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.

!TRIGGERS FOR: mentions of death/suicide/gore/implied torture! (basically, there is Death, Mariana and Alec involved)

RECAP: Harry blacks out from the interference of Hadrian raising the Death Seal on Earth. This forces Riven Cairothe to join in helping to keep Harry alive, and from being pulled through the realms and back through time. Lord Cunningham and Mariana, split their Circle in half, to continue on their mission. Mariana separates to chase down the ones responsible for casting the Beacon on Harry's house, while Lord Cunningham discovers the awful truth that Hadrian is a grim reaper! Death is not happy, forcing Tavit, The Necromancer, to join the chaos in bargaining for the life of Maurice Elswood. Keep reading more fun and plenty of drama! ;)

NEVARAH : PRINCE RASPEN'S QUARTERS : HARRY AND CO + RIVEN, PRINCE RASPEN. : Day Four

Harry lay on the ground, with neither pillow nor blanket, his arms crossed over his chest and the scaled necklace hovering overhead, shimmering ever so faintly. The gleaming Earthstone, a token from his first time using Theo's element, was now, finally of use. It glowed brilliantly, spinning in a lazy circle at Riven's bidding.

Standing, grimly, within reach and yet, not close enough, Theo watched. He silently channelled every shred of calmness he could muster, through their shared bonds. Charlie stood beside him, solemnly, both of them poised to move at a moment's notice.

Riven's outstretched hands, one over Harry's heart—and the necklace—and the other, over his stomach, the centre of Harry's magical core. His eyes continued to burn with brilliant violet fire that demanded the tense silence that filled the room. Magic crackled and snapped, visible in some instances and invisible in others.

It gathered, pooling in the cracks of time and space, pulling away in slivers to twine around the one who had called them. Riven's hands moved, slowly, robotically, almost, as if he were not quite in control of his own movements. One hand extracted the glowing earth stone from Harry's necklace, while the other began radiate a soft glow, that formed into a steady, solid beam of light.

From the palm of his hand, to Harry's stomach, the beam of energy began to fill Harry with light, from head to toe. The air in the room lightened as the pure magic itself, came into bloom.

"For all that he has been and all that he is, great realm, we ask of you to grant him sanctuary. He is one of your own lost children and wanders, between the worlds, not knowing where he may step without remorse." Riven intoned. "I ask on his behalf—grant him sanctuary. Give him shelter."

The room seemed to quiver.

Time breathed.

The air lightened, a flicker of warmth bleeding into it.

Riven's shoulders relaxed. His breathing matched Harry's. His head bowed. The request had been acknowledged, now it simply needed to be accepted.

"I ask you, Great Realm, to keep him and comfort him. Cradle him in the unending flow of your existence and guard him from the unseen forces that would end his life too soon."

The air warmed even more.

Charlie shifted, nervously. His hair burst into flame, with a flicker of panic. Magic rose and sang within his veins, with a strength he hadn't felt in days. He wished Ebony was there. The fire coursing through him felt as if it would devour him alive, if he so much as breathed funny.

Theo leaned into him, gently. A steady calming presence, that kept the flames from continuing down to emerge from his not-quite-shaking hands. The calmness bled through their shared bonds, with Theo pressing a little harder to make sure the intent behind it, registered.

"Theo, I didn't-" Charlie began, even as he found himself drawing closer.

"Magic," Theo murmured, as softly as he dared. He pressed even harder into Charlie's side. "Don't fight it."

Whatever Riven was doing—whoever he conversed with—that spirit had deigned to answer by way of filling the room with an unmistakable aura of love.

Charlie swallowed. His eyes prickled with tears, as if his body could no longer contain the emotions that welled up inside of him, struggling to claw their way out of his his throat. He started when Theo's warm, solid hand, threaded through his own lax one.

There was strength there and support. It was offered, given freely.

He took it.

Theo's own worry seemed to recede for a moment then. He stared straight ahead, watching as Prince Raspen maintained the protective shield on the room.

Royal magic seemed to be holding well, though it was unnerving to see Prince Raspen's corporeal form fluxing in and out. He was not quite fully there, evidenced by the nearly transparent arms and legs, from where he stood in the far corner of the room.

"…we offer you this token—take it as his anchor…" Riven whispered. He brought his hands together, cupping the Earthstone in offering. "And keep him as yours!"

Light flared to blinding, whiting out the room with a powerful surge of energy.

The walls rattled. The room shook. Everything groaned.

And then it stopped, settled.

When he could see again, Charlie didn't even try to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. He didn't think he could explain the experience with words—they were too paltry a medium to express what he'd felt.

Theo squeezed his hand, gently—but a slight quiver ran through him. The second-hand magical feedback was illuminating at best and deeply revealing at the worst. He felt as if he witnessed something private and sacred, but had no words or strength of soul to process it.

Head bowed, shoulders relaxed, Riven's eyes fell shut as he reached out to dance along the edge of the mind meld once more. The proof of the anchoring was now visible for everyone to see.

Delicate golden scrolls decorated Harry's forehead and limbs, glowing through his clothes with a pure light. They faded away, disappearing into his skin, as soon as they'd activated.

"Riven-!" Prince Raspen said, hoarsely. The light in the room began to stutter and flicker. "I cannot hold this for much longer-!"

"It is complete," Riven ground out, breaking the meld. He heaved forward, sucking in several unburdened breaths. Perspiration dotted his flushed forehead. "Let it fall, Raspen. Let it fall. He is no longer—a pawn. Nevarah has accepted his claim."

DEATH : EARTH : UNMERGED TIMELINES : (Tavit and Niko)

Death loomed overhead, darkness dripping from every corner of the void that had swallowed the sky. The blackness twisted into a murky violet hue, somehow lighter and darker than the night itself—all at the same time. The houses of Privet Drive remained visible and seemingly intact, while the Death Seal itself, continued to glow, the last layer nearly unravelled entirely.

Realmshift…Tavit thought, darkly. He only ever saw that colour overhead, when the current reality was warped beyond individual control. It meant a fifty-fifty chance of operating on earth, in his mind, in Death's realm, someone else's mind or Immortal's forbid—Niko's mind. These kinds of complications made his head hurt, before he even bothered to think too deeply of it.

Now that he considered it, in line with Death's most recent question, Tavit was fairly certain he wasn't being paid enough for this.

To anger Death was beyond foolish and the warning signs for treading upon thin ground, were few and far in between. It was so much worse than what he'd originally anticipated. Few lived to take note of such things after all.

Very few, if history was to be known.

But this wasn't the first time he'd bargained for souls not his own.

And it wasn't the first time Riven had asked a favour either.

Tavit drew a shallow breath and willed himself to remain as calm as he dared. He gripped his staff tightly in one hand, silently checking the reserves of his magic. They were there, accessible, should he need to draw on them, but the chances of successfully casting anything useful was practically nil.

And it was hard to breathe again.

"I have no business with Harry James Potter," Tavit choked out. "I have only come for the shadow of Maurice Elswood."

"You lie!"

"I do not." Tavit said, as calmly as he dared.

"Yes—yes—you lie!" Death snarled. Her bony hand reached out, a tendril of life slipping between her fingers as she pulled enough to make him wobble.

"Not to you, dark lady, never to you," Tavit rasped. He shuddered as the tendril of life left his body and floated over to Death's bony hand.

"Never?"

"Never to you," he repeated.

"Then why would you come for this one?" Death thrust Maurice's soul beneath Tavit's nose. "You share no connection to him—I know you do not. I know everything of you. You have no secrets."

Tavit shuddered.

"I know your every truth—I know your every lie. So tell me, child of darkness—who is this creature, to you? Do you not know he has cast this seal to save himself?"

"To save himself?" Tavit echoed, unwillingly. He hadn't the time to examine the seal, exactly. Riven had called and so he'd come. That was all there was to it. That was what was between them, after all. There were few things that could last through time and space. The ability to call a Necromancer on demand, was on par with the ability to dismantle a killing spell, seconds before impact.

This wasn't the first time he'd suffered for one of Riven's rescue projects. Though he'd just as soon have it be the last, there were rules to be followed and even though he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary about the seal itself—at least not at first glance—he was starting to think a second look might be worth it.

He'd just gone off of the initial reading from the precarious situation that he'd 'ported into. The initial glimpse hadn't revealed anything amiss.

Niko's arms tightened around his waist. Tavit swallowed hard. If Death was right—and he knew her to be so—then this would be a high price to pay. Thinking of it, made his teeth ache.

Death hissed. "To save himself!" She clenched the sputtering, feeble soul in her skeletal hand. "He cast it to prevent the harvest of yet another."

Tavit's brow furrowed together. That didn't make any sense at all. That was the whole point of a Death Seal. To swap the current life for another—basically, trading time. Countless Gheyos in Nevarah used such seals all the time.

It was a means of satisfying wounded pride and bruised egos—along with easing painful conversations between unsettling encounters. If dying would solve a problem—but also cause a similar problem—then a Death Seal was commonly employed to resolve the issue.

"…I do not understand."

"Then bring me the other soul."

"What?"

"If you wish for Maurice Elswood—then bring me the one who caused this. Bring me Harry James Potter."

Niko's arms tightened significantly, enough to draw a slight sideways glance at her.

Tavit trembled. He'd never seen her that shade of pale before, with such thin, trembling lips—as if she didn't dare think about some horrible secret lurking in the back of her mind. A faint memory teased in the back of his mind, as to the last scolding he'd given her, when she'd wandered off to cause trouble, while he'd been otherwise occupied.

She'd always had a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time. This seemed like one of those times. How troublesome. He trusted her reactions and judgements—they were usually quite sound—but caught between her instincts and Death's demands was not a safe place to be.

Death gave a wheezing, rattling breath.

It made his bones ache. He licked his lips, searching for words that would not come easily. "…I cannot bargain for a life that has not been given to me."

"And this one was?" Death twirled Maurice's soul upon her pointed fingertips. "How arrogant of you to claim ownership."

"…I claim nothing. It is the only reason I have come here. I would not seek you otherwise, for such trivial matters."

"Trivial, you say—and yet, you still trouble me." Death said. "Very well then, Shall I take them both? That would solve this problem quite nicely, I think."

"Both? No—!" The protest tumbled from his lips before he could help himself.

Death laughed, softly. A dull, grating sound. Her free hand stretched out, gently tipping Tavit's horrified face to meet her own hooded face. Darkened eyes glittered. "No? And who are you to presume that your words mean anything to me?"

"Please—not Maurice. I can—I will—"

"You will what?" Death squeezed Maurice's soul, until it quivered in her palm. "You have nothing else to bargain with—unless…" Her hollowed gaze settled on Niko's frightened form.

Niko shrank further behind him, pressing up against his back, her trembling fingers digging into his stomach. She hid her face in the roughness of his shirt, even as her lips moved to whisper the starting incantation of an inter-realm shield.

Bless her, Tavit thought, darkly. At least one of them had their heads on straight there…

He pressed his lips together as the horrifying realization dawned from Death's declaration. He'd wondered what kind of connection was between the two souls, but there was only one reason for Death to claim both. Intertwined souls. Either through some wicked twist of fate or something stupid, like a SoulBond—two souls could be moulded together and fused into one shared existence.

And that was why Riven had called for him. Tavit resisted the urge to scream in frustration.

Damn Realmwalkers.

Riven owed him so much for this. No one had told him anything about intertwined souls. It was far too late to back out of anything now. There were rules for things like this. Regulations to keep stupid things from happening—stupid things like dying from pointless accidents.

"…you have nothing to bargain with," Death repeated, the gleam grew stronger in her hollow eyes. "Nothing whatsoever."

Tavit croaked, feeling the moisture leave the air. He could already feel the price being sucked from him even as he struggled to think of what assets remained within in his possession. To come to bargain with nothing—it was not the first time—but he had sworn it would be the last.

His hand skittered lightly over Niko's trembling ones locked around his waist. He'd promised her that she would forever be his and therefore, no longer Death's. He'd made a promise that only he could keep.

This was merely an obstacle.

A temporary obstacle.

He could not concede defeat here. Would not.

"What will you do now, child of darkness?" Death smirked.

"…I have only come for Maurice." Tavit said, lowly. His free hand clenched. They'd have to do this the hard way, after all. "That is all I have come for."

"And yet, you cannot have him—for his soul is joined to this one and I would have you remedy this."

Tavit glanced away. He could hear the taunt beneath the words. The unspoken challenge. He took the dare. "…How?"

Death tipped her great head to the side, rolling Maurice's soul between her fingers, as if it were a toy. "Then let us make a deal."

"What kind of a deal?"

"I have what you want. You have—the ability to give me what I want."

"Oh?"

"I want him," Death groaned. "I want what has been denied to me—I want Harry James Potter. Do you understand this?"

Tavit shrugged. It was to early to answer.

"Bring it to me."

Niko flinched.

"Bring you…?" Tavit prompted.

"Bring me the soul of Harry James Potter. In exchange, I will return Maurice Elswood."

"…why not claim him now and give me what I have paid for?"

"You assume too much of yourself."

"…as do you. Surely you could take back what is already yours?" Tavit heard himself say, before he could check the words. Given the state of the Death Seal upon his arrival and the Reapers he'd interrupted; it should have been easier for Death to intervene than him.

Death fixed him with a look that could melt bones. "If such things were done so easily, do you not think I would have him already by my side? I want them both. I want the one with his precious, untainted light. I want the one with his hopeless, desperation. I want them both."

"…then why me?" He threw back.

Death laughed. "You would have me cross lines that you, yourself, Necromancer, would not cross and yet—" one bony hand reached out, a thin, razor-sharp claw slicing down his cheek from ear to chin. "I want him. The more he struggles so beautifully—the more I know he must be mine."

Like fire, burning its way through him, the wound began to carve itself deeper, even as Tavit made himself smile through the pain.

Death exhaled. The violet sky trembled. "Just like you. I cannot have you, but I can have all that you offer me. I cannot take him—yet. But you can—and you will."

Tavit willed his mouth to open, for words to emerge. He needed to say something, to do something—to protest—anything, but nothing came out. He choked again, as the air grew thin and the pressure around his throat increased.

Death's empty gaze roved to Niko, who shrank even further behind Tavit. "I will not ask you for what you would not give," she taunted, for Niko would have been a welcome sacrifice, but one that Tavit would never offer. "Save Maurice, if you are so inclined, but Harry will be mine. You do not know him—so what does it matter? Save the one you have come for…"

HARRY POTTER, HIS MINDSCAPE : BODY IN NEVARAH

Harry floated in the darkness of his mind, wondering if Riven would return. No matter what he'd said, as far as Harry was concerned, there was little point in being trapped in his own head, when there was the slightest inkling that he could be useful, if he was up and functioning.

Strangely, the darkness was comforting. It cradled him gently, as if he were something precious to be adored and protected.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it did feel that way. As if there was someone wrapped around him both soul and magic. He'd felt something slither along the sides of his face and his head, before it had sunk deep into him.

There was no actual distinction beyond the fact that it simply felt as if he now belonged. Tracing wondering fingers along the edges of his scalp, didn't produce any useful results.

He couldn't see if something had changed. He could only feel.

And it felt good.

Harry yawned, stretching into the darkness and marvelling at how free everything felt. He couldn't see anything, except for his own body. There were no lights and also, no limits.

He couldn't see to the end or the edge of wherever his mind was—and the lack of boundaries was singularly freeing. It was as if he'd stumbled into every possibility known to his existence.

And then a spot of light seemed to form somewhere off in the distance.

Another yawn escaped. Harry rolled his neck to the side, but began to shuffle towards the pale spot. Maybe it was Riven again.

Odd dragel that he was, Harry hadn't been able to mask his admiration for the high-scale spellwork he'd seen.

He'd never witnessed such a thing before.

Even during the Triwizard Tournament, or Dumbledore's occasional displays at Hogwarts and such—it was different.

Riven's calm, collected air had only emphasized the fact that his magic, rich, vibrant and dangerous—was well controlled. The display, though it hadn't been meant that way, had felt almost oddly seductive. Harry had found himself drawn to the shimmering energy and contradictory Riven.

Gates to the future, past or whatever, he didn't quite care. It was interesting in theory, but watching it—to see something of that calibre and depth, had sparked a curiosity he hadn't expected. Beautiful to look at and intriguing to watch it settle into form.

It made him think of when he'd first invoked Theo's password and the handful of instances from then, where he'd spoken words to give form to the feelings of his magic coursing through him.

As it had reawakened and made its presence known, he'd learned that using his wand, though functional, had left him longing to be able to cast the way that Theo did.

Even Ethan.

With their hands and thoughts. No wands.

As if directing their magic was nothing more than afterthought.

"Like breathing…" Harry muttered to himself. He could almost swear that the pale spot of light was somehow moving further away from him and that prompted enough irritation for faster action.

He broke into a light sprint, angling towards the brightness only to find that he was much closer than he'd anticipated.

Slivers of light poured into his mindscape.

Harry skidded to a stop at the edge of a gaping hole. He could make out a pit so deep that the dark seemed to yawn up at him. A circle wide enough that he couldn't make out how to move around it, even though he could see the actual edges.

A dark, murky purple seemed to paint the edges of the circular pit, dripping down into the unfathomable nothingness.

Yet, the more he squinted at the odd, glowing ball of purple hovering just over the middle, the more it began to take shape.

In fact, now it looked as if there was a ball—no, wait—a person.

Harry stared. A slight chill washed over him.

It was definitely a person.

Someone—all curled up.

In chains.

The darkness seemed to crackle and spark, showing Harry that the chains were not static, as he had first thought—but illuminated by a twisting, choking energy, that seemed to contort the chained figure even more.

Hurt. Pain. Confusion.

The emotions tangled up inside of him, followed by a deep, immense sadness. Harry choked, as the feelings overtook him. He could only watch the figure twist and jerk according to the tightening of the chains.

The burning ache in his arms and throat, grew worse as he watched. As if he were somehow a part of the tragedy playing out before him. He didn't want to think of the pain it had to cause, even as the sheer depth of sorrowful emotion overtook him.

His thoughts smoothed out into a single realization.

This was someone who had given up all hope.

Oh.

So that's why it hurt.

Hands clenched at his sides, Harry inched closer to the edge of the pit. He peered down into the gaping void and then back up at the person floating over it. This was his mind—so surely the same laws of reality didn't actually exist there, he mused.

So how to help?

It took some effort to lift a hand and reach out—trying to see how far away the figure actually was.

Very far, actually.

Hm.

Harry frowned. There wasn't much to go on at all. He'd never seen this person before-at least, not that he could recall.

"Hello? Hello! Can you hear me? Please—answer me!"

The chain grew tighter, slowly drawing the figure deeper into the blackened void.

Panic exploded. Harry scrambled as close to the edge as he could manage, flexing his fingers, carefully. He couldn't transfigure something—or summon something to his aid—but there was still one other option.

Wings. Wings. Wings. Come out now…I need you…

A familiar twist and shift. Sharp, clear pains that vanished almost as soon as they registered. Harry's wings burst out with a wet sound, mixed with the ripped fabric of his shirt.

Ah. That was troublesome.

He wondered why it was harder to direct his wings, even as the left one finally curved around to his front, so he could examine it. He had better control of his wings than this, didn't he?

The right wing curved after a bit more concentration. Harry inspected what he could, with careful, skimming fingers. There were a few bloody bits here and there, along with several patches of dull scales.

Not good, he thought, annoyed. Quinn had mentioned something about better wing care, but he'd yet to give it any actual attention. In between of attending the Hunt, meeting too many news faces and trying not to read too much into each heart-wrenching ache in his chest, there'd simply been no time.

Harry sighed. Dull scales though—that meant he wasn't taking care of them. He made a mental note to mention it to Ethan at some point. Given that Ethan seemed to have more experience with his wings, than Theo or Charlie, Harry was sure that he'd think of something.

The chains rattled again, drawing his attention. Harry squinted back to the void and the figure dropping several feet lower into the blackness.

He gritted his teeth. His wings were in lousy condition and he'd never even flown with them—but still, perhaps they'd hold up. Maybe.

They twitched and shuddered, as he tried to coax them to move properly. Hadn't Quinn said he had an affinity for Air? Surely that would help?

The chains began to glow and grow, lavender-white links ripping up from the earthen ground.

Harry wobbled on the edge of the pit—and fell in.

He flailed in the darkness, unable to keep from screeching at the icy cold hands that seemed to paw at him. This darkness was dangerous!

His agitated screech echoed weirdly in the pit.

A single lavender chain shot up, wrapping around his ankle and drawing him up short. Harry came to an abrupt stop with a muffled yelp, as his left wing smacked into his face.

"Ow-" he muttered, twisting and turning, before he realized his predicament. Hanging upside down, dangling from his right ankle, he swayed back and forth.

And then the chain began to move.

It slowly drew him up, back to the surface. Back to where the violet sky seemed to beckon.

Closer, also, to the chain figure that hovered overhead.

Ah. So he'd fallen that far.

Harry continued to sway back and forth, as the chain moved further up him—from his ankle to his knee, as if trying to get a better grip. He was relieved to have been saved—until he realized that the chain meant to throw him back to the edge of the pit.

To the safety of the surrounding ground.

"No—wait, please!" His cry made the chain shudder. "Please—why—he—I can't."

The chain threw him.

Harry braced for the impact and caught himself with less damage to his wings, than he'd expected. That was good. He stood tall, shaking himself off as best as he could.

Another shudder rippled through him. The icy hands that had clutched at his skin, made everything hurt and burn.

He glanced down to see darkened handprints littering his wrists and arms.

No.

No, no, no!

Not this time.

Always trying to help and never quite being good enough?

What a joke.

Magic, magic, magic—something—it's there—I can feel it—

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried. He felt his wings shudder and vanish, disappearing back inside of him. His spirit lifted and twisted.

He tried to clear his mind. To make everything as empty as possible. To believe that wherever he was—inside of his head or in some other weird realm—that he could do it. That he could reach out.

That someone would take that hand.

Warmth bubbled up inside of him.

The air shifted.

A gentle wind blew the chill away.

Chains rattled.

When the choked gasp escaped his throat, Harry's eyes popped open. He found himself staring out into the void, both hands outstretched.

Soft green tendrils of energy spiralled out from his hands—vines—that spanned the yawning chasm before him, that shot clearly across the blackness and directly to the thing that he wanted.

Yes.

He could do this.

The chained figure was now closer—the magical vines twining carefully about the chains—and slowly pulling them closer to the edge, to Harry.

His arms shook with the effort, but the magic didn't waver. The vines trembled, but did not break.

And then, they were there.

To big to hold, but still—so cold—Harry guided the chained figure to the ground. His hands fluttered, uncertainly. The figure—a man—was naked as a babe. The chains cut cruelly into his flesh. Branding pink, red and black. Each mark more damaging than the previous.

But breathing. Shallow, laborious breaths. A lightly muscled chest, heaving with each wheezing inhale and exhale. Hair made bloody by the chains that cut into his scalp. Dried cracked lips with a crooked slant to one side.

And eyes tightly screwed shut.

Harry swallowed. He gently touched the only square of unmarked skin on the man's left shoulder. "…you're alright." His voice broke. "You're alright—I've—I've—you'll be alright. I'll—I'm working on the chains. You'll be alright."

He tugged at one chain, experimentally. It was no surprise to see that it tightened elsewhere, and tangled expertly with the rest of them.

Spells, healing spells of some sort, Harry mused.

The man shivered.

Harry glanced down at his plain shirt and trousers. He stripped the shirt off and tore it down the side, a thin, makeshift blanket. It took a bit of concentration to transfigure the shirt into a serviceable duvet.

It would do for now.

He wrapped it around the man's shoulders and began to trace the chains back from the void. He grasped one thin strand and gave it a good yank. It rattled and pulled back, making as if to drag him to the void.

Panicking, Harry grabbed it with both hands and wrenched them apart.

It gave.

Tearing apart with an unearthly groan, the chain shattered as the links separated.

Harry stared in shock. He hadn't expected that. He cast another glance at the unresponsive man.

And took up the next chain.

Tearing them apart, even as his own hands grew cold, blistered and then bloody—as the freezing metal seared into this hands, biting back in the only way they could.

He held his ground, putting his weight into keeping the chains from dragging either of them back to the gaping void. And it worked.

Except for the last two chains, the biggest ones of all, Harry had succeeded in separating the other strands. Eleven of them in all.

He hurried back to the man's side, carefully pulling the broken chains away. The only reaction was a tremor every now and then, when careful fingers brushed against chilled skin.

Harry tugged the duvet a bit tighter around the shoulders, when he'd cast off the shattered strands of metal. "There's two left," he said, quietly. "I don't know how to break them. I-I tore the other ones off. They were—not hard." His hands shook. He blew softly on them, wondering why his healing was taking so long to take over.

His bloodied palms and stiff fingers were unexpected, but not a problem. Something like this couldn't possibly be easy, after all.

"My name's Harry," he offered, after a bit. "And I don't know who you are or what you're doing here—I—well, we're supposed to be in my head, but you feel too real to be just in my head."

Swollen eyelids cracked open. Sharp, dark eyes glinted up at Harry.

He froze.

The man shuddered, violently. The duvet fell away.

A hiss of pain echoed sharply in Harry's ears.

Rich, dark wings, emerged from the stranger's back. Unfolding with a leathery snap, they spanned a great distance, curving forward to shield both of them.

Black wings, scarred, but healed over to the point that the scars were nearly as dark as the wings themselves. A rich, deep blackness, but tall, arching upward as if to blend in with the strange, violet-blackness overhead.

Harry shut his mouth with an audible click of his fangs. He could only stare as the wounds began to shrink and close, the body rapidly healing. He knew at once, why the final two chains wouldn't come out.

They were anchored to the body—one through the heart, it seemed—and another through the stomach. As if they'd been buried there ages ago and left to fester and destroy.

And yet—the man healed around them as if they were simply not there at all. His eyes, dark and piercing, held Harry's confused gaze with nothing but absolute warmth. The duvet morphed and twisted, becoming a rough pair of shirt and trousers, which moulded onto the man.

He raised two fingers to his lips and reached out with his free hand.

Harry had no time to dodge. The warm palm connected with his forehead, long fingers tangling easily in his messy hair. And magic.

Oh the magic.

It shot straight through him.

Like a breath of pure life.

Spring, summer, joy, peace—all of that, rolled into a single struggling breath—and channelled through his mind. Forcing out all the darkness, all the gloom, all the insecurity, loneliness and desperation.

Leaving behind warmth, hope and so much love.

The emotions grew and swelled to overbearing proportions.

Harry's eyes burned as hot, heavy tears dribbled down his cheeks, unchecked. There were no words for these kinds of feelings. No way to express what it felt like to experience this weight of emotion.

Whatever oaths belongs to me; I call upon them to undo all that I have done. Spare this child. Spare this life. Grant him whatever happiness he seeks. Return to me. Leave him. Free. All that I ask, make it be. To that which exists in this space between life and death. I implore you—grant me this wish—give him my chance.

The powerful voice echoed in the odd darkness. The sound resonating through Harry's entire body, though he could swear that the man wasn't speaking at all.

Light. So much light.

Brilliant medallions sprang to life, swirling on the ground beneath them. Layered upon each other, one after another. An endless show of beautiful light and vibrant, humming magic.

The seal I have cast in good faith and strength of heart, I revoke. The duty is complete. The price is paid. Return to me. Chains of binding, I release you from the weight of his life.

Harry shuddered. The hairs on his arms stood up. The magic singing through his veins made him giddy. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his body and he was light—lighter than air.

And still, the man continued to speak.

The seal I have cast from sheer necessity, to protect what was not mine to fully claim—I revoke. The duty is complete. The price is paid. Chains of honour, I release you from the weight of his existence.

The singing magic grew to a loud, buzzing thrum. It made his teeth chatter, as Harry trembled beneath the hand that held his head up and refused to let him hide.

It was like tearing blinders off, so the light would spill in. Fear and worry shrank away, then disappeared altogether.

New feelings, new thoughts, came pouring in to replace them. Memories of Theo, Charlie and even Ethan.

Moments where Theo looked at him, as if he were the universe itself. Moments where Charlie wrapped him in arms so warm and caring, it pressed all of his brokenness back together. And even still, the memory of waking up to see Ethan's softly smiling face and equally precious morning kiss.

Oh.

Is this what it felt like to simply be loved?

The seal I have cast from worry for a child not my own, to ease the wealth of experiences that none should suffer alone—I revoke. The duty is complete. The price is paid. Chains of sorrow, I release you from the weight of his emotions.

The last weight fell from his shoulders.

As if a final burden had been released, at long last. Lightness that could not be compared to anything. A deep sense of knowing that gently tainted the memories from moments before.

Understanding that when Theo looked at him, it was with warmth, love and respect. Knowing that Charlie loved deeply and fiercely—and that he was the recipient of such things. Recognizing that Ethan that entrusted him with his heart—his very heart and soul—and trusted him to take good care of both.

Harry's mouth opened in a soundless cry, a hand coming up to his mouth, only to be caught.

Caught.

What a thought.

And then—oh.

Those arms.

Drawing him closer and holding him so gently.

"Harry, Harry, Harry—my Harry." The man whispered, his voice hoarse. The casting had drawn much power from him and it showed. He shook, faintly, in the aftermath.

Even as magic continued to do his bidding. Unravelling each of the three seals in turn. His magic returned to him, lightening every burden that Harry had shouldered on his own.

"Shhh. It's alright. It's alright."

Harry grasped at those scarred shoulders. His hands tangled in the transfigured shirt. He trembled and ached, even as that gentle, long-fingered hand, pressed his face to that safe place.

Soft puffs of warmed breath feathered over his burning hands, easing the pain and possibly healing them, if the fading numbness was to be believed.

Harry wiggled his fingers.

They moved, smoothly.

Just like they were supposed to.

And then, he knew.

Knew exactly who it was.

And why it hurt. And why it was alright. Even if it wasn't real.

Face buried in Maurice's neck, Harry cried.

THE KALZIK TRIAD, KALZIK ESTATE :NEVARAH

"Is he still sulking?" Hiram juggled three mugs of chai, as he magically shut the door behind him, with a tip of his head to the protective wards within Surajini's private sitting room. This was where she came to rest and replenish the soul and joy that sang in her magic. Because she was here, he would come—as would Patrick. They were always drawn to her after days like this.

"I wouldn't call it sulking," Patrick said, beckoning him over to where they sat on the floor, half in the house and half outside from the open door of the balcony. Surajini lay with her head in his lap, her thick, dark hair splayed out on the floor. They were simply indulging in each other's presence, offering comfort and soaking up the support given in turn. The day had been trying for all of them.

No one had expected Dyshoka's very public, very dramatic and extremely high-profile courtship in a matter of minutes.

"He's not sulking," Surajini said. "He's just—in a mood. This isn't as if he's upset over something not going his way."

"Perhaps," Patrick allowed. "But he hasn't come out and it's been a few hours now."

"Sulking," Hiram repeated. "He's old enough to know better now. He can't control everything—no one can. Most things are out of the realm of anyone's control. We can only do what we can do and nothing more."

"It's more than that and you both know it," Surajini murmured.

"Chai?" Hiram offered, gazing down at her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Later."

He set her cup aside and handed over the other mug to Patrick. She scooted her feet out of the way and he chose a spot at the other side of the door, where he could brace against the wall, without giving up the indoor shade and the outside breeze.

"…did he talk to you?"

"Very little talking. Lots of sadness." Surajini said, quietly. "I could only hold him and even then, he did not—he would not allow himself that much."

"It's such a change, isn't it?" Patrick said, softly. "When I remember him as he was and now—I don't miss the arrogance—but it's such a-"

"As if you didn't have a healthy dose of it yourself when we first met," Surajini sniffed. "You're lucky I gave you a chance with that attitude. All of that is entirely from you."

Both of her Bonded fixed her with identical looks.

Her face warmed. "Alright, fine. The product of all three of our delightful—temperaments."

Collectively, they shuddered.

"I sincerely hope not," Hiram muttered. "I wouldn't wish that on any of our beloved children, no matter how frustrating they may be."

"Still—it's not the way that he—he's not, it's almost as if he's holding himself back. As if he doesn't trust himself to go for—what could be. The strength, his own—it's not there."

"He gave it up, as though he couldn't have it or didn't have a right to it," Surajini said. "As if he doesn't deserve it somehow and I don't know why he'd think such a thing but it's hurting him whether he wants to acknowledge it or not-"

"Renouncing his rank was not an easy thing to do," Hiram said, softly. "There are repercussions for such things."

Surajini bit her lip. She would never have anything to say on this detail, for she'd begged him to save her son. In the face of a requested blood price, there had been little room for negotiation, given the nature of their Circle.

Hiram had done the one thing that would grant her request and spare Quinn's life.

An option that had felt more like a curse than a blessing to Quinn, who had raged deliriously through the renouncing of his rank and barely survived the rewiring of his body, along with his magic and instincts.

"You gave him every option, Hiram," Patrick said. He sent two steady pulses of calm and adoration through the shared bonds between them. It hadn't been any easy choice and they'd all suffered as Quinn had—for such things were not done lightly nor alone. "He made the choice himself."

Surajini twitched, faintly, when the bubble of warmth touched her. The sad smile that she sent his way, was reflected in the flicker of gentleness that echoed in her bond.

"Still—today must have brought out all the memories he's hidden away." Hiram gazed across the rich garden below them, the private casting grounds that were shared between all occupants of this wing of the house.

At the far end of the garden, there were sliding doors of all colours, nestled between the maze of thickly twined trees, growing tall, offering shelter and privacy with their multi-hued leaves. It was their own private meditation rooms—and incidentally, the safe haven where Quinn had hidden himself away, immediately after their return home.

"Alejandro still holds his grudge," Hiram said. "And as long as he believes Quinn to be the only deciding factor in that, they won't move past it."

"That is about as likely as—"

"Whichever one of them Bonds first, will be the one to give in," Patrick predicted.

"Oho?"

"That's what it would take. Alejandro would be forced to set a higher example. His own principles will not allow him to be so—petty, if you would—when he shoulders the responsibilities of his rank. I think he believes that Quinn does not quite understand the depth of what happened, but—they were always at each other's throats too much to look past that. He doesn't see that perhaps, the only one still suffering, is our Quinn."

"And Quinn?"

"It would be Alejandro," Hiram said, with a shake of his head.

"It could be Quinn."

"The chances of Quinn finding an Intended is as likely as you accepting a Casper."

"…darling, that's not fair."

"I'm not trying to be unfair, I'm simply saying that Quinn, in his own delightful way, would never think that far ahead. Naturally, the one who is open and receptive to a possible future apart from his present circumstances—Alejandro—will be the one to find what they are looking for. Nothing you want ever comes true, unless it is clearly desired."

Surajini smiled, surreptitiously slipping her feet closer to Hiram. "The same as you two?"

"No, he was in a category all by himself," Hiram bit back a smile at Patrick's immediate pout. It was that adorable expression that had changed his initial impression of the man into something more favourable. "An entire category." He teased.

Twin spots of red appeared on Patrick's face, his pale blond hair shimmering in the flickers of sunlight. "That's not fair—you can't both of you gang up on me at the same time-!"

"It's hard not to," Surajini grinned up at him. "You make such adorable faces."

"Adorable?"

"Mmhm. Just like our Dyshoka and her new little Alpha."

"Not that little," Hiram said, half to himself. "I can't believe she was courting a Deveraine this whole time and a Gheyo Alpha at that? I didn't think she had in her. It didn't register until I saw them together, you know."

"She mentioned it, darling."

"I know—but hearing about it and seeing it, are two different things. She only mentioned a name, but for all these years—how did I miss that?"

"She's secretive when she wants to be. I didn't see a reason to pry it out of her when she was so happy."

"Really?"

"Content," Surajini said. "A little calmer than mere happiness. She took a few bits and bobs of time here and there, but mostly, tended to her duties, took care of everything I asked of her and I'd never seen that mark until today. I didn't even know she'd taken formal vows of intention."

"That's our Dyshoka." Patrick said, proudly. "Though I will say, I can't believe it was a soul bond. It would explain why her episodes calmed down."

"Mm. Maybe. I wouldn't write it all off as stabilized magic, but she's still avoiding any specific answers."

"She's had visions?"

"She always has visions. These new ones have simply been more—troubling—than others."

"She saw the courting?"

"Yes."

"…so she was right."

"Patrick?"

"Remember—that year—she had a dream. Cried her eyes out and couldn't make the opening ceremony, because she didn't want to see the people the faces belonged to—her own words, mind you. She didn't want her dream to be real, because of an awful ending."

"…ah," Surajini said, her smile saddened. "I remember. I told her not to worry about it. Quinn told her it was only her imagination and yet—"

"And yet, that would be why Quinn's still meditating." Hiram guessed. "He's always been well-attuned to her."

"Magical feedback?"

"Possibly. We were all close to that soul cry and we've never been able to pinpoint where his Soul Casting abilities come from."

"True." Patrick allowed. "It's definitely not from my side of things, so it has to be from somewhere else."

"Mm. Let's worry about that later. We need to do something for Dy."

"Oh?"

"She's his favourite sister," Surajini hummed. "And if you think I'd miss the chance to celebrate one of our children's bonding, you're sadly mistaken."

Hiram eyed her, warily. He had a vague feeling how this would turn out. Surajini loved to take charge of events, turning the event into ten times what a simple party should have been. "It's a bit of a short notice though?"

"Oh?" Surajini perked a brow. Her eyes flashed, faintly, the golden hue darkening a touch. "I could make it happen—with a little help."

Patrick winced. He was hoping to relax a bit more—not to spend the evenings dashing about for food preparations, decorations and wrangling a guest list. Not that the Pareya wouldn't help, but they were usually enjoying themselves during the Hunt, also allowing for him and Hiram to spend more time with Surajini. "I think he means more along the lines of the others were courting, so we had time to prepare."

"Timing doesn't matter and you both know that. It's the sentiment that counts." Surajini sniffed. "She deserves a formal ceremony of some sort."

"No ceremonies," Hiram held up a hand. "None. What was witnessed and accepted today, was enough. Celebrations—yes. You can do whatever you like there, my princess."

Surajini sniffed. "But Hiram-!"

"No," he said, fondly. "You'll overwork yourself again and I won't have it when we haven't even made it through the middle of the Hunt."

"But—Patrick!" she whined, turning pleading eyes to him. "It'd be fun!"

It took some effort to hold strong against her pleading face, but Patrick managed in the end. He held his smile as best as he could. "I'm sure it would be—but we're still listening to Hiram."

"And none of that," Hiram added, poking her cheek when she pouted in answer. "You'll have plenty to do with planning a celebration anyway."

Patrick stifled at laugh. "You just want to avoid the entire family descending, don't you?"

Hiram glanced away. "…that has nothing to do with this. Besides, this is Dyshoka. She's never liked it when we've made a fuss over anything for her."

"…for Quinn though," Surajini said, quietly. "She's always minded, since Quinn. It didn't matter before that. They always celebrated together."

"Ah." Patrick hummed. His shoulders drooped. "And you would be right on that point."

"She wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable and he wouldn't want to make her worry—so then you'd have both of them together in the same space, trying to keep a brave front for longer than their able to." Hiram said, knowingly. "They'll talk it out with each other when they're ready, but I don't think it'd hurt to give them some space to come to terms with everything."

"…I suppose. He spoke to Harry for a little, you know" Surajini said. "I was worried when I didn't see them for a bit, so I went looking and they were there."

"Together?" Hiram looked surprised. "Then again—he does have that sort of feeling around him."

"The empathy, perhaps?" Patrick suggested. "I don't think he knows how to use it."

"Actively, perhaps not," Surajini agreed. "But subconsciously, probably. He has a good heart, for one so young."

"A quiet soul," Patrick said. "Almost as if it's afraid to shine as brightly as it could."

"They match, don't they?" Surajini said, thoughtfully.

Hiram straightened up at once. "No matchmaking!" he warned. "Stop it right there. I mean it. Leave Quinn and Harry to their own time and pace. If there's anything at all to be had there— it won't help him or Harry, if you two make some big deal out of nothing. Honestly, he's always had a habit of adopting strays—he'll keep them until they're healed and then help them move on. I won't have you two meddling where you shouldn't."

"But Hiram-!" both of his Bonded chorused.

He rubbed his forehead. "I mean it—both of you—no creating unnecessary situations or awkward conversations for the sake of your own personal-"

"We'd never do that-!"

"Since when have we ever-"

"I'm serious!" Hiram said, firmly. "Don't you dare."

"But we wouldn't do-"

"We haven't done anything-"

Golden eyes narrowed faintly, a slight furrow in his brow, as Hiram glance between them. "…you know, whenever the both of you protest quite so—loudly—it usually means you've been up to something and-"

Surajini hurried to sit up, reaching out for him at once. "We haven't," she said, earnestly. "Honestly, we haven't. It only just occurred to me."

Patrick floated the cup of Chai out of the way and safely over to the corner with his own. He didn't bother to speak up in his own defence. He hadn't actually followed through on anything after all.

By the time he turned back, Hiram had an armful of affectionate Surajini, purring happily as her kisses were returned.

He moved to join them, thinking that this sort of distraction really wasn't any hardship. It'd been a balm on his soul to find that returning after a long trip hadn't left any gaps whatsoever. He'd simply slipped into their dynamic as if he'd never left.

A shimmering bubble popped into existence, a quiet humming announcing the message, before it actually played.

Request for immediate portal from Ethan Hartwood, seeking any available Master Healers within the Kalzik Clan, on behalf of Harry Potter of the Nott Circle. Situation is cited as an emergency within the guidelines of acceptable mortal peril. Involvement may carry lasting effects. Please accept or deny.

"…Harry?" Patrick repeated. "You don't think—?" He looked to Surajini.

She frowned. "Why would a Hartwood be calling on his behalf?"

"…trouble magnet," Hiram muttered.

Surajini's muffled exclamation spoke for all of them. She slumped in Hiram's arms, even as Patrick pressed a comforting kiss to her shoulder. Instead of fixing her clothes, she swapped them for her full Healer's garb, spelling her hair up and out of the way.

"Jini?"

"If it's Harry and he's found himself a new bonded, they'd call on his behalf, wouldn't they—?"

Her Bonded smiled, offering acknowledgement and comfort in the same gestures.

She sighed, softly. "The Hartwoods are good people. They will probably take equally good care of him, seals and all."

"Mm. Think of that later. Would you answer it?" Patrick nodded to the bubble.

Hiram rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. They stood together, as she cleared her throat and spoke clearly to the waiting message.

"Master Healer Surajini Kalzik accepting immediate portal. Receive within a five-foot radius," Surajini said.

The portal sprang to life on the floor, illuminating in a swirl of colourful energy accompanied by a rush of powerful magic. From the pale-golden-white strands of magic, the distinguished form of Ethan Hartwood stepped forward.

Surajini silently tucked away her immediate impressions for later thought. He was tall and slender, a typical mark for a Pareya that was light on his feet. That was a good note.

Ethan bowed deeply at once, his gaze fixed on the floor in a deliberate show of respect. "I apologize for interrupting you during the Hunt—unannounced, even, but on behalf of my Submissive—we are in desperate need of your healing talents."

"You're speaking of Harry Potter, the one bonded to Theodore Gorgens-Nott?"

"…yes."

"What is your relation to them?" Surajini rose, her hands clasped in front. Behind her, Hiram and Patrick had followed her lead and swapped their own dress-wear for the Hunt, in exchange for their Healer's robes.

"…Harry's new Pareya. The bonding will be formally announced tomorrow with the updated listings at the Central Courts," Ethan straightened, meeting her steady green-gold gaze with his own firm one.

The three Healers exchanged a glance. Hiram spoke for all them.

"Has something happened?"

"Something is happening," Ethan corrected, mildly. "He's in a bit of a situation. I was hoping that perhaps, one of you could help-?"

"Depends on the situation," Hiram said. "What exactly are you asking of us?"

Ethan hesitated.

"If you're spending more time thinking of how to word something, when your Submissive's life hangs in the balance…" Patrick prompted, gently. "Might I suggest you rethink your priorities and-?"

"It's a Death Seal," Ethan said, lightly. "He mentioned that you were aware. But certain events have happened and, we think it's unravelling right now—across realms and with a bit of a disjointed timeline, so the effect is a bit delayed. I can't say for certain, but he's out cold. Theo and Charlie are with him—he's alive—but it isn't looking good and-"

"Why in Arielle's name, would he be unravelling that dark thing?" Surajini's face clouded over. "I thought he was waiting to have them removed—Lachman!" She called for her Pareya, tugging strongly on their connected bonds. They would need additional assistance for this.

Patrick stepped in, smoothly. He could already see that Surajini was shifting from her motherly concern to the sharpened senses of her Master Healer rank.

"What happened to start this? A Seal doesn't unravel without some sort of interference on a fairly intimate scale. We have examined the seals and spoke to him at length-?"

"Er—Prince Raspen is involved," Ethan said, hastily. "I really would love to share all the details, but time's important now. The longer we linger here; I don't know that it's good for him."

"As many details as you can manage between now and then, is best," Hiram said, briskly. "Patrick—artefacts. Find them, quickly. Everything for binding to the realm and anything that will heal a shattered soul."

"Shattered?" Surajini snapped around to stare at him. "Hiram! He's not dead yet-!"

"If there's timelines we're dealing with and with his having so many seals on him, we might need one of the Vega's or one of the—"

"Is anyone there—besides the Royals?" Surajini wanted to know. She waved him away from the centre of the room and began to gather magic in her hand for a stable portal.

Lachman still hadn't arrived yet, so she'd tugged on a few other Bonds to draw her Circle to her. If Hiram was right and another Circle of Master Healers were necessary, the Vega's would definitely be her preferred option.

"Prince Raspen is the only Royal at present," Ethan explained. "I don't know if the others are—available."

"The Royals will be enough," Hiram said, as he held out one hand and a puff of silvery smoke deposited a golden caduceus in his palm. Rich, stifling waves of magic radiated from it. "Even one of them will be powerful enough to start and the others can be called, as needed. How big is the room and what sort of situation are we looking at?"

"A sitting room. My Circle, the Prince," Ethan said, slowly. "Is it too crowded?"

"It'll do." Hiram said, stiffly. "Lachman—!" the name was spoken as a scold, as the harried Pareya burst through the door, cradling a half-dozen emergency health kits in his arms.

"Apologies. We were short two." Lachman explained. He hurried over to join them, wincing faintly when Hiram paused long enough to catch him by the ear—a quick reprimand.

"And Ranvir?" Surajini hurried over, accepting one of the kits, even as her magic continued to swell and spill out of her. "We need the others. If we're short stabilizers—Hiram!"

"I've already called them. Whoever is here will come, the rest will have to stay until summoned. We can't wait."

"Found the other half of that one," Patrick announced, reappearing in the doorway, a fat round golden pot cradled in his arms. Strong magic shimmered around him and the pot, as he tucked it under one arm. "Jini—I thought you were bringing yours?"

"I'll summon it when we're there. We haven't got the time—" the rest of her words trailed off as the room's doors burst open and the rest of her available Pareya came spilling into the room.

"The stabilization—" Patrick tried. "It'd be a small room and we've already-"

"I've already begun the 'portal and if he doesn't need it, there'll be too much magic in the air." Surajini threw her head back, eyes glowing. "The rest of you on standby, please—Lachman, with me, would you? I'll leave you at the perimeter mark. Come at my word."

"Of course," Lachman said, growing serious at once. "Shall I hold wards?"

"Yes." Surajini said.

"No." Patrick countered.

"Patrick!"

"If he raises them on his own and can't hold them without room for additional anchors, it'll put us in a bad spot."

"…point." Hiram allowed, drawing near. He beckoned to the other Pareya to gather around. "Think of it as a box—and cast accordingly. Decide when we arrive. Patrick?"

Patrick moved to stand closer, still cradling the pot under one arm. "Ready." He leaned into Ranvir, who stood at his left, ready to offer support.

"Ready." Surajini echoed. Lachman stepped closer, a hand on her arm, to offer a contact point for the portal.

Ethan stood to the side, shuffling in closer at a slight nod from Patrick.

The air grew thick and heavy, like swampy, heavy water, slowly turning into solid form. It crackled and groaned, swirling frantically around Surajini as she spoke a Healer's Transportation Circle into being.

In the background, Hiram chanted out the calming and grounding protections that would keep them within Nevarah.

"You said your name was Ethan?" Patrick inquired, lending his own brand of soft, pale blue magic to the mix with Surajini and Hiram.

"Yes." Ethan said. "Ethan Hartwood. I'm the middle son of the fifth heir from the main clan."

"…good for Harry," Patrick allowed. "Congratulations are in order then. Please allow the formalities to be completed later."

"Of course!" Ethan said, quickly. "I would much rather—"

"Ready?" Patrick checked. He silently counted off on his fingers, waiting for the rest of his Bonded to complete their preparations.

"Please hurry!"

"Can you still feel him?" Surajini asked. Magic surged up and stretched to touch the ceiling, encircling all of them within a hollow cone of golden-white light. It hummed and thrummed, growing steadily wilder and stronger as their magic fed into it.

"…yes," Ethan said, softly. "Please, if there is anything-!"

"We are already on our way," Hiram soothed. "That was our answer and I assure you, we will do everything within our power to save him. A life is a life, no matter how you look at it."

Ethan offered a faint smile, even as his shoulders squared. The portal was powerful and mesmerizing—he'd never seen nor witnessed one of this calibre. It made him shiver from the sheer depth of the residual magic swirling around them.

For one awful moment, he wondered exactly what kind of a temper Riven Cairothe was known to have and if it truly was as horrible as the rumours he'd heard.

In the next instance, he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. Riven would simply have to deal with it.

Harry had spoken so fondly of the Kalziks, with such a hopeful, wistful expression on his face, that between Riven's opinion of them or the Kadels—well. He'd had to listen to his heart.

And his heart was already Harry's.

Trusting an Empath was good. Trusting Harry's judgement was even better. He'd noticed it, the obvious insecurities around Harry—but also, the complete and loyal devotion to Theo and Charlie.

As if there'd never been any question that they were a bonded triad and completely enamoured with each other. It was that fleeting feeling that had allowed him to fall so deeply into his instinctive haze to urge Theo to claim him.

Ethan nearly smiled. The situation, grave as it was, didn't feel quite so terrible. There was still a strand of hope and he chose to cling to that for as long as reality would let them.

The Kadels were neutrals to the Hartwoods, but that wasn't anything he'd taken into consideration when he'd made the request to the Kalziks'. He'd only thought of Harry and that achingly bittersweet smile as he'd spoken of a mute Healer who had seen through him—and hadn't judged everything about him.

Now, as Surajini's magic washed over him—strong, pure and fierce—Ethan thought he might have understood what it felt like, for Harry to be wandering through the Hunt in their company.

There was something so beautiful and yet, so restrained, between the Kalzik triad. He couldn't help but feel it, in the way that their magics twined around each other's with Hiram's harder grasp of the Earthen element and the lightness of Patrick's shimmering blue-energy mingling between them.

Filling in each others' gaps, complimenting where nature allowed and defending where it did not. Even their Pareyas had melded together, as simple, shimmering pillars of light, that held them together even closer than before.

Ethan shivered, faintly. Both Alpha and Sub were Earth, but he couldn't quite pinpoint Patrick's element—Nameless of some sort, he mused—and yet, the Nameless title did not fit him.

Just as it did not fit Harry.

As if there were some important detail he was missing.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut as the portal reached its highest point. He'd only ridden in two of these before and each time, the experience had nearly wrecked him. To be able to cast a portal that felt as if someone was simply pulling a curtain and then yanking it back—with the ground intact beneath their feet.

That—was true magic.

KALZIK CIRCLE,ETHAN : PRINCE RASPEN'S ROYAL QUARTERS, W/HARRY AND CO.

Ethan 'ported into the room with the famous Kalzik Trio in tow. Surajini, Hiram and Patrick stepped out from the portal, clad in their official robes of Master Healer rank. Behind them, all three looked rather disturbed at the scene before them, even as they fanned out into the room, forming a sort of triangle around Harry.

The portal remained open as the Kalzik Pareyas stepped out. Clad in their respective Healer robes, each of them bearing a golden caduceus in hand. They scattered through the room at once. Lachman starting up a series of grounding incantations to hold the room as a sacred casting space.

The others rearranged the room, pushing furniture out of the way and taking out charmed sheets, pillows and various instruments from their respective emergency kits.

Prince Raspen leaned against the wall near the door, watching as the Kalziks took over. He accepted a glass of water from one of the worried Pareya. Relief flooded him, as he felt the pressure in the room ease significantly.

Harry lay on the floor, his head pillowed in Theo's lap, one of his hands held by Charlie, who sat to his right. His eyes gleamed bright and vivid, of the clearest shade of emerald—even as his body trembled visibly.

The vague, glazed look, suggested that Harry's mind was not presently within him, but that perhaps, he was elsewhere in his mental mindscape.

Theo's eyes had gone pitch black, his instincts simmering beneath the surface, even as his element allowed him to keep from giving into the panic that lurked at the corners of his mind.

Charlie's flaming hair danced lightly about his shoulders, as he continually fed warmth through their shared bond and Harry's hand. He could feel the chill radiating from Harry and Riven, but he'd only been able to respond as instinct had demanded of him.

As it had demanded of Theo, who had immediately gone to Harry's side, the moment Riven had proclaimed the anchoring a success. He was still feeding calmness through their shared bonds,

The moment was broken, with Ethan's entrance. He drew their attention, as he stepped out with an entire entourage behind him.

Charlie couldn't hide his relief at seeing the Kalzik trio filing in behind him. Even though Ethan seemed torn between worry and embarrassment, he came straight to Harry's unoccupied side.

Prince Raspen was torn between dismay and a fleeting flicker of pride as he untangled the last of his protections around the room. His magic flowed back into him, even as his aura thrummed contentedly from the experience of being so close to the living heart of Nevarah.

There was no time to savour such memories, for the current situation at hand, would require some careful wording. There was bad blood between the Kalziks and Cairothes—enough for others to take note of it, but hopefully not enough that the Kalziks would ignore Harry.

At least, not with how he'd seen the Kalziks taking Harry under their wing. Even their son, Quinn, had seemed to take a liking to him—enough to spend the day in his company.

A detail Prince Raspen had noticed, because, there were Royal eyes everywhere, after all.

He didn't quite know what the Cairothes had done to upset the Kalziks and he didn't particularly care in that moment. The Kadels, once a Healer Clan themselves, had gradually shifted into the branch of fortune telling and psychic gifts, when the rift had grown too wide to bridge.

"Harry!" Surajini's pained exclamation seemed to say it all as she descended on the small Circle, with an aura of deliberately projected warmth. She paused long enough to nod in the general direction of Prince Raspen—before settling down beside Theo. "Your Pareya gave us the barest of details—is there anything you can add?"

Theo's dark eyes glittered with anxiety. He didn't flinch from her touch, even though the magic glowing in her hands, seemed to burn straight through to him. "We were waiting on a report from the Cunninghams—but there's been some problems. We—it looks—" words faltered and Theo's hands curled into fists from where he sat, helplessly, with Harry's head in his lap.

"Deep breaths," Surajini said, calmly. "Ethan said something about a Death Seal?"

"Yes," Charlie spoke up. He pressed Harry's hand to his cheek, pushing another burst of warmth through their physical connection. "As best as we can tell, that's what Riven said that-"

"Riven?"

"Riven Cairothe," Theo explained. He gave a jerk of his head in the direction of the newly displaced Riven, who now stood slightly apart from Harry, a dark look on his pale face.

Everything seemed to slow.

Silence held for a long moment, before Prince Raspen straightened up. He made as if to push away from the wall, but the movement seemed to be the only prompt needed for the Kalziks to react.

"Cairothe," Hiram growled. His brilliant golden gaze flared several shades darker as he deliberately moved to stand between Riven and Surajini, who knelt beside Harry.

Tension returned to the room.

Patrick's blue eyes gleamed. He didn't speak, but he did straighten up enough to adopt a similar protective stance in front of Surajini—careful to include Theo and Charlie behind him.

Riven hissed. His angry eyes sought Ethan, a sudden, searing fury causing the Pareya to flinch. Purple energy sparked visibly in the air surrounding him. "What part of bring one of the Kadels was so hard to comprehend?"

"Harry is more comfortable with the Kalziks—and they've seen and treated him before. I thought this would be more comfortable for him," Ethan said, standing his ground.

"Comfortable for him?" Riven snorted. "Comfortable enough to die? Are you trying to kill him?"

Theo shuffled out from behind Patrick, angling to be a bit closer to Ethan. He didn't think that Riven would actually react beyond terse words, but old habits died hard. It was easier to assume the worst and therefore, never have to truly be caught unprepared.

Ethan pretended not to notice, when Theo slipped over beside him. He simply held his head high.

"Idle threats were always your preference," Hiram said, blandly. "Please refrain from dramatic—"

"Their entire Circle is comprised of Master Healers in some capacity or another," Ethan shot back. "And Harry's an Empath. He'll pick up on the slightest disturbance—the Kalziks are good to him. He trusts them."

"That's not the point here," Riven growled. "If you can't handle simple instructions, then don't get involved. I don't play with people's lives because I want to. There are far more powerful things at work here, than a mere matter of pride."

"…it doesn't appear to be a matter of pride," Ethan said, carefully. "I was thinking of Harry."

"You were thinking of his feelings and I was thinking of his life," Riven snapped. "Do you want him to die? I need a Healer I can depend on. Not these!" He glared at the Kalziks. "I can't work with those arrogant, inflexible-!"

"You cannot save him on your own," Hiram said, calmly. "But I believe we can manage on ours. Feel free to excuse yourself, if our presence is so troubling. Patrick?"

Patrick's cool gaze fixed deliberately on Riven's fuming form. "We can cast as soon as he's out of range. The sooner the better. I'm not sure how far he's gone, but something doesn't feel right."

"Don't cast anything!" Riven growled. "You don't even know what you've come into! Don't start throwing around magic as if—"

"We're Healers, not uncertified specialists looking to make a name for ourselves," Patrick said, smoothly. "Weren't you leaving?"

If I leave him—he'll die."

"You needn't think so highly of yourself," Surajini said, quietly. A general diagnostic spell spun to life on her fingertips. She refrained from casting it, waiting for a signal from Patrick, that it was alright to begin treatment. "Shouldn't Harry be the main priority right now?"

"Harry is the main priority," Theo said, firmly. "And I'd appreciate it, if you all would either work together or stand aside, so someone else can try. He was fine up until several minutes ago."

"His breathing is fine, his vitals are holding steady," Ethan added. He edged forward, carefully positioning himself in front of Theo, unable to fight the instinctive urge to protect.

"I'm not the one trying to start something," Riven sniped. "It's magical feedback from whatever is happening on the other end of that blasted seal—and the longer we take to counter that, the more he'll suffer for it."

"Riven—" Prince Raspen warned.

"Don't," Riven snapped. "I'm serious. This is an inter-realm issue with a Death Seal involved. I don't have time for a bunch of Healers to tell me what they think needs to be done."

Hiram sighed. "And if we were to listen to you?"

Riven hissed. "Tell your watchdog to stand down."

Surajini barely glanced up. "Perimeter wards," she said, lightly. "Set them around the room. I need to see his seals—and if they're unravelling, then we need to hurry."

"If you cast perimeter wards in this small space, you'll scramble any inter-realm connections, unless you've got an outside anchor," Riven snapped. "Are you stupid?"

"Please don't start with name-calling right now," Prince Raspen spoke up, rubbing his forehead. "I don't have to understand why you disagree with each other or your reasons for doing so. However, Theo is right. Harry should be the main priority and I do agree that time is of the essence."

"As I've already said," Riven began. "If they would listen-!"

Prince Raspen cleared his throat, his golden gaze hardening. The air in the room grew heavy, weighted with the authoritative pressure of an elemental Royal. "I do not appreciate that," he said, calmly. "Compose yourselves and assist, or remove yourselves from the room, so the rest can work in peace and harmony. Theo, Surajini—how is he?"

The subtle scold had both Riven and Hiram looking away, in mixed irritation and embarrassment.

"He's stable for the moment, but I can feel the edges of his control fraying a bit," Surajini explained, she gestured for Theo to draw closer. "How new are his bonds?" She looked to Ethan. "You said you were recent?"

"Yesterday," Ethan said, quickly. "We've had a night."

Surajini bit her lip. "I suppose that's better than nothing," she murmured. "Any specifics?"

"Soulbond," Ethan said, following Theo forward. "We connected at the food courts. There was an instant attachment on both of our parts."

"How lovely," Patrick commented, his expression softening.

Ethan's lips quirked into a sad smile. "It'd be better if I could be of more help right now," he hinted.

Surajini smiled. "You're helping quite a bit already. Theo, do you mind, love?" She gestured to Harry. "His head in your lap, keep a hand on your claim mark, channel anything good, light or calming that you can spare, alright?"

Theo nodded. He settled himself on the floor, as Surajini eased Harry's head and shoulders onto his lap. He followed her directions, slipping a hand beneath Harry's collar, to stroke the claim mark.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ethan asked, beckoning to Charlie.

"Keep touching him," Surajini said, as she cast another barrage of diagnostics. "Even if you can't focus on his claim marks, as Theo is—focus on the bonds you share. As long as he can sense that you're here, he'll stay. If he's anchored between realms, it'll be harder for him subconsciously transport."

"Riven anchored him to the realm," Prince Raspen said, drawing near. He deliberately walked between Riven and Hiram, breaking the potential stare down into an awkward shuffle. "He was starting to fade, so it brought him back."

"Fade?" Hiram and Patrick exchanged a glance.

Surajini's look turned grim.

"That's really bad, isn't it?" Charlie asked.

"You don't fade unless you're dying," Surajini said. "And if you're dying, then you don't stop halfway. You fade."

"In that case, I suppose we'd best make sure that he doesn't quite fade then," Prince Raspen said, with forced cheer. His smile was fixed, but the sharpness of his gaze made his intent known.

It didn't matter if there was bad blood between their Circles, if all the dragels with necessary talents were present to help Harry, then he expected them to help Harry. Whatever came afterward, could come, but for now, they were to unite as one.

Their Prince demanded it.

HARRY'S MINDSCAPE : TAVIT THE NECROMANCER: Harry, Tavit, Maurice.

Tavit opened his eyes, dropping into the murky nothingness with an ease born of practice. He'd infiltrated countless mindscapes after all, in his line of work.

His anchor, Niko, pressed gently against their shared connection. She would guard his physical body until his return, as she always had.

He nearly smiled. He'd have to reward her this time around, if they made it through this mess, unscathed.

The mindscape shifted and twisted, morphing into something a little lighter, vaguely more purple than black.

The change set his teeth on edge, as he touched down into the empty blackness that seemed to be the floor. What a bleak and tortured mind.

Emptiness of this sort, usually meant a fairly troubled soul and those were always the worst. It was something to tear apart someone that deserved it, but another thing entirely to destroy something—or someone—that was only trying to live.

Trying to protect their tattered, broken heart, with walls of distance.

He twirled the staff in his hand, checking to see that it had changed planes of reality, accordingly. It'd be much easier to work if he could use that. The shimmering gem at the top, gleamed with purpose.

Ah. That was good.

Tavit started forward, drawing his darkness around him like a cloak. It was best to mask his presence, lest it cause any unnecessary complications.

This would be easy enough, after all, he was only doing Death's bidding and what harm could there be in that?

Something niggled in the back of his mind and he turned, accordingly.

"Somewhere off to the left then?" he muttered.

And there it was, a flicker of a speck of light. So faint that if he hadn't been looking for it—if he hadn't known what to look for—he'd have missed it.

Huh.

What a strange mindscape.

He drew near, finding himself staring out at a fairly impressive view. A vast chasm of blackness yawned overhead—even darker than the ground he walked—stretching up to unfathomable depths.

The void, a large circle, was framed by dozens and dozens of thick, leeching chains of silver. They hung, limply, disappearing up into the blackness. The sheer volume alone, was disturbing.

Seeing them, made his chest tighten.

Those were never good.

Death had already come.

Tavit drew near, inspecting the chains closest to him, noting how some were thick and others were thin. The depth of the commitment from the one who had forged them.

Curious. Some seemed easily broken, while others were definitely more involved.

Tavit picked his way through the troublesome mess, taking care not to let any of them linger on him too long. He was not here to pay their price, after all.

At last, he came upon two strands, which were somehow thicker and stronger than all the rest.

"Odd," he mumbled, to himself. In fact, those two seemed to fall directly from the very centre of the pit.

Tavit grimaced. Reluctantly, he twined the chain around his free arm and gave it a strong yank. Holding his staff tightly in his other hand, he gave a slight push from the ground, even as the chain began to respond.

It pulled him up at once, with surprising speed.

He flinched, as the other chains brushed against him. Some icy cold and others, scorching hot, as the one wrapped around his arm, seemed to sink into his skin.

He twirled the staff in his hand and when he could vaguely make out a brighter purple sky overhead, he cast the spell that would break the chain's hold on him.

It flung him up and outward, with an angry screech.

A monster denied a meal.

Tavit smirked, floating up over the void. "Niko?"

Her warmth poured into him, healing the damage from the chain.

He smiled, and simply took a seat, with his staff as if it were a floating broomstick. Now safely perched, he peered down at the void that had swallowed him up. What a strange mind he'd wandered into.

There were chains everywhere along the edge, as far as he could see, surrounding the blackened pit.

Along with a soft spot of light.

Oh?

Tavit floated down for a better look, careful to avoid landing too close to the chains.

The sight that finally registered, made his black heart clench in distaste. This was much worse than he'd expected.

A dragel submissive, cuddled in the arms of man with tattered clothes and two chains still deeply embedded in his person.

From the way they clung to each other, Tavit had no delusions as to what he was interrupting.

Pity, he thought, darkly. It's always a pity, isn't it?

Niko's careful warmth filtered through their shared connection once more. He huffed, touching down on the ground, and tapping his staff to announce his presence.

The dragel submissive didn't react, but the man did. Great, sorrowful eyes fixed on him, with a look that seemed to say a thousand lifetimes worth of experience.

Tavit swallowed. He always hated these sorts the most. The ones that saw it coming and would offer no resistance, because they knew.

The man surveyed him for a moment, gaze flickering to the impressive staff and then back to Tavit's unyielding expression.

"You are here for me?" he inquired.

"…if you are Maurice Elswood, then yes."

"…I am."

Tavit rubbed the back of his neck. The bad feeling resurfaced again. He really needed to pay more attention to it. "…this isn't your mind, is it?"

"…it is not."

"Damn it."

Maurice merely shrugged.

"You know why I'm here?"

A smile then, bittersweet. "I have a fairly good idea," Maurice said. "The lack of a scythe, means you are not a reaper, so that must mean you're a Necromancer."

Tavit twitched. There was no point in confirming that.

"Shh, Harry." Maurice nuzzled the submissive sitting in his lap, his overall stance, vaguely protective, though deliberately relaxed.

Tavit sighed. Maurice wasn't about to make it easy for any of them. Of course not. He was practically the walking dead, with nothing left to lose. "Right. Then, as soon as you could manage it?"

"What is the price?"

"…pardon?"

"I know what I have done. I know what is still—active. What is the price?"

"…that is not yours to bargain for. I have come for you on behalf of one that has requested that you live."

"And yet, I have no need to live, if I have nothing to live for." Maurice countered. "Answer me, what is the price?"

"You know as well as I do, that I cannot answer that." Tavit twirled his staff, appreciating the solid thwack it made when he struck the ground. "Though if you understand, then kindly move. I dislike having to actually-" he gestured at Harry.

Maurice looked at him and then down at the young man in his lap. His lips quirked into a near smile. That was curious. He'd expected to be roughly separated, but this sort of kindness was welcome. "His name is Harry," he said, softly. "And I have lived my life—well. He hasn't. He deserves far more than I am able to grant him, in my current state."

Tavit started.

The chains still twined around Maurice's body, were now tangling with Harry. The biggest one wrapped around Harry's ankle, pulling itself taut.

"I will go with you," Maurice said, carefully. "If you will spare him."

"…that is not my choice to make."

"No," the small smile grew steadier. "But it is within your power to influence." He gently eased Harry off of his lap, his hands cradling a blotchy, tear-stained face. "Shhh." He whispered, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead. "You are strong, you are brave and you are so loved."

Harry hiccupped. More tears trickled down his face, his expression dazed as if he couldn't quite understand what was happening. His lips trembled, but he offered no protest.

Tavit scowled, a slight flush along the side of his neck. He should have turned his back to them, to offer some privacy. It was these sorts of moments that reminded him why he'd been forced into this line of work, instead of choosing it of his own accord.

He gritted his teeth. "Stop stalling—unless you'd rather I offered a hand?"

Maurice ignored him. He hugged Harry again—hard enough to hurt—and heard a tiny squeak in answer. It prompted a final smile.

"You'll be fine," Maurice whispered. "Just fine, Harry. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Tavit pushed them apart with his staff, his glower pinning Harry to the floor, his staff, keeping him there, as he grabbed Maurice by the arm and began to tow him away from the void.

The bad feeling grew considerably worse, when Maurice stopped moving with him, and began to tug in the other direction.

"Don't you dare-!" Tavit began.

"…I'm sorry to you as well," Maurice whispered. "But I'm afraid this is the wrong direction for me."

"Wait-!" Tavit ducked the incoming swing. His movement was one beat too slow, as Maurice pulled free of his grasp and launched himself backward to the void.

Chains sprang upwards from the void, yanking Maurice into their cold, tortuous embrace—and well out of Harry or Tavit's grasp.

"No!" Harry's cry echoed Tavit's.

From the great void, Death's hooded figure rose.

In Death's gnarled hand, Maurice sat calmly.

His head bowed, as he clung to one bony thumb of the great hand, massive enough to span the width of the entire void.

Death's glare eased a fraction. The darkened, overpowering presence seemed to absorb all the light from the dreary space.

Tavit skidded to a stop at the edge of the void. He glanced back at Harry and then at Maurice. The silvery chains continued to strain upward to latch onto Maurice again, intent on dragging him down to their grave depths.

"I am yours," Maurice murmured, even as the chains stabbed through his body, anchoring themselves once more, with a vengeance. "Surely you know this?"

Death stared down at him, hand slowly closing, protectively almost.

"I come to you willingly," Maurice continued. "As I always have and in doing so, I ask only that you spare him."

Tavit choked. He glanced back at Harry and then at Maurice. Foolish man! He'd already had this conversation. There was no happy ending to be had here, it was why he'd hurried to come to this plane of reality.

Quick thinking would only allow him to save Harry, if he spun his words right. Riven would have to live with a loss, for there was no way he could bring Maurice back, if the man willingly went to Death.

Harry stood, frozen, his mouth open, but no sound.

"You swore yourself to me," Death intoned. "Over a century ago."

"I did. Our oath was brokered and sealed with the span of this tainted life of mine." Maurice agreed.

"And now you wish to change the terms of contract?"

"Never. My word is what it always has been. I simply wish to restate, that my contract was only for myself." Dark eyes hardened. "And myself alone."

"…what you have done with this life that is not your own, is not overlooked so easily."

"And yet, have I denied you?" Maurice's voice trembled, faintly. "Did I protest when you took everything from me? Everything that I had to offer? All that I had to live for?"

Death was silent.

"I did not!" Maurice hissed. "I let them go. I watched you take them."

The air trembled.

Tavit gritted his teeth.

Chains rattled. Lighting up as Death's hand began to close.

"You will spare him," Maurice's voice rang out, steady and firm. "I have already asked you once. You owe me this much."

Silence stretched out, as Death seemed to consider.

Harry took one step forward, stopped by Tavit's staff flipping up to block his way. He twisted around to stare at Tavit's impassive face.

"Don't," Tavit ground out. "This isn't your place." He thumped the end of the staff against Harry's chest, taking care to remain within reach to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"As you wish, mortal." Death said, and closed her hand over Maurice.

The chains began to rattle and groan.

The void collapsed.

A grunt escaped, as Tavit fell backward, hard enough to jolt his spine, as his feet flew out from under him. He swore as the ground began to crumble around them, everything caving into nothing. He needed to leave this mindscape as soon as possible and find Riven.

The deed was as done as it would ever be and whatever the repercussion, perhaps he'd be of some assistance in that plane. Tavit slammed his staff onto the ground, to anchor himself. He glanced over, to see that Harry hadn't even wobbled.

The ground continued to shift and tilt, drawing everything to the great yawning entrance of the collapsing void.

An irritated growl came out, as Tavit began to silently cast the incantation to return him to the original plane. He had two reapers to separate after all. Though hopefully, Niko hadn't instigated them into hacking each other's head's off. She'd always been rather good at that.

He felt her answering pulse of magic, in response to his silent query. She would anchor him, if he was ready to return to her side.

And then the ground beneath him, dissolved into nothing.

Harry came tumbling down, dragged by the chain, his hands scrabbling along. He caught Tavit's staff, hanging on by strained fingers.

Tavit glared at him, unable to move enough to shake him free. A sick feeling passed through him, as he watched the chain yank furiously on Harry's leg.

It's not my problem, not my problem, not my-! He thought furiously, and then the awful feeling drilled a bit deeper into his chest and Tavit gave in.

Magic leapt to his command, as he directed it through his staff. Tavit twisted downward, catching Harry's hand with his own, wrenching it free of his staff. He aimed the gem at the parasitic chain and blasted it free.

The silver chain shrieked and screamed, slithering back to the void where it had come from.

"W-what's happening?"

"You're either waking up or dying," Tavit said, bluntly. He drew Harry up into his arms, scrambling to sit on his staff as it floated them up and away from the crumbling ground.

"…dying then," Harry said, faintly. "I don't think waking up hurts this much."

Tavit glanced down at him, trying and failing to ignore the fact that Harry felt significantly smaller in his arms, than he'd looked at first glance.

Too light, almost, even.

Harry's arms flexed, carefully, from where they were twined around Tavit's middle.

Tavit shifted, awkwardly, to settle him a bit better. "If you fall, I'm not catching you."

"…is he dead?"

"…yeah."

"W-was there anything you could do?"

"Death doesn't discriminate. It takes from every living thing, no matter the consequence."

"…right." Harry whispered. The memory of those warm arms, left him feeling distinctly chilled. This wasn't the way it was supposed to end, was it? Wasn't there something else he could do? "He was the first—the first one to—!" His grip slackened.

"…and I'll be damned if I let you go afterhim." Tavit growled. "Wake up! Wherever you are resting—whatever realm holds your physical body, by the stars and every immortal above, wake up if you want to live!"

PRINCE RASPEN'S ROOMS :NEVARAH : HARRY and Co.

Harry's body jerked and twisted, shuddering violently in the next few minutes. The Kalziks began to shout orders, each of them reaching out to steady, calm and heal.

Charlie and Theo were shuffled to the side, with Ethan thrust between them. Surajini and Hiram were focused at Harry's head, their glowing hands pressed to his face and neck.

"What's happening?" Theo pushed against Charlie and Ethan's worried hands. They were holding him back, but trembled still—they were worried too.

"We're losing him!" Patrick barked. "Jini!"

"I'm trying—we need the seal!" A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on her forehead, as Surajini continued to channel her magic through Harry and out again. An extended feedback loop to keep his physical body from overloading with the energies traveling through him. Her Pareya were grounding all of them—and the room.

"It's hard," Hiram forced the words through gritted teeth. Surajini was definitely better than him at pulling out Seals. He was better at anchoring, but in this case—she'd already activated her artefact and it was his turn to act in her place.

The artefacts glowed, slowly strengthening the room and easing the burden on all that were present.

"It's coming," Patrick said, squinting at Harry's glowing chest. It was hard to see it clearly, but he didn't dare pause his own spellwork long enough to cast any extra charms.

"Something feels—different," Hiram muttered. He flinched from the blinding light that washed through the room.

"Hiram, the seal!" Surajini's frantic cry was seconds too late.

They were thrown back and away from Harry, as the expanding brightness exploded out of Harry's prone body. He floated up, a few feet into the air, as the seal emerged.

A brilliant glowing light, too bright to make out the symbols and incantations inscribed on the magical seal itself.

A whispery, gravelly voice filled the room—ancient in its sound, but distant in its volume.

The seal shattered.

But the Kalzik's protections held.

Everything in the room rattled.

Patrick threw himself in front of Theo and the others, his shield active and holding. Soft teal in colour, but fierce in its intensity, he held it effortlessly.

Surajini was shielded by her Pareya, even as Hiram's shield included Prince Raspen.

In the corner of the room, Riven pushed away from the wall, his staff in hand. The great eye rolled back and forth, wildly.

"Idiots," he muttered, loud enough to be heard. A trickle of blood dribbled down from his left eye. He smeared it away with one ragged sleeve. "I told you to call one of the Kadels…" The bloody bandages on his left hand, unravelled, pooling at his feet.

Riven crossed his staff with his newly unwrapped arm. The angry purple energy crackled and simmered in his veins, standing out against his pale skin. His hair rippled down, stretching to the floor.

He sucked in a breath, eyes fluxing to black.

Tavit, if you've screwed this up—we'll all suffer for it!

ESTATE OF SEPTIMUS WEASLEY : TORVAK TERRITORY : UNPLOTTABLE, VOIDSPACE : (Mariana and her half of the Cunningham Circle)

Mariana glided to a stop a single breath away from triggering the warning system that surrounded the shrouded manor in the distance.

Scout's tracking had paid off once more. They'd entered this private void with little resistance and no one to greet them. True to her gift, Scout had discovered the estate, in spite of the seemingly non-existent location.

The very thought of there being a possible element of surprise, sent a happy thrill up her spine. Mariana rolled her shoulders back, rocking forward on her toes, a quiver of excitement rippling through her as she waited for the rest of her Bonded to catch up. She was always at the head of the pack and sometimes, it took a few more seconds for them to reach the same place.

Scout joined Mariana, a few seconds later, barely concealing an excited quiver. She'd trace the location through the magical signature of one who had placed the Beacon on Harry's house.

The expression on Mariana's face, promised lethal payback and free reign for the rest of them to do as they liked. That thought was infinitely soothing, Scout mused. She wanted to tear into something with claws and fangs, but held herself in check as they waited for the rest of their Bonded to catch up.

"Excited?" Mariana hummed, stroking a hand through Scout's soft hair. "Breathe, darling. You can do as you like, after we've determined who cast it."

Scout turned, nuzzling against the gloved hand. Does it matter?

Mariana twitched. It didn't really matter in the way that Scout meant—because she was right—there was nothing in all the realms that would spare the unlucky soul from her undisguised wrath.

Soft taps sounded as the rest of their Bonded touched down on the ground beside her, the menacing aura growing progressively larger as a collective whole.

Mariana suppressed a shudder. Scout warbled beside her. The bloodlust was absolutely delicious. She couldn't wait and her Bonded mirrored the sentiment back through their shared bonds.

This would be the most fun she'd had this month.

"It's a whole nest," her Queen said, eyes alight with barely restrained mischief. "I can feel it. More than a dozen of them in there. Imagine that. It'll be so much fun. I can't believe it's a whole nest—can you feel that?"

"I can feel it," another Bonded chimed in. "I can feel it so well; I can't wait to rip it apart."

"Tear them into dozens of itty bitty bloody little pieces, yes?" one Joker hummed. Eyes fluxed pitch black, menacing aura maxed out. Short stubbly dark hair, morphed into the trademark silkiness of a Fae warrior's ponytail. "How do we take them, milady?"

"Dead or alive?" her Queen countered. "Or dead and mostly dead?"

"Mostly dead would be fine, I suppose—but I want them alive for now," Mariana sang, softly. She twirled her poisoned blade in her hand, enjoying the familiar feel of the well-worn hilt. She meant to enjoy this. There was too much frustration to burn, after all.

"Alive?" her Joker echoed. "Truly?" He exchanged a glance with their Queen. "Not mostly dead?"

"I want them all alive, to know what they'll lose, before it's lost." Mariana said. "Then you can make them mostly dead. Objections?"

A collective shrug rippled through her Bonded.

"As you like," the Joker nearest to her, swung his arms overhead. Double-jointed limbs, long enough to almost touch the ground—and yet, it was the crazy smile that distorted his handsome image.

The same crazed gleam that seemed to wrap around each of them in turn as the bloodlust overtook them, one at a time.

Mariana only mirrored the smile. "Free the prisoners, too—would you? They always have some, hidden away somewhere. Make sure to get them out. Add them to the line up—remember, darlings, this group—these ones, they hurt my little Maury and by extension, the damage they've caused is not something to be forgiven."

"Your will is our only wish, milady," her Queen bowed, solemnly. "We move at your mark."

Mariana tossed her head. Her fangs throbbed, fiercely.

Maybe it wasn't all for Maury. Maybe it had a little bit to do with Harry. But what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? It wasn't as if she was going to tell anyone that.

A ripple of hisses and growls signalled that her Bonded were ready and waiting. More than ready, really.

To make them wait any longer would surely be cruel. "Mark." She hissed, body poised to strike.

They moved.

The eerie emptiness of an unplottable location was gently breached by nothing but the shadows that guarded Death and gave nothing away when they did so. There were no guards, no watchmen—nothing to sound an alarm.

Mariana and her Bonded had destroyed what few makeshift buildings they'd passed on the way deeper inland.

No spies or border patrol.

Odd, but not a problem.

They drew to a halt, outside of a secondary set of protective wards.

Also odd, and possibly a problem.

Mariana stopped short of the warded field, holding up a hand to halt their progress. Her Bonded gathered around her at once, shadows still wisping about their feet.

"Milady?" her Queen inquired, drawing near. "It isn't a complicated shield. We can unravel it."

Mariana shook her head, faintly. "Something's off. Do you sense that?"

"…what part of it?"

"The menace. Something's not right."

"…what would you have us do?"

Mariana took a deep breath, eyes fluttering half-closed, as she pieced out the scents, drawing heavily on her senses to determine exactly how many living creatures resided within the space somewhere up ahead. There was bound to be a house of some sort. This was an Estate void, after all, and they had yet to stumble across any other facilities.

"We need to be quick. We can't linger."

"We won't. We never have." Her Queen assured her.

"House up ahead," The Joker closest to her, Robere, tipped his head to where Scout now beckoned. "She says it's a large manor. Likely a waypoint of some sort. It's not large enough and the scents are too singular."

"A single family, perhaps some visitors," Mariana suggested. Her brow furrowed faintly. She twirled her blade once more, focusing enough to sink deeper into her instincts. "Doesn't feel right though. Should be more."

"It's a cloaking scent," the next Joker swung his arms overhead, scales rippling up and down, mirroring the instinctive need to release the building emotions currently shared by all of them. "You can pick out the others, if you don't search for it."

"Ah," Mariana hummed a moment later. "Almost clever."

He snorted.

She held out a hand and he took it, drawing near enough for the kiss of reward—and the casual mind meld that merged their senses together. She would draw from his natural edge on tracking and hunting, he would pull on her quick categorizing and flawless strategic mind.

The house is on fire, Milady. Scout said, abruptly I think—it's just starting—I can feel it.

"Then let's help them along, shall we?" Mariana smirked. "Burn the house." She stepped back, a slight shake of her head to resettle her instincts where she wanted them to be. The itchiness brimming at her fingertips, warned of her true dragon from lurking too close to the surface.

"Gladly," the Joker murmured. The scales along his arm, flashed from red to gold, then red once more. His hair ignited without a sound and his wings unfurled with careful precision. "Ignean, Pyro—" he beckoned to his fellow fire Gheyos.

Without hesitation, they swept upwards to join him.

Mariana watched them streak higher into the air and accepted the hand of her hovering Gheyo Knight, perhaps it would be easiest for them in the air—the Torvaks could shift to their wings faster, after all.

And then they waited.

It was a thing of beauty when it descended.

Pure fire, in the rawest form—a volley of red-hot-fury that slammed into the house, as the occupants came streaking out in a panic.

"Round them up nicely," Mariana called, summoning her second favourite sword to her freehand. "Drop me a bit closer, love-hm?"

Her Knight grinned and flew her closer in.

Mariana and her Bonded, descended upon the unsuspecting Torvaks with a methodical ruthlessness that made quick work of the entire situation. The one-sided battle was nothing short of absolute destruction. Seamless teamwork and pinpoint precision gave the impression of living, breathing, machine. The few unmuffled shrieks and cries, were simply those that were used to lure the rest out of hiding.

To add to the already burning fire had been a brilliant idea and the rest simply fell into place afterward.

Many hands made light work, after all.

And so the terror grew.

Paraded out to the front lawn, bound and mostly silenced, the captives marched in single file. Some tried to fight and sported bloody wounds for their efforts, while others were stuck in partial transformations, with feathers sticking out of bruised skin and visible signs of the cancellation spells that had forced them into such forms.

Fear. Anger.

Hate.

Mariana didn't seem to notice. Instead, she counted them, silently, as they were moved from the openness of the front yard, and further into a paddock that seemed to be a training yard of sorts.

The bloodlust in her veins had yet to settle. The skirmish, short and pointless as it was, had done nothing to help take the edge off things. They would have to keep hunting for a bit, if only to calm the instinctual need thrumming through her body.

Then again, it wasn't as if she had any shortage of targets.

Mariana continued to watch her Bonded organize them into sections. Separating them by men, women and children. She could guess which groups were family and which were merely friendships. That was interesting. Most of the Torvak groups she'd had the displeasure of observing, had always taken care to keep their ranks closed. They tried too hard to all be the same and in doing so, always lost the edge that would have saved them.

But there was something upsetting about this raid.

Someone had set fire to the Estate before her command, which meant betrayal somewhere in the Torvak ranks. She wondered if it was worth the hassle of ferreting out who and why, or whether it was simply easier to let it be. It wasn't her problem after all and it wasn't like she intended to remedy it in any way.

"Milady, we're done," Scout said, drawing near for the ruffle to her blood-soaked hair. "They are all in the main paddock. Two of the young ones are coming—and that's the last of them."

Interested, Mariana turned to see Pyro frog-marching a young redheaded man in front of him. His magic, though temporarily sealed, was fluttering and struggling. The depth of it was promising, to say the least, though familiar almost. How curious! The shade of red was right—for a flame element type, she guessed—but his walk was something else entirely. The length of his stride and the slight flex of his arms—testing Pyro's grasp constantly—was definitely not that of a well-trained Torvak.

All Torvak children knew how to behave as captives. How to try and trick their captors. How to escape. It was the most obvious thing, whenever there were young ones present in a raid. This one though, he was sauntering along as if he were merely having fun. As if everything was somehow a game and that he intended to win.

A self-assured confidence that was just begging to be shattered.

Scout followed her line of sight. Her lips twitched into a smile. "There's something on him and the other one. You can feel it if you reach out to them. Pyro seems taken with him."

"Does he now?" Mariana hummed. "I do owe him a birthday present. He never did say what exactly he wanted…"

"That would be quite a birthday present."

"Jealous?"

"Nay, Milady."

"Liar." Mariana curled an arm around her, pulling her close for a bite to the ear.

Scout squirmed, but allowed it. "…a little."

"I always take good care of you," Mariana reminded her. "Though if I have been neglecting you, then you need only say so."

Scout nuzzled closer in answer. It would take a minute or two for her ear to heal over, for that had been a reprimand.

Mariana hummed. "Good girl." She turned her gaze back to Robere and watched him lead another redheaded young man further along the walk, to the main paddock. Scout was right. There was something curious behind it all.

"I'm just asking what's going on is all-" the light tone of almost forced-cheer was far too calm for someone in such a position. He stumbled along, per his captor's guidance.

Mariana continued to watch, glancing past him to see Robere guiding a beautifully cursed redhead, trapped in a form of partial transformation. Inwardly, she hid her amusement, because the enchantment was easy to see.

The magic of whatever potion he'd taken, had been unstable. He'd obviously drunk it before the required brewing time was finished—probably from an instinctive urge of some sort.

Wild magic was seldom used in potions for that very unpredictability. It had changed him quite nicely to compensate for his troubles.

Surprisingly, Robere allowed the teen to stumble along, instead of pushing him, as Pyro guided his own captive.

Mariana gently tugged on their bonds, directing them to walk the two captives by her. She ignored the twitching smile on Robere's face. Sometimes he said more with his smug face than she liked.

The taller redhead was led in front of her and Mariana reached out, snapping her fingers in front of his face, to grab their attention. "Name," she prompted, briskly.

Fierce brown eyes met and held her darkened gaze, before a roguish grin surfaced. "Fred Weasley at your service—though I don't know what I've done to upset you-"

She snapped her fingers again. His mouth clicked shut. A flicker of interest showed in Pyro's eyes, reflected back at her and she fought to keep her expression neutral. So he'd sensed that too—dragel magic, tightly twined around Fred Weasley, almost as if cradling him protectively.

What a useful detail.

Perhaps he would make a good birthday present for Pyro. She did try to spoil her Bonded, every now and then. It was always good for morale.

"They're all here—every sentient life form," Ignean murmured, beckoning her forward. "Is there anything specific you want out of this?"

"I'll know in a minute," Mariana followed him into the paddock, her apprising look sweeping over the myriad of faces. Most of them, she could tell, were trying to be brave and some were managing.

She didn't expect anything welcoming—this hadn't been a simple calling card, after all. The anger was obvious, the pure hatred was minimal and the desperation—that was the very worst.

Her eyes settled on the younger Torvaks in the group, there were five children—each trying not to draw attention to themselves. This was the part she hated the most.

Torvaks, though they ought to treasure their own, sometimes chose the worst ways to show that. Not that she could justify what they did. There were things that ought not to be done.

Children were children. They deserved care, love and discipline according to their own individual needs. Safety, above all else.

And yet, since the first nest she'd ever razed—this ugly truth had come forth.

"Children first." She snapped.

The children flinched.

Fred straightened up, tugging uselessly on Pyro's hold once more. The look in his brown eyes had hardened significantly.

The Gheyo Prince and Princess moved together, singling out a child apiece from the gathered group. They were made to stand before Mariana, a simple barrage of diagnostics cast over them.

The readouts came back to spin in the palm of her hand—a pale green ball of healing energy. Each report spanned an impressive two feet. Mariana tipped her head at the young boy and without ceremony, he fainted. The Gheyo Prince picked him up, the last flickers of the sleeping spell hidden as he scooped up the child and carried him some ways over, to set down on the dirt.

The girl squared her shoulders, chin held high. Her lower lip trembled. A thin scar was barely visible along the edge of her left sleeve.

Mariana merely watched her, waiting until the true emotion in her own eyes finally touched the fear in the girl's.

Slowly, thin shoulders drooped. A teary-eyed gaze stared resolutely in the dirt, unable to hold Mariana's knowing gaze a second longer. Her lower lip trembled.

Mariana exhaled, softly. "Was it family or a friend?" she asked, gently. "And are they here?"

The girl swallowed, hugging her arms to herself. Small tears turned to tiny drops of ice, as she sniffled.

It took nothing to gently slip into the girl's mind and draw out the name, along with every instance of the horrifying memories. Mariana withdrew almost at once. She'd only sought confirmation and it had been given. She would not subject the girl to anything more—there were Healers for that.

Her darkened gaze flickered across the group of captives, before discovering the one she sought. Her fangs clicked together, throbbing faintly.

Behind her, Robere gestured to the group, singling out the stony-faced Torvak that Mariana had projected through their shared bonds.

Across the paddock, Ignean smiled, grimly. His sword gleamed as he drew it and moved in.

There were seven bodies, when it was over.

The children were put to sleep, binding seals cast over them to help with inter realm transportation and self-harm. Healers would handle the rest, if they passed the test of admission to Nevarah.

They were dragels after all. Not monsters.

Mariana couldn't keep the contempt from her face as she surveyed the remaining captives before her. There was one soft gaze that had tracked every movement of her blade since she'd appeared at the paddock.

Ah.

It was about time…

The cool blade pressed against her neck, hard enough to cut—but somehow, not yet breaking the skin. Cedrella almost didn't dare breathe. Her heart trembled. Her magic quivered.

The potent aura of the terrifying woman before her, Mariana Cunningham, was almost too much to bear.

Loyalty won out before fear could truly set in.

Shoulders slumped, head lolled back, throat exposed.

Mariana smirked. She had expected no less. She'd sent a warning ahead of them, after all. It would have been poor form to arrive unannounced, no matter how long the years had been. "Cedrella."

"Milady."

"I trust you know where you stand?"

"Beside you where you have placed me," came the expected reply.

Mariana smirked. "What an excellent memory. Is there anything I should know or are your affairs in order?"

"…they are in order."

"You hesitate."

"Torvak business."

"Ah."

"It is of—no consequence."

Mariana scowled. "And what would you ask of me?"

"I have nothing to ask of you, milady."

"Nothing, whatsoever?" Mariana eyed the respectable gaggle of scruffy redheads and brunettes, with their worried eyes all fixed on her.

"My life was yours from the day you took me as yours. Nothing I have is my own, only an extension of you."

Lips twitched, faintly. Mariana turned the blade so the flat edge smacked gently into Cedrella's throat. "You have an odd way of proving your loyalty."

"Irrelevant—if you believe me," came the immediate reply.

Mariana laughed, at last. A short bark of laughter. She let her hand drop, the blade returning to her side and offered a hand to the kneeling woman. "I ought to rip your throat out."

"If you like," Cedrella said, mildly. She took the proffered hand and rose, gaze averted, neck still bared.

"Wouldn't do much good." Mariana shot back. "Never did before." But she reached out anyway and pulled Cedrella close enough for a mind meld.

When they broke the connection, Cedrella wobbled, a hand moving up to her forehead, even as Mariana steadied her with a quick hand at her elbow.

A pained grimace flickered across Cedrella's face. "…apologies…you're the only one that ever does this…and it's hard to-"

"You were never used to it, were you?" Mariana smiled. "Even back then and Arielle knows you had plenty of practice."

"I've fallen out of practice, then."

"Plenty of time to step back in," Mariana returned. "The Shadow Court welcomes you back, shadowed one."

"And your shadow greets you, glad to have returned to your side," Cedrella said, her voice catching and then, it didn't matter.

They hugged each other tight enough for armour and bones to creak in protest.

In the background, her family shifted uneasily.

"I see you gave into him after all." Mariana said, pulling away. "Was it worth it? Your children look just like you."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Cedrella shot back. "Of course it was. How could I resist such pleading eyes?" She reached up to rub her neck, where her claim marks were now in plain view. "What was that blade made from?"

"The rarest, darkest souls my beloved could find," Mariana hummed. "Still stings?"

Cedrella scowled in answer. "The older ones are mine, the others are—well, they're grandchildren."

"Grandchildren?" Mariana looked from her, to the gathered Weasleys and then across the paddock to where Fred was still kept by Pyro. She already had a feeling she knew where this was headed. "Let me guess, those two are yours as well?"

"Ronald and Frederick," Cedrella said, softly. "Arthur's boys—he returned. A bit of a nasty shock to him. I think perhaps, it's my own fault."

"Oh?"

"No wife."

"Ah."

"…she's dragel. The children are inclined one way or another. He didn't take it very well."

"I see. So that's why they feel that way."

"It is my own doing and my own problem. The Court needs not trouble itself."

"But it is troubled nonetheless," Mariana said, smoothly. Cedrella had always been a stubborn one and it seemed that time had not dulled that trait in the least. "What is wrong with you and yours?"

Lady Amanda broke the silence, before Cedrella could answer. "You traitor! You're with them! I knew it! I knew you were one of them! You let them in here so they could get rid of all of us!"

Cedrella ignored her.

"Amanda-!" Lord Heron protested, his face pale. "Don't provoke them."

"Don't provoke them?" Lady Amanda screeched. "They'll kill us! Didn't you see what they did to-!" Her voice cracked.

Lord Heron shuddered, eyes averted. He hadn't been able to look away from what had taken place only a handful of feet away. But he'd also seen the way the children had been singled out. He swallowed. "Don't provoke them."

"They won't spare you, even you sympathize with them," Lady Amanda laughed. "They're monsters. All monsters."

"Amanda!"

"He was my brother!" She strained against her bonds, eyes burning with a fierce, renewed blueness, her Torvak fire simmering beneath the surface. "I'll burn you to-!"

Both women turned to her with identical expressions of bland indifference.

Mariana twitched. Her blade glowed, faintly, the runes along the edge, glowing a sickly green. "Filth is filth, no matter how you cover it up," she said, lightly. "It's not my place to comment on your own faults, but honestly, I doubt your fire matches, Pyro's. If you'd rather die on your own terms, you're welcome to try."

"You-!" Lady Amanda howled. "All of you! All of you, I'll-!"

Cedrella licked her split lip. "Milady, I feel obligated to mention that they set my house on fire…"

Mariana huffed. "You think she's a traitor?" she repeated, advancing. "Do all of you think that?"

Lord Heron cringed, shying away from the approaching Mariana. The gleam in her eyes promised a world of hurt—and death.

In the background, Cedrella winced. She turnedaway, before an answer was heard.

"So their council no longer trusts you?" Mariana asked, inspecting her blade and checking the runes inscribed at the edges.

"I think that was ruined the moment we brought Regulus in." Cedrella explained. "They have never truly accepted him and with his wife—Jun."

"The Runemistress?"

"Yes. She goes by the name of Juniper Evanson."

"And her Circle?"

"I never knew her to have one. She had Regulus and I don't really remember seeing her marks on him or otherwise. They were sort of—private."

"An Evanson?" Mariana mused. Her Advisor had mentioned something about a missing Alpha, when visiting the archives. This was almost too much of a coincidence. There was plenty of information to sift through, from the earlier mind-meld, but she would rather do that later.

There was plenty to occupy her current situation.

"Yes. She was the one who—helped—the children."

"Did she know what she was helping?"

"Possibly. I could not give myself away."

Mariana perked a brow.

Cedrella gave a slight shake of her head. "It is my responsibility; however, it has come about."

"I see. And if I were to offer some sort of assistance?"

"…I would not refuse."

"Good girl. Anything else?"

Cedrella hesitated. "W-would you take it off—anytime soon?"

"Pardon?"

"I-I let you cast it because I couldn't trust my own words, but hearing myself say such things—of myself, of our own kind, of what we've—what I've done. I said them under enchantment and I meant them in that moment." She shuddered, hunching forward on herself. "Please—I beg of you. Reverse it. I'll likely need memory charms for the rest of my life."

"Would you really?" Mariana asked, knowingly. "As much as you've done—I suppose I owe you this much—" she snapped her fingers in front of Cedrella's face, watching her flinch backward as the spell became visible.

Twining chains of gold and silver, stretched from her ankles to her throat, where they gathered there, weighing down a fat, choking collar.

As if on cue, they dissolved. The enchantment reversed.

Cedrella coughed, choking as the magic writhed through her and into the ground, to harmlessly disperse. Her glare was half-hearted. Her shoulders twitched, her wings wanting out.

"Don't," Mariana warned. Her expression had darkened considerably, a hint of redness bleeding into her angry eyes. "I'm not in the mood. The geas was to keep your cover and it did what it was bid to uphold the oath you swore upon your life. Now, answer me this—will you return? Or would you prefer to run?"

Cedrella froze. She hadn't expected to be offered a choice. Her cheeks warmed. "If Nevarah would have us, yes." She said, at once. "Me and mine, only. I cannot speak for the rest."

"I wouldn't trust you if you did," Mariana said, brusquely. "Your Bonded and theirs may pass. You'll be spelled to return and there is a permanent geas upon touchdown. You will never speak of this and I will never hear tell of it."

"I expected as much."

"You will take it?"

"It is my home."

"Indeed. It's also currently on lockdown. We'll have to send you back through one of our portals."

"Has something happened?"

"Something is always happening."

"…milady."

"…The Hunt proceeds. The night of a thousand prophecies is upon us."

"This century?"

"If you find yourself bored, I am sure I can think of a suitable errand or two."

"…as you wish."

"I wish. Any other questions or perhaps you could read a news feed or two upon your return and spare me the trouble?"

Cedrella had the good grace duck her head in deference. She could sense the growing agitation in the way that Mariana's Bonded, began to shuffle restlessly. They were preparing to move again—it seemed as if their Estate was not the only one in Mariana's warpath. "Are you time jumping again?"

"When am I ever not?"

"…good point." Cedrella hesitated. "W-what took you so long?"

The sharpness returned to Mariana's features. Her sword hummed and gleamed. "I do not answer to you, though you are of my own inner court," she said, coolly. "Do not ask questions you have no right to voice. Go. Now."

"My grandsons-"

"Pyro seems to like that Fred one and I owe him a birthday present. You'll have to leave him."

"Milady-!"

"Don't worry. Pyro plays nicely with the things that catch his eye. As for the other one, I think Robere will suit him. Our Rune Master can reverse the enchantment, when my hunt is through. If they wish to return after that, then the choice may be theirs, if I feel so inclined."

"They're only children and—!"

"Now, Cedrella. Before I'm less inclined to allow you to leave with your head upon your shoulders." Mariana turned away, stalking off to where Scout was waiting with more information.

"…yes, milady." Cedrella whispered. She offered another bow, her smile hidden.

She'd sworn life and loyalty the moment she was old enough to understand it and now—in moments like this, she was reminded of why it worked.

There was nothing she wouldn't do for the darling of the Shadow Courts.

CHARACTER SNIPPET :ALEC : NEVARAH, DEVERAINE'S BEACH HOUSE

"They've found blood. They've found a scale. Oh please, Alec, do whatever magic it is that makes things make sense!" Alec fumed.

He stalked down the darkened beach, taking care to keep from the water's edge. The uneasiness in the air was best ignored for now. He'd had to wait until night fell, before making any moves.

It was easier on his skin and brain—simply because of the cooler temperatures and the likelihood of possible action, as the beach was often occupied during the day.

Alec was fairly certain that nothing would have happened during the day, though he'd sort of kept an eye out to be sure that nothing did.

Nothing had.

Instead, he'd been rudely awakened from his not-nap, to an official message from his two least favourite Merrows.

King Alcandor's words rattled around in his head, along with Advisor Kieran's stiff, flat orders. As usual, both of them were asking the pointlessly impossible.

What did he look like? Some cursed miracle worker?

A walking contradiction, at any rate, Alec thought, darkly. Kesmar knew where his skills came from and he'd only his mother to thank for the strength of his magic.

He'd hoped to at least spend a day or two, without having to work himself to the bone, but it seemed that Alcandor and Kieran had other ideas.

Stupid message. Stupid message with sort of useful information. Stupid brain for making sense of the stupid information. Stupid everything.

Blood and a scale.

Odd.

Rare, even, for it to reach such a point.

He glowered out at the peaceful waters, irritated at the flicker of moonlight from overhead. The secrets contained in those shadowy depths—well, that was what he was here for, wasn't it?

Alec continued down the beach, skirting further up to hide in the shadows of the Deveraine's beach house. Convenient place for a beach house, given the prime location to the semi-decent casting grounds contained on the seabed of the Merrow Waters in front of it.

Advisor Kieran had said something about the scale being torn and the blood being too little. A scale that was torn, meant it was large—and most dragels did not sport large scales, regardless of rank, so that ruled out a great deal of things straightaway.

Too little blood suggested youth, rather than adult. Neither samples had been sent for his inspection, so Alec guessed that they weren't within Merrow disposal.

Perhaps he ought to pay them a visit and relieve the evidence archives of such a trivial sample.

Silently, he sent a wish upwards that they were not in some idiot Gheyo's hands, being sorted into some stupid unsolvable case file and therefore, not worth the hassle of breaking and entering.

Granted, the two details were helpful—it meant the victim could still be alive, since blood and a scale were immediate proof.

But still troublesome overall, because really, Merrow healings weren't the kinds of things to be throwing around so carelessly and if he found said idiot that had been stupid enough to be captured in the first place…

Alec gritted his teeth at the image of imploring emerald eyes that flickered through his mind.

Harry.

That troublesome, irritating, pointless excuse of a land walker! Of all the creatures in existence, he'd had to dredge that up from the watery pits.

Better yet, he hadn't been able to really help healing the thing—no, Harry—and of course, that had gone spectacularly sideways as well.

It wasn't his fault he was bound by Oath.

Dragging him into more trouble than he'd already been in, hadn't helped anything at all. Alcandor had been furious and Alec had seriously thought that Kieran would kill him.

Not that the thought wasn't entertaining, but honestly, he hadn't meant anything by it.

The entire experience, both at the current strip of beach and again beneath the stupid tree—they lingered on in his mind, memories that he couldn't simply push aside.

Instead, he remembered irritating things, like the way Harry had flinched from him, the confusion in those stupid green eyes and the contented purrs when he'd dared to rub his shiny, silver scales.

Stupid, troublesome, irritating creature!

Best to avoid him at all costs in the future—ha! Alec thought, darkly.

If he were to set eyes on that idiot, he'd likely need every single ounce of—oh. Movement. The thoughts shuffled themselves out of the way as Alec focused on his reason for being here in the first place.

Out of the corner of his eye, at the water's edge, something that was nothing—moved. If he'd been anyone else, it would have escaped him, but he'd been prepared for something like this.

And he was a Merrow, after all.

A concealment spell? There's nothing I can sense at this range…

Alec stealthily eased down to the ground of the concrete floor of the lower section of the beach house. He was grateful that he'd seen the thing in both daylight and nightlight, because now, he knew exactly where the shadows fell.

At present, there wasn't a single shadow user among them—and he could tell in the way that the shadows willingly hid him.

He pressed up against one of the supporting beams for the overhead balcony and watched as the trespassers emerged from the water.

By not looking at them directly, he could make out the distinct forms of three men and one woman.

He ground his fangs together, as they crept further ashore, hauling their cargo behind them.

The nearly invisible shimmer to their concealment spells was the hint that they'd had some sort of Merrow assistance.

Not a pureblood, for no pureblood ever bothered with something as pointless as concealment spells. That left black market trading or some unfortunate, young Merrow, held captive.

Alec forced himself to relax.

It hadn't been Merrow blood, though the scale had been Merrow.

He watched them uncover a dozen crates between them, systematically covering their tracks and verifying that their cargo was still in good condition.

A whiff of stale air filtered over to him, before abruptly vanishing.

The hint came a split-second too late.

Alec rolled sharply to the side and pulled heavily on the water beneath the beach house.

The sand obligingly swallowed him up as he saw the darkened figure looming overhead, stab downwards where he'd lain, only seconds before.

Kesmar!

Alec swore, burrowing deeper into the sand and using his elemental ability to pull his attacker in after him. Best to make a scene, if that was what it was coming down to.

He couldn't sense the others reacting, but the killing aura remained.

Surfacing several yards away, he found the Halfling sprawled out, half-hidden by the beach house shadow and half-draped over the slight indentation of sand. There was no sign of life.

Naturally, of course, the smugglers were gone.

Alec scowled.

In mere seconds, it'd become far more troublesome than it was worth.

He stretched a hand out to the body and slowly curled his fingers up. There was a muffled, gurgling sound, before all the moisture in his attacker, retreated at his beckoning.

The murky bubble of liquid floated over to him, but Alec only waited until it darkened to the appropriate colour of blood.

Ah. That was better.

He whispered the words that solidified it. Hefting the cold orb in his palm, he held it up to the moonlight.

A gentle wind from the waves, blew the skeletal body away—everything returning to dust—as if nothing had ever happened there.

The waves rippled again. Alec hefted the orb in hand. He strolled to the water's edge and smiled when Goonter surfaced.

"Treat for you," he called out, softly.

Goonter yawned, his great maw opening to show vicious gleaming fangs. He snapped up the orb, crushing it easily.

"Good boy," Alec crooned, stepping into the water. "Very good boy."

Goonter purred, a rumbling sound that made the water vibrate around them.

Alec threw an arm out to the shore and watched as the waves did as he bid them. A suitable wave surged upwards to the shoreline, washing away any troublesome traces of other beings.

This was a Merrow problem. His King had declared it so. Therefore, it wouldn't do to have any others entangled in the mess.

Goonter circled him once, surfacing with his head pressing against Alec's hand.

"Ready to work?" Alec asked, climbing aboard.

Goonter yawned again.

"If you don't wake up that stupid brain of yours, you'll fall asleep in the middle of our important assignment and I'll let Alcandor turn you into soup for that stupid banquet that he's throwing for-"

Goonter dived.

Deep beneath the water, as the moonlight faded from overhead, Alec relaxed. He let himself shift from his two-legged form, to the more comfortable Merrow form that he preferred.

Smugglers.

What a bothersome chore.

Especially when he was sure that the awful, skin-crawling smell he'd caught, was nothing more than death and destruction.

Dead as in dead something-that-was-not-to-be-eaten and destruction as in loss-of-a-magical-life. Only a dead Elf or Fae would smell like that.

Pity.

It seemed they'd truly stumbled across something troublesome.

Oh well. Kesmar willing, he'd report more on it in the morning, for now, with Goonter's help, perhaps they could retrace the route that had brought them to this part of the beach.

After all, he had all night.

A/N: This Chapter was a rollercoaster to write. UGH. I hope you enjoyed it. :P I think there might have been a tissue warning. and a drama warning. and goodness knows what else. I did not mean for this chapter to take so long.

Thank you as well for the well-wishes! My health has been much better this month, along with my muse and much better stress levels, as well. :) I hope it's been a good month for you guys as well! Also, if you read the snippets, there was a oneshot with Harry and his Bonded, being all cute and adorable. Check it out if you need to cheer up after this chapter! It's called "Denial is a River in..."

Thank you for your patience! Thank you for your support! I love you guys! ~Scion

Many thanks to brissygirl who always does a fabulous job of beta-ing these monster chapters. Did you know this chapter is 70 pages long in MS Word? *le gasp*

WANT TO VOTE IN TBDH'S NEXT CHAPTERS? Tell me the top 3 plot lines you'd like to see tied up next. (Explanations with Lord Cunningham and Hadrian are due in chapter 106, along with a Wikhn snippet, so cast your vote for something you'd like to see more of!) :)