next moves. There was so much happening and he could feel the mental and physical strain of struggling to make sure his Circle wouldn't be caught up in the midst of something troublesome.

Charlie nearly smiled. "Do we need to—?" He nodded towards Cora and Henry.

"They were likely staying for our sake," Theo said, quietly. His gaze remained fixed ahead at a general point on the stage below. "I think they'd rather be at one of their laboratories right now. Cora, at least. She's been on edge since we returned." Theo turned, tugging lightly on Charlie's sleeve.

It had the desired effect, as Charlie glanced down, angling himself to be close enough to hear whatever Theo intended for him to hear. He was completely caught off guard when a soft kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth.

He blinked, speechless—blushing when Theo's troubled expression smoothed out so show a young, sweet face. As quickly as it had appeared—the expression vanished, replaced with a bland look of indifference as Theo pulled away, to approach Henry.

Charlie's aura flared protectively, settling into a steady pulse that surrounded their corner of the box and he understood, a second later, when Henry's arms tightened around Cora, before he cast a look to see what was the matter.

They conversed for a moment, with Theo nodding and smiling, before returning to Charlie.

"Good?"

"Perfect." Theo hummed. "Let's go. You can cast out in the hallway."

"Me?" Charlie asked, moving after him. "Why me?"

"Practice." Theo said, lightly. "You know you need it."

"Theo!"

The portal spat them out in one of the general receiving rooms. White-walled and brightly lit, Charlie winced against the unexpected shock. Theo grasped his arm, his own golden magic flickering at his fingertips.

Charlie was almost sure that Theo had helped him in casting the transportation portal, but he wasn't about to call him out on it. Theo was mostly right anyway. He did need to practice.

Now what? He wondered.

Theo straightened from his slight crouch and released his grip on Charlie's arm. "This way," he said, a moment later—starting towards a faintly lined section of the white room.

Seconds later, they stepped out into rather familiarly decorated halls and Charlie knew that he'd succeeded. At the end of the hall, a young girl in a flame-detailed tunic, over a simple black bodysuit, beckoned to them.

"Princess Ebony has asked me to escort you," she said, in a clear, sweet voice. "Would you accompany me?"

"Gladly," Theo said. He fell into step beside her and started, faintly, when Charlie's hand slipped into his.

If a tiny flush of pink touched his cheeks—briefly—Charlie didn't say anything.

Several minutes later, they were admitted to a light, airy room. Brighter and more open than Prince Raspen's study, with wispy drapes lending a nearly ethereal feel to the room. The Royals themselves, were seated on three out of the four long cushioned benches, bordering a massive, low table with dozens of documents scattered about the surface.

Theo wasn't sure if he was relieved not to note a certain, blue-haired Merrow Royal as present, or whether he was annoyed not to have the opportunity to comment on the irritating spell-removal from the last time.

Charlie's gaze had been immediately drawn to Ebony, who had sat facing the door and looked up at once, at their entrance. He smiled in answer to her beckoning wave.

"Has something come up?" Charlie asked, automatically moving to sit on the floor.

Theo made a noise in his throat and with a slight bow to Ebony, eased into the empty space on the large settee beside her.

Ebony chuckled. "Move between us," she suggested, lightly. "Spare your Alpha the headache."

Charlie glanced between them and felt his ears warm. He shifted to sit with his back against the settee—with Ebony's left leg braced against his right elbow and Theo on his left side.

Sandwiched.

His face warmed.

It had been instinct that made him think the floor was the most comfortable spot, in spite of the available space on any of the settees in the room.

He could remember sitting by her feet before and that it had been a good place to be. He hadn't even thought further than that.

"Hello to you too," Ebony teased. "Did you have a good time at the Hunt today?"

"It was different." Charlie allowed. "I didn't know—realise—that there could be bonding's like that."

"Thought you'd have a few questions about that. Dahlia, right? She's special. What you saw was very rare. Not a lot of folks can do that. I think your Harry did though—a variation of it, at least," she said, absently. "At least, from what you've told me anyway. It sounds very likely."

"Quinn Kalzik said something about that," Theo offered. "That having a Soul Seal might mean that his initial call was—muted."

"Speaking of him—where is he? Out Hunting? I expected all three of you."

"Er—in a fashion," Theo hedged. "He was with the Kalzik's for part of the day."

Ebony laughed, a delighted sound. "He's in good hands then. I would say he has quite an unusual sort of luck. Would I be correct in guessing that he probably witnessed a more personal side of the Deveraine-Imaldis Circle bonding today?"

Theo managed a half-grimace. "Probably." He said, carefully. "I haven't asked him yet."

Ebony stifled another laugh. "He certainly is in the thick of things. To answer your question, yes, something has come up—can you 'port him in?"

Theo hesitated. The last time he had—it hadn't gone so well. It was probably best if someone went to fetch him personally—then again, it was Harry. His Harry wouldn't agree to travel with some random stranger, not without some kind of proof and the easiest thing would be if he went, but then that would mean leaving Charlie and-

"May I send someone for him?" Ebony asked.

"Harry doesn't trust—" Theo began, worried.

Ebony's smile softened. "You needn't worry. I know a few familiar faces he would at least, listen to."

Theo held himself perfectly still for a long moment.

Ebony's smile remained in place, her gaze firm. She was asking him for a degree of trust that he had yet to grant to her. She wouldn't force it from him, but it would be needed for future interactions, as it seemed their paths were destined to cross.

Silence stretched out and then Charlie shifted, uncomfortably—and the silent match was ended.

Thankfully, it seemed that the others, Raspen and Dawne, didn't even seem to notice the private interaction. Instead, they were discussing something with a newcomer that Charlie had never seen before. Raspen perched on the edge of the settee, leaning forward to look over his shoulder from the right, while Dawne mirrored him on the left.

They were reading over the newcomer's shoulder, conversing in low whispers that were too neatly muffled to be anything other than a privacy spell.

It didn't escape Charlie's notice that even though he was openly staring—the stranger had yet to meet his gaze.

He was striking, as far as looks went. Sharp, angular features—almost hawk-like in appearance. Pointed, violet eyes, set deep in his face. Snowy-white hair that pooled on the ground around him, where he sat on a low stool. Hair that was twisted into a dozen neat plaits, each of them adorned with various glittering trinkets. Ridiculously pale skin, appearing almost translucent. The oddest detail, however, was his shabby clothes.

A series of black and grey robes that seemed to have been carefully layered over each other to hide the most obvious rips and tears from the one beneath it. Still—jewellery dripped from his ears and neck—a bejewelled collar, large, dangling earrings and several ornate cuffs on his wrists. Even his bare feet sported toe-rings, and delicate ankle chains.

"Whenever you're done," Ebony said, projecting her voice, enough to draw their attention. "Two out of three have arrived."

Raspen's head snapped up. "Two out of—oh." He said something and Dawne looked up, brightening.

"We have some information," she said, forcing a smile. "But I think it would be best to wait on Harry. Ebony?"

"I've sent someone," Ebony said, lips twitching. "I'm sure they'll be here shortly."

It was a familiar Gheyo that entered Dawne's personal quarters. The ornate mask and pitch black armour was almost something of a uniform.

The Cunningham's hired Gheyo—and a Blood Title holder—Theo recalled. That was a relief. He'd wondered who Ebony would send and this considerably soothed his ruffled scales. Hadrian had been useful before and friendly enough—at least, as far as Gheyos went, Theo would trust him enough to bring Harry here. After all, Ilsa and Greta had been friendly with him and as a Blood Title, there was a certain degree of trustworthiness, the Cunningham's Circle set aside.

Then again, the Cunningham's were currently helping with the searching for Maurice Elswood, so Theo decided that it was alright after all. Everything had worked out and he hadn't needed to send a portal.

Now, if they could simply start in on whatever it was that had prompted the Royals to summon them in the first place…

Hadrian moved to the side and Theo brightened at once, spotting Harry standing between the Gheyo and a tall, dark-skinned dragel—who happened to have his arm around Harry.

Harry.

Arm around Harry.

Theo couldn't stop the growl that left his lips—even if he wanted to.

It had the unfortunate effect of silencing the entire room.

To his credit, Harry didn't look the least bit worried, only a touch sheepish. He ignored the other occupants of the room, his rich green eyes fixed solely on Theo, as if silently entreating his Alpha to listen. "Theo—I can explain," he began, his face flushing a definite shade of red. "Just—um—hear me out?"

Theo bristled, faintly. Scales rippled and surfaced along the sides of his face, and up his neck. His hands ached, claws itching to come to the surface, but held back by the barest threads of control. "I'm listening…"

"Right, um, alright." Harry gave a nervous laugh, then looked to the side and casually leaned into the stranger. "This is Ethan Hartwood—he's our newPareya."

It took Theo all of five seconds to silently lose his mind and piece it back together. Yes, he had been nudging Harry to hunt and find a new Bonded. Yes, he had stressed the importance of it. Yes, he'd tried to share what he knew about the actual Nevarean hunting process—however limited that was.

But he hadn't expected this.

Correction—he knew Harry was more than capable of reaching out with his heart and magic, but he'd expected to at least meet the stranger on private terms before it ever reached this point.

An introduction even, before it came to this. There was no way that Harry would introduce the newcomer as anything other than 'our Pareya' unless there was something already sealed and promised between them.

Sealed and promised. Marked or Bonded or both.

A dull roaring seemed to fill his ears and Theo was vaguely aware that silence—however awkward—was filling the room and that he had yet to speak or move. He wasn't sure what he could possibly say to that—he'd never rehearsed anything for this particular scenario.

Never expected to have an audience for it either.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably on the floor beside him, waiting for a cue that would signal how to set the tone for this crucial first interaction.

Right. Crucial.

Theo swallowed. He could do this. He would've had to do it anyway—it was simply happening sooner than he'd expected. He broke the stare, casting a quick look about the room—annoyed to notice that all of the Royals were most certainly being polite with their bland smiles and averted eyes.

"I think twenty minutes wouldn't put us too off track," Raspen said, pleasantly. His voice seemed to fill the airy room at once. "Is that enough?"

The way it was phrased meant that it would have to be enough, but considering who was offering and the current circumstance, Theo made himself respond. It was a kind offer, after all.

"That is very generous—thank you." He managed to say.

Raspen rose, offering a fluid half-bow. "But of course. Congratulations on your new Pareya."

"Hartwood—from the scholars, eh?" Ebony hummed. She patted Charlie's head, as she moved to stand as well. "That's a lucky catch for your lot. They're well-known for being living archives—both of the useful and useless information. Congratulations, Harry." She waved a hand at her personal guards. "Shall we?"

Dawne simply produced a pretty glass-like bauble, with a handful of shimmering sand. A temporary hourglass timer that she set atop the stacks of papers on the low coffee table. "Twenty minutes," she said, lightly. "Congratulations to you and yours." She smiled brightly at Harry on her way to the door. "The Hartwoods are a wonderful clan. Very nicely done."

Harry blushed a bright, brilliant red.

The remaining royal guards filed out in careful synchronization behind their respective Royals. A minute later, the door clicked shut and the locks turned automatically—Dawne's private security system obeying her wishes to be sure the young Circle wouldn't be interrupted.

More silence stretched out.

Harry bit his lip.

Theo shifted to stand from the settee—only for the newcomer—Ethan, Harry had called him?—to move.

"No—don't. Please." The request came quickly—softly—and then Ethan was there, standing. Taller than Theo—maybe even as tall as Charlie and—kneeling?

Theo blinked.

Yes. Ethan was kneeling—within arm's reach—his expression earnest and open. His rich dark skin highlighted his gorgeous gold eyes—bright, pure gold—without the slightest hint of black.

Honest eyes…Theo thought to himself. He opened his mouth to speak.

Ethan wet his lips, eyes immediately focused on Theo's chest. "My name is Ethan Hartwood—as the Princesses said, my family clan belongs to the trade of historical record and scientific research. We are scholars." Ethan dipped his head. "I had sent a favour to Harry, after the introductions. We met while standing in line—I—we—please, may I?"

Something in the way he was asking, soothed the last of Theo's ruffled hackles. He gathered himself together, turning the entire bit of news over in his head. From Harry's bonds, he could feel the earlier delight, shifting to a worried concern. Still, Harry was happy, beneath all of the emotions and that was what mattered most.

Theo studied him for a moment longer—because he could—and then huffed. It wouldn't be like this was the first time Harry's luck had thrown him into a surprising situation and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

Oh well.

Who was he kidding? It wasn't that he minded. It was simply unexpected and he couldn't help the years of ingrained hyper-cautiousness all but carved into his psyche. Slytherin he was, but a loner, he'd been.

For far too long.

"Welcome," he said, at last. "I am Theo—as you seem to know—Theodore Gorgens Nott, using my mentor's name, Lady Ilsa of the Gorgen's Clan for social leverage during the Hunt. My element is Earth and I am renewing connections I have not seen in years, since my recent return to Nevarah."

The bowed head tipped to the side, to show that Ethan was listening.

Theo made a soft clicking sound in his mouth.

Ethan's head snapped up at once, those pretty golden eyes fixed on him once more.

Reaching out—slowly—Theo gave him time to pull away, if needed, before gently tipping his chin up. His thumb stroked ever-so-lightly over those full, dusky lips.

Ethan quivered.

Harry sucked in a breath.

Charlie froze.

A long, slow inhale—his magic surging inside of him—Theo breathed out and allowed his aura to run free.

It snapped out from him like a boomerang, relieved and ecstatic to run wild and unchecked, before settling into a powerful simmer, crackling through the air around him.

"I have heard of the Hartwood's," Theo allowed, leaning forward. Ethan was smart—he'd put himself in the right place for easy access. Nice, Theo thought.

Tilting Ethan's head further to the side, Theo reached over and kissed him.

Simple and direct.

Ethan gave a little sigh and all but melted into the kiss. Leaning forward, hands coming up to rest on Theo's knees, his own magic began to pour out of him, mixing with Theo's and filling the room.

Beside them, Charlie relaxed and Harry huffed. "Too dramatic," he muttered. He'd crossed the room to slip into Charlie's lap, wanting to be on hand if something went wrong—and also, having the sudden urge to feel up his good-looking Beta.

His hands had found their way under Charlie's robes—before Charlie had caught them—and they were now watching Theo and Ethan's little session.

Harry licked his lips. He knew exactly what that felt like—from both ends.

They broke apart, Ethan panting and Theo a bit pink-cheeked.

"Neck?" Theo breathed, touching their foreheads together.

Ethan half-laughed. "Harry took the left side."

"Right it is…" Theo mumbled. His hands slid up Ethan's arms—one to cradle his neck and the other to tug at the shirt collar.

Ethan allowed the movements, neck bared without complaint. He pressed his lips together when Theo's fangs pierced his neck, digging deep into the softness there.

A quiet hiss was the only proof of the bond latching on until Theo withdrew, mouth bloody.

"Where?" Ethan rasped out, shuddering as the bond began to throb—seeking completion.

"Wrist," Theo said, quickly. He ripped open the right sleeve of his robes and shirt, to present his wrist.

Ethan hesitated, then pushed the sleeve higher, selecting a spot closer to the elbow. He glanced up—once—for confirmation, then bit down.

Theo curled forward, his head almost touching Ethan's. He took a deep breath when the magic took root and the bond called out.

Harry whimpered from somewhere beside him and they both turned as one, crooning to soothe him. Charlie purred louder, hugging Harry tightly to his chest.

Theo blinked, surprised and mildly curious at the instinctive reaction. Now that Ethan had finished placing his mark, some of the mental haze was fading and he was finding it easier to talk himself out of kissing that enticing mouth.

Feeling his gaze, Ethan turned. He stretched up at the same time that Theo leaned forward and they met in the middle again for another round of contented, satisfied kisses.

"Pureblood?" Theo inquired, when they parted for air once more.

Ethan flashed a smile that was nearly more fang than grin. "Yes."

"Charlie's a half-blood. I'm a pureblood. Harry's a pureblood as well."

Ethan's eyes widened, but he smiled. That was a useful tidbit of information and it said more about his new Alpha, that he'd shared such things so quickly. It meant that trust was there and could be grown into something strong and loyal.

"Are you done?" Harry wanted to know. He was cuddled up to Charlie and quite fine being there, but the pretty hourglass timer had caught his eye and he'd realized that time was ticking away.

"Yes, we're done for now." Theo said, fondly. "Some warning would be nice next time."

Harry sniffed. "You were the one who told me to hunt." He pretended to stick his nose in the air.

It worked.

Theo laughed.

The last lingering bit of tension vanished, as if it had never been there at all.

They joined in after that—the laughter easing everything between them. Ethan swapped with Harry—and Charlie had his own turn at tasting and marking their new Pareya.

Cuddled on Theo's lap, Harry wiggled closer, determined to bask in the happy moment for as long as he possibly could.

Things would certainly be chaotic as soon as that timer was up, but for now, he could sit here—feeling Theo's hand skimming up and down his back, his breath whuffling through his hair and his aura wrapped protectively around him.

For now, he could simply enjoy the sight of Ethan cradled in Charlie's tanned arms and both of them learning their way about each other, between soft bites and warm kisses.

It didn't surprise him when Charlie's hair burst into happy flames and Ethan's dark fingers combed lazily through the flickering locks.

Harry smiled.

Perfect.

GEORGE : EVANSON MANOR : NEVARAH

George stood in front of the mirror in the shared bedroom with Chris. The light fae had been very generous in allowing him to share living quarters, while the Circle adjusted to their arrival and Jun's return.

Jun had simply said that she didn't want anyone in a guest room and so, her Circle had done as requested. Chris had volunteered with a little sigh, mentioning that it wouldn't be good for George to room with Gheyos.

The women had laughed and promptly brought a variety of blankets, pillows, and clean pyjamas to share. He was instructed to pick his favourite colour out of the available choices.

Colour, Ivy had explained, made it easy to know what belonged to who. George had filed that away for later remembrance, surprised and amazed to see how the Pareya bustled about, taking care of everyone—and themselves.

Sure, at first, things were awkward, but not bad. Not the way that George had known that things could get. This warmth and easy acceptance, though a bit hesitant, was something he hadn't even known could be craved.

There were still many things plaguing his mind at night and since Jun's recent preoccupation with her Circle, he hadn't the chance to talk to her lately. Of all the things he'd missed from their strange little time together as a family of Regulus-Jun-George, it was the easy access to both of them.

Jun had spent time with each one of her Bonded, talking, hugging, crying and sharing magic and memories in equal measure. He couldn't begin to imagine how exhausting it would be for her as an empath.

He'd seen her practically throw herself into the deep pit carved out in the backyard. The ground shaking, then stilling as she forcefully calmed and centred herself.

It still awed him how none of them seemed to think it was strange. They'd simply waited for the ground to stop shaking, then ventured forth with warmed, wet towels and bottles of water.

Strange and yet, somehow beautiful.

George hadn't known how to handle witnessing those moments. He'd found it easier to slip away and stay by himself for a bit, allowing his thoughts to sort out.

His mind to wander. Thinking of Fred. Of Mum. Of Ginny. Of Charlie. Of everyone, really.

Since arriving on Nevarah, he'd felt incredibly tired and lacking energy both physical, mental and magical. Then there'd been the dreams. Strange, vivid dreams with only one person.

The one person that he couldn't be absolutely sure about anymore.

Harry.

Only Harry.

Haunting emerald eyes. Pale, creamy skin. Pitch black hair. Silvery scales. Peach-coloured wings. Rich, wild magic.

Harry—as he'd never seen him before.

It haunted him on a level he'd never experienced before. Vivid dreams of Harry laughing, talking and—snuggling?—with him. Simply being close and never straying far. Not wanting to travel where George couldn't go.

Sharing the warmth, laughter and even love, that George had never even dared to hope could be his. This dream Harry held power, but never abused it—the dreams were always electrically charged.

He would wake from a short nap and find the magic singing through his body, laughing through his veins as if it were alive.

In a way, he supposed it was.

But Harry?

It was confusing. So confusing, except for—he couldn't help it. He wanted it. He—dare he consider it—craved it. The touch of a hand he'd never felt in that way. The press of lips on his skin—when he couldn't even recall how a kiss was supposed to feel. Soft, fluffy hair that shouldn't even be that way, given how messy he'd seen it could be.

Then the dreams would clash with reality and George would find himself scrambling for some sort of mental anchor. For he was only seeing Harry's return at the beginning of the school year and wondering about the dull look in those frantic green eyes. Remembering the lack of food on his plate and the absence during mealtimes. Hearing the odd whispered rumours about a possible collapse in Snape's class of all places.

And then there was Fred. His other half. His missing half, as it were. Fred who had chosen the opposite. Fred who was no longer like him.

George shook his head, slightly, to clear it. This was no time to be reminiscing of such things. There were new opportunities in front of him and it was best to take them on, one at a time.

The ache in his chest throbbed again. A painful spike that seemed to hammer itself deeper into his very being, with each pulsing beat. He pressed a hand to his chest, staring unseeing into the floor length mirror set in the corner of the room near the vanity.

Something moved at the corner of his eye and he blinked, seeing a familiar face joining his reflection.

Jun…he hadn't meant to call her, but the look of concern on her face, meant that he had.

"George?" Jun was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, her face near to his. She nuzzled his cheek, gently and breathed into his hair, scenting him.

In the background, a worried Chris peeked around the corner, a slight flush of embarrassment on his face. He'd gone to retrieve Jun, apparently.

George blinked.

The pain eased as Jun's hand smoothed over his heart, her fingers lacing through his own hand and simply holding it there, as her magic spilled over into him.

"Oretta…"

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" She scolded, lightly. "If you don't tell me these things, I don't know. I can't read your mind, darling."

"I didn't think you could do anything—it hurts." He gasped out, clutching her hand tightly to him. "It hurts so much—why?"

"Shhh," Jun murmured. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head and gently hugged him to her. Magic rose up, wrapping deliberately around both of them, pushing away the pain and easing the fierce ache until it was nothing more than a dull throb.

George heaved a gasp. He shuddered, even as the hug tightened, grounding him in the moment. Warmth flickered inside of him, his element confused, but still striving to be strong.

"Better?" Jun murmured. "Don't fight it. Just—feel."

He took a shaky breath, eyes half-closed, trying to do as instructed. "What's—wrong with me? Is it the soulmate thing?"

Jun sighed. "It's more a matter of time and a change in location."

She held him for a moment longer, allowing him the comfort of physical contact. She made a mental note to remind her Bonded to do the same—random hugs were always good for young dragels. It reminded them that they were loved and cared for, along with providing any tactile comfort needed.

"I don't understand."

"You're dreaming of him, aren't you? That's proof. See, he called for you, before your seals were off and your transformation was even a possibility. You're feeling the incompleteness of the bond and he probably is too. You couldn't have answered him, properly, because of your blood and because of a dozen other factors, but mainly the situation as it was in that moment. You weren't in any condition to accept and he wasn't equipped to help you past that. It takes years to develop that kind of power and the concentration needed to handle what you went through."

George squeezed his eyes shut. He felt warmth burst out from his hands, flickering at his fingertips. He didn't have to look to know that black flames licked at the ends. Flames that still terrified him.

"What about now?"

"Now…" Jun brushed a hand along his arm. "I would say that you are—ready enough."

"Really?" He twisted around to look at her, searching for anything in her expression that would contradict what she was saying.

"You'll know when you see him." She said, softly. "It will feel like everything coming together and everything falling apart, all at the same time. Then it will be alright. I promise you, he won't refuse you. Your souls are already searching for each other."

George shuddered. That sounded like a terrible contradiction of things to feel. But if it meant that rejection wasn't likely—then maybe, it would be alright.

"Shh. Enough brooding now." Jun dropped a kiss atop his head, effectively smothering out the flickering dark flames. "Come along—we're all ready to leave. Some fresh air will do everyone good."

Any protest to that was swallowed down as George drew himself up and fell into step. Jun's fingers brushed lightly against his hand, before she quickened her step.

Outside the door, Chris smiled and fell into step behind him.

They were outside of the protective wards, before Jun threw up a massive magical barrier of her own. It covered the entire estate, glowing with fierce gold and red threads of visible energy as she backed away from the house, her face grim.

"Stay back—all of you."

"Jun?" Rian ventured. "Talk to me, love."

"Back—everyone back," Jun called out, waving a hand at them for emphasis. She wouldn't have them staying so close to a house that was now, no longer theirs. "When is the last time we checked for compulsions, bugs or sets inside of the house? Before or after I left?"

Briar froze. His horrified look matched that of several of his Bonded. There were some things he simply hadn't done, because Jun always took care of it and so he'd never bothered to worry about them.

"At least—two years?" he looked to Rian for confirmation. They'd kept to some things, purely out of habit. Jun, for all that they had teased her about her tendency to be hyper-cautious, they'd always indulged her and her hunches often proved right.

Including when she'd willingly paid nearly two-thirds of their entire savings for the sake of a living web of protective enchantments around the house. Enchantments that were made to glow the same green as her eyes or purple, when Briar chose to activate it.

Now, the sickly red colour seemed far too ominous as they stood outside of the far corner wards, staring up at the massive estate.

Silence stretched out for a minute.

Rian stirred, faintly. He'd been sifting through the memories and determining when and why. He'd checked, personally, the first year or two—and then things had gotten busy.

"Four," he confirmed, when Briar perked a brow, waiting. "We checked a few times, but—nothing ever came of it. Did you feel something?"

Jun shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, shakily. Her eyes were wide and the slightest sliver of horror was visible. Her magic was tightly coiled inside of her, wrapped too close to her empathy for a decent read for what she wanted to know. "Felt more than I should have, I think. Didn't register until the last grounding and then—I figured it would be best to have everyone out of the house."

Gardenia, the ACE, was the first one to draw near, easily pulling her tall Alpha into her arms and rubbing briskly along those pale arms to impart some semblance of warmth. The fact that Jun let her, spoke volumes about the threat now looming overhead. "Jun—what did you sense? Did you see something? Have you heard something?"

Jun made a distressed sound in her throat.

Gardenia frowned and turned to catch Jasmine's eye. Her King straightened up at once and whispered something that had all of their Gheyos circling up around them.

An agitated ripple fluttered through them as the Pareyas began to display their protective instincts. Wings bursting forth, that stretched up to the sky, kept close together, meant to shield—rather than to fly. They were easily feeding off of the rising tension of their Gheyos and knew that it was time to bare fangs.

"We shouldn't talk here," Orchid said. Her fairy wings fluttered, growing larger as she cracked her neck, rolling it to the side. The faint shimmer of fairy dust was the hint of a privacy spell being silently invoked. "Jun—lovey, have you anywhere we can—?"

Jun hesitated. "You would know our contacts better than I would at this point. I'll try whoever you believe we should trust the most."

Chris fluttered closer, hovering protectively near George and Regulus. As the newest ones in the group, he would feel compelled to shadow them, even through Regulus was now bonded into them. "Have they any connections?" he asked, nodding towards them.

George gave a wan smile. He didn't shrug off the protective arm that settled around his shoulders. There was a soft, continuous warmth that trickled out from the nearly always glowing fae. It brought every good feeling and memory of his family to the surface, smoothing it over the recent emotional wounds.

"Family on his mother's side," Jun murmured. "But we couldn't impose. Not with them completely unaware of his existence and no public announcement of my return. It would be too rude and goodness knows what kind of social upset we could cause." She scowled. "I'd hate to do it without a cause, anyway."

"Point," Chris allowed. He thought it through and came to the same conclusion, mildly irritated that Jun had reasoned it out so quickly. He should have caught that first—then again, it had been a while since he'd had to focus on making use of their presence rather than hiding it.

Another bout of silence stole through their solemn group.

"We could chance your father," Rian suggested, gauging her reaction. "He'll likely let you in and I'm sure you can handle it from there." He held out an arm, nearly smiling when Briar all but burrowed into his side at once.

Instinctively seeking comfort, Briar went to him—as Gardenia was still wrapped around Jun. It would take time before they could form new patterns or fall back on old habits.

Jun took a deep breath, her shoulders still curled forward, Gardenia's arms still locked around her, protectively—but lightly, giving her the chance to break free if she wished. "We could try…" she allowed, slowly.

Her family was set in their ways, but they were still dragel. And family, amongst dragels, was always and forever, family. At least, the way that her mother had seen her raised. She could at least try to speak to him, even if part of her largely wanted to rant and rave at him, to demand how he could have left her Circle alone for so long, to fend for themselves. Not even to check in with them or even to send word that her mother had passed.

Yes. She had a great deal to ask of him. As he likely had much to ask of her. She'd never intended for this whole mess to come about and there was still so much to process.

She drew away from Gardenia, turning to offer a thin smile. Her ACE had always been the one to stand so strongly besides her, whenever needed—with one exception that she intended to remedy quite soon. "We'll do that, but first, we need to find Zeph."

Predictably, Gardenia scowled. She hadn't been averse to the Joker joining their ranks—she did trust Jun—but it had been too close to her sudden disappearance. Instinct had demanded that she close ranks—and Rian had supported her.

It hadn't helped that she'd never seen the Joker fight, had spoken less than five words and then had to charm his way out of a rather public altercation, two months after Jun's disappearance. Furious and overworked, she'd ordered him to the pits—without sticking around to see if he'd obeyed. Several months later, she'd confirmed it, but was still too irritated to bother retrieving him.

"Anything you'd like to say?" Jun prompted.

Gardenia struggled to hold that knowing gaze. "I haven't heard from him since he's been in the pits."

It was unspoken that she hadn't bothered after Jun's disappearance.

"Alright, I'll request him then." Jun crooked a finger at Regulus. "You and him—formally—with us." She gestured at her Bonded. "As soon as we can manage it. If there are any objections—let me know before then." She tugged on her hair. That was the basics for now—everything else should be covered. "The children?"

"Leave them to me," Heather murmured. The children had automatically gathered around her as they always did. The older ones shielding the younger ones, faint lines of worry visible, but not overwhelming.

Jun wrinkled her nose. "Circle up!"

Her Bonded shuffled closer.

Rich, red-gold magic flared out and around them, spanning several feet further than the size of their actual Circle. It chimed and soared as power built within it.

Jun sniffed. "Temptrificus Saurenth!"

They appeared outside of the Gheyo Training Pits, in one of the public receiving areas. It was hidden into one of the slightly sheltered and shadowed corners off to the side, to allow extra privacy during the Hunt, without diminishing the functionality of 'porting in large Circles.

A glance from Jun to Ivy, communicated that all was well and that they would be fine. Gardenia shuffled forward to take stock of the new surroundings and to pick out if there were any familiar faces.

She was able to pinpoint a few and beckoned to Leif to accompany her to speak with them. The Pareya tightened ranks once more, drawing closer to each other and striving to maintain an outwardly indifferent appearance, should any stray eyes fall in their direction.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Ivy wanted to know. She preened her fingernails, frowning at the ragged tips. Taking care of herself hadn't been as important since Jun had left—she'd opted to focus on her Circle instead. Maybe now that would change. It had only been the small details she'd let slip, after all.

"As long as it needs to," Jun said, briskly. Her sharp eyes were still cataloguing everything around them, noting what had changed since her last visit to this particular place.

"We probably shouldn't linger here," Ivy said, carefully. It always made her antsy to be anywhere near the Gheyos' training grounds and this was close enough to make her skin crawl. It didn't matter that their Circle was all but military in power, given Briar's—unusual—tendencies.

"Here is safer," Azalea said, mildly. She was relieved to be closer to her fellow Gheyos in general—if something were to happen, she could rally any available acquaintances—if needed.

Ivy made a sound of disagreement, looking as if she wanted to say something more, but was visibly holding her tongue.

Azalea frowned. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Food courts—even some clothes. If you're not keen on us returning from where we've come, the first thing we'll need is appropriate clothes to be calling on any available contacts," Ivy looked to Jun. "Some of us have valuables stashed in the vaults, but that's mostly jewellery and weaponry. Not clothes."

"Weren't my accounts open to you?" Jun asked. A shadow settled on her face, jaw clenched. "Or have they been frozen?"

Rian's sharp-eyed gaze found her first. He slipped over to her side, hand half-raised as if wanting to reach out and comfort her, stopping when her gaze pinned him in place. "Frozen after the first year," he said, quietly. "That's when we figured something was wrong. We tried to contact you and couldn't."

Jun stiffened. "Even my emergency accounts?" her voice was hollow.

Rian shifted, uncomfortably. "Briar makes more than enough with his Reaping and Arielle knows our lot can rack up enough in the Pits, if they have to. With everyone chipping in, we managed well enough."

Jun swore softly in answer. Her talent—Runes—was often in high demand across more realms than merely Nevarah. She was paid quite well for her services and it had been a matter of principle to provide for her Circle.

"They'd best be unfrozen now." She held out a hand to Ivy, who immediately handed over her Circle token. A fresh bead of blood would ensure that it was correctly honoured wherever presented. The Royals should have confirmed her return to Nevarah and any unnecessary holds would have been lifted. "Anything else I need to activate?"

"Our duelling rights and excuses to the usual," Azalea offered. "We've gone anyway, but weren't able to participate in the branded tournaments because we didn't have the kind of waivers needed. They pay more for those you know. Nice winnings for the flashy ones."

Jun stifled a laugh. She had fond memories of those particular duels—overly dramatic, but well-executed in terms of a visual pleasure to witness.

Beside her, Briar flushed a soft pink.

Inwardly, Jun stifled a smile. She hadn't meant to project that, but if their minds were in sync—all the better. "If you didn't have the kind of waivers needed, then it would be due to the tournament likely to result in loss of limb or life."

Azalea shrugged, unperturbed by the explanation. "It looked like fun."

"Death defying stunts for the sake of shiny new armour?" Briar snorted. "No." He said, firmly.

"I'll sign them—after I check with Gardenia," Jun promised. She trusted Gardenia—who knew exactly what limits that Briar had in relation to their public duels. If her ACE said it was fine, then it would be. Briar would accept that and their Gheyos would be happy.

As if on cue, Briar sniffed, arms crossed over his chest—near pout almost visible.

Azalea grinned, impishly. "Great. I want at least three rounds with that Snowflake Drake they brought in from Kyrago."

"Absolutely not," Briar huffed, twisting around to look at her. "They have venomous ice fangs. Venomous. Ice. Fangs."

"I heard you the first time," Azalea teased. "But seriously, how can that even be real? I'd think the venom would melt any kind of fang, even if you used magic, that would just make it a glaring weak spot. How would it even be practical?"

"Real?" Rian echoed. "Practical? Arielle, woman! Have you a death wish?"

"Clothes," Ivy interrupted. She nudged Regulus. "You need to be outfitted in our colours. You too." She said, nodding at George. "What are your sizes? We generally order things to be crafted and specifically tailored. It looks better when we have to present."

George looked to Jun. "I'm good with a fitting or two." He said, quickly. What he had to wear at present, were all magically sized or his original outfit from the Wizarding World. Nothing that he felt particularly comfortable wearing in Nevarah.

Regulus hesitated. His winged arms would mean some creative options were needed. "Wings," he said, simply. "I don't care about the colours."

"Of course," Ivy said, briskly. "That's no problem at all. If you have no preferences, once I have your sizes, I'll select everything you'd need for a season. You'll still need to be wearing our Circle colours." She frowned. "Full outfits for both of you and filling in the gaps for the rest of us, I suppose."

Rian hid a smile. Ivy could be ferocious when she was like this. Perhaps he'd better join them to keep the peace. "Briar?" he glanced at his Submissive.

Briar was staring at the entrance to the pits, his eyes flickering a steadily darker shade than their expected hue. He tore his gaze away at Rian's voice and shook himself, as if to break an invisible trance. "I'll come." He said, simply. Clothes shopping was marginally more interesting than setting foot in the pits. His submissive status would be a headache in there, anyway. "Jun?"

"We won't be long," Jun said, quietly.

"I'll hold you to that," Briar said, evenly. "Jasmine?"

Azalea drooped, but Jasmine straightened up, her pretty eyes fixed on him.

"Go with her." Briar said, simply. "Rian?"

Rian stepped forward, bending to nuzzle the top of Briar's head.

"Jas?" Jun glanced over at her. She wouldn't require it, but it would be easier on all of them if at least one of her Gheyos were willing to accompany her into the Pits. Her Alpha status would allow her to duck in and retrieve Zephyr, but there were still some things that only a Gheyo would know.

She knew better than to ask it of Gardenia, who had instantly scampered off before such a difficult question could be poised. She'd also, of course, taken Leif with her—the one who likely would've volunteered.

Jun didn't have to wait though, because Briar had made the decision for all of them.

Jasmine shrugged and stepped forward. If that was what Briar wanted, then she would do as requested. Her golden eyes flared, briefly as they skittered over George. "You should come too, youngling," she tipped her head invitingly. "You might never find another chance after this. Alpha?"

Jun glanced at him thoughtfully. Jasmine had a point. Exposure to such things would be good for him, considering what he'd witnessed of dragel culture so far—too little.

The hesitancy she could read in his eyes, seemed to be in the way he looked to her for approval. He'd be curious, but holding his questions back until he could be sure he could ask them and hear the answers that she would give. It was a habit that was now endearing to her.

"You're welcome to," Jun said, carefully. "So as long as you do exactly as you're told."

George seemed relieved. He could do that. "I will."

"Good," Jasmine hummed. "Both of you will be perfectly fine, as long as you do exactly as you're told."

Jun didn't comment on that definition, but she allowed Jasmine to take the lead, as George came to join them.

Azalea stepped up to fill in the gap, her smile a bit bland, her sharp blue eyes cataloguing everything around them as they moved away. By default, she was now accompanying the rest of them to see to the vaults and new clothes.

Maybe after Ivy's shopping spree she'd have some time to poke about on her own.

"Why is it called the Pit?" George had to ask as they joined a fast-moving line, leading up to the massive wall of pitch black rock.

Jasmine snorted. "Because it's the pits when you're in there." She said, sweeping her hair up in a high ponytail and spelling it to stay there. She tested the grips on her knives and frowned, loosening the clasp on the left one for better access. "I want you to hold onto me or Jun the entire time you're in here. Do not let go."

George nodded, quickly. He wanted to ask why, but the words caught in his throat when his eyes met hers.

Her golden gaze darkened, meaningfully. "Time is irrelevant in the Pits and the standard offering is ten minutes for ten years. If you do not wish to age unduly and be scarred from the experience-" she started, faintly when Jun reached out and grasped her hand and then George's, her grip firm.

"I won't." George said, tightly.

Jun smiled.

The line moved forward until it was their turn.

Jasmine held out her right arm, wrist bared.

The ACE on duty, flipped it over and seared the current timestamp into the tender flesh of her inner wrist. "Admitting three." He rumbled.

They were shuffled toward the large, dark opening. It wasn't lit anywhere. Dark enough that each individual entering, gradually vanished from sight—even as the line continued moving.

George felt the floor ripple and shift beneath his feet as they stepped into the suffocating darkness. It was as if there were many hands tearing at him, all at once, attempting to pull him in every direction imaginable.

The strongest connection was the steady warmth from Jun's hand clasped to his, pulling him along at a decent pace—and firm in its grip, as if it had no intention of ever releasing him.

He wondered, briefly, why Jasmine had even thought to extend the offer.

It was odd.

He barely knew her. Though she had been kind enough, he supposed. It was still difficult to wrap his head around the different ranks and the distinctions between Pareya and Gheyo.

It had bothered him, just a bit, to leave everyone there, but he knew that Ivy was strong and that Azalea had a wicked way with the curved blades strapped to her thighs. They would be safe and protected—Merlin, he knew that they were dangerous.

The Reaping night had proved that in spades. They were vicious and efficient, protecting each other while effectively letting off a great deal of pent-up aggression. If he hadn't been doing the same himself, he would have been concerned.

In spite of their flowery names, there was very little that was dainty and floral—if at all—about them. He wondered, briefly, how come Jun's Circle didn't have any special classification. She'd explained the different types to him and he was fairly certain that hers was not normal.

George swallowed hard.

Definitely not normal.

Darkness began to lighten up ahead and he squinted, trying to pinpoint the pale blue slashes of light that gradually grew brighter and bigger as they drew near.

"It'll be loud," Jasmine warned.

George didn't know if he answered her or not, because a thick wall of glowing, rich blue light was now directly in front of them and before he could process whether he wanted to enter it or not—the very floor, it seemed,—picked them up and propelled them forward.

From absolute silence to loud, raucous cheering—he jerked and stumbled, grabbing at Jun's shoulder, in case he'd somehow managed to wrench their hands apart.

She simply tucked his arm under hers, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

They were surrounded by hundreds of Gheyos, at his best guess, standing outside of a massive duelling ring somewhere in the centre stage below.

Happy cheers and ugly jeers filled the air, thick with the stench of blood, sweat and various bodily fluids.

George swallowed. His stomach churned, unhappily. Several pressing magical auras flared up around him, warring between each other for dominance. He tried to pinpoint them and managed to place a few of the taller, darker Gheyos.

Possible ACE's, he thought to himself, suppressing a shudder at the very visible scars on the Gheyos they passed.

He didn't want to know what would make those kinds of scars. Didn't want to know why someone would wear them. Didn't think he could handle knowing.

Something rippled through the rough stadium. The ground trembled. George stumbled, trying to stay on his feet as he felt Jun's grasp on his hand—strain against the sudden shift.

He caught his balance with a hand that reached out to steady him with a tight grasp on his robe's sleeve. It was sharp enough to hurt, but strong enough to keep him upright.

For a split-second, he was frozen, staring up into gorgeous pink eyes, set in an impossibly pale face, framed by short, choppy, pitch-black hair. Pointed ears not quite hidden by the inky locks was proof of the Gheyo's fae nature. A black-and-red sword hilt was visible over one slender, well-armoured shoulder.

Magic strained inside of George, a spark sputtering out before it could even begin to surface. His breath caught in his throat and words failed him.

The pink-eyed fae regarded him with some measure of disinterest, mingled with disdain, before the gentle hand keeping him upright, was abruptly withdrawn. The fae turned back to his companion—a slender, four-armed man, with long, white bandages wrapped around the upper-half of his face, trailing down to his waist.

Bewildered, George twisted around, turning to try and memorize their faces, even as words swelled up in his throat. He felt as if he ought to say something—do something!—before the chance was lost, but nothing would come.

"Eyes down," Jasmine muttered—her voice magically carried to his ear. "And for Golgmar's sake, don't look at anything. You're unbonded."

He started, faintly, but ducked his head at once, eyes trained on the barely visible floor. The image of the lovely Gheyo lingered in his mind, more emotions surfacing as he turned the image over, trying to decide if it was pain in those pink eyes or something more.

The lack of red, had him dismissing the thought of the stranger being a Vampire. At least, he'd yet to meet a Vampire since his introduction to the dragel world. Besides, Jun's fae Bonded had all sported the same type of pointed ears.

It had to be a Fae. He was sure of it.

Alright. Reasonably sure of it.

George shook his head. He'd think of it later, for now, he'd do as Jasmine suggested and keep his head down. It was probably safer that way for all of them. Even if the floor was just as messy as the weird smells and sweaty bodies jostling for space around them.

Jasmine led them quickly through the crowd and through equally crowded hallways—all of them built with the same strange, purple-black, shimmering substance, that seemed to change every time that George tried to focus on it.

"Ten-year contract, right?" Jasmine muttered, half to herself.

"Renewable if no one retrieved him after the first ten," Jun supplied. "It's breakable if it's beyond the first ten. There's no outside prompt."

Jasmine growled, faintly.

The corridor opened out into a wide, circling balcony, that ringed a floating platform in the centre of the massive dome. There were dozens of Gheyos stretching, bending and twisting as they went through their warm-up exercises.

A few them were balancing precariously on the wire railings of the floating platform, testing their wings and focusing on proper posture during each extension.

The atmosphere was slightly more relaxed here and each aura seemed to be deliberately muted.

"What did he look like again?" Jasmine wanted to know, sharp eyes scanning the group. She drew them over to the high, metal railing of the circular balcony.

It was to her own dismay, that she realised the current disadvantage to her actions so many years before. She hadn't spent any time with the estranged Joker at all. Instead, she'd nodded at him from a distance and immediately directed her attention elsewhere. She hadn't wanted to think of another Bonded entering their Circle as Jun was leaving for her latest assignment. So she'd tuned it out.

But Jun silently fed an image through their Bonds without delay. It was a flash of laughter and the short memory of Jun's first meeting with him.

Jasmine flinched. She hadn't expected that. The silent rebuke stung, but she forcefully pushed the emotions away. She could deal with that. Later. Maybe.

George shifted uncomfortably as the memory was shared with him as well. It wasn't the first time he'd received a mental image from her, but it was the first time he'd ever seen one with that sort of powerful emotion behind it.

He was the first one to spot him though, as he scanned the floating platform and finally laid eyes on a well-braided head of russet-hued hair. When the large man turned to the side to speak, George could almost make out his face.

"There?" he said, lifting his free hand to point.

"Don't point," Jasmine said, quickly. She reached over to smack his hand down, but Jun was quicker and did it for her. "Don't. Trust me. That can come off like a challenge and right now, I don't know how well I'd do if there's more than eight of them against us. We'll be gravely outnumbered and who knows what they'll require of you two?"

"How are we supposed to-" George wanted to know.

Jun pursed her lips and whistled.

Both Jasmine and George flinched in tandem. They each pulled sharply on her hands, to gain her attention, but she wasn't even looking at them.

Instead, she only had eyes for the slowly smiling giant who had turned at once and was now making his way toward them with increasing speed.

His wings—massive forest-green appendages—bled away to a dull cream colour as he approached. His thick red hair was braided into several thick braids, twisted into one. His beard was braided and there were jewels woven into the ties. He hovered over them, wings beating effortlessly before he dropped the few feet to stand on the balcony walkway before them.

"Don't you dare," Jasmine snapped, when Jun tugged lightly on her hands—both occupied, one side with George and one with her. There was no way she was about to break the time-bond—not yet. "He can wait."

A broad smile spread over Zephyr's face and he inclined his head with an air of seriousness. "I can." He said, simply. "But it is very good to see you again. I—I was not sure if you would come."

Jun perked a brow.

His smile dimmed by a few watts. "Your presence vanished some time ago and I only just felt it return this morning. I feared for the very worst for quite some time."

Jasmine made a soft sound in her throat. "We all did. It's sort of fine now. Talk later—we need to move now. I don't like how it feels in here. How easy is your release? Do I need to sign anything? Or is it ACE or Alpha signatures only?"

He shook his head. "I volunteered to stay back after the first ten were up. I've been granted an assistant teaching position."

"With your rank?" Jasmine winced, even as the words left her lips. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

His smile eased, a fraction—noticeable because George was looking for a reaction.

"You did. But I don't see the point in commenting on that. For now, I'm glad to be remembered. This way," he said, simply. "And do tell me if you've come because we are in some sort of trouble?"

"Trouble is relative," Jun said, quietly. "I'll catch you up as soon as we're out. I did not mean to be away for so long."

He merely nodded, focusing on George. "Hello there."

"George, my mentored student" Jun said, quickly. "George—darling, this is Zephyranth. Zephyr or Zeph for short. He doesn't have a preference—that I know of."

"I answer to anything that vaguely resembles my name," the Joker said, lightly. "Nice to meet you, George."

George couldn't pinpoint the exact time they were out of The Pits, only that they were out and he was very relieved. It was nice to have solid ground under his feet.

The first question he swallowed whole, grateful for Jasmine's hand on his arm as she swiftly spun him around and walked him a few paces off.

His face warmed. "Thanks." He muttered.

Her face was equally flushed, her dark eyes flickering out to see their new surroundings. They'd scarcely cleared out from the entrance to the Pits and discovered that Jun and Zeph had stopped right there.

George didn't fathom that they were actually speaking, given that the liplock didn't look like it would be stopping any time soon. But he could see a thin thread of magic shimmering around them and he supposed they were mentally connecting.

At least, he wanted to think that.

It looked more like they intended to devour each other right there, without a single care to any possible public audience.

Jasmine rubbed her forehead, then cast a sideways glance at him. She couldn't begrudge him that, Joker and all, but it didn't mean she had to like it. She was annoyed at the small power play between Gardenia and Jun, more so when she felt caught in the middle of it.

"You alright?" she asked, looking over George with some degree of concern. "You don't look too bad for one that survived that."

"Great." George said, rubbing his face. "Fantastic, really." His ears warmed.

She smirked. "Quick study, aren't you?" She squinted up at the sky. "For Pareya like yourself, it's important to remember how different you are from us—the Gheyos. You will find yourself with the urge to protect us and you will need to fight that. There is a time for it—during our Resting Period—but apart from that, it can complicate things in a dangerous situation. Always remember that you protect all, but we protect you."

George made a quiet sound of disagreement in his throat. He didn't like that definition, but Jasmine's gaze was steady and unyielding.

"Listen to me," she said, firmly. "Because when you join your Circle, you'll be torn between wanting to look after all of them and then realizing that in the midst of it, you're between us and your Submissive. You can't do it all. You won't be able to. No matter how hard you try. As for us, we can't help what we do—it's different. The battle and bloodlust—it sings beneath our skin. We answer it, because it gives us the strength to shield and support you."

George studied her for a minute. 'So we won't ever be—?" He hesitated.

Jasmine offered a crooked smile. "You will. Everyone finds what works for them. In our case, as you've seen, we're Pareya heavy—but we have a full suite of Gheyos, which means we balance out enough that we're not a Pareyic Coven and we aren't Military. We're just—normal."

"What's the difference?" George bit his lip. "How will I know what I'll end up in?"

"Depends on your Submissive." Jasmine shrugged, carelessly. "Briar's a bloodthirsty sort, but Jun tempers him out. She's a stubborn bit and he wears her down when he has to. They compliment each other well and they were careful when building. Careful that the balance wouldn't tip one way or another."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you've looked like a lost, kicked puppy since Jun brought you home. As if you're afraid we won't let you stay and as if you're not sure you'll ever belong."

"I don't know that I will," George said, honestly. He still thought about Fred and hated that he couldn't feel his twin-connection anymore. A whole half of himself was missing and even though he was moving, breathing and living—it felt pale and grey.

"Say that after we find that pretty Sub of yours." Jasmine said, lightly. "He must be something special if he means that much to you before you're even Bonded. What was his name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter." George said. "At least, I think it's him."

"If you're dreaming of him and feeling like a good chunk of you is missing, then it's him."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Dreams are the biggest hints for soul-bonded dragels to find each other. So when you meet, you already sort of have a connection, see? And if you're having dreams, then you must be soul-bonded and you'll feel the absence of your soul-bonded partner rather keenly."

"Are they done yet?" George shoved his hands further into his robe pockets. He'd normally never cared, but the knowing looks sent their way from passers-by, were beginning to irritate him.

Jasmine glanced over her shoulder. "Still at it. Best to let them work it out of their system."

George rolled his eyes. He didn't think ten plus years could be 'worked out of their system' in a handful of minutes. "So where are we headed next? To find Regulus and everyone else?"

"Probably," Jasmine stretched, rocking forward on her toes, arms reaching over head. It was half a display of laziness and dominance rolled into one. It would hint at her wingspan and flexibility, suggesting that any gawkers move right along, instead of lingering. She eyed him. "You do know that Ivy will insist on more than just a new set of dress robes."

George groaned. It hadn't escaped him that nearly everyone's idea of dress wear was ten times fancier than anything he'd ever owned in his life.

Jasmine laughed.

LORD AIDEN + MELACOR : HOUSE OF ARYTHMOOR, AIDEN'S QUARTERS

Melacor crept around the corner of the door leading to Aiden's office. He really didn't want to enter, but in spite of the barely visible tremors, he knew he had to face his Lord had some point or another.

Aiden had been extremely upset to learn about Hermione's disappearance. His howl of rage had made the entire estate shake. A few vases had shattered from the resulting magical pulse and a tapestry was shredded when two young pups attempted to hide behind it.

In fact, two of the three of Aiden's most trusted betas had reported at once, to verify that everything was alright. Melacor had backtracked on his original intent at that point, darting away, tail between his legs.

Now, several hours had passed and what little courage had resurfaced, now waned to nothing as Melacor cautiously stepped into the one room he desperately didn't want to. Hiding any longer only delayed the inevitable and he didn't want to chance the reality that Aiden's temper would grow even more terrible with the passing time.

"Melacor?" Aiden's sharp voice echoed eerily in the office. The faintest flicker of the shadows along the walls, suggested that the entire room was entrenched firmly in the grip of the shadow master of the manor. Aiden's eyes glowed a fierce, pulsing red as he zeroed in on Melacor's slight, trembling form in the doorway.

He had been waiting after all.

Melacor gulped.

"Shift." Came the instant command.

The muffled sound turned into a low whine as Melacor blurred from human to Hellhound puppy. He slunk over to the desk and was caught up by the scruff of his neck in slender, pale hands, that were surprisingly gentle, in spite of his compliance.

Aiden settled him on the desk, burning red eyes studying him with care, before cupping the drooping head and lifting it up to meet his gaze.

Reluctantly, Melacor met his gaze. He was surprised to see a hint of dark humour present and the wry turn of his Lord's lips.

"You are, but a child," Aiden said, quietly. "I often expect more from you than I should—and in turn, you multiply that and shoulder a burden you shouldn't," he kissed the silky fur, gathering the pup into his arms as he reclined in his chair.

For one confusing, bewildering moment, Melacor froze. He didn't know what to answer to that—and his answers were quite limited in his current form. He was vaguely aware of the thin, slender fingers stroking over his furry head and still cradling him with the utmost of care.

"Did you honestly do all that you could?" Aiden asked, meaningfully.

Melacor yipped in answer. He had—he'd been called away from his post for one of his official duties. Keeping watch over his lordship's consort hadn't exactly been in his list of instructions.

Lord Aiden had only said to 'feed it' and 'amuse it' which was what Melacor had done. He'd had a dinner tray of simple food—for humans, anyway—sent to the room. He'd also included one of the board games with the jade marbles and the first volume of Hellhound lore from the manor's private library.

As an afterthought, he'd also included a handful of hairpins, as most females he knew, tended to always be in need of them for one reason or another.

"So by your own admission, there was little else for you to do," Aiden concluded.

Melacor tipped his head to the side in silent question. One part of him was still waiting for the scythe to drop, while the other part suggested that perhaps, he'd been right all along—and in spite of his lordship's long absence, he hadn't changed at all. He attempted a playful lick to the pale chin almost in range.

Aiden easily leaned out of reach, his grip tightening on the squirming armful. It was never easy to scold a pup and sometimes, words failed him.

This particular pup was different. A harsh word would wound him for weeks and Aiden had no wish to hurt him, but rather to convey that all actions had consequences.

It wasn't like Melacor to be distracted from the specific tasks he appointed him. This had been an unexpected development.

"There is no reason for me to be upset or disappointed with you." Aiden paused. That sounded suitably soothing. Now for the important part. "That does not mean, however, that you aren't in trouble."

Melacor drooped.

"You gave her these?" Aiden held up a slender hairpin.

Melacor whined. So he had been right after all. The new Consort's hair had been a tangled, untidy mess and he'd only thought to try He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

"She apparently picked the lock—without magic—and it opened, because the ward was not set for that sort of clause."

If it was possible to curl even further in on himself, Melacor tried. He didn't like the disapproving expression, but knew he deserved it.

"She isn't a typical human witch," Aiden explained. "Something about her, caught our Lady's eye. It stands to reason, that typical measures would not keep her secure. In the future, should I place her in your care, you are to keep that in mind—understood?"

Melacor yipped again.

"Good." Aiden said, simply. "However, I do not appreciate having to wait half-a-day to hear that from you. Next time, I expect you to answer when I call. Tonight, you will sleep in your own room and I have a few specific tasks, I wish for you to see to. I will count your speediness in completing them as your honest repentance on this oversight."

Soulful puppy eyes stared up at him, mournfully, as Melacor held still, despite how much he hated the words currently leaving his Lord's mouth. It was always better—no safer—to spend his nights in Aiden's room.

It was a treat reserved for a select few and he'd always been lucky enough that Aiden indulged him on a fairly regular basis. For such a thing to be revoked—given Aiden's recent return—Melacor didn't think he could bear it.

The low whine that left him, was interrupted by the same, gentle hands that kept on stroking his head and scratching at his ears.

"I want a full report of Lord Rasputin's movements since my absence-"

Melacor couldn't help it. He shifted back, confusion showing plainly on his young face. "But your lordship, he hasn't done anything that you can-"

Aiden's lips twitched into a dark smirk. "You said he's done nothing that I could kill him for. However, from what I have heard, his behaviours and recent actions have been far from excusable. I will need something suitable to excuse disciplinary measures, so I'll trust that you're able to list everything that went on while I was away."

Melacor paled. This was far worse than being banished to his own bedroom. Lord Rasputin had never thought of him as anything other than a greedy orphaned child, leeching off of Lord Aiden's goodwill. He was the main dissenter among the Hellhound ranks, once causing such unrest in the lower and middle ranks, that it had only been settled through a great deal of death and bloodshed.

An unwilling shudder rippled through him.

It was those darkened days he didn't like to think about.

The days when he'd been under Lord Rasputin, forced to do whatever was asked of him and treated as little more than a slave-turned-pet.

Lord Aiden, upon discovering the truth, had put an absolute stop on everything. However, his court—angry with him at the time—had refused to vote in favour of execution. Humouring them for the sake of peace in his courts, Lord Rasputin had been allowed to live.

"Shhh." Aiden murmured, the smirk morphing into a bland smile—and therefore a less threatening expression overall. "The courts will see it my way at one point and if they don't—well, it's been a while since I've cleaned house." He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the shivering boy. "You need not fear him, under this roof nor within my care." He sighed. "I know you see him for what he is, so I ask you to leave nothing out."

Melacor curled closer, his eyes downcast in misery. Lord Aiden was certainly smart. He'd picked the most useful, irritating and sufficiently disagreeable method of punishment. There were several moments he didn't care to relive, from his Lord's absence, but if it would bring about the end of a specific tyrant, he'd obey.

As he always ever would.

"Melacor—can you do this?"

"…Yes, your lordship."

"Good boy."

LUNA + ROLF : SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF THE REALM OF THE LIGHT FAERIES

Luna slipped to the ground with a grateful sigh. She rolled her neck and shoulders, working out the kinks in each muscle group. "Thank you for that," she murmured, tugging on her Fae powers to revive her body.

Rolf had carried them quite some ways, until his strength had begun to wane. He'd warned her, then, that he was growing tired and that they ought to stop off and rest.

"We're so close," she said, wistfully.

They'd stopped atop another rocky plateau, staring out into the vast expanse of tree-covered ground and faraway mountain tops.

"How much further?" Rolf wanted to know. He flopped on the rocky surface, uncaring of how hard and rough it was. His body ached with the near overuse of his wings and with the additional weight of carrying Luna.

Not that he'd ever complain.

It'd been something of a tortuous dream to carry the one he loved in his arms, so safely and securely for all this time.

"Those woods over there—" Luna said, pointing. She stopped, lips twitching as she caught sight of Rolf's large yawn. They were close, indeed and she didn't want to push him, but the last vision she'd seen meant that timing was everything.

"Five minutes?" he asked, opening one eye to squint up at her.

She stood over him, hands on her hips, a dreamy smile plastered on her face. "I could fly on ahead—"

"NO!" He bolted upright, already half reaching for her.

She caught his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Her smile softened. "Two minutes. We can't be late or they'll take the wrong portal."

Rolf's gave her hand a squeeze and then eased back to the ground.

Luna sighed, softly and knelt behind him, patting her lap.

Their eyes met, a silent, wordless conversation, before he settled down, his head lightly resting on her lap.

She breathed in the clear, crisp air and exhaled with the growing energy inside of her. A thin fine, glittering mist left her lips, floating on the air, fading off.

"Beacons?" He murmured, tiredly.

"Star mist." She hummed, repeating the action twice more. "These are not Fae woods, so we must be careful."

"Two minutes?" He checked.

"A few more seconds," she soothed, stroking her free hand through his softly tangled hair. "We'll make it."

"This is good." He shuffled up, reluctantly moving away from her caring hands. He held out a hand to her.

She took it, easily and started up into the sky, pulling him along with her, as he called out his own wings and settled into flight.

The woods grew larger and darker as they approached, the occasional magical tremor rippling through the air.

"What are we expecting?" Rolf asked.

"Friends." She said, simply. "We'll have to drop straight down." She let go of his hand and shot up several feet into the air. Her eyes glowed with a steady light as she narrowed her focus to a specific clump of trees.

"Here?" Rolf called from above, where he hovered, one hand on the short knives tucked into his leg holster.

"Straight down!" Luna repeated.

He winked. "As. You. Wish!" He dropped with surprising speed, hurtling towards the pointy branches and glistening leaves. In the instant where it would have been too late, the knives flashed in his hands and a short, compact burst of air—sliced straight down, severing everything in it's path.

Luna tipped her face up to the sky and opened her mouth. She gave a long, warbling trill and then dropped from the sky as Rolf had, golden light streaming from her fingertips. It sliced through the ragged debris from Rolf's initial attack.

When the dust cleared, they stood inside a hollowed out crater on the floor of the dense forest. The only light streaming in, was from the hole they'd cut overhead. Beneath the trees protective canopy, it was dark and almost suffocating.

"You're sure it's here?" Rolf asked, tossing her one of his knives.

She caught it, without looking and immediately crouched at the corner of the crater they'd made. "They'll come. This is the safest point."

Rolf grunted. He cast a wary glance around at the trees, fingers itching to cast another spell.

"Don't." Luna warned him, sweetly. "This is not our forest."

He didn't answer, but a slight scowl registered. He watched as she pricked her thumb and squeezed a few droplets of blood onto the shapes she'd carved with his knife. The dirt soaked it up and a sharp wind rattled through. It tore around them, before shrieking off into the woods.

"Boreas?" Rolf murmured, thinking of the strange wind creatures that somehow walked the line between living spirt and not-quite-evil spirit, but could be bonded to a magical creature, as an elemental familiar.

"They are free to roam here," Luna said. She smoothed over the dirt and sucked on her thumb, the knife balanced on her knee as she traced a new set of shapes with her fingers. "Let me know if anything's coming."

Rolf perked a brow, but after a moment's pause, he leaned against the nearest tree, loosely folding his arms over his chest. The approaching tremor seemed a bit off and he cocked his head, trying to focus on it. He was better at grasping the general intent behind such magical vibes—more so than the average fae.

"Rolf?" Luna glanced up at him. One eye still glowed a pale, silvery hue.

"You could've warned me you were hijacking a portal." He grumbled. "Why'd we have to travel all the way here for them?"

"Because I didn't want to lose any of them. There are laws for these sorts of things."

"…And that's stopped you when?" Rolf wanted to know.

Luna giggled. "Never!" She said, cheerfully.

Rolf groaned. The giggle meant that she wasn't about to tell him the real reason, but that she trusted him to stick with her long enough to find out. Oh stars and starlings. Why'd he have to fall for her?

The ground began to churn and crack, heaving upwards in big chunks, prompting both fae to leap into the air, to stay well out of the way.

A brilliant pillar of golden light erupted from the ground, streaming upwards into the sky, as if it would never end. Every shade of yellow and gold, spreading with a frantic, eager pulse.

"Rolf!" Luna tackled him out of the air and to the forest floor. She whispered the words that would throw up a shield and huddled protectively over him, as the broken portal deposited its occupants in the temporary holding spot she'd created.

"Luna? I'm alright. I'm fine." Rolf soothed. His hand trembled as he reached up to touch her cheek.

She leaned into his hand. "It's a dryad's portal," she explained. "Not Nevarean, but headed for Nevarah."

He frowned. "Aren't they on lockdown right now? Since it's in the midst of their hunt and there's that great prophecy thing?"

She smiled, sadly.

Understanding dawned like a hurricane. Rolf couldn't stop himself from working it out, aloud. "It would've absorbed them, wouldn't it? The protections would have seen them as a threat and simply—"

"Mmhm."

He snatched her to him in a hug, uncaring that it drew them even closer than before. A slight shudder ran through him. That would've been a terrible way to die.

Luna didn't protest though and after a moment, she placed her cheek on his chest.

A/N: WHEW! So how did you like that for a chapter 101? LOL. I swear, I didn't mean for it to take so long, but as you can see, there were a lot of different parts to wrestle with. To answer a few questions (because I know you guys are gonna ask)-YES, George ran into Wikhn when he went in the Pits with Jun. Yes, Luna is doing something here-remember who was a dryad...? Yeah. Oh and yes, how did you like Riven? He's a darling grump. :P I can't wait to show more of him.

Many, many thanks to brissygirl who always does a fabulous job of beta-ing these monster chapters. She is an absolute darling!

Thanks for your support and kind reviews here on TBDH and my indie project, The Dragel's Song. I do actually have some work to do before the next installment on that as well. Welcome to the new readers. Thanks for reading!

REVIEW RESPONSES WILL BE POSTED as I have the time to spare-and I honestly haven't had the time for a while now. I'm truly very sorry for that, but I still treasure every review-thank you for your comments and encouragement!

STATE OF CHARACTERS:

Harry, Ethan, Theo, Charlie-(with the Royals)

Snape Circle (in a new apartment, courtesy of Terius)

Deveraine Circle members-(at the Hunt)

George (with Jun and the Evansons)