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.

!Possible TRIGGERS FOR: mentions of death/implied torture! (basically, Death and Mariana are still on-screen)!

RECAP: Riven Cairothe and Tavit the Necromancer, work to keep Harry alive and out of Death's Clutches. It is Harry's Missing mentor, Maurice Elswood that is the final sacrifice to stay Death's hand. Giving himself in place of Harry, Maurice has enough time to give a final farewell. The Kalziks get involved when Ethan rushes to bring in a set of Healers by Riven's request. Prince Raspen maintains a tense truce, as everyone works together to save Harry. The Cunningham's are caught between the mess on Earth with the Dursley's to the issues with the Torvaks, and by extension, The Weasleys. Keep reading more fun and plenty of drama! ;)

NIKO - PRIVET 4 DRIVE (EARTH) : HADRIAN AND THE CUNNINGHAM'S

Niko pushed the scythes apart with a finger on each, wickedly curved blade. Her fingers twitched, the spell readied at her fingertips to undo the stasis she'd cast earlier. Tavit had vanished—no doubt to some pointless mindscape for another one of his long, drawn-out negotiations with Death.

Not that she minded, of course.

This was the true nature of his work and she knew better than to interrupt. There was no point in splitting his focus with her presence. If he needed her, he would call—and if he didn't, she'd answer his unspoken call. There was something between them, after all.

It was only a hassle to have to deal with the aftermath on her own. In this case, separating two ranked reapers caught in the midst of their own bloodlust.

Fascinating, she thought, darkly.

Personally, it would've been far more fun to watch them take it out on each other, but from the body submerged halfway into the seal below them, she had a feeling it was in her best interest to preserve it. Tavit's scolding's were legendary and his punishments more so—she wasn't exactly in the mood to suffer at his hand.

At least, no more than necessary.

His last lecture was still ringing in her ears for prancing through another's mind uninvited. He hadn't cared that she'd wrestled something out of the poor unfortunate soul, he'd been upset about the lack of consent. But Tavit was Tavit and Niko was Niko.

She knew which limits she could push him to and he knew when to stop her, so that was that. As long as she could still sense him, that he was hearty and hale, then all was well. There was no need to break promises and seals or tear through limiters meant to keep her powers at bay.

Niko knelt, patting along the surface of the seal, gently pushing the body back into the final layer. The seal could hold the body until Tavit was through with his negotiations. The preservation spells layered over it, would keep everything exactly as it needed to be. Burying the body back into the seal would also keep it safe from the reaper's scythes, should they decide to attack her, instead of each other. The spell warmed in the palm of her hand, as she danced out of reach of their swing and then released the spell that held them frozen.

Predictably, both of them pivoted to swing at her, their balance thrown off by the return of movement. Identical rasping growls of displeasure emanated from both reapers.

"Don't point those at me," she said, darkly. "And come to your senses before I make you." Her eyes glowed, faintly. Her thick, dark hair flared out behind her. The air sizzled with untapped energy from realms both visible and not. "I doubt you would like it if I made you…"

The Cunningham Gheyos shuffled restlessly, but no one dared to approach the standoff between the two reapers and the little darkling girl.

She knew they wouldn't. They valued their lives after all. She drew the reaper's attention, masterfully manipulating her natural talents to force them back to their normal selves. Her command of the shadows was nowhere near like those of a Shadow elemental—no, Niko pulled on the dimension that was hers to command.

Death.

And no reaper could ever refuse death.

Shadows could be shades of things long past or never to be. So instead of reaching out through the absence of light, Niko drew heavily on every strand that traced itself back to Death. This, she could control. This, she would wield as a weapon of its own.

It took three containment spells and two tempering ones, to finally reign both of them in mid-strike. Niko scowled as she watched it happen, relieved that it hadn't taken that long and annoyed that they'd both tried to kill her. That was the problem with reapers—always swinging their scythes around.

Lord Cunningham was the first to snap back to himself.

Of course.

He came to himself with a gasping groan and the immediate flash of blue energy in his pitch-black gaze. Spirit energy. The blue faded back to black within seconds as he straightened to his full height.

A flicker of concern filtered through his shared bond with Mariana, a silent inquiry as to whether he was alright. He relaxed, almost at once, the bloodlust ebbing to a tolerable measure. She'd always been able to reach him in moments like this. It'd been her gentle, mental prod to interrupt the chaos that had clouded his mind.

His scythe retreated, and he took a step back, allowing it to rest beside him, as he studied Hadrian's looming form. He could see at a glance, that Hadrian's reaper form was far more elaborate than his own, with an equally suggestive boost in dark magic.

Dark, but not black, he noted. That was a good detail. An admirable upgrade to what he'd known of the slightly anxious Hadrian.

Possibly more Death magic than Shadow magic, if he was to honestly break it down. That realization eased a lot of worry over past interactions, as in hindsight, it explained far more than Hadrian himself, had ever dared to share. The strained conversations, stubborn habits and routine persistence—self-defence mechanisms that Hadrian had built around himself to keep from showing too much darkness.

Lord Cunningham smirked. No wonder Mariana had been so taken with him. She had an uncanny knack for sensing these sorts of things. Death did seem to favour her, after all. He willed his reaper persona away, waiting until the last of his reaper's robe, faded back into the clamouring shadows around him. This was no longer his fight.

The darkling girl standing just within his field of vision, scowled at him. "I'll take it that you've managed to come to your senses?"

"Indeed, little lady."

She bristled. "I am called Niko. I belong to Tavit. I trust you know whom I speak of. You may address me as Niko. Anything else and I might not be inclined to see you safely to where you are required."

"As you like," Lord Cunningham said, smoothly. "Niko. I take it I have you to thank for sparing a thick-headed, stubborn-hearted stray of mine?"

Niko ignored him. She turned her scorching glare on Hadrian, who flinched. The drooping slant of his shoulders suggested that he was no longer a threat. That was good—now she just had to move them to where Tavit would most likely end up.

It was fifty-fifty chance that he'd step back into Death's realm or approach the entire mess sideways—through the Hound's Inner Court.

Niko drew out a small, silver coin from her blouse and flipped it in the air. She slapped it down on her wrist and wrinkled her nose at the result.

The Hound's Inner Court it is then…

EARTH : PRIVET DRIVE : LORD CUNNINGHAM + NIKO

Hadrian stirred, faintly, as he felt the aura leave him. His reaper persona faded away, leaving behind an oddly disconnected feeling.

The chill of the surrounding magic and Death's presence, registered almost as an afterthought.

Stabbing pains sliced through his stomach and Hadrian doubled over, vomiting onto the street. His shadows heaved and groaned around him. A single round of shudders wracked his body.

"…easy—breathe in, hold it—and let it go," Lord Cunningham appeared at his side, one strong arm curling around Hadrian's quivering shoulders.

Hadrian flinched, turning his face to the side, to hide the expression he couldn't control. His stomach churned again and he dry-heaved, as a gentle stomach soothing spell washed over him. He turned, confused, to meet darkly amused eyes.

"Mariana would be unhappy if I allowed you to suffer when it was within my capacity to aid you," Lord Cunningham said, calmly. "Better?" He banished the vomit with another, discreet spell. "Normally, you don't eat anything at all, but today you decided you felt like it?"

Hadrian gaped. That wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. "You're not—you didn't—didn't you see what I-?"

"That's quite a rank you hold as a reaper. I wasn't aware you'd taken the oath." Lord Cunningham eased him upright, gauging whether he could sit comfortably on his own.

Hadrian coloured, eyes averted. "I-I didn't." He muttered. He shuddered again, his shadows writhing in agony. He couldn't release them—yet.

"Had it gifted to you, then?"

"…something like that."

"What price do you pay?"

"Eh?"

"I pay in soul currency—an easy enough trade, given Mariana's tastes and habits. As such, I retain my current state and rank, with very little effort. Death does not trouble me and I do not trouble it."

"Ah," Hadrian twitched a hand. His shadows stilled. "It's—complicated."

"Indeed. Death is not a kind nor easy mistress."

"…I do whatever is asked of me." Hadrian shuddered. He shouldn't say more. He couldn't. It would mean thinking about it—and remembering things that he'd sworn not to remember again. There were rules that lived in the shadows and this was one of the twisted rites that lurked beneath the surface. Death chose her reapers from their ranks—after they'd crossed one line too many.

He'd wondered if any of the Cunningham's were reapers themselves, but he'd never worked up the nerve to ask. Mariana had seemed like a good candidate, but then he'd had to discount for the fact that she preferred a clean death, unless otherwise provoked—a distinction that exempted her from the dark mantle that he wore.

Even Death had limits, it had seemed.

Hadrian tried not to notice his trembling hands. They curled into lose fists, as he willed the shudders to stop. His transformation always took more out of him with each consecutive turn—and some day, he was sure he wouldn't change back. There would be no reason to.

"Anything?"

"…anything."

"That is indeed a very steep price to pay." Lord Cunningham patted Hadrian's shoulder, before straightening up. That was a heavy price to pay—to some degree. Death always favoured her own, when possible. A gamble that most Shadow elementals used to their advantage—Hadrian was no different, he was sure. "When you're through feeling sorry for yourself—there's work to be done."

Hadrian stared up at him in a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. He had no words to say, but only gave a short nod.

Hiding a smile, Lord Cunningham strode forward. "Circle up!"

The Death Seal shimmered at their feet, the final layer groaning terribly from the invisible negotiations between Death and Tavit.

It shuddered and cracked—like a plate of glass shattering into a million pieces.

Maurice Elswood's lifeless body remained in the centre of the sidewalk, contorted in the position the seal had required. His blackened wings stretched out behind him, in full breadth, his clothes torn and stained with the evidence of a battle beforehand. The emptiness and lack of magic, spoke the loudest to them all.

Lord Cunningham bowed his head, pulling a handful of shadows from over his right shoulder, a soft cloak of black was formed in his fist. He handed it to his ACE, who took it wordlessly, to drape over Maurice's form. The Cunningham's gathered around, forming a protective circle around the cloak. The wards shrank inward. The time-regulated space thrummed with the effort of containing the magic swirling within.

Hadrian stumbled to his feet, forcing himself to stand upright, relieved when his body obeyed. He fell into rank, slipping into the place set out for him between two of the Jokers.

"The house?" the ACE inquired, a steady blue flame alighting on his hand.

Lord Cunningham merely took the flame and cast a look to the house. He flicked it onto the lawn and watched the flames spread at once, hungrily devouring everything within their path, intent on consuming the entire house.

"…milord?"

"Yes?"

"…they are still in the house."

"…are they?"

"Milord!"

Lord Cunningham sighed, as if put upon. "Very well. Retrieve them."

"Thank you," the ACE said, testily. He gestured for the Vega Twins to move first, waving in another pair to join them. Four would be enough to rescue the three Dursley's.

Hadrian stared, numb. He watched as the entire house and then the entire lot, was consumed by cursed, blue flames. He watched as the Cunningham Gheyos hauled out the twisted, grotesque form of a female dragel halfling, stuck in mid-morph, along with a feral youngling, and the bloated, butchered body of a human in stasis.

The Dursley's were laid out on the street, away from Maurice and the Cunningham's.

Shucking flickers of blue flames from their uniforms, the Gheyos grumbled and muttered, as the house groaned and fell behind them.

"…two more minutes!" one Vega Twin whined, examining the singed tips of their fluffy ponytail. "ACE!"

The ACE sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry." He moved close enough to offer a hug of consolation, followed by the expected kiss. "There, it's not so bad. You can get it cut when we return."

A pout was the answer, but the Vega Twin didn't complain.

"…they're alive?" The ACE glanced over at them, noting the stasis spells and low-magic maintenance.

"The woman and child," the other Vega Twin approached, more intent on checking their Twin's hair, than the trio behind them. "I'm surprised the house stood at all. Seems as if it was attacked and rebuilt."

"The entire house?" The ACE's eyebrows arched upward. "It looks—well. I suppose it was possible."

"Definitely Possible, but hard to tell now. I'd wager someone held a shield over it and either couldn't hold the shield or tried to save the house and everything in it."

"And those two?" The ACE gestured to the woman and child.

"In stasis," came the expected explanation. "They will require extensive healings and at least a mind healer, given that the child is feral." The Vega Twins wrinkled their nose in tandem, identical expressions mirroring their faces, as their gifts came into play. Golden eyes glittered for the Twin on the left, while icy blue eyes settled on the one at the right.

"Death will still come for them."

"Death does not discriminate."

"…Death never has," the ACE said, lightly. He hugged both twins, nuzzling the tops of their heads to settle them, pleased when they relaxed and chirped softly in answer. He waited until they returned to their selves—each sporting one gold eye and one blue one—before he turned them loose. "Have one of our contacts prepare something over there, to receive them. Tell them we want them charged to the maximum degree allowed and demand recompense."

"Yes ACE." They chorused. "The body too?"

He twitched, faintly. It would be better to take the body with them. In fact, it'd be best if they didn't leave any trace of their presence on Earth. The ACE glanced Lord Cunningham, still manipulating the burning of the house. "…the body too."

"Yes ACE!"

NEVARAH : KADEL ESTATE : Maia Kadel and Co.

Maia Kadel blew a long stream of lavender-hued smoke into the scrying bowl before her. The slender pipe balanced on her hand, dripped with shimmering gold. A single, blood tear, trickled down her face. She'd seen things again.

She tipped her head back, lifting the pipe to her lips. Another draw, another puff.

The tiny, smoky room, seemed to stand still in the midst of time.

Visions cleared, dancing before her eyes as she stared through the smoke. Only against the ever-changing canvas of greyness, could she discern the truth behind each shifting montage. Her heart had flipped twice when she'd seen Riven accept Prince Raspen's request. She'd expected to see him for a few hours at some point, for the duration of his visit to Nevarah.

The times had not been kind to him, though their friendship had not suffered for it. She'd wondered if he would ask her to seal him again. His preferred method of handling his issue was to bandage the suppression runes on his arms and hope for the best.

A poor strategy, she knew, but one that suited him fine. He always thought of himself last, in times of need. She'd long wished for him to have someone who would look after him or at least convince him that he was worth the hassle of being looked after. Storm elementals were always tricky.

But, her vision of Riven had changed, merely seconds after she'd realized it. The images had wavered, giving way to showing King Edgar fulfilling that honoured duty of bandaging his arms. She had guessed then, that he wouldn't visit this time around.

Not that she could fault him for it. Even if she would miss his company for however brief the visit would be.

Their powers—her future sight and his life-altering magic—were not meant to peacefully coexist in such close quarters within the same realm.

At least not when he was still alone.

"…Idiot," she murmured, softly. The notes she'd scribbled on the parchment beside her, faded away to nothing, as the information was no longer relevant.

It'd been some time since she'd seen this face, after all. The image of Tavit, the Necromancer, stuttered into place along the swirling pictures of the possible futures stretched out before her. Tavit was a heavy hitter—he could easily change the track of a potential failure, but only if engaged in time. His own future was just as tangled and unstable as Riven's, if not more so.

"I told you to call him first…" Maia scribbled another note on the parchment.

This time, it stayed.

The image of Riven and his stricken face, wavered on the water's surface before it began to churn. The light faded from it. The room fell dark once more.

She dropped the pipe into the bowl and turned away from the mess. The parchment burst into flame, ashes pooling, before dissolving completely to dust.

Hugging her arms to herself, Maia rubbed insistently on the claim marks lining each limb. This one truth—a Circle to call her own—was the singular ray of light that made her life worth living, cursed as she was. There were too many strands of Fate in play and she could not leave Nevarah until her duty was done.

Faint shivers ran down her spine, as she waited for her Bonded to respond. Since Riven had not called her, it would mean helping in a different way.

Visions flickered faintly, in her mind, but she stubbornly kept her eyes open. She would hold onto the most successful version of this future and coax it into happening, no matter the cost.

Riven had a habit of stumbling into those who always needed the most help and proceeding to help them, even at a tremendous cost to his own existence. It wasn't a bad habit, exactly, but every so often, his rescued ones would become the history changers.

The oddball individuals to shift an entire realm's course, simply by existing and using their own gifts to the fullest capacity. And he would pay a price for having been the one to stir them into life-changing motion.

She sighed. He was doing it again for the sake of a lonely, little soul, with beautiful green eyes. Ah, but she'd met his Alpha—hadn't she?

Henry had brought them over. A serious young man with the tempered strength of his earthen element and the calmest fire elemental she'd ever seen in years. It had been such a new, but promising start for a triad, that she'd been very pleased to make their acquaintance.

Just seeing the odd little pair had prompted the ridiculous words to leap from her mouth. She didn't give favours to just anyone and yet, something in her chilled heart had warmed at the sight of their earnest, muted introduction.

It had actually sparked her curiosity in wanting to know just who this Harry was and why he would attract such fitting Bonded, given what she'd checked after meeting Henry.

And then, of course, there was the matter of the bloodstones. She wondered if Cora would actually follow through. In spite of her age, Cora was capable and resilient, when she wanted to be. Too often, she was daydreaming some other invention or the other, but once in a while, a sharpness that lurked beneath the surface—made itself visible for a moment.

If she'd timed it right, then this would be the moment. Maia stifled a yawn. She'd been up for hours and now, could feel the weight of it resting on her shoulders.

There was still so much to see and track, between all of the visions she'd experienced. She would have to spend a few hours scribing to record all of it for later use.

Footsteps shuffled outside in the hallway before a quiet knock to announce his presence. Her Beta appeared in the doorway, his jaw set, as he fluxed from invisible to visible, touching down into the Nevarean plane of existence. "He didn't call?"

"…I don't think he had the choice," she said, lightly. "But let's help him anyway, hm?"

"Since when are we so generous?"

"Since I have my eye on something and that something appears to be in mortal danger," Maia tapped his shoulder as she passed. She'd never met such a curious submissive, this 'Harry'—his face, his eyes—something in them had reached out to her.

And she'd been unable to leave it be, much in the same way that she'd first met Riven. She needed to meet him soon.

Her eyes burned, the weight of possible visions resting heavily upon her.

"…you should rest…?" her Beta hesitated.

She went straight to his arms, grateful that he was visible and corporeal enough for the embrace. It was quite troublesome to be the only one existing on this plane in Nevarah.

But it was the price she paid for the gifts that ran in her veins.

"I cannot." She breathed deeply of the ashen scent that clung to him. "We do not want any other futures than this."

"…he is playing again?"

"A Cairothe never plays."

Her Beta hummed. "Indeed. I suppose it's our turn then?"

"Yes. Gather in the second transportation room."

"Where are we headed?"

"…to see the Hound, about a certain soul."

Her Beta nodded. "As you like."

"I have one more thing to check and then I'll be right there, hm?"

"Shadows be with you," he murmured.

The press of his lips on her forehead, faded halfway, as he fluxed from visible to invisible. A flicker of wind dashed through the hallway, drawing some of the smoke from her seeing room, after him.

Maia held out a hand, for her pipe. It floated up and over to her hand, pristine and refilled as if she'd never cast it into the bowl.

She whispered the words to light it and placed it to her lips. Now then…if it were possible, how could I save a soul that desperately wished to die?

SHADOW HAUNTS : NEVARAH : WIKHN

Wikhn stepped out from the pits, his traveling license safely hidden on his person. It was a pain to have things signed by someone other than Dahlia—but the last thing he wanted, was to have her keeping tabs on him. She certainly hadn't bothered to take note of him after she'd left with Shayla.

She'd find him soon enough, if she really wanted to.

If she needed him.

It wasn't like he was running away or anything.

Definitely not running.

There were consequences for that.

He twitched, faintly, at the last memory. He was not fond of being dragged back to where he belonged, but standing by her side had been tolerable to the point of genuine affection. She'd cared and so, in turn, he'd learned to return that care.

A care that had gradually turned to something more.

He'd forgiven her nearly as much as she'd forgiven him, somehow overlooking his faults and deeming him worthy.

To see her standing beside Shayla, still perturbed by the history between them—but yet, willing to start a new chapter, a new life together—that had been unexpected. His chest throbbed. The ache had yet to dim.

He hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Wikhn pressed a hand to his heart, focusing on directing his magic there. It was the best he could do for the current moment. He'd managed to ignore this for far too long.

The pain eased, moments later, a dulled ache that he didn't care to notice again. He boxed up the thought and shoved it in the back of his mind. He could mope about it later.

For now, he simply wanted distance. Some space. Some time. Maybe a bit more.

Just—a change of scenery.

There were more important things to command his attention and he meant to let them distract him.

Pushing his way through the crowded exit, Wikhn turned his steps towards the Shadow Haunts. It was easier to lose his tracks here, though predictable.

The Shadow element had never bothered him. The bland indifference made it easy to master his affinity for it. Notwithstanding that Shadow Gheyos tended to be far more enjoyable in bed than most other elements.

Wikhn ducked into a corner alley, making his way through the backstreets. He paused at one point, to shift his appearance a bit more obviously.

Just because Dahlia might look for him, didn't mean that he had to make it easy on her.

Or anyone else for that matter.

He was on the King's business, after all, and some secrecy would likely be helpful. The details had been short, specific and bound by secrecy.

Tangling his fingers in his short, choppy hair, Wikhn tugged and twisted, until the strands lengthened to silky, smooth locks, that nearly reached his waist.

Scooping up a handful, he tugged one of the ceremonial earrings from one ear and tapped it against the thin ponytail. The earring morphed into a clip, securing the hair against his head.

That would keep it out of his face, in case he actually had to worry about it in the middle of a fight. Not to mention, he would definitely appear more fae-like to anyone caring to stop him at first glance.

There were plenty of Dark Fae among the shadow ranks, easy to spot with the pitch black hair and odd pink eyes. Playing up those traits would allow him to move freely.

Wikhn squinted up at the sky, eyes fluxing from pink to red. There were general protections still cast over this section.

He could see them without trying.

Curious.

Hopefully, it wouldn't stay that way through the entire season, but stranger things had happened. Hands free at his sides, Wikhn ducked out from the side streets and made his way towards the street where the Kuroe Clans resided.

He'd seen them out and about in the Hunt, and there was enough neutrality between them to allow an unexpected guest to wander in.

The head Pareya answered the door, a flicker of recognition as he waved Wikhn inside the great house. "One of the Black Dahlia's?"

"Her former King," Wikhn allowed. "She is Bonded now."

"Ah, yes. We heard and witnessed," the Pareya chuckled. "Quite an explosive bonding, if I may say so."

"You may," Wikhn allowed. "But I am not here on her business."

"…who commands you?"

"The Earth King."

"King Edgar?"

"Prince Raspen has not yet taken the throne."

"…indeed. We welcome you then, the King's business is our business. Do come in." The Pareya led the way down the hall, a twitch of their fingers taking down the wards that would keep out all others.

Wikhn broke into a trot following along until they came to great double doors at one corner of the house. The War Room, he guessed.

Sure enough, he was admitted, and welcomed into the company of nearly the entire Circle. The Alpha greeted him with pleasantries, while the Submissive offered a temporary oath of secrecy.

"Drink?" one of the Pareya offered. "You can seal the oath with it."

"Ah—thanks." Wikhn took the proffered cocktail, holding out his free hand, wrist exposed. The oath was sealed by way of a thin band of wild magic—a promise that he would not speak of whatever he heard while in their presence, and asking the same of them on behalf of the King's business.

"May we be of some assistance?" The Alpha inquired.

Wikhn swirled the drink in hand. He'd contemplated a dozen different ways to phrase his request, but mostly, he wanted extra insurance. There were other ways to find out what the King wanted to know.

Still, Wikhn did not intend to run himself into the ground to satisfy the desperation or curiosity from the request of a single dragel.

At least, not one that he didn't have a personal connection to.

He was Fae after all and there were rules.

"Blood?" the Gheyo beside him offered, wrist extended.

"…thanks." Wikhn held out the cup, accepting a clean dribble into the pale drink.

The Gheyo chuckled, taking the cup from Wikhn's hand to swirl it and take a sip, while Wikhn tended to the neat slash on his arm with a few, quick licks.

The drink was returned—and finished. Wikhn twitched, faintly, feeling the magic within the oath activate. He felt the answering pulse of magic in the room, as the wards shifted and adjusted to his presence there.

"The King has sent me to verify the vampire activity for the Hunt."

Glances were exchanged between Alpha and Submissive.

"…vampire activity for the Hunt now?" The Alpha wanted to know. "The introductions have already passed."

"They requested entry—but a far larger number than ever before. It's been some time since Nevarah has hosted them," Wikhn explained.

"…by which you mean the ranks of our element are unsettled and we have not kept a large store of bloodstones." The Alpha frowned. "That could be troublesome. Most natural vampires—if they do not travel properly in their respective groups, they can cause chaos by improper feeding."

"The bloodstones ought to be inventoried," the Submissive said, thoughtfully. "At the very least, we should clear some space and build a bit of shadow housing."

"They'll come here?" the Pareya checked. "For certain?"

"…They would not send them anywhere else but to our section." The Alpha said, wearily. "And since our element does not hold a royal rank, we have no one to outright object."

"The Cunningham's could protest," The ACE suggested.

"I am sure they are already aware."

The ACE shook her head. "No, I don't think so. They certainly would step forward, if they were aware. Lady Mariana is not one to sit quietly—and we all know that if anyone were to assume a crown for this rank, we want them. They deal fairly with their own kind and ours, so that is all we could ever ask."

Wikhn half-smiled. He shared the sentiment, if only because of their fearsome reputation. It was true to his nature that he would trust fairness over other traits—the Cunningham's had never dealt badly with Lady Paielda, at least, not in any dealings that he was aware. What little dealings he'd had with their Jokers, had been professional courtesy—in the form of brutal efficiency. There was never anything wasted between them.

In turn, it meant that those beneath her held a healthy sense of respect for their Circle.

"Are you venturing alone?" The ACE asked, offering another drink. "We could spare a few blades, if you wanted."

"No need to trouble yourself-" Wikhn began.

"They're bored, you'd be doing me a favour," the Submissive said, dryly. "Please do take them, if it suits you. I don't mind if they get a bit of fresh air. This lockdown is scarcely old enough to register and still, I feel as if I can't breathe."

"Now cut me some slack," The ACE protested. "We haven't been that bad."

"…your version of climbing the walls, still involves climbing actual walls," came the dry answer. "You're driving me crazy just watching. Honestly, if you could take them with you—unless your orders are otherwise?"

"The King did not say," Wikhn said. "I don't know if it's allowed, but-"

"But you'll be fine on your own," the Beta smiled, warmly. "Spoken like a true Fae. That is what matters then. So you're to count their numbers or something more?"

Wikhn twitched. The King hadn't been that specific, so that ought to be alright to share. "…something more. That's why I came here."

"Oh?"

"…besides a full suite of blades, I want to ask your opinion on the information I was given."

The Alpha frowned. He gestured to the chairs around the planning table. "Then make yourself comfortable. We can spare the time."

"…thank you." Wikhn approached the table, seating himself to the left of the Beta, with a nod. "The King mentioned that I was not the only one dispatched to verify and report."

"There were others?" The ACE took a seat opposite of Wikhn, folding her arms atop the table. "How many are we talking about?"

"I don't know. He didn't exactly say, but he said others, which suggests at least three or four."

"And they'd have to be of your calibre," the Alpha murmured. "At least, to even be chosen. Your reputation is well known."

Wikhn flushed. His left hand twitched towards the hilt of his cursed sword. He'd never done anything specifically for the sake of his own reputation, but it had managed to be something all on its own. "Any strong blade would have done, I wasn't familiar with their names, though I do think they must have had some claim to bring them to his notice. However, none of them have returned. Not a single one."

"Did he send ACE ranks or Jokers?"

Wikhn hesitated. "…that's where I think it didn't work out right. He didn't say and when I asked, he said I was the only one he'd seen personally."

Another round of glances were exchanged across the table.

"So it's very possible there's a spy?"

"Not that far up," Wikhn said, quickly. "Definitely not that far up. I think it's a little further out."

"A little further or a little darker?" The Submissive wanted to know.

"Darker," the Alpha supplied. "That's why you've come here, isn't it? To us?"

Wikhn shrugged. "Someone is helping them. The Vampires have been peaceable for many years. Many. I have a few friends among them and I do count them as friends. They are as peaceable as we dragels are. Happy to spend their time doing what they like, which rarely, if ever, involves excessive bloodshed and war. They savour their peaceful times, just as we Fae do."

"Ah," the ACE brightened. "You think there's unrest in their ranks?"

"It's the only thing I can think of. They know better—they know, all of them—that to try to attack Nevarah will not end well. The Fae's blessings are upon this realm and both sides will rise to see it protected."

The Beta hummed in consideration. There was truth in Wikhn's words, for both the Light and Dark Fae, would step forward if Nevarah asked it of them. "True. The Fae and the Elves—though notably the Elves are more neutral than anything else."

"Neutral enough," Wikhn said. "They would act, if it were in their favour. Most of them that reside here, like it enough to protect it. They will stand to defend Nevarah's borders if it came to that. Perhaps not beside us, but certainly behind us for another layer of protection."

The Alpha sighed. "So you've come here to—what? Warn us? Invite us? Mention secrets that can't be repeated?"

"You may do what you like with the information. I simply didn't think it polite to come without offering some sort of token, in exchange for your assistance." A flicker of red flared in Wikhn's darkening eyes. "I came to ask for a safe portal to a specific point in the Vampire Realm. Your portal master and I, have spent time together in the pits."

The ACE flashed a grin. "Indeed you did—Oi!" She called over one shoulder, waving a hand at the Gheyo nearest to the door. "If Rudy's out back, tell him to expect company, alright? Set any groundings in place, if needed."

The Gheyo nodded, excusing themselves from the room and disappearing through the massive double doors.

"You're welcome to stay for—something," the Submissive offered, wrinkling his nose. "We're not trying to chase you away."

"He means it'll take time for a new suit to be crafted," The Alpha explained. "An hour or so, perhaps. Do you have recent measurements?"

"Yes." Wikhn rose from the table, as the rest of them followed suit. "I don't want to linger though—and of course the cost—"

"Can be billed to the King," The Alpha said, smoothly. "You are on his business. He can foot the bill to see that you are properly kitted out. You two," he grinned at the two Gheyos inching to the door. "Take him to get fitted. You need any traveling gear, besides a fresh suit and new weapons?"

"I'll keep my blade," Wikhn said, tapping the hilt. "I'll trade everything else."

"Good choice." The Alpha slung an arm around his Submissive's shoulder. "Do you want to entertain or would you rather I-?"

"Go." The Submissive said, dryly. "Just go. I know you're dying to share the news."

"If the Cunningham's aren't back as yet, someone needs to do something," The Alpha said, smoothly. "No reason why we can't."

"Yes, yes. Fine. Make sure you inform the others—you know Thistle hates it when you leave her out of things."

"…I don't do it on purpose."

"Yes, you do. Behave. Tell her or I will."

"…that's really not fair."

"Do I look like I'm trying to be fair?"

The Alpha huffed. "Good point. I'll mention it at some point."

"Mention it in the conversation you're off to have right now!"

"But-!"

"Go!" The Submissive waved him off, circling to fall into step beside Wikhn. "Shall we? He'll be forever and a day with all the formalities we've to set in motion before we can set foot out of this place."

"That bad?" Wikhn wanted to know.

"Depends. I mean, your ranks are close enough to have heard the news by now. There's enough taboos on the name and the topic, but you can speak it within these walls." The Submissive paused. "The Immortals are awake."

Wikhn swallowed. "…all of them?"

"Fairly certain of it, by our calculations. We've been personally verifying each claim."

"Clever," Wikhn allowed.

"Depends on how you look at it. The entire process is time-consuming and it isn't as if there's anything to be done other than saying, we know for sure. They should be making their way to Nevarah, though I can't say for sure when they'll arrive and what form they'll be in."

"It's still useful information."

"I didn't say it wasn't. But new arrivals meant shifting more people around." The Submissive trotted down the hallway, gesturing for Wikhn to follow closely. "I know Lady Deveraine was assigned one, along with the Evanson Clan—and they both have recently returned to Nevarah, so that ought to count as two." He cast a sideways glance at Wikhn. "I don't suppose you would know if there's any truth to that?"

"…Dahlia didn't speak of her mother, much. But I would wager that Lady Deveraine would not leave a job halfway."

"In theory, anyway," The Submissive mused. "Which also brings mention that there were others. The Kadels had one, the Cairothes and—well, I suppose I shouldn't be giving you information you might have to worry about."

Wikhn shrugged. "Erase the memory before I leave. I don't mind."

"Oh?"

"It might help to think about it for a bit, but I prefer not to be the only loose screw in the bracket."

"I'll make sure to remedy that before you leave then."

"Thank you."

"Anything specific for your armor?"

"Flexibility. As much flexibility as you can manage. I want to move as easily as possible and as silently."

"Granted." The Submissive said, instantly. "Anything else?"

"Infusion ability. I can maintain most silent shields, but it helps if I don't have to use as much energy off-realm."

"Ah. Are you bound to Nevarah?"

"No. Only my ACE and she is free of Nevarah."

"Also good to know." Another sideways glance flickered up and down, taking stock of Wikhn's relaxed posture and pensive gaze. "…if I were to ask how many of your kind could come to our aid should there be an—issue—would you give me a straight answer?"

"Crooked as I am?" Wikhn threw back. "…yes."

"How many?"

"All that are within Nevarah and all that come for the Hunt."

"…confident, aren't you?"

"Any Dark Fae that has bonded to a Vampire, has only done so after a halfling fusion of some sort. There are no pureblooded Fae and Vampire bonded among our clans."

"Your queen demands it?"

"Even if she hadn't, it would still be obeyed. We are self-serving creatures after all."

"…Indeed." The Submissive chuckled. "Though you are running from your lovely ACE," he ignored Wikhn's soft sound of denial. "We will keep your secret and offer whatever aid you are willing to accept."

"That is most generous of you."

"I could say the same—as I am sure you are well aware that no Dark Fae has crossed a threshold within the Kuroe Clans for three centuries."

Wikhn hid his smile, head tipped forward enough for the hair to hide his lightening eyes. He'd done as the Fae Queen had requested—it was simply a duty to be completed. "I find that most misunderstandings can be easily cleared if one is willing to gamble for the top."

"…clever."

PRINCE RASPEN'S QUARTERS : THEO, ETHAN AND CHARLIE

Theo moved to join Ethan and Charlie, at a slight twinge in their bonds. He could trace that directly to Ethan, and instinct told him to deal with this sooner rather than later. "Ethan?" He asked, nudging him towards one of the armchairs closer to the fire.

Ethan allowed himself to be directed to the chair and sat, at a prompt from Charlie's hand on his shoulder.

"Something the matter?" Charlie coaxed, when it seemed that no words would be forthcoming.

"…I brought the Kalziks," Ethan said, softly. "Not the Kadels."

Theo rubbed his face. He'd hoped this would wait until they knew for sure that Harry was alright, but of course, it wouldn't. He'd hoped to address this a bit more privately, but from the absolute distress in Ethan's face, that option was no longer suitable. From his golden eyes shimmering and desperate, Theo could read every ounce of regret contained within them.

"You did," Theo said, carefully. "Would you like to explain why?"

"Harry's more comfortable with the Kalziks," Ethan blurted out. His hands twisted together in his lap, his taller frame seeming to fold in on itself. "He's never met the Kadels. I know because he's told me that much. From the way he spoke about Quinn Kalzik, I thought that—I thought it'd work out better. The familiarity would help, if nothing else and the way he talked—I thought that maybe, there might be—something more?"

"Something more?" Theo prompted."

"Another…soul bond," Ethan said, softly. "Like mine. Harry didn't know that we had one until we touched but-"

"They've touched," Theo said. "Quinn looked after him when he first came to Nevarah, along with quite a few other things. If there was a soul bond there now, I'm reasonably sure that it would've already triggered by now."

Ethan winced. "I-I know. I just—I didn't know that it'd turn out like this. I was only trying to help!"

A sympathetic smile stole across Charlie's face as he exchanged a glance with Theo. "You couldn't have known," he said, gently. "There was no way of knowing how any of it would have panned out. You're mostly right there, I mean, Harry is more comfortable with the Kalziks, because he has spent a lot of time with them. He's never met the Kadels."

"I just wanted him to be-" Ethan's voice caught in his throat.

Theo frowned. "I understand that you had the best of intentions, but the Kadels would've been alright. We've met them at the Hunt—Maia, right?"

Charlie nodded. "She said she owed us a favour? I don't think she would've refused a request here, if she knew it was coming through us."

"The Kadels owe us a favour?" Ethan straightened up, looking even more distraught than before. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday. We attended the Hunt briefly with the Peverells, we shared their viewing box at The Hunt and they went to pay their respects, I suppose. They're on friendly terms. I requested an introduction through them. I believe you would've been meeting Harry around that time."

"Maia Kadel—any Kadel, really—they don't give favours lightly." Ethan explained. "That's quite rare."

Charlie stifled a laugh. "I call it the Harry-effect. Basically, if it wouldn't normally happen, it happens, because Harry's involved."

Ethan tried to smile, but his shoulders slumped, head bowed"…I'm sorry," he said, softly. "I meant no harm."

Theo studied him for a second, looking from his dejected pose, to the still crackling dome where Harry was currently out of reach. He reached for Ethan's shoulder, squeezing gently. "You did the best you could, with what you knew in the moment. I should have informed you that we had outstanding favours with other Circles, it hadn't crossed my mind yet. That's on me. Not you. Maybe the Kadels would've helped, maybe not. I don't know. We won't ever know. But what we can do, is mediate, perhaps and next time, don't make those sorts of decisions on the fly."

Ethan gave a tiny nod. It eased the tight, scared feeling that had overtaken him at the thought that he might have made things worse for Harry. Theo had been kinder than he'd expected—much kinder. He started, faintly, when Theo's hand rested on the back of his neck, briefly, before veering to the side, to brush against his claim mark.

A rush of relief washed through him and Ethan found himself relaxing, a touch unwillingly. He knew it was the mark and the fact that it was Theo's fingers pressing lightly over the healed surface, a physical connection to say what words couldn't. He turned his face to the side, pressed against Theo for a few precious minutes.

Theo didn't need to be worrying about him now, he needed to worry about Harry. Ethan bit his lip when he felt a strong pulse of warmth travel through Charlie's bond. Even Charlie didn't blame him. He took a single, shaky breath and gathered himself together as best as he could. Right now, Harry needed all of them.

Theo felt the change in their bonds at once, Ethan's barely muted worry, mixed with Harry's burning intensity slowly built into a searing sensation that he couldn't quite decipher. Charlie twitched, a beat later, scratching along one arm and then at his neck, as the fiery feeling passed through him. Ethan froze, for a full minute, before a violent shudder ran through him, causing him to pull away from Theo's soothing touch.

The trio stared at each other.

"…Harry?" Theo offered, after a beat.

"Definitely Harry," Charlie said, rubbing at Harry's claim mark on his own neck. "What is he doing?"

"…whatever he's doing, it affects all of us," Ethan muttered, hand reaching up to press over Harry's claim mark. It felt as if his entire body was on fire now—muted just enough to keep him from outright panicking.

"That's a given," Theo said, annoyed that his own claim mark was starting to burn as well. "He's apparently channelling Charlie."

"No," Ethan said, shaking his head. "He's making some kind of deal that affects all of us, as a Circle—this is what that feels like." He hissed, a moment later, when the mark's burning sensation began to intensify. "I think—we're going to be in some sort of trouble soon."

Theo snorted. "You mean more than usual?"

PRINCE RASPEN'S ROOMS : HARRY AND CO. + KALZIK'S & OTHERS

Harry's body jerked upright, eyes glowing with rich, eerie emerald fire. He shuddered violently, limbs flailing and twisting before a great, heaving shadow emerged from his chest.

Like an ominous spirit, the shadow poured out of him, twisting and shuffling until it was less of a blob and more of a two-legged, two-armed, human-like body. The shadows melted away to show none other than Tavit the Necromancer, his blood-red eyes burning with fury.

"You imbecile!" he hissed as Harry flopped back to the makeshift bed on the floor, the spell complete. "I said wake up wherever you were—not to pull me in with you!" Tavit swore loudly, lurching up to his feet.

"Tavit?" Riven rasped from his corner of the room. "You shouldn't be here."

"I shouldn't be here?" Tavit hissed. "You think I don't know that? Tell me something I don't know," he dropped to a crouch beside Harry, shooing the Kalziks away from his shadow-dripping form, with silent spells that moved them out of arm's reach.

"If you're here-" Riven began.

"Niko's still there," Tavit snapped. "You'll have to trust her good humours. Break my concentration and he dies, happy?" He pressed a hand flat over Harry's flushed face. Head bowed, free hand over his heart, Tavit began to chant.

It was a simple spell, by his own standards, but the intent was weighted and thus, the magic summoned, took some time.

Long, wispy tendrils of shadow that snaked out from every unlit corner of the room, dimming the lights and visibility to something of a grey haze. There was no interference, as Tavit's ominous words had frozen everyone in place.

Even Theo held his tongue, though his aura was the most prevalent in the room, while Charlie's blazing hair continued to flicker in agitation. Ethan was the closest one to Harry, but he'd stayed exactly where he was when Tavit had hissed in his direction.

No words were spoken for several, awful minutes, as Tavit's spell completed itself.

For a moment, Tavit didn't seem so small. He seemed to stretch and grow in size, filling the room, almost to bursting. The pressure was dreadful right up to the moment, where Harry gave a wheezing cough—and then, everything relaxed.

Great shadowy hands drew out a thick, golden thread that seemed to come straight from Tavit's wrist. In the centre of Harry's chest, was a gaping shadowy hole as if pulling Tavit through with him, had ripped open some invisible part of himself.

With painstaking care, Tavit quickly stitched up the tear, as if it were perfectly normal to be sewing an astral form together. His hands were quick and light, nearly translucent at some points. When he'd finished sewing, the shadows retreated into him and the room lightened significantly.

The pressure of his unusual brand of magic, remained, but it wasn't as pressing as it had been before. Tavit pressed both hands over Harry's heart, one hand on top of the other. His next spell was whispered in a crooning, cajoling tone that drew magic straight from Harry's bonded.

A quiet grunt came from Theo, before a fat golden strand of light emerged from his chest and straight to where Tavit's hands rested on Harry's heart. Charlie's blue strand was next and Ethan's green-gold was the last one to come forth.

The three magical threads mixed and tangled with each other, until they seemed to reach an end. The light faded and Harry's body relaxed. The shadow hanging over him, vanished from view.

"He's anchored to the realm," Riven said, easing upright to his own feet and looking as if the entire ordeal had added a hundred years to him. "To keep his soul from leaving his body without—" he stopped.

The red, one-eyed glare that Tavit shot in his direction was enough of a prompt to hold his silence. If Harry's anchor to the realm wouldn't be a problem, then Riven would simply wait it out.

It was always best to give Tavit the time and space he wanted to do his magic and write his futures.

"If you'd like to make yourself useful before I separate your head from your shoulders and your non-existent heart from your soul—then cast a bloody ward to keep this damned room contained!" Tavit bristled. "What did I tell you about containment spells, Cairothe? What did I tell you about existing in the same instance?"

Riven winced. "I'm casting, I'm casting," he murmured, his voice pitched low. "I didn't expect you to come through-"

"I didn't expect to come through!" Tavit snapped. "This little-!" he bit off the next string of words. "Pulled me through and nearly killed himself!"

"He probably didn't mean to pull you through," Riven offered. He thumped the staff gently on the ground, feeding his magic into it and watching as a web of silvery-purple magic streamed out to encase the room in a glowing grid of light. "Fairly certain he wouldn't put his life on the line to drag you to Nevarah."

Tavit shuddered. "No, he'd just die trying to save a soul already condemned." He scowled. "Yes or no—did Maurice Elswood have any bonds with him?"

Riven hesitated. There was no clear answer to that. "I don't know-" he looked to Theo. "Would either of you know?"

"Not that I recall," Surajini said, drawing herself up to her full height at last. She was not happy at the intrusion into the room and the consequent overflow of Shadow magic that was setting her fangs on edge. She'd never lost control of a room so quickly before, but there was something in Tavit's gaze that had kept her rooted in place.

Tavit glanced at her, a sizing look from head to toe. "You're his Healer?"

"And what of it?" Hiram stood beside her, a staying hand in front of his bonded to keep them from starting forward.

"Her magic isn't the one that's in him," Tavit said, matter-of-factly. "A bit of it is on him, but it's not in him. There's a difference. Cairothe-?"

"Wake him. We'll move," Riven said, easily. "I asked for the Kadels—as I always do."

Tavit made a sound in his throat, but ignored the rest of them as he lifted his hands from Harry's chest, frowning. The tiny spell that leapt from his fingers was a single spark of gold that was meant to jolt Harry awake.

It didn't quite work the way intended.

Harry's next spiralling shudder wracked his body, accompanied by a heaving gasp and wide, normal eyes, wet and shiny as he woke.

Harry's lower lip trembled, the first flood of sorrow forcing out a fresh flood of tears. "Maurice-!" he choked on the name, lurching up and straight into Tavit's unexpectedly available arms. "He's dead! He didn't deserve to die!"

"To save you!" Tavit barked, trying and failing to disentangle himself from Harry's distraught hug. "And through no fault of my own, I'd like to add—get off me!"

Riven barely managed to bite back an inappropriate laugh. The entire situation was so absurd; he couldn't begin to imagine how they'd gotten to this point. The important point though—Harry's life—seemed to no longer be the problem. They succeeded after all, even if that hadn't been his original intent. "Tavit-"

"Get him off me!" Tavit snarled. "And just because he's here in this realm, doesn't mean he didn't leave any residual—oh for-!" he trailed off in another mouthful of swears, scrambling to his feet and pulling Harry up along with him.

The room grew dark once more and Harry's body went limp

Riven's eyes glowed a fierce violet as he realized what had started. He'd celebrated too early, it seemed. "Tavit!"

"I have him," Tavit snapped. "Don't go losing your mind before you've even begun to use it—I told you this could happen, if you ever summoned me without the proper preparations for a-"

"Stable casting grounds—unbound energy, whatever you want. Just make it happen. Don't lose him."

"I don't lose people that I actually have a chance to save," Tavit grumbled. "And the next time you decide that it's perfectly fine to send me a handful of souls to save something that costs an entire realm of-"

Riven's magic spiralled out from him with a crackling burst of sound and wind that tore through the room, as if there were no walls capable of containing it. Two single blood tears dribbled down to his chin, the red darkening to black, as scales of silver and lavender covered his face and neck.

"The Hound," Tavit said, through gritted teeth. "Will Aiden see us?"

"He'll welcome us with open arms, as he ever has," Riven countered. "Can you bring him?" he nodded to Harry, who still clung to Tavit.

"I'll have to, you're in no condition to do it," Tavit snapped. "What did I tell you about your hell-bent-"

"Lecture me later," Riven said, a flicker of humour showing around the corners of his eyes. "He had a seal—it broke."

"It better have," Tavit muttered. He shifted his armful of Harry, scowling when he couldn't untangle Harry's arms from around his neck. "He's had at least three of them removed, and his body—the time will catch up to it in a moment."

"Are you taking him to Arythmoor Estate?" Prince Raspen interrupted, making his presence known for the first time since Tavit's arrival. He'd stayed in the corner of the room, using his magic to keep the entire floor as tempered as possible, so the sheer level of power wouldn't affect anyone beyond requiring a mild healing of sorts.

Tavit barely twitched. "Where I take this," he tapped Harry's shoulder. "Is none of your business, because if he was, you've done a fine job of looking after him."

"His Alpha is under my care," Prince Raspen said, firmly. "And that makes him my business."

"He isn't even an Earth elemental!" Tavit raged. "He has an affinity for Air and possibly Fire—nothing to do with your element. Where are the others, if he's so important? Why doesn't one of them cast a geas to keep his soul within his body for the first century? Are you all insane?"

"You are stepping into the middle of a situation that you don't understand," Prince Raspen said. "And I am only trying to help you understand it without insults. If you believe that you can help by-"

"You're doing a wretched job of it." Tavit flared. His eyes glowed a rich, dangerous red, the shadows in the room straining to reach his side. "I don't need to be a Royal to understand that. Cairothe—now!"

"Tavit-" Riven began, he stopped at the glare that came his way and changed his request. "His Bonded will be too distressed to wait-"

"They can come on their own time and terms," Tavit grumbled. "I'm not dragging them with me—and neither are you. It'll be much too late, if you keep stalling. The longer we stand here, the harder it will be to undo what's been done to a soul this young and I refuse to-"

"Fine," Riven said, easily. "Niko?"

"She'll come when I call," Tavit said, brusquely. "As she always has. Now, are you going to stand here and quibble or will you open the damn portal?"

Riven smiled thinly. His eyes glowed the brightest shade of purple yet. The web of energy over the room, dissolved into silvery sparkles, the magic returning to him in order to fuel the requested portal. "Portal commencing…"

AIDEN'S INNER COURT : ARYTHMOOR ESTATE - TAVIT, HARRY, RIVEN

Riven's portal was steady and unwavering. It deposited them in the central governing hall of none other than Lord Aiden, the Hellhound, and reigning master to every Hound in Death's employ. The room was massive, with large cathedral ceilings overhead and plenty of smooth, black stone, perfect for amplifying elemental magic and boosting large spells. Red and gold tapestries brightened the initial darkness, lending a nod to Fire and Earth elements, respectively.

There was no light from any of the decorative windows—they were only there for design. No natural light, meant artificial light. A dull red glow shone upwards on the wall, from a hidden trench beneath the floating floor. The floor was the same flat black stone, polished to a near mirror-like finish.

Golden runes were inscribed in the three interlocking circles that formed a decorative pattern on the floor. At the end head of the long hall, were three thrones. One large, black-and-burgundy throne at the highest platform and one smaller version on each side on the platform below it. Velvet-covered stairs led up from the stone walkway.

Tavit shook himself, as if casting away the threads of Riven's special portal. He'd asked the other man to cast it, for the simple reason that he was in no condition to do it himself, if he had to keep Harry's astral form sealed to his physical body. There were too many variables in play.

He was pleased to note that the portal had worked—he hadn't expected anything less from Riven—and that they were indeed where they were supposed to be. He waited for Aiden's guard to notice them.

It happened within seconds.

They were circled at once by the hounds on guard, a lean, hungry pack of shadows, with glowing red eyes and distorted, shadowy bodies. Prowling in a taunting circle of sorts, the shadows pressed closer, some of them taking on more definite shapes to show glowing maws with vicious fangs and dripping green saliva.

"It is I, Tavit the Necromancer," Tavit intoned, unbothered by their approach. "I greet you, Lord Aiden, master of the hounds. Grant me the sanctuary that is writ in our destiny. I come bearing a soul, who struggles to live." He paused. "And as you well know, I would not come to you, if I had another option."

Tavit flapped a hand at Riven, motioning for him to offer some sort of greeting of his own. They were on their own when it came to winning Lord Aiden's favours.

Riven dropped to one knee, the strain of the portal obvious in the physical toll it'd taken on his body. The black tears on his face seemed to darken even more. "I am Riven Cairothe," he said, wearily. "And I come in the company of Tavit. It is my portal that has brought us here."

Tavit scowled at him. That was not what he'd meant with the gesture, but he didn't bother to comment. The look on Riven's face suggested that he was dangerously close to the kind of edge that Tavit had taken great pains to keep him from. He glanced at the approaching shadows, silently willing their master to appear at once.

It didn't help that Harry clung to him, still half-caught in the strands of emotional distress from their previous encounter and unsettled by the hasty portal into less-than-friendly territory.

"Stop—strangling—me!" Tavit hissed, leaning away from Harry's strong arms. "You'll have to sit on your own in a—stop that!" His eyes flared red, a touch of otherworldly strength allowing him to pull Harry's arms free from his neck. "Down!" He snapped.

Aiden, the Hellhound himself, materialized in a swirl of shadow. It unfolded to show him in regal best, a fitted suit of black and grey, his eyes ablaze with the same eerie red that seemed to match Tavit's.

"…and hail to thee, Necromancer," he said, sourly. "I would ask what brings you here, but I see the soul of which you speak."

The guarding shadows broke apart, morphing into definite hound-shaped creatures, before they solidified and morphed, becoming the armoured guard of Aiden's inner court. They didn't break the captive circle around the newcomers, but they did shuffle back to allow some space.

"He was pulled into an astral plane by one who was set in a different time—and would you stop already?" Tavit said, exasperated. He tried to untangle himself from Harry again. "There were several sets of broken wards, shattered spells, not to mention the spell residue alone-"

Loud, moans rattled through the inner court.

The shadows shivered.

The guards shifted restlessly, but remained in place.

Another ghastly moan echoed through the thick, murky air.

It drew a noticeable wince from Riven, and a grim look from Tavit. Harry froze in place, slowly turning to look for the source of the sound. He stopped trying to reach for Tavit and instead, shrank back against him.

Aiden frowned. "Please tell me this has nothing to do with why my mistress screams?"

"…she will be appeased," Tavit said, carefully. "But I cannot lose this one."

Aiden's ruby-red gaze flickered to Harry and then to Tavit. "And why not? Surely if you are that attached to the vessel, the spirit can be exchanged for one that does not bring-"

"Because I asked him to save Harry," Riven said, softly. He eased down to sit on his feet, the strain of standing up, now too great. "Harry hasn't had a whisper of a chance since his inheritance came in. He has some sort of blessed luck that has favoured him this far. He has had nothing else. He deserves better than a death schemed at another's hands."

"Everyone deserves to live," Aiden said, wearily. "They often choose not to. Their choice does not demand our interference."

"No, but to deliver death to one who tries desperately to live—that is where I come in," Tavit said, matter-of-factly. "Now, if you want to keep debating the semantics of it, I'm sure Riven can oblige. I have things to do and places to be. I want this over with, as soon as possible."

Riven half-laughed. "Always in a hurry, aren't you? I take it, since you've got Harry, that means that Maurice was out of the question."

"Maurice sacrificed himself for this," Tavit said. This time, he pried Harry off of himself, ignoring the silent shivers and pushing him to Riven. "Hold him. I need space—Aiden, if you're through debating the obvious-?"

"The castings are half complete," Aiden said, a slight twitch of his lips giving away the fact that he wasn't as annoyed as he should be. "When I said I hadn't seen you for some time, I did not mean for you to do this."

"I'll do whatever I please," Tavit grumbled. "And I'm no one's to command. Stop shaking the foundation. I need stability. He's half-air and half-fire, a thankless combination!"

Aiden shrugged, but the room did still at his unspoken command. "It is set for those elements in particular," he said, quietly. "With some gesture towards the earthen element. He has an affinity?"

"Do I look like a healer?" Tavit snapped.

Aiden smirked. "You are lucky you have friends that look out for you, else you would have lost your head a long time ago for that smart mouth of yours."

"I have no friends," Tavit shot back. "Clear the room, unless you want me to use them," he said, with a dark look at the restless guards. "This will push at your corners. Reinforce anything that relies on them. I am not responsible for your poor spell casting."

"Says the one who casts with half a heart and soul." Riven muttered.

Aiden gave a jerk of his head, prompting his shadow guard to move to flank the far corners of the hall. That was more of a warning than he'd expected and the gesture was appreciated. There were certain things that could be cast within Nevarah's realms and there were plenty that shouldn't.

This was one that shouldn't.

Aiden frowned as a whisper of tentative air-magic stretched out to skim over his shoulders. He'd almost forgotten her, though she'd come through the proper channels, instead of barging in through the backdoor like these. "Whether you count them as yours or not, they see you that way," he said, darkly. "The lady waited for you, Cairothe. Acknowledge her and remove her when you leave. I have no use for such—pure magic."

"She?" Riven twisted around. His eyes flared again, zeroing in on someone standing directly behind Aiden. "Maia?"

The air trembled and twisted.

With little ceremony, Maia Kadel stepped down from nothing, into the hall, as if she'd simply peeled back a slice of time and space, to join all of them. "Riven," she murmured.

Her presence was a pure breath of air within the hall, blowing through every nook and cranny, breathing new life into the old magic that stirred within the room.

"Lord Aiden," she added, bobbing in greeting. "May I bring my Circle?"

"Bring whoever you damn well please," Tavit grumbled. "Air Healer?"

"And Receiver of Visions," Maia said, serenely. "I take it that is agreeable?"

"Very," Riven said, gratefully. He cradled Harry in his arms, unsurprised that Harry had simply curled in on himself, uncaring of his surroundings and situation.

"You should have come to me," she scolded, mildly. "Though I would wager from your expression, your schemes did not play out the way you wish for them."

"Miscalculation," Riven explained. "And I did ask for you, but I could not bring the request myself. It was—muddled in translation. Apologies."

"So I see," Maia hummed.

She plucked something from her shoulder and whisked it around her body, as if removing a sweeping cloak of sorts. There was an audible crack in the air, before her Circle appeared behind her in flanking positions, each of them wearing a hand painted mask of white-silver-gold over their faces. The masks were plain white, with silver and gold scrolls along the side. There were three dangling from a silken thread in one hand.

Maia glided forward, heading straight for Riven. "What are we working with?" She leaned to the side, her magic humming as she stared at Harry. "Where are his Bonded?"

"They are—on their way," Riven hedged. "His name is Harry, he's anchored to the realm. I don't know about the rest. I've come into this halfway on behalf of Raspen. Harry has—seals. A lot of them. I saw one unravel only minutes ago. He's lucky to be like this."

"More than one unravelled," Tavit muttered. He was making his way around the runed circles on the floor, infusing them with magic, a shadowy cast slowly spread across the floor. "And heal him, if you can spare it. I'd rather he didn't drop dead in the middle of this." His laugh was dark. "I don't think I could bargain for his soul after this."

"I'll be fine," Riven protested, but Maia was already reaching for him. He held himself still as her slender hands caught his head, one hand over each ear, tipping his head back to stare up at her. He had exactly two seconds to wonder what she would do—before she gave a quick twist and his neck snapped into place. "Ow."

"Idiot," she said, trying not to smile. "You get yourself all bent out of shape and then wonder why your body is protesting at the things you force it through?"

"I would have come to—ow—ah." Riven twitched. That felt much better.

"If you'd take care what kind of magic you cast, that would go a long way towards easing unnecessary aches and pains," Maia said. She released his head, circling around to drop to a crouch in front of him. "I take it this is the source of our-?"

"He's exhausted himself," Riven said, softly. "Raspen asked me to help him and-"

"And he's just lost his mentor, one Maurice Elswood," Tavit said, matter-of-factly. "Try not to break him before I've completed this."

"Do I want to know what you're doing?" Riven asked, leaning to the side to see around Maia. He couldn't make out any of the finer points of the spell, but he could tell that there was something else happening. He started faintly, when she slapped one of the white masks over his face.

"Hold still," Maia scolded. "I have one for your Harry as well."

Riven was glad the mask hid his face. "He's not mine. He belongs to—he is the heart of—Theodore Gorgens-Nott."

Maia only hummed in answer.

"One of those had better be for me," Tavit called, as he snatched the mask out of the air, ignoring Maia's irritated huff. "Just so we're all on the same page. Answer me this, Cairothe. How do you think Maurice called him?" Tavit said, straightening up. His eyes flared briefly, magic rushing and filling the room, before he slipped the mask on. His eyes glowed red through the cut-outs.

"Mentor summon?" Maia guessed.

"Death Seal," Tavit said, lightly. "So guess what you saw break?"

"…Death Seal?" Riven said, reluctantly.

"Indeed. Do you know what happens to severed Death Seals?"

"Couldn't you anchor it to something else? Someone?" Riven amended. "Not yourself," he added, quickly. It was scarier to see Tavit's glowing eyes as opposed to his glowing eyes set in his scowling face.

"I'm not as stupid as you are," Tavit threw back. "You can't transfer a Submissive-to-Submissive Death Seal when one half is already gone. It has to be completely broken on both ends or recanted with Death as the witness."

Riven winced. He'd had an idea of what Tavit was talking about. "How bad is it?"

"I have never lost someone I have tried to save," Tavit snapped. "And I think I'd rather never have to come that close to it again."

"…did you even try?"

The blade that zinged by his head drew a barely restrained flinch.

Maia pretended not to notice. Lord Aiden shifted restlessly.

"…did you even ask?" Tavit retorted. "Idiot."

HARRY — AIDEN'S CASTING HALL

It was someone who felt alright.

Soft, warm and comforting. As if everything would eventually be alright, even if it wasn't, just then.

Lights, shapes, and sounds passed in front of him, but Harry could only vaguely place them. He was trying to convince his body to cooperate, but it seemed as if the chances of that happening were slim to none. He could feel strength returning to his body, but it was thin and slow.

A stream that struggled to find a path before it became the river. He could feel it—sense it—just out of reach. A large pool of power and vitality that was now open to him.

A pathway revealed, too late.

There was little point to such strength when there was no reason to use it anymore. He'd never asked for much. Just a place to belong. Just a bit of love. He'd contented himself with scraps of affection and the few slivers of friendship that Fate had somehow, left him.

Then things had gotten good. Theo, Charlie and now Ethan.

His heart hurt just thinking about it. He'd never expected to have so much and yet, it was his. Freely given. Simply there for the asking.

He hadn't even known Maurice and yet, the man had been every inch a ray of pure light and hope. Something that had seen him, wanted him—and protected him, without hesitation, without question, completely and whole-heartedly.

The memory replayed in his head, leaving Harry crumbling beneath the unexpected grief all over again. He wanted to curl up in a ball and stay there, until all the sadness had passed.

There'd been no warning before Maurice had gone to his death. No explanation, before Tavit, had grabbed him, shouting that if he wanted to live he had to wake up.

As if he'd been sleeping all that time.

As if none of it was real.

It had to be real.

This level of sadness, of helplessness of absolute loss. This was too real to be a dream.

He flexed his hands, curling each finger open and closed. He'd held Maurice. Touched Maurice. Been held in turn. His hands had held something real.

"Awake yet?" a soothing voice asked from overhead.

Harry tried to see who it was, but his eyes weren't fully cooperating yet. They ached and burned as if he were crying and would never stop. He could see a hazy blob of light and a few darker shapes around it. They didn't feel dangerous, but he couldn't sense anything definite from either of them.

There were strands of worry coursing through him, with faint impressions of his Bonded behind them. That was good. They were alright. He'd hoped none of his trials would affect them. They didn't deserve to be dragged into his mess.

"Shh, it's alright," the voice continued. "I know it isn't—I'm sorry I couldn't—it's alright, Harry." The voice settled. "It will all work out in the end. Trust me."

That wasn't fair, Harry decided. He couldn't do anything but trust the voice right now, he was in no real condition to do anything otherwise. His mind kept replaying the last conversation, the last interaction, the image of Death looming ominously overhead and Maurice sitting in Death's hand, defiant and fearless.

The memory of the hug that simply pulled all his broken pieces together and fitted them into the right places—that was what hurt the most. It was supposed to end happily. Things were supposed to be alright. Maurice would've been saved; they would've returned together.

Everyone would've been happy.

It was just like clockwork. Everything that he touched, crumbling away to nothing. His parents vanishing from his life when he was scarcely old enough to even think about remembering them properly. His family reduced to nothing more than selfish jealous pigs that treated him like dirt. A school experience tainted by—oh. That was nice.

Harry blinked through the haze, relieved to see that his vision was clearing. He could make out the face in front of him, only to see that it was a silver-haired woman he'd never seen before.

No, not silver-hair. Blonde. White-blonde. Even whiter and blonder than Draco Malfoy. Curious.

Her face was young in a way that said she was dragel and he shouldn't attempt to guess her true age. She stared down at him with mild curiosity, a long, curved pipe sticking out of the corner of her mouth. She was shrouded in robes, for lack of a better description.

It was almost as if she'd simply taken some leftover laundry and folded it around her person. The longer he stared at her, the clearer her image became until he was sure that his vision was back to what it was supposed to be.

But she didn't smile.

Instead, it was more as if she studied him to be sure that he was not dead.

Not dead.

Ah.

Harry turned that thought over and over in his head, until it made better sense than what he'd come up with before. He wasn't dead. He'd survived. There'd been magic, Death and—Tavit!

He struggled to sit up and heard the same gentle shushing sound from overhead. But it wasn't the strange blonde lady who was speaking to him, but rather a vaguely familiar face.

Riven—with a strange mask pushed on his forehead.

Harry relaxed. The mask was curious, but he remembered Riven and his magic. Fragments of memory floated back to him, glimpses of watching Riven craft portals before things had gone so terribly wrong.

No. Not entirely wrong, he'd met Maurice.

And lost him.

In the same breath.

What kind of twisted luck had Fate seen fit to give him?

"You're alive," Riven said, helpfully.

Harry couldn't resist the half-glare that he sent to him. "Kind of figured that," he said, surprised at how quiet and raspy his voice was.

"You were closer to Death a few minutes ago, than most would be on average," Riven amended. "And by close, I mean—you've had a Death Seal removed," he said, bluntly. "I hope you knew you had one on you. It wouldn't have been removed if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Not just a Death Seal," Harry said, absently. Maurice's words swirled through his head. The peculiar way he'd spoken, the magic that had followed each incantation. He could feel it, now that he knew to look for it. The new sense of weightlessness, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "It was three seals, but I don't understand why they were there."

"What?" Riven stared at him.

"Three seals," he repeated. "Maurice—he took them—away." His throat caught. "And I can—it feels so light." Harry lifted his hand, staring at it in wonder and then reaching out to touch Riven's shoulder. "It was like—heavy. So heavy. All the time. I couldn't—some days, it was so heavy."

Riven frowned.

Harry didn't quite like that frown. He'd liked the worried look a bit better. The frown meant bad things—maybe? How did he know that? No. That wasn't important. He needed to focus on better things. Happier things. He would have preferred to see Riven smiling.

Someone, anyone to smile. For things to look not so bad.

But there was no one else there.

"Since when?" Riven wanted to know. "How long have you felt—heavy?"

Harry tried to shrug. A yawn escaped instead. Oh no, no, no. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't need it. Things were fine. He was fine. He'd just survived three seal removals!

Three!

Quinn would be so proud of him.

That brought a faint smile, accompanied by a thread of happiness and Harry wondered if Theo would be proud too. Now that he thought of it, where was Theo?

And Charlie and Ethan too, for that matter. Weren't his Bonded nearby only minutes ago?

"Theo," Harry said. "Charlie?" He turned, imploringly to Riven. "Ethan?"

Riven's worried face shifted to one of regret. "Your Bonded are—"

"On their way," came Tavit's brusque voice. "And you can play catch up later. Quit babying him, Cairothe and put him on the floor. Oi—Maia!"

"I can hear you just fine, Necromancer," the platinum blonde woman—Maia—wrinkled her nose in disdain. "You needn't raise your voice at me."

"I'll raise whatever I like, whenever I like—if it keeps things moving and everyone out of Death's clutches," Tavit snapped. "You can whine and gripe about it later. I promise I'll apologize as prettily as you like—now hurry before we run out of time. Cairothe's not in any position to be useful, the longer he keeps sitting there! There's too much at stake!"

"You're going to put him in a casting circle?" Riven eased Harry out of his lap and onto the floor.

Harry bit back a sound of disagreement. The floor was cold. Riven was warmer. And softer. Sort of. He didn't really want to give up such a nice not-official-cuddle.

He also didn't know what the big deal was about a casting circle. As far as he could tell, Tavit had laid something out on the ground, that seemed as if it were filled with blood and magic, in the kind of way that made his scales ripple to the surface, decorating every visible patch of skin that he could see.

Whatever magic Tavit was using, it didn't feel right.

It felt cold, hard and empty.

Harry shivered.

"Cairothe!" Tavit snapped, standing at the far end of the room, at the apparent head of the giant, decorative casting circle on the floor. "Put him in the centre and move!"

"He doesn't understand what's happening," Riven muttered, half to himself. "You can't just toss him on the floor and expect the magic to take."

"It'll take!" Tavit growled. "You can explain it later!"

Riven's scowl returned. "Sure. Of course it will. Why wouldn't it? It's not like he's got any sort of magic sensitivities or a Nameless talent that could make this difficult. It's fine, Tavit. No worries. Just go ahead and dive headfirst into—" he stopped, looking down at Harry. "You have no reason to," he began, without preamble. "But I'm going to ask you anyway. It'll make this a lot easier. Do you trust me?" he shook his head. "Can you trust me?"

It wasn't a hard thought. In fact, it didn't take very long to determine at all. What a silly question. Of course he trusted Riven. There was no reason not to. Riven felt right, as far as his instincts were concerned and they were quite pleased with the apparent strength of his magic.

He nodded.

Riven stared at him, hard. "I can't explain until later and Tavit doesn't do explanations, so you'll have to wait awhile. Just trust me—trust us—and do as we tell you, alright? I promise, no harm will come to you."

"You can't promise that!" Tavit barked. "None of us can. Quit stalling. The longer you take for this—the greater chance we'll all end up dead! Now hurry up, Niko's on her way!"

Harry made no protest as he was scooped up in strong arms and carried towards the centre of Tavit's odd casting circle.

Riven's scowl had grown quite ferocious now. "I will swear it on my-"

"We will do all that we can to be sure that no unnecessary harm comes your way," Tavit said, reluctantly—as if guessing that Riven was about to say something that would give him a headache later. "Which means that if you do as you're told and don't run screaming out of that damned circle, you'll be safe and fine."

"Sane," Riven corrected, absently. "He means you'll be sane. The Death Seal—and other, uh, seals—we need to make sure that they are settled in you and either properly dissolved or severed. Since you have so many other ones, they need to be handled carefully, just—don't move, alright? You're safe as long as you're within here."

With that, Riven set him down in a blood red circle traced on the floor. The moment Harry shifted to sit back on his heels, his hands touched the floor and the entire casting circle lit up.

The magic was rich and deep.

It surged up through the floor and straight through him as if he were nothing more than a part of the magic itself. He gave a soundless gasp, as the energy flowed around him, filling the room and driving away the sleepiness as if it were nothing.

It felt like a healing. Life pouring into him and strength slowly building up to something that would not be soon forgotten.

Tears dried on his face, as the warmth grew to a nearly unbearable level and stayed there, wrapped around him, as if the magic itself, were trying to offer a hug of its own.

Harry pressed his trembling lips together. He watched as Riven and Tavit called the magic together, in tandem, one after another. He saw them raise spells that he'd never known or heard.

He witnessed the effortless manipulation of things he'd never ever thought possible. They were right. He was protected here. He watched them as they worked, tinged with desperation and against a ticking clock that he could not see.

Niko appeared, as Tavit had warned and then, Harry didn't know where to look.

She was just as devastating and odd as the last time he'd seen her. A strange young woman that was much too pale and far too powerful. Gliding along behind her, were two massive, hooded figures that could only be Grim Reapers.

He'd seen pictures in books at Hogwarts, but this was a first.

They were nothing like Death.

Death, he'd known at once.

These were more—terrifying. It was as if they knew every dark secret that lurked within and without every living creature. Shrouded in shadows that moved with purpose and leaving nothing but darkness with each step they took forward.

One reaper was obviously older than the other, given the tattered clothes. It was the younger reaper with the massive, towering size and gleaming, wicked scythe, that drew the most attention.

They approached him, as Tavit's spell activated.

A wall of pure shadow surged up from the ground and stretched to the ceiling. The shadows thinned to an acceptable degree, allowing Harry to see shapes and movement through the magical barrier. A flicker of familiarity seemed to stretch out to him through the shadows.

Unthinkingly, he stretched out a hand, stopping inches away from actually touching the shadow-barrier that drew closer to him at the reaper's approach. Probably a dumb idea to touch that… Harry faltered. He let his hand fall back to his lap and tried to fight the urge to test just how much magic he had at his disposal.

There was trusting Riven and then there was trusting himself. He'd managed to survive more than his fair share of impossible circumstances after all. It hadn't always been luck that spared him. The glowing golden circle of magic surrounding him, flared bright with renewed energy.

"I hope you have a plan." Riven pressed his hands flat to the floor, feeding his waning magic into Tavit's spell. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

"Something that doesn't involve you or me or him," Tavit said, flatly. He lifted his chin. "Would you take your positions, please?"

Harry turned carefully, watching as the reapers took up positions opposite of each other, with him in the middle. He pressed his lips tightly together as the first long scythe stretched through the shadowed barrier and rested on his shoulder. The second scythe pierced the barrier and rested on his opposite shoulder.

The long, cool handles, pressed up against the sides of his neck, resulting in a rather dangerous arrangement. If either of them moved, his neck was certainly in danger. If both of them did—Harry was reasonably sure he wouldn't have a head.

Or anything else.

Theo…Charlie…Ethan!

He pulled a bit harder on the pieces of their bonds that he could feel inside of him. They were faded from the stretch and pull of all the strange magic around him. He wasn't used to their energy or their presence, but Theo and the others—they were still within reach.

Still on their way.

He knew they were coming when a strong pulse of warmth and love came straight through Theo's bond. It nearly made him smile, just to think that he'd reached out—asked once—and there was an answer. An immediate reply.

A promise.

"Harry—just stay still, alright?" Riven called out, weakly. "Tavit-"

"I thought you said you had enough souls," Aiden grumbled. "You're short three. There's no way you can do it with nine. You need three more."

The reapers shifted uneasily.

Tavit rubbed his face. "Niko?"

"I could find three," Niko said, confidently. "You wouldn't like where though."

Tavit groaned. "Behave. Stay. Riven—?"

Riven shook his head. "That would be entirely up to you," he glanced at the ragged reaper beside of him. "Cunningham, if you've any stake in this. Now would be an excellent time!"

"Hurry," Aiden said, through clenched fangs.

Another tremor shook the room.

"She knows he's here." Aiden strained to hold onto the protections over the room. "Death knows he is here!"

The reaper with the golden scythe merely sighed. "Mariana, my love?" He spoke—calmly and unhurried. "We're short three."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Riven had said Cunningham.

As in Lord Cunningham, who had just spoken as if his Bonded were in the room. As if he were speaking to Lady Mariana Cunningham.

Two figures who shouldn't have been anywhere near Nevarah and certainly not as a—Harry nearly choked as he processed the undeniable truth. Lord Cunningham was one of the Grim Reapers standing beside him.

He dared to sneak a sideways glance and felt as if every single thing he'd known about the strange, dark man, had turned itself upside down. Clad in ripped, torn rags that might have once been an elaborate robe of some sorts, a gleaming belt of white-and-black stones cinched in at the waist. The heart-stopping detail was the scythe.

Pure gold.

Gleaming, sharp and cold.

There was no mistaking any of that—he could feel the weight of the scythe on his thin shoulders, the heaviness of an otherworldly weight pressing down into his very soul.

His hands trembled, before shifting to claws. Sharpened instincts lurked deep inside of him and Harry had a feeling that if he wasn't careful, he might be more dragon in the next couple of minutes.

Harry forced himself to count his breaths, slowly, but surely calming himself. It wouldn't do anyone any good—himself, least of all—if he were to lose his mind here.

"…I have seven, milord," Mariana's voice crackled through the room, as if it came from a great distance. "Would you accept them all or must I dine on leftovers?"

"Leftovers might improve her disposition," Tavit muttered. "Send all seven and hurry!"

"All seven, my dearest," Lord Cunningham said.

"Incoming!" Mariana said. There was a loud, streaking crack—before a ghostly apparition of blue-white-energy appeared in the midst of the room. Cradled in the Ghost-Mariana's arms were seven, pulsing, glowing orbs of light.

Seven fresh souls.

The room trembled again.

Harry jolted, wobbling dangerously between the two scythes as the floor shook. He dug his clawed hands into the black stone floor, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation. He couldn't get any purchase on the rocks, but it did steady him, just a bit. Even if he wasn't entirely sure that one of the blades had pressed a little too close for comfort.

"I see the souls you offer in reparation," Aiden said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "And I acknowledge the price that you pay for the soul you wish to exchange—let it be done!"

Harry shivered as the eerie voice boomed through the room. He squinted as red-eyed Aiden exploded in a fury of straining, grasping shadows and magic so dark and potent, it plunged the room into a darkness that was blacker than night.

The seven souls never stood a chance.

In his pure, raw hellhound form, Aiden devoured them in a single gulp.

"Now!" Tavit screamed.

The two scythes sliced straight through him.

Harry choked, clutching at his neck.

But there was nothing wrong. No blood. No wound. His head still upon his shoulders. He gasped, fighting for a breath as his body alternated between panic, relief and disbelief.

"Harry—stay in the barrier!" Riven shouted. "Don't come out of it!" He surged up from the floor, his hair unravelling behind him. From dozens of pure white, meticulous little braids, glowing, silver locks stretched out behind him, as if they were an extension of himself.

Magic rose in the room, light chasing dark.

Harry watched as Riven lunged in front of Tavit, holding a hand out to Aiden's snarling face. He dug his claws deeper into the stone, gratified that he could, this time.

His bonds throbbed and burned, as if his Bonded were near, but not quite close enough yet.

Behind Tavit, Niko rose up, a near mirror-image of Riven, with her flowing dark hair and angry energy.

The floor began to crack.

Harry scrambled up to his feet, trying not to bump into the shadow barrier, as every single stone on the floor, cracked into a handful of pieces. He stumbled, catching himself with one hand—grimacing at the sharp jolt of pain.

"I did not agree to two!" Aiden howled. "You had one!"

"Three souls were your price!" Tavit threw back. "The other four are not yours." In the crook of his arm, four glowing orbs began to fade, from the crushing pressure of the warring magics.

Somehow, he'd stolen four of them.

"You cannot keep them, Necromancer," Aiden snarled. He swiped and snapped at them, driving them back towards Harry.

"I do not intend to keep them," Tavit said, evenly. He retreated to the shadow barrier, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Harry. "Oi—answer this kid, do you want Maurice to stay with you?"

"Don't ask him that!" Riven whirled around. "He doesn't understand and you wouldn't-"

"I would," Lord Cunningham said. His reaper's rags vanished, returning him to his original appearance. He glanced at Harry. "I'm afraid, as rights are first to Mariana, then to you—the right is mine. I am open to negotiation, however." He nodded to Tavit. "Do it. Quickly, before one of us loses something we weren't planning on."

"I can't do it for you!" Tavit objected. "I don't even-"

"I'll do it then," Lord Cunningham said, easily. "Do you mind?" He scooped up the four souls from Tavit's unwilling arms, dodging back to where his fellow reaper towered above.

Riven wavered. "…I don't care which of you does what, just hurry! Death may be standing at the door, but-"

"By the powers vested in me, I ask a boon of a soul recently departed," Lord Cunningham recited. "For one that was taken too soon from one that has only just come. I ask that you grant one wish to delay your existence between the realms of time and space. I ask that you would guard the one that you have already left. Fulfil the promise made to their name and grant them every strength you have to offer. On behalf of one who saw you as a friend and another who saw you as a brother."

Harry felt his heart clench and throb. He stumbled through the shadow barrier and straight through Riven's arms, stretching out to reach to Lord Cunningham.

He couldn't explain it. Even if he wanted to, Harry didn't know words for the feeling inside of him. His magic reached out, strong and purposeful, twining around the four souls that glowed so strongly in Lord Cunningham's arms.

"Four souls," he whispered. "Are all I have to give-!"

A loud bang echoed in the room. The four souls shrivelled up and vanished, as Harry's fingers brushed over them.

Thin threads of pale white-blue stretched out of the churning darkness, latching onto Harry's wrists and fastening themselves into place. From out of nothing, a glowing light struggled to shine.

Harry leaned towards it, unable to stop the magic being drawn out from him and channelled straight into the feeble light. He willed it to grow bigger and brighter, even though the light began to hurt his eyes.

Tears streamed down as the room grew brighter and brighter, until it was nearly back to what it had been, before Aiden's transformation. Harry couldn't even see the others anymore, everything was just so white and pure.

Warmth. Hope. Love.

And then the light took form.

Maurice.

A spectral imitation of him, to be sure, but it was Maurice nonetheless.

The same kind expression, the same gentle warmth, the same endless understanding.

Harry could only stare upwards, even as those ghostly hands reached down to smooth the hot tears away from his face. "How-?" he tried to ask.

Maurice only smiled. He floated lower down, still glowing too-white-bright, until he could safely press his forehead to Harry's. "I did not know you had enough souls," he murmured. "The cost was too great. I had none left."

"No—souls?" Harry closed his eyes, even as he felt rough lips press to his forehead.

"Thank you," Maurice whispered. "I did not know I could stay by you, for a little while."

Harry's wrists began to burn. A whimper of pain welled up in his throat. He clenched his fangs together, swallowing the sound down, even as Maurice's spectral arms wrapped around him.

He could almost feel it—a whisper of a touch.

And then he felt it.

The magic.

You have done what is allowed and acknowledged among your kind. The voice, female, and bland, spoke out. It came from nowhere and everywhere, filling the room and purging the last of Death's darkness. You have Caspered the soul of Maurice Elswood and that which you have done, is only accepted in turn, by Maurice, himself. Do you consent?

I do. Maurice said.

Then you will guard and guide him, until your original duty is completed, yes?

I shall.

Let it be witnessed…

"It is witnessed," Tavit said, averting his eyes.

"It is witnessed," Riven said, tightly.

"It is witnessed," Lord Cunningham said, a thin smile on his lips.

You have initiated him and thus created the contract—do you accept the responsibility?

"I accept the responsibility," Lord Cunningham said. "But his duty is to Harry. I have only done what none could."

And you are satisfied?

"…no. But I will not challenge this."

The room pulsed, the light grew warmer.

You will NOT challenge this. The voice said. Is that understood?

"I understand." Lord Cunningham bowed his head. "I would not go back on my word."

…it is done. May your bond be one of goodness and greatness.

Harry started, feeling a slender hand of burning warmth feather through his hair and cup his cheek. He couldn't make out any form in the brightness of the light. It ached to even look at it, though somehow, he couldn't close his eyes and look away. He trembled as the fiery hand retreated.

I thank you for the gift of a second existence. Maurice said. I will fulfil my duty.

That is all that is ever asked of you, dear child. The voice intoned.

A stabbing pain shot through his chest. Harry coughed, falling to his knees. He heard someone calling out to him, as the pressure in the room seemed to ease. Someone rolled him onto his side and he saw Maurice's glowing, worried face, before his bonds screamed and everything went black.

LEWIS PEVERELL : QUAD FOURTEEN (Outside Nevarah)

Lewis stepped out of the transportation medallion and straight into the receiving room of the Quad Fourteen Factory's welcoming centre. It was hard to miss that everything was pure, sterile and too bright.

He squinted, willing his eyes to adjust to the unexpected brightness. He could sense the loss of Nevarah's protective aura and it made his scales itch.

Silently, he reminded himself that there were sacrifices made within Circles and that this was likely one of them. He would do anything for Cora, after all. Stubborn and contradictory little thing that she was.

There was no large welcoming party, a detail that he was glad for. "Hello?" he called out into the room as the lights flickered out.

The room went from blinding white to nearly black, before emergency lights clicked on along the floors, offering a dull, but steady glow. He could hear running feet in the outside corridor and a young woman's voice rattling off a steady stream of orders.

He caught a few phrases like 'temporary power outage' and 'excess energy overflow' along with 'inter-realm portal'.

I guess they were expecting me. He couldn't keep the annoyance from creeping in, but by the time he reached the security-sealed door, it slid open to reveal a round-cheeked young woman, with brilliant blue-gold eyes and a head of green feathers.

He bit his tongue to keep his initial snark from slipping out.

"I'm so sorry about the power!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "I'm Esther Stauron—welcome to the Quad, we're uh—I wasn't expecting you until later."

"…Lewis Peverell," he said, offering a bow. "That may be a portal time difference. I came exactly as directed on-"

"Oh, no, no! I don't mean it was your mistake or anything I just—oh bother that. You've caught me off guard," she reached up, tangling one clawed hand through her feathers. "My younger brother, Oberon, should've been here—but one of the backup generators went—I'm not making any sense, am I?" Her shoulders slumped and her feathers flared out behind her.

Lewis forced a smile. "I'm sure we can explain everything as soon as-"

"Father's not well, so he can't sign anything over to you," she said, turning on her heel. "But I've drawn up the paperwork, so you can solidify the purchase of your half of our assets and then we can-"

"Eustace Stauron is your father?" Lewis stared.

Stauron was the kind of maniac genius that was known for his eccentricities and inventions, the kinds of breakthroughs that left Cora in throes of ecstasy at the leaps in technology. He was also known for being a recluse and keeping most acquaintances—if they could be called that—at arm's length.

Esther blinked. "…yes?" she said, slowly. "Didn't anyone tell you? I spoke to a—what was his name again—Vinny—Vicky-?"

"Vincent," Lewis said, faintly. He could practically see the expression on Vincent's face that had somehow resulted in being sent here. "I was under the impression that we were purchasing the entire-"

"Quad Fourteen is not for sale," Esther said, crisply. "It's my home. I live here—along with my family. We all live here. We aren't moving. Besides, there's no reason to. We've built this place with our blood, sweat and tears. It's all that we need."

"…then why sell half?"

Esther rolled her eyes. "You won't be able to keep up with your half of the assets," she said, carelessly. "You won't be the first one to buy half of the place and return it before you've practically drowned in debt."

Lewis frowned. "Did Vincent explain why we were interested in-?"

"Yeah—something about Bloodstones." Esther smoothed her feathers back. She glowed brightly when the lights clicked on overhead, illuminating everything in the stark, empty whiteness once more.

"A significant quantity of bloodstones," Lewis said, evenly. "Crafted with the kind of quality to hold up to multiple uses for at least several years before initial deterioration of-"

"I heard you," Esther said, motioning for him to follow her down the corridor. "I just meant that it's no big deal. This is the Quad you're talking about."

"And this is more bloodstones than we've ever had in Nevarah at any given time." Lewis twitched. There was something warm and soft in his left pocket and he was reasonably sure it hadn't been there when he'd stepped into the portal.

"It's easy," Esther said. "I'll explain, but it's probably easier to show you. The only hitch would be the amount of raw ingredients we have on hand and what we can legally get our hands on."

Lewis tried to keep a straight face as he felt tiny fangs nibbling at his fingertips. He realized, belatedly, what it was, before the little Nytura made an appearance. "Shadow-!" He exclaimed in dismay.

Esther glanced over her shoulder, a flicker of curiosity washing over her face. "Pardon?"

"Er, nothing!" Lewis said, hastily. He dodged in front of the floating Shadow, blocking the little creature from Esther's view. "Nothing at all."

Esther stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll take you straight down to the production floor, if you like. There's a few security stops, but we're on a lunch break right now, so you can actually walk on the floor while there's nothing running. It'd be a good time to show you what you're actually paying for."

"That sounds—wonderful!" Lewis muttered. He fixed a smile on his face, while trying to magic Shadow closer to him.

The contrary Nytura simply floated out of range, bright eyes sparkling with mischief. Lewis bit back a curse. He hadn't even noticed the little thing sneaking into his pocket—nor the fact that Shadow could actually make itself small enough to fit into said pocket.

A chill washed over him with soul-numbing promise. A Nytura in a gem-factory was a catastrophe waiting to happen. There was a reason that Nytura's were kept home—and given boundaries.

So they wouldn't accidentally end up causing havoc like a giant, ravenous beast.

Lewis stifled a whimper. If he didn't catch Shadow—without Esther noticing—there'd be nothing left-!

The tour went well.

Lewis was more than pleased at what they've acquired and though the conditions were just favourable enough, he knew Cora would be happy. Henry would likely fuss about it on principle, but Lewis was reasonably sure that his esteemed Alpha couldn't have negotiated better terms.

Esther, for all of her scatter-brained quirks, was quite knowledgeable about everything in the plant.

Lewis couldn't help wondering if she'd actually worked in each position, given the detailed knowledge that she was more than happy to share—within reason, of course.

His only distress was the most troublesome one.

Shadow disappeared somewhere in the middle of the tour and there was simply no way to chase after him, without giving something away. It's a bit of pride that keeps his mouth shut, because really—it's just a Nytura.

It was just Shadow and Shadow was just Harry's, but that's what made a bad situation much worse. Lewis didn't want to be the one to handle the damage control if something should go wrong.

There was also no way he would ever tell Harry that he'd lost the little thing—not only would it lead to disappointment, but he knew his Bonded would never let him live it down. He could manage children better than a single Nytura!

A growl lodged in his throat.

He was trying to think of a suitable excuse to wander around on his own, when Esther made a face at her wrist communicator.

"You'd think they could at least give me an extra hour," she mumbled. "It's not like you can speed walk through the whole place and actually enjoy the tour. I told them to split the time through material retrieval and waste disposal."

The spectacular eyeroll had Lewis wondering how much of Quad Fourteen was run by Esther and not her missing father. He had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to her than she was letting on, but he couldn't pinpoint it.

Just like he couldn't pinpoint where Shadow went.

If Vincent ever found out about this—well, that wasn't something Lewis wanted to think about. Instead, he hurried to catch up with Esther, a harmless lie on the tip of his tongue. Excusing himself to make a quick check-in call with Nevarah should work nicely as a cover for a targeted summoning spell.

They were halfway to the first security checkpoint when lights and sirens began to screech. It was loud, bright and distressing.

Lewis bristled protectively. Scales rippled along the sides of his face, his hands already shifted to claws. He couldn't sense any approaching danger, but the alarm had startled him on a level he hadn't expected.

Whether he could sense it or not, something was wrong. "Miss Stauron-" he began.

"It's a security alert," she said, glancing up where warning lights flashed along the length of the ceiling. "It shouldn't affect us, but I should probably check it out."

"Excuse me?"

"Check in with one of the guards," she corrected hastily. "At one of the sign-in stations." She broke into a sprint, uncaring of whether he followed behind.

He did.

They arrived at the security station in question, to find one young guard furiously typing at his terminal, a fine sheen of sweat on his red face.

Esther blew straight through the body scanner and went straight for him. She pivoted halfway, darting back to stopping Lewis on the other side "Stay," she said, firmly. "You're not entered in the system and I don't need you to send off secondary alarms. Julius—talk to me! What's going on? I thought we weren't using those alarms unless"

The guard behind the desk, shook his head. "It's properly categorised. This isn't a general alert. They've found the intruders in the Underwood."

"The Underwood?" Esther shivered. "I thought you said it was a natural break in the barrier!"

"It was—too clean of a break, probably," Julius muttered. He flipped a few switches, stopping the sirens and lights at their section.

Alarms continued to sound throughout the factory, with flashing lights along the corridor ceiling, but it was more bearable in their little corner.

Esther murmured something to Julius that resulted in Lewis being waved through to join them at the counter.

He did so, rubbing his forehead at the incoming headache from the magical energy fluctuating in the air. This was not what he'd expected from a simple acquisitions tour!

Even now, he was almost certain he could hear a sweeper team of some sort, getting ready in the distance. He could almost scent them too. The air currents were responding to his subtle requests, carrying bits and bobs of information to his ears. "When you say—Underwood, what exactly should I be imagining?"

Esther gave a nervous laugh. Her feathers bristled, but her blue-gold gaze refused to look directly at him. "It's more of—well, if you weren't coming through a medallion, you would've seen the place. You do know that Quad Fourteen is surrounded by high mountains, thick forest and very deep mining veins, yes?"

"…I guessed as much," Lewis allowed.

"It's extremely deep forest." Esther scowled. "Who's on dispatch? Do we have anyone not on break right now?"

He'd figured there had to be some unexpected boon to having a Quadreyan Site this far out from Nevarah. Most Quadreyan Sites were artificial realms crafted through magical mechanics, resulting in something of an independent station of sorts. Over time, the created environment would grow and merge, turning from a skeletal frame to a planet, depending on the occupants and the materials fed into it.

He'd studied them, briefly, in his last years of measured education. It was enough of an interest to hold his attention—and attract Cora's.

Quad Fourteen was simply the four-hundred and fourteenth site recognized by the Inter-Realm Association of Travel. By some stroke of luck, it held the perfect environment for gem-fire magic and was small enough to escape the notice of any freelancers looking for a quick profit.

Lewis bit his tongue when Shadow floated out at the corner of his gaze, somehow unnoticed by the focused Julius, who was still tapping away on his security terminal.

"It's a group," Julius said, frowning. "Esther, look—" he patted the countertop.

Esther rolled her eyes, but with a slight twitch of her fingers, floated up and perched on the edge of the counter, leaning over to take a look at the screen. Her eyes went from blue-gold to a definite blue. "That's more than a few. See if you can get in closer?"

Lewis discreetly reached out with a tendril of his own magic, silently drawing closer to take a look himself. He stared, surprised at the gaggle of young intruders and the two women between them.

"That looks like a Fae," Esther said, eyes narrowed. "That looks like two of them though. Can you zoom in?"

"That would explain the barrier," Julius agreed. "Though what they're doing here, I don't know." He tapped at the keys and the image on the monitors enlarged.

A pale, petite Fae was clearly visible on the screen. Her blonde hair was neatly gathered behind her in a braid, her outfit almost blending perfectly with the natural environment. She was gesturing to someone or something, off-screen from the camera's range.

"She looks almost Elven," Julius said, slowly.

"She can't be," Esther said, firmly. "We can't have any Elves here, their magic ruins the soil's-"

"Wait—what is—there's a portal!" Julius frantically tapped the keys again, trying to find a better angle on the screen. "A second one—it's fading out at the edges, can you see that?"

"It's massive." Esther stifled a shudder. "What kind of energy disturbance did you say it was?"

"That's not an energy disturbance, it's a shattered portal. Haven't you ever seen one before?" Lewis said, making no attempt to hide that he was blatantly observing over her shoulder. He'd seen this very thing not so long ago and quite up-close. The unfortunate circumstance that had brought about a very fortunate addition to his life—Harry. "

"A shattered—what?" Esther glanced up at him, her eyes glimmering with tightly restrained magic. "Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"How are you sure?"

Lewis made himself hold her gaze with the last bit of his wavering patience. "It looks different. A shattered portal is the opposite of what I used to come through to here. Granted, there's a dozen different types of portals, but look at the edges flared out there. You can still see the energy imprint. A good portal, a strong one, it would have already faded. This one is more—amateurish. It wasn't cast by dragel hands, at any rate. You're probably right in guessing that they're Fae. Elven magic would never leave such an untidy mess behind, their too meticulous with their magic."

Esther pinched the bridge of her nose. Her feathers had gone completely flat now, her shoulders hunched forward. "Send a retrieval team," she said, wearily. "And I suggest the friendliest crew we can spare before someone else catches sight of them and decides that Father ought to."

"You mean wind," Julius said, lightly. "Before someone else-" he stopped when she smacked his arm. "Miss Stauron-"

"Shut up already!" Esther slid off the counter, a furrow settling in her brow. "I'd best tell Father before someone else says the wrong thing," she glanced at Lewis. "I wouldn't mind introducing you, seeing as we're going to be working together and all that, but honestly, now's not really a good time-would you mind terribly if I showed you to the visitor's lounge? You could rest for a few moments there. It won't take me long to—break the news."

He took the escape for what it was. A moment to himself and some privacy—however limited—would be more than welcome. He had a few updates to pass along and perhaps, from the look of things, an intervention to stage.

"Lewis?"

"A rest would be lovely. Refreshments?"

"Anything you like," she said, relieved. "There's a state-of-the-art replicator in one corner and you can order out via SpellPort."

"SpellPort? Out here?"

She smiled, weakly. "Yeah. Imagine that—right this way?"

LUNA, ROLF + MOLLY WEASLEY AND OTHERS (QUAD FOURTEEN)

"They've found us," Luna said, softly. She stopped in her tracks, staring off into the distance, as if she were looking straight through the massive trees and not simply at them. Her fingers squeezed tight over the warming medallion hanging from her neck. It was exhausting to try and manipulate so many variables at once, but she didn't dare rely on her mother's medallion.

She'd promised her Queen, after all. Breaking the portal had required great care and precision. They'd all been quite lucky, but the night had been short and her dreams were troubled.

They shouldn't have stayed in the woods, but there was nowhere else to go without some preparations in place. She'd hoped a bit of sleep would help.

It hadn't.

Which had then left the only other option—waiting for rescue after drawing attention to their plight. This particular realm wasn't too tricky, it was an artificially crafted one after all—more machinery than magic, but her thoughts were jumbled and distorted by the fragmented dreams that refused to leave her alone, even in the waking hours.

Rolf paused at her side, his worried gaze flickering between her and the not-quite-a-path up ahead. "I would ask who, but then that suggests that I would want to know what they are." He couldn't sense anything as yet, but he'd been on edge since waking.

"People of course," Luna said, serenely. She moved effortlessly to keep up with his pace, her eyes fluxing silver every now and again. "The ones that own this place."

"…and if I were to ask where this place was, would I like the answer?" Dean piped up. He ignored Seamus and Lavender's shushing motions. "If we don't ask questions, we won't get answers," he said, practically. "Luna?"

"Friends," she said, lightly. "Friends and a—oh hello there." She brightened, offering a curtsy.

Everyone froze.

Rolf drew his knives, inching forward to stay beside her and within striking range once more. He couldn't sense any impending danger, but he'd travelled with Luna enough times to know that trusting her instincts over his own—usually turned out rather well for all involved.

"It's a friend," Luna said, holding out a hand. "Is your name Shadow? It's Shadow? That's a lovely name. Come here, we won't hurt you. In fact, I have a—" she fumbled in her pocket for a snack.

Rolf sheathed one knife and fished out a piece of dried jerky instead. He dangled it over Luna's shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.

There was a blur of blackness and then a happy, chirping purr before a small Nytura perched unsteadily on Luna's thin shoulder, tiny fangs tearing into the strip of jerky.

It took a significant burst of effort to freeze in place and not move.

Rolf swallowed. He hadn't sensed the Nytura until he'd actually seen it. "…Shadow?" he said, faintly. "What a lovely—name."

Luna pressed her lips together, valiantly fighting back a laugh. She was relieved to see the creature, even if she'd only ever read about them in books before. This was her first time seeing a real one and there was also no mistaking the similarities to her dream. This was the creature she'd seen with Harry in the last set of dreams.

From the way Shadow was happily gnawing on Rolf's backup snack, Luna could hear a half-coherent stream of words filtering into her head. Shadow was glad for food, familiar scents and the magic of the realm.

Magic? Luna prompted.

Yes. Good magic. Good place. Good treats. More?

Luna held out a hand to Rolf, wiggling her fingers in a silent request for more jerky. She was inwardly amused at the expression of mild exasperation on his face, before he did as prompted and produced another salted strip of meat.

Here you go—what do you mean about the magic?

Good magic. Nice magic. Shadow repeated.

Important magic? Luna coaxed. She let Shadow nibble on the tips of her fingers as it began to purr in thanks for the treat.

Blood magic.

"Luna?" Rolf nudged her, discreetly. "What's wrong?"

"We might need to make another detour," Luna said, half-to-herself. She had time. She always had time.

"I thought you said you were taking us to Nevarah," Augusta grumbled. "Where exactly is this place and how did you intend for us to leave here?"

"I thought I was the only one who noticed," Dean said, relieved. He held up a hand, showing a few futile sparks of magic. "None of my spells seem to work here. It's almost as if there's a nullifying field of some sort."

"Here?" Seamus frowned. He edged closer to him, unable to resist the urge to make sure that they were touching in some way. "I can still reach mine, it's a bit faint but-"

"Don't!" Dean twined their hands together, squeezing tight to draw Seamus's' attention. "Even if you can reach it, don't use it."

"…Dean-"

"I mean it," Dean said, firmly. He leaned forward, touching his forehead to Seamus' shoulder. "Don't use it unless you really need to, alright? We're good for now. It's alright. These are—friends." He swallowed, stirring faintly when he felt Seamus' faint touch on his neck. It was easier to tune out the rest of them now.

"You said it was on lockdown," Molly said, drawing nearer. Her eyes narrowed faintly when they landed on Shadow. She took a few, hesitant sniffs. The creature looked quite familiar and she could almost swear that it was the one that had been in the Burrow. She'd caught a few glimpses, a few changes in scent, before things had gone so terribly wrong.

Charlie had brought it—in an egg. Harry was content to join him in caring for the egg. The memory burned at the edges, a reminder of things lost, never to be regained. Augusta had a point, they needed to get to Nevarah

Shadow blinked innocently up at her, dark eyes shining with curiosity.

Ginny glanced between them, her brow furrowed. She moved to join Rolf, a flicker of interest in her tired eyes. There were too many unanswered questions and she was tired of bothering to ask them. There was no point in charging headfirst into something for the same result—it was better to find a way to go around it.

She'd find a way around, as soon as possible. Especially if Luna was willing to help. She'd seen this before, Luna's odd spaciness, but meticulous habits. As if there was a second person trapped inside of her, desperate to be free.

Almost like the way she'd felt growing up, beneath her brothers' watchful eyes. There were some perks to being the only girl in the family, but there were points when it had been awful too. Moments where she hadn't quite fit right, where she felt as if she didn't belong—like a fairy princess in the midst of ogres.

Luna scooped Shadow off of her shoulder and cradled it in her arms instead. It began to purr quite loudly, nuzzling its face into the crook of her elbow. She turned to face the others, her eyes glowing the same bright silver from the night before. "There is a transportation room in one of the main buildings in this realm—it will take us to Nevarah."

Augusta grunted. "That's good enough, I suppose." She nodded at Molly. "You've got kin there, right? They'll take you and the children?"

Seamus and Dean exchanged a glance, much in the same way that Neville and Lavender did. "We wouldn't want to impose," Seamus began.

"The Main House is fairly large," Molly said, faintly. Her mind carried her back to a childhood when things were simple enough that only the important bits stuck out in vivid colour. Her family's care and charge of her, the security and strength of her beloved brothers and the gentleness of her own parents.

The Prewetts' had been such an ordinary Circle. Honest and upstanding, not flashy or dramatic like others. She'd thrived on the love and care that they'd liberally given her. The lasting effect was proof of the way she strove to make the Burrow a warm, welcoming place, encouraging her children to think inward instead of outward.

Her eyes ached, a hand going to her mouth as a rush of emotion welled up inside of her. She struggled to hold back a sob as Ginny turned almost at once, going straight to her, arms outstretched.

Everything she'd had, she wanted to give them.

"You are surrounded, this is the Underwood Retrieval Team, Atlas, stand-down. I repeat, stand down! This is a peaceable location and we do not wish to engage."

A/N: This Chapter has been forever and a day, in coming. Whew. I'm so glad to finally have it out of my hands and ready to share. I'm sorry for the wait, but as you know from following the Chatterbox thread (or my tumblr & fb page), RL has been quite rough, especially through this year. I'm slowly getting myself back together and your patience and encouragement means a lot.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I did my best on wrangling plot-lines again. :P There's at least two new one-shots (Wikhn and Charlie-centric), if you haven't seen them yet. Give them a shot, if you need some fluff. They're sweet and short, featuring Parental!Wikhn with little Teddy and Concerned!Charlie for EmeraldHollow mentioned in the Christmas 7 Sins fic. Enjoy!

My original novel, (Soula Deveraine's story), is also tentatively set for a summer release this year. (More info to come).

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

Many thanks to brissygirl who always does a fabulous job of beta-ing these monster chapters.

THANK YOU FOR VOTING FOR THE TOP THREE PLOT LINES. As requested, Luna, The Weasleys and Quinn, will be featured in the next upcoming arc. (Missed your chance to vote? Don't worry! There will be more voting opportunities in the future. Stay tuned!)