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.

RECAP: Harry and Quinn are in the thick of a soulbond activation. Molly and Sadara run into each other at the Nevarah main city marketplace. Hermione is caught in the middle. The Royals discuss the Deveraine Issue and many feelings are had about it. Dahlia and one of her ACES, Rook, share a moment. Theo and Co. meet Ethan's side of the family and the Hartwoods give them a very warm welcome. Theo and co. also happen to meet a very friendly Gheyo Prince.

Quinn Arc! Quinn Arc! Quinn Arc! *ahem*
Enjoy the read!

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KYLE'S AFTERMATH - DAHLIA DEVERAINE CIRCLE / DEVERAINE GUESTHOUSE BY THE BEACH

Kyle's green eyes glittered with worry and thinly-disguised panic as Dyshoka's 'portal threw him back onto the floor, instead of sending him on through to Theo and the others.

"Dy? What happened?"

Her expression was grim, but she helped him up from the floor, a thin line of worry creasing her forehead. "I-if the portal won't work, then don't go. There must be a reason."

"Don't go?" Kyle sputtered. "But Quinn—and Harry! They need to be there and-!"

"We should tell Mama," Dyshoka said, simply. "She can handle it."

Kyle frowned. He didn't like that answer at all, but the shadows on her face suggested there was more happening than she was comfortable sharing. That was fine. He would never force her to speak her mind when she wasn't sure of it. "Alright—you want to call?"

She bit her lip. "It's probably best if you do it."

Kyle offered a a hopeful smile

A slight tremor ran through his body as the reality of the situation caught up to him in the fading adrenaline. The momentary fright was still fresh in his mind.

Quinn's aura was one that he knew and he couldn't fight his body's ingrained response to something that had wounded him so deeply.

Another powerful wave of an obnoxiously aggressive Alpha-posturing aura barrelled through the bedroom, blanketing everything in the angry, possessive pheromones of a near-feral dominant dragel.

Quinn wasn't the only one with bad flashbacks.

Kyle sucked in a breath and held it. His instincts still ran high, an instinctive urge to turn and fight crackling beneath his unscaled skin. He wasn't an unbonded Fae this time—and his new Alpha, Dahlia—would certainly fight in his stead.

Except—this was Quinn.

And Kyle really, really didn't want to fight him again. Ever. Not when they both still hid the scars from the past that had shaped their dynamic in the present. Not when he knew what was happening and why. Definitely not with Harry, an unconscious Submissive, locked in a healing trance.

It wasn't just his Medic training taking over, rational thought meshed with logic and Kyle already knew that he wouldn't run from this.

No matter how desperately he wished to.

He stubbornly tamped down the first tendrils of genuine fear. That was how it had originally started, after all.

One moment, he'd been talking and maybe smiling at the most beautiful dragel he'd ever seen in his life and the next, he'd been tackled and quite nearly gutted, before his own family had reacted.

And when his father had heard about it...well, he'd wished that Quinn had finished the job.

He groaned and gave up on sorting out the mess in his head. Instead, he went straight into Dyshoka's welcoming arms. He was glad she was there and grateful for the steadiness of her magic when he was unable to concentrate properly to use his own.

He had exactly ten seconds between worrying for his stubborn idiot of an adopted brother and realizing that it didn't leave him as unaffected as he'd thought. Recognizing the signs of a suppressed soulbond activating against all logic was not something he'd ever expected to have to do.

Naturally, he did the sensible thing and swore loudly before Dyshoka muffled his starting rant by squishing him into one of her best hugs, tucking his face into her neck. She was everything warm, soft and there.

A low whine slipped out.

"Dy..."

"Shhh," she crooned. "I know, I know."

"He's-!"

"I know."

"After all of these years-!" Kyle trembled faintly. "That hypocrite! After everything that he goes on about with soulscreams and soulcasts and he was suppressing his own-!"

Dyshoka squeezed him tightly, her chin tucked over his head, her height serving her well. "Shh. I know, I know, love. Do as I say and not as I do," she murmured. "That's our Quinn. He cares, in his own way."

"And we're supposed to stand by and watch him self-destruct?" Kyle burst out. "How is that fair? How is that even—why won't he ever listen?"

"If I had answers for that, I think I'd have solved life's mysteries by now," Dyshoka murmured. "And he doesn't listen because—well, he has his own reasons, don't you think?"

"Like what? Thinking he's not good enough or something equally ridiculous?" Kyle pulled away enough to glower at her, his temper still sparking beneath the surface. "We all have our insecurities—and we work to get around them. To get over them. Dyshoka, I can—forgive—a lot of what he did. What he did without meaning to. What he never expected to happen, but—he hurt you. I-I didn't care much about myself, so it wasn't as bad, but—he hurt you. My light and my heart and I had to stand and watch it. Watch him. Watch you—and do nothing about any of it-!"

Dyshoka's expression grew pained. She leaned down, touching her forehead to his. "I know," she whispered. "I know. It did hurt. It was not painless for me to see you suffer."

"Because of what?" Kyle's voice cracked. "And now, I find out that he's doing the very thing that he-"

"Self-sabotage is a horrible thing, isn't it?" Dyshoka whispered, her words warm and comforting as they feathered against his cheek.

"No," Kyle said, leaning into her. "It's not that. It's guilt. It's shame. it's both. He doesn't think he deserves it, you know? To be forgiven. I didn't think he did either. But I couldn't—after I got to know him—I-"

"You couldn't hate him," Dyshoka said, simply. "That's just the kind of person he is. The kind of person that he grew into."

Kyle nodded, burying his face in her neck, breathing in that familiar scent of musk and spice. "...I should help him."

"You could," she allowed, tipping her head to the side to allow better access for the warm, open-mouthed kisses that followed. "Want a bite?"

"...please?"

"Go on. Want to sit?"

"I only need a little bit."

Dyshoka hummed, her arms locking around his waist as he searched for a spot.

The feel of his fangs slipping beneath skin and scale, brought a measure of grounding to her. She sighed into it, leaning forward even more. "Will you tell mother for me?"

Kyle made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat as he drank. "Doesn't she have wards on all the guesthouses?" he asked, projecting the words through the mental channel that was so easy to access between them.

"She does, but that doesn't mean she wouldn't appreciate some sort of warning."

Kyle disengaged with a sigh, smoothing over the bite with a touch of healing energy on his thumb. His eyes flared a bright, toxic green, before it faded into the dull, familiar forest-hue of his Fae nature.

"You want me to call her?" he checked, brow furrowed.

Dyshoka nodded, once.

"...and tell her about Quinn's soulbond?"

Another nod.

He broke free of her embrace, one hand coming up to tug on his forest-green hair. It stuck up in clumps as he ruffled the fluffy locks. "Alright, alright, fine. I'll just-"

By the time Kyle had finished relaying the message, Dahlia, Shayla and Harmony had trickled in to Dyshoka's bedroom. Each of them wore different expressions of concern in varying degrees.

They were also dressed quite differently for the current state of things. Harmony's violet-tinted armor seemed molded to her curvy frame, while Dahlia, herself, wore an embellished Flexi-Suit to showcase her Gheyo leanings.

It was Shayla, standing between them, in her wispy, frothy gown of silvery-blue-white, that stood out the most. Her hair, twisted up into an intricate braided knot, lent a regal air to her.

"What happened? That was more of a fright than I was expecting..." Shayla trailed off, taking in Kyle's pale face and taut body.

"He's fine," Dyshoka said, speaking first to ward them off from potential smothering.

Dahlia scowled. "That did not feel fine," she said, irritated. "What happened?"

"My darling baby brother is learning a difficult lesson," Dyshoka said, smoothly. Her golden eyes glowed. "It's nothing to worry about."

Dahlia's gaze turned wary as she looked between them, brows furrowed. "I don't really want to know, do I?"

"You'll hear about it soon," Kyle offered. "But no, right now—I-I just—I'd rather-"

"Lean on us," Shayla said, quietly. "Please?" She moved forward, hands extended.

Kyle crumpled into hands that readily caught him up. "I guess I'm not as over it as I thought I was."

"It's alright if you aren't." Dyshoka ran her fingers through his forest green hair, her touch ever so gentle.

He let himself be carried to the bed and deposited somewhere in the middle of the softness. Pillows and blankets were piled around him for comfort, before Dyshoka's bed became a rather crowded commodity.

They each pressed up against him, offering skin-on-skin contact. Harmony even going so far as to banish her armor to lounge in her Flexi-Suit on the corner of the bed, near the wall.

Minutes ticked by.

Maybe even hours.

"I didn't realize he'd do it to himself," Kyle said, quietly, after awhile. "I thought that—perhaps—well, I thought he wouldn't—but I guess he did. It wasn't really ever about me, was it?"

Dyshoka took a deep breath, then another, and another, a quiet hum leaving her lips. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, from where she sat, all but pulling him into her lap.

"It rarely ever is," Dahlia grumbled. "It's usually about themselves, projected onto you or whatever you want to call it. The problem is knowing that and realizing it are two different things."

Kyle offered a thin smile. "I wish him well, but it still-"

"Hurts," Dyshoka finished. "I know." She rocked forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "What matters though, isn't him. It's us. Here and now. He'll find his way and his answers, as he always has."

"Where's everyone else?" Kyle twisted in her embrace, trying to catch Harmony's eye. "Were you going out?"

"Trying to," Dahlia said, easily. "Oracle's Maw. Gotta pick up our marching orders. I was taking Rook with me. He's waiting outside—a little too close to his feral edge at the moment. I didn't want it to set you off."

Kyle wrinkled his nose. "It'd take more than his darkness to set me off."

"I know," Dahlia said, smoothly. "But it's not the same for him. He hates to see any of us suffer like that. Feeling better now?"

"Good enough," Harmony said, ruffling Kyle's hair just to hear his protests. "You sure you don't want company? I haven't been to the Oracle's Maw in at least six years."

"With luck, you won't need to for another six," Dahlia said, dryly. "It's fine. I have Rook."

"Can't get out of it, can we?" Dyshoka asked, tentatively.

"...no. I'm sorry, loveling," Dahlia murmured, the endearment soft and heartfelt. "I rattled a lot of cages on my way through this. There are debts to be paid."

"But you did it on your own. I'm proud of you for that." Dyshoka shifted to the side, to allow them to slip off of the bed.

Dahlia cracked a smile. "You're the sweetest," she proclaimed. "Alright. Do the rest of you want to get out? Maybe get a lunch set or something in a quiet corner?"

Shayla perked up at once. "If it's quiet, yes please? I kind of wanted to stay in, but I also want to go out?"

"You want privacy and cuddles," Dahlia corrected, lips twitching. "We can do that—please wear something slightly more discreet though? As much as I would love to see you prancing around in that-"

Shayla beamed. "I'll change real quick."

ANSWERING THE CALL - KALZIK TRIAD - KALIZK ESTATE

Kyle's message sent the Kalzik triad scrambling. Within minutes, they were prepped as if it were a full-scale attack on the realm, instead of a panicked, cut-off message from their adopted Fae son.

"You know, when you said something would happen, this was not what I had in mind," Hiram grumbled. He spelled his durable Healer's robes over his daywear.

"Complain later, darling," Surajini said, flipping her long braid over one shoulder and spelling it up into a thick bun atop her head. "Patrick?"

"Right behind you. Start the portal. I can feel the property wards starting to buckle."

"On the count of three-!" Surajini sang out.

Surajini, Hiram and Patrick 'ported directly into the guesthouse just as a series of powerful wards snapped into place.

"Hiram-!" Surajini called out, grabbing Patrick's arm in an attempt to keep him grounded beside her. Her Earthen element added a hefty boost to her natural magic, allowing her to cast a set of secondary wards around the guesthouse.

"Here," Hiram gritted out, tempering his own magic to mesh with hers. "What's happening? I don't understand the signatures-"

"Is that—Quinn?" Patrick covered her hand with his own, looking wildly about the empty living room with its scattered ink sticks and neat stacks of paperwork. "There's no sign of a struggle, but that is his magic, and it's never felt like that since-"

"I'm sensing—Quinn and—Harry?" Hiram guessed, worry-lacing his words as he came up behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders to serve as a conductor if needed. "Kyle's signature is too faint."

"He was in the room—they're all in the bedroom where Harry is staying," Surajini murmured. Her eyes remained a dark, hollow black with the tiniest ring of gold around them. "He's alive, but scared."

"He would be," Patrick said, grimly. "It took months for him to even stop flinching at the—what is that? Are you two feeling that?"

Surajini flinched. Scales dotted her bared arms, fangs gleaming from where her lips curled back in a soundless hiss. "What is it? I can't—sense it, but I can tell that there's-"

"That feels like perimeter wards. I think they're—that way." Hiram nodded in the direction of the hallway entrance on the other end of the room. "Definitely the bedroom. Proceed with caution. The 'portal put some distance between us for a reason."

Patrick frowned, his teeth clicking together with an audible sound, betraying the instinctive urge to sink his fangs into something—or someone—despite the current circumstances. "He was anchored to the realm," he muttered. "That was the whole point between all of that posturing and playing polite at—Jini?"

"It feels like a soulbond," Surajini murmured. She allowed Hiram to move forward first, her healer's robes rippling over her with a feather-soft touch. The protections etched on the uniform sparked audibly as they were called into effect. "You don't think he blocked it on his end, do you?"

"He would have, if it caught him off guard. You know how private he is and after everything from that time—Kesmar!" Patrick swore. "He's reacting. I can't tell to what, but he's reacting. Hiram, listen to me—do exactly as I say!"

"On your mark," Hiram answered, at once. "Jini?"

"Stay back," Patrick said, briskly. "You'll need to be there for him once Hiram pulls him out, alright?"

"Patrick..." Surajini's eyes glimmered. "They're still-"

"Young, I know," he said, grimly. "But it has to be me. He won't take kindly to the rest of you. I'm his Sire. He won't be able to argue against that."

"I could still..." Hiram tried, glancing between them. "There's a chance that-"

"You're an Alpha too close to his space, Quinn won't stand for it and I doubt he'll let you get close enough to pull him out, given whatever he's feeling right now. Jini?"

Hiram gave a brief nod. He shuffled into position behind Surajini, both of them advancing on Patrick's mark.

HARRY'S BEDROOM - KALZIK GUESTHOUSE - HARRY X QUINN

Quinn was not happy.

That was probably the understatement of the century, given the claws and scales rippling beneath his skin, threatening to break out in a way that he'd fought for just over a decade. Yes, there were downsides to keeping his dragel self as tightly restrained as he did, but he did it for a reason!

One that was swiftly returning to bite him in the arse.

He knew better. He did.

And yet—here he was.

The instinctive haze that tinged his vision with clouded shadows only served to ramp up his already altered instincts. His Alpha nature, though buried deep and forever dimmed, still raged and struggled inside.

It was this reason that kept him clinging desperately to a solution that had done him no favors at all. To give into the kind of near-feral Alpha-instincts he'd once known, now sickened him.

He wasn't the kind of Alpha that would be happy or sated with a simple conquest or complex hunt. No, there was quite a bit of emotional baggage buried under the somewhat crumbling wall of insecurities.

Remembering his younger years had always served to dredge up a sense of guilt and shame. Youthful brashness had trampled all over his family's new reputation at the time and he'd worn their patience thin with his instinctive demands and Alpha-posturing.

He hadn't meant to.

Now, he could look back and see that he truly hadn't meant to.

But at the time?

Oh. He'd wanted Alejandro's head. He'd wanted to tear into Hiram. He'd snapped, snarled and growled at Alonso.

A memory that was now tinged heavily with sadness. Alonso had been the family Gheyo before Bharin—and, incidentally, Alejandro's Sire. He'd also been absolutely unwilling to put up with Quinn's moodiness and attitude.

The plaintive whine building in his throat seemed to pull strength from his quivering limbs. It was a soft, crying call, that wanted to be heard. That wanted everything to be fixed again.

A cry for a soothing touch that would not come.

That could not come.

He'd caused this and there was nothing to do but live with the result. The Alpha inside of him howled in mourning, a stubborn wretched piece of himself that he'd struggled so hard to accept.

It desperately wanted out, clinging and crying about the inability to take what was right in front of him. To claim and destroy until all instincts could be properly satisfied, even in their most savage desires.

The horror of it would have stopped him, if it wasn't for the way that his wings burned and strained against his trembling shoulders. Already, he could smell the sickeningly sweet scent of his own blood, where it dribbled down his face, tainting the air in a way that couldn't possibly end well.

Pure Healer's Blood was a regulated substance for a reason, after all.

Tears and blood mixed together in a hot, wet stream that had Quinn gasping for breath. He forced himself to focus on the only focal point he could—Harry.

Strong, fierce and wonderful Harry.

Whose hand rested on his arm, his emerald eyes burning with a fire that would make the suns envious of the sheer light emanating from them. A grounding, steadying touch that was deceptively gentle, despite the obvious power he could feel pouring off of Harry.

His heart throbbed, a frantic, staccato beat fluttering in his chest. It hurt how much he wanted this. How hard he was still fighting it and yet—what a slow, hard-fought battle it was.

Even now, to try and think of anything other than reaching back to Harry, was pure torture. Why should he refuse what was being so tenderly offered? Why should he deny himself when there was such a willing light before him? Why would any sane Alpha choose to reject such a powerful and obviously delectable Submissive who was already reaching out for them?

Oh, Quinn had no answers for that.

The heat building inside his body seemed intent on roasting his insides to a perfectly charred crisp. Because if he didn't do something now—if he didn't try to complete the connection, he'd be nothing more than a burned-out shell.

A mere husk of a dragel, forever chasing the high of an instinctive haze only present on such a level when it was the first threads of a triad forming.

Pain stabbed through his skull.

He keened, silently. The sound was loud in his own mind, but a mere huff of breath to the silent room.

He was not Alpha! He was not-!

"Quinn," Harry repeated, his voice sounding terribly far away. "Quinn?" A second hand rose to join the first, attempting to pull Quinn towards the bed.

His body, weak to Harry, lurched at the movement, toppling across his blanket-covered lap, cushioned by the softness of the bed and the tingling warmth of sparking magic.

Beautiful magic, a deep emerald green with hints of gold and bronze tangled throughout. Harry's eyes remained in the same eerie glow, unchanging as they refocused on Quinn without delay.

And Quinn felt himself fall at last.

Falling was painful. Awkward. Strange. Sometimes confusing. Maybe a little scary.

Falling for Harry was as light as breathing.

Soft, light, and then desperate from one breath to the next. He struggled to sit up on the bed, trying not to squish Harry and put some sort of distance between them.

A careful distance.

A polite distance.

Something that would show some sign of respect.

But his body refused to follow his desperate attempts. Instead, he found himself weighed down so heavily, that even his thoughts slowed to an unbearable crawl. It was almost as if his very being was rebelling at the thought of refusing what was so blatantly laid out before him.

PleasepleasepleaseIdontwanttohurthim-!

His pleas, though silent, kept enough emotion churning through him to prevent the final threads of instinctive haze to take root. Quinn breathed shallowly into the blankets wrapped around Harry, his body trembling and shuddering as he tried to fight off the inevitable.

He couldn't do this—he couldn't! Not to Harry. Not when Harry had no idea what was happening or what could happen next.

Harry was supposed to be resting, after all and he was nowhere near conscious enough for what was needed to continue the soulbond. Completing it wouldn't take much—but he had to talk to Harry first.

Had to—explain.

There was so much he'd wanted to know and learn, before he'd ever considered thinking of courting again, much less bonding.

And Harry was so young. So new to the dragel customs and Nevarah's many benefits and secrets. He deserved to find Bonded who were just as eager, curious and open as he was.

"Quinn." Harry's voice held that odd, eerie quality that never failed to freeze him in place. "I waited," Harry said, monotone. "I waited all this time. I called. There was no—answer."

And Quinn broke.

The transformation was simple, it couldn't be anything else. In one moment, Quinn, with arms and legs, became Quinn, with quad-colored wings and a slender, scaled body that took up every spare inch of space on the bed.

He was simultaneously rather proud and ashamed at the same time. Transforming was much easier than he'd expected and while one-half of him was pleased to show off pretty scales to a potential Intended, the rest of him was wreaked by guilt over having the advantage.

After all, he'd known that Harry had a soulbonded connection.

He'd stopped his side of the bond, after all, never daring to do anything as awful and unethical as altering Harry's side.

It was just—he'd seen Harry, for such a brief moment and he'd wanted, so very badly to reach out into that light and just bask in it. To soak up the fierce hope and gentle aura that had promised so much.

Things that Quinn was sure that Harry didn't even know he was offering. Because there was no way that Harry would pick him.

The mute, scarred and rank-renounced Healer that he was. Even with his Soul Cast gift, that meant nothing, really. It was just magic. He had so little to offer to someone who seemed to have so much to give.

And yet, that was where the guilt came in all over again.

Because he didn't really believe all of that.

He'd trained for years to achieve his current Healer Rank level at such a young age. It'd been harder to do some of it due to his own physical limitations and certain conditions imposed on him by the board.

But he'd managed.

He'd wanted to be a Healer after all. It was literally in his blood.

Soul Cast was one of the rare magics among Healing magic classifications. He'd struggled and fought his way through mastering it. Just like he had with the rest of his life, including when he'd come into his inheritance—as an Alpha.

It still haunted him that he could've had his own Circle. He could be the one with the Alpha authority, the one who could proudly protect and provide, to hold his head high, regardless of the dominant ranks passing by.

And yet, he still had it. The undercurrent of authority that thrummed in his veins, a calm surety that his words would be heard and his suggestions taken to heart. He still carried himself the way he had, albeit, perhaps less—arrogantly.

The real reason Harry wouldn't pick him was simple. He was hiding secrets and he had no intention of ever sharing them. Not to mention he'd never shown an ounce of proper interest. At least, not the kind that counted. There was no Submissive that would choose an unreceptive Intended into their Circle.

There was no Submissive that would accept him as an Intended, if they knew the real truth about him. He was a walking contradiction on all sides and no matter how deeply he'd buried bits and pieces of himself, some of it always drifted back to the surface.

Submissives wanted to be wanted and interest was supposed to be anything but subtle during The Hunt and especially during courting. He hadn't even tried to make an effort. Instead, he'd given himself every excuse possible.

Even when Dyshoka had lifted the Healer's responsibility from his shoulders and taken it upon hers, leaving him obviously available, if he'd only step forward and acknowledge that Harry was someone he wanted.

Wanted and could not have.

Grumpily, Quinn shuffled around on the bed until he could comfortably fit as much of himself as he could around Harry. He didn't want to disturb him, but he also didn't want to fall off the too-small bed.

In his indoor dragon form, he could easily wreck the room without trying to. A gentle brush of magic skimmed along the edge of his mind. Soul magic, he knew, another attempt at pulling them together.

Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to block his end of things. There was really no telling how things could turn out.

Minutes ticked by and Quinn whuffled, burying his snout in the tangled mess of blankets. He wished Harry was awake. He wished Kyle was back. He wished his parents were there. He wished every manner of things he could not have, lying there forlornly, draped across the blankets, trying to ignore the thought of Fate laughing at him.

HARRY'S MINDSCAPE - KALZIK GUESTHOUSE - HARRY X QUINN

Harry sat up, slowly, a thread of tension pulling his entire body taught from the crown of his head to his very core. He might have dozed off a little bit there, near the end, just enjoying the fact that someone wanted to talk to him—and pat his head at the same time.

Maury's soft, calm voice had lulled him into what felt like the most restful sleep he'd ever had in his life, though he had no idea how that worked in a mindscape. He'd only known that it was a wonderfully safe experience.

To fall asleep with the faint brush of large, warm hands smoothing his hair over in steady, calming motions, while the gentle vibration of such a calm, comforting voice washed over him in steady, soothing waves.

Somehow, everything was warm and soft, the ground feeling as if he were resting atop the fluffiest cloud, while the temperature remained at that perfect level of coziness. Oh, he'd enjoyed it. Harry had definitely enjoyed it, soaking up every bit of goodness that he could hoard from their conversations and interactions.

He'd never expected something like this in a million years and that was why the entire shift and abruptness of it all, caught him off guard. He'd expected some kind of warning, maybe. Or at least a gradual return to consciousness.

Had he already slept straight through three whole days, Harry mused. Confusion and consternation warred within him. There were still questions he had to ask Maury and it seemed as if he'd lost his chance.

"Oret?" he asked, softly.

The temperature in his mindscape dropped to an uncomfortable chill. His entire body shuddered, thin flares of minute energy shifted inside of him, almost as if he were back in his physical body and no longer roaming free at will.

Even the faint scent of stardust and shadow had vanished along with his treasured mentor. Maurice Elswood was nowhere to be found and Harry hadn't gotten to say goodbye—yet again.

A shiver ran through him.

Harry picked himself up off of the shadowy, swirling floor. Now that his eyes were adjusting, he could see that the calming hues of blue and grey were now shifting to a darker, almost menacing purple and black.

A storm incoming, it seemed.

The silence was deafening in the way he could hear his heartbeat amplified as if it were thunderously crashing through his chest, the sound overwhelming until he could identify it. His breaths evened out as he took stock of his new surroundings.

My mind. My mindscape. He reminded himself, staunchly. Something must've happened. I need to—wait, how do I return to my body? Oret said something about feeling, at one point, I don't remember all of it...

Harry began to shuffle forward, almost absently as he sifted through his memories of their recent talks. There'd been so much information, if it wasn't for all the little stories and hugs and laughter in between, he was sure there was no way he would've remembered any of it.

But just being able to be Just Harry, had helped.

Maury hadn't demanded anything of him—well, except for the somewhat embarrassing reminders that he needed to work on his self-esteem—he'd given, instead. Given time, care and knowledge without a single hesitation.

He'd asked questions—and answers were explained.

Harry's heart clenched tight. He shivered again, frowning at the stark chill. The cold was unexpected, because it should've been warm.

It should've been.

And it wasn't.

In fact, there was even a glowing bubble of ice all the way out in front of—wait. Harry squinted into the distance. The light was so faint, he would've missed it, if he wasn't so busy being irritated with the way his mindscape had changed.

The light, as he drew nearer, seemed to take on a slightly pale blue, almost teal-colored hue. Harry frowned. Teal reminded him of Quinn Kalzik, these days. Soft blue, almost-green eyes that seemed to see straight through him, and yet, never once complained about his lack of knowledge or confusion over all the new, bewildering things.

He was glad to be in Nevarah, even if it had been a crazy, stressful bucket of nothing going right. The chill seemed to stabilize now, a light scent of sandalwood—so familiar—and a curl of energy that was almost comforting.

Quinn? But how...?

Harry quickened his step. He waded through the gathering puffs of misty haze, until he could see the light clearer and then, felt his heart catch in his throat.

It wasn't a light at all.

It was Quinn, himself.

A young Quinn, standing with his eyes sharp and piercing, his throat unmarked and unscarred, thin lips pressed together, as if to keep all the words—all the emotions—from spilling out.

Young...Harry thought, feeling a dull ache blooming in his chest. So young...is this before his inheritance?

Pale golden hair fluffed around his shoulders in a halo, eyes so bright and vibrant, they could've been galaxies in their own right, the thinned lips now curling into something of an irritated snarl.

"Who are you?" The boy demanded.

Harry drew nearer, unable to help himself. "Harry," he said, quietly. "Harry Potter. Who are you?"

The blond sniffed. "Quinten Kalzik," he said, imperiously. "I was dreaming and then I was here. Why am I here? Where is here? I don't know any Harry Potter."

"...I was talking to my Oret," Harry said, carefully. "I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was like this. Why are you in my head?"

"We're in your head?" He frowned, quite seriously. "It's rather empty for a head. Was I—were you sick or something?" His voice dropped lower. "Is it rude of me to ask? It probably is. But I've already asked. Oops."

"...or something," Harry said, slowly. This was definitely not like the Quinn he knew. "I'm in a healing trance."

"Why?"

"...a lot of things happened and my magic's not very...stable."

An irritated huff came from the little blond. "That's dumb, why don't you just get Bonded or something? Unstable magic means you don't have enough Bonded." He looked Harry up and down. "You're not ugly, so you should be able to pick someone nice and strong. Lots of Bonded, probably. If you pick a really pretty one, lots of others will be easier to court."

Harry hastily swallowed a laugh, threatening to bubble out of him. Young Quinn was a very different Quinn than the one he knew at present. "Really?" he asked. "You think so?"

"I know so," he said, proudly. "Do you have an Alpha? You should get one if you don't. My brother Alejandro is an Alpha, but you won't like him. He's mean. He's not very—you know." He waved one small hand at Harry's entire self.

"...I see," Harry said, even though he didn't. Waves of concern and worry were pouring off of this young, strange version of Quinn and he wanted to find out what was happening.

"Do you?" He sniffed. "I don't think you do, but that's alright. When you're pretty, it's alright if you have to pretend you don't understand things. Not everyone can be smart and pretty."

Harry coughed. "R-really?"

"Yes. Not everyone can be like me." Young Quinn flashed a wide, picture-perfect smile that seemed to make his entire little body light up from within. He flipped his hair over his shoulder with a practiced hand. "I'm smart and handsome. Mama says so and she's the prettiest, so it must be true."

"Of course," Harry said, lip twitching.

"Submissives shouldn't be left alone though," Quinn said, critically. "It's really not good."

"Why not?" Harry had to ask.

"Because they get sad and lonely when they don't have enough cuddles and snacks," Quinn recited, automatically. "Submissives are very powerful people, but that means they can get really lonely sometimes. When someone's lonely, you should give them a hug, because it makes them feel better." Quinn eyed him up and down. "Cuddles are better than hugs though. Until my rank comes in, I can give cuddles! Do you want a cuddle? Are you lonely? Do you want a snack? We can go and find a snack. I'm very good at finding snacks. Very good. Better than Alejandro!"

Harry managed to smile. There was so much determination in such a small person—such heart too. "I'm good," he said, softly. "You don't have to worry about me so much. I can take care of myself."

"But you shouldn't have to do it all by yourself. That's what they teach us in Healer-class. I took all of my main classes. You're a Submissive, right? You're so nice. Submissives need friends and lots of Bonded. Are you sure you don't have an Alpha or someone important with you? M'supposed to ask. I don't know why though. I think I'm s'posed to ask if you don't tell me first."

Words failed him, but his heart continued to happily thrum in his chest. Harry found himself crouching down to be at eye-level. In this strange, empty mindscape, his world had narrowed down to Quinn and it was somehow, just what he needed.

"...a hug would be great," he managed.

Quinn beamed at him and Harry swore that his heart melted right there.

Thin, skinny arms were flung around his neck and a warm, soft body clung tightly to him. Quinn made a pleased, happy humming sound as he nuzzled his face into Harry's shoulder. "You smell really nice," he said, absently. "Familiar, almost. I like it."

Harry's heart lurched. "I do?" Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around the still glowing Quinn, hugging him back.

"If I'm in your head, then that must mean I know you," Quinn said. "Do I know you? That's probably why you seem familiar. Maybe you know me when I'm bigger? Sometimes, a soul can get split into all these parts and-" he stopped, pulling away with a gasp at the sound of a loud growl. "You said you were fine! Is that your stomach? Do you need snacks? Are you starving?"

"I'm not-" Harry faltered beneath that fierce glare. There was definitely a hint of the stern Healer side of Quinn that he knew from experience. No wonder he was so good at it, if he'd mastered that no-nonsense look at such a young age.

"Cuddles and snacks!" Quinn reminded him.

Harry stifled a laugh. "Alright, alright. Cuddles and snacks. Can I have another hug first?"

Quinn beamed. "Of course!" he chirped. Flinging his arms open wide again, he snuggled into Harry's warmth with a happy purr.

In the end, Harry let himself be towed around by an enthusiastic, but surprisingly gentle version of a rather young Quinn. A version that continually made sure to check on his happiness, hunger and affection levels by way of blunt, innocent questions paired with wide, guileless eyes.

Harry couldn't resist.

He didn't think there was any universe in which he could resist, though the embarrassment of it all faded after the dozenth time.

It was on the tip of his tongue to explain to little Quinn that he didn't really need a snack, a hug and a diagnostic spell every ten minutes, when his new companion perked up at something he couldn't see or hear.

"Quinn?" he tried, cautiously.

"Finally!" Quinn chirped, rolling up on the tippy-toes of his feet, glowing a pale blue now as he peered off into the misty haze surrounding them. "Come, you have to come-!"

And then, he was gone.

Harry stared at the empty space for a split-second, before his mind processed that he could still hear little feet pattering on the floor, somewhere up ahead. He started moving, worry filtering through his entire body.

It might be his mindscape, but he was reasonably sure there was no reason for his mindscape to have conjured up a version of young Quinn andchase away the necessary figure of his Oret.

It made no sense at all.

The footsteps faltered.

Harry's heart flipped over, twice. He quickened his step, blindly charging through the haze only to find it thinning up ahead. He tumbled into the clearing—rich teal-hued tiles, and shadowed surroundings lending an atmosphere to the space and its occupant.

Occupant. Dragon.

A dragon that Harry had never seen before.

And no more small Quinn.

Oops.

It was definitely a dragon.

Tall and imposing, the dragon peered down at him with an aggrieved air, somehow managing to retain an almost imperious attitude right up until Harry tripped over his own feet.

Ow. Harry winced, swallowing back a particular string of words in his mouth as he examined his scraped hands and aching knees. It was probably the sturdy trousers and shirt that had protected the rest of him—wait! Since when had he changed outfits?!

Harry twisted and turned, trying to get a better look at himself, before a quiet grizzling sound overhead drew his attention back to the dragon.

Right.

He'd just stumbled across a fantastically colorful dragon in the middle of his mind and Harry had no idea what it was supposed to represent. He could almost hear Maury's voice in his head, reminding him to read the symbols around him and take in any information from his environment.

I'm trying Oret... He thought, annoyed. I just don't understand why it would be—all of this teal just makes me think of Quinn...He sighed.

The dragon stretched out, slowly, almost like a cat, two large front paws inching closer to Harry's frozen figure, gleaming silver claw-tips almost as big as Harry's hand. It leaned into the stretch, scaly hindquarters up in the air, sleek, scaled face dangerously close to Harry's, while a finned tail lashed in the background behind it.

Harry leaned back so far that he fell over, sitting hard on the ground as the dragon's snout inched closer, snuffling at his chest. He closed his eyes, waiting.

There was a louder, harsher snort and then the snout withdrew, large, intelligent eyes peering down at him, almost amused.

Harry fought the urge to scowl.

It almost seemed like the dragon was laughing at him when it chuffed and quivered from side to side, scaly lips baring dangerous-looking fangs.

"...do I know you?" Harry ventured. "Because you remind me a lot of...someone I know."

The dragon cocked its head to the side, before sitting back on its hind legs with a thump, slowly—ever so slowly—easing down to distribute its weight between all four paws, the movements more felinesque than Harry was prepared for.

A sleek, well-mannered dragon, he mused, privately revising his opinion of it. Now that he could see so much of it in a single glance, it was hard to miss how colorful it was. Bright vivid sky blue, yellow, green and even a hint of gold?—Harry squinted.

It was hard to make out, exactly.

The throbbing ache in his hands drowned out the dull one in his chest. Harry stared down at his reddened, bruised hands, the scrape on his left palm already beading with blood. "I'm in my mind," he grumbled. "How can I possibly get injured in my head?!"

He had no sooner uttered those words, when a pink-tipped tongue flicked out, lapping at the wounds.

"Wha-hey!" Harry squawked. He jerked his hands back, but not fast enough.

They burned, faintly and when he twisted around to sneak a look at them, the scrapes were healing over. His jaw dropped and he jerked around to stare at the amused dragon.

"Did you just—heal me?"

The dragon stretched its neck out, a wide yawn showing off a massive maw of dangerous, sharpened teeth and wickedly gleaming fangs. Its colors glittered in the strange hazy light of Harry's mindscape, a familiar sandalwood scent teasing at the corners of his consciousness.

Quinn... his mind supplied.

Harry had to sit down.

Dragon Quinn—because that's what Harry was sure of now—eyed him with an obvious measure of concern.

He sat on the floor, trying not to think too hard about the logistics of sitting in mid-air on nothing. He'd just had a hundred conversations with his Oret, after all and they'd existed comfortably in the same mindscape.

A thread of nervousness rattled through him as he tried to find evidence that this really was Quinn in front of him, in true dragon form. There were no scars around his neck though, a defining detail that he'd be hard-pressed to miss.

The magic though, that aura, he knew quite well. It felt like Quinn. So much. The way small wisps of energy slipped out and twined around him, almost affectionately. Even the pretty blue-green color was a familiar shade of almost-teal.

Harry bit his lip, uncertain.

There was no reason he could think of to explain why Quinn—in any form—would be in his mindscape. It made no sense at all!

Except...except, they'd been talking about him. About how they'd first met. The meeting at the Healer's Clinic. The way Quinn had used a Soul Cast on Theo.

The way his arms had felt when he'd held Harry and talked him through their appointment in that odd, strange, scratchy voice.

A tentative flutter of hope blossomed in his chest, overriding the dulled ache that chose to make itself known. Harry grimaced, rubbing at the achy spot and trying to focus on the last conversation with Maury.

It was a novel idea to think that his Oret was right. That perhaps Quinn really had been jealous and had ordered everyone out of the examination room to spend more time with him.

Or...maybe he'd done something else. Harry rubbed a little harder at the ache. It was growing stronger now, more persistent and he didn't know why. As far as he could tell, Quinn hadn't cast anything on him. He hadn't done anything without explaining each step and he'd been very careful about initiating any sort of physical touch.

Almost at once, his mind jumped back to the game of Creeper they'd played on that afternoon. How everything had gone so smoothly and so unexpectedly.

The feeling of Quinn so close and yet so far. The way those teal eyes had seemed to stare straight into his soul.

Harry flushed pink, his hands coming up to cover his face. A low groan escaped. No wonder Oret had looked so fond and amused at the same time. He'd probably seen the eventual realization

The ache vanished.

This time, he did groan aloud. "That's it?" he said to himself. "I just had to—is it even allowed? I mean, I barely know him and-" he faltered again.

Because that was only halfway true.

Yes, Quinn was gorgeous. His pretty teal eyes, that calm, self-assured air and his trim, fit body. Objectively, yes. All things that Harry admittedly liked.

The scars didn't matter. The lack of speech didn't matter. The fussing over his health and wellbeing was just an added bonus.

No one had ever worried about him like that before. Absolutely no one. Sure, they would fuss when he had a cold, if they were Madam Pomfrey. Or broken bones. They would frown and fret, if he was reacting from a Dementor attack.

Or they'd lock him in a cramped cupboard under the stairs. Maybe with a hard cuff or two around the ears for backtalking or something equally false. Aunt Petunia hadn't cared, though she would often order him back to the cupboard if he was genuinely sick.

Uncle Vernon would simply throw him in there if his symptoms were obvious or—and Harry cut those thoughts off right there.

This was important. He needed to focus on important things. Not the stupid problems he had with blood family that treated him worse than a dog.

A loud huffing sound came from overhead as the great dragon emerged from the foggy, haze-like surroundings to draw closer to him. It curled up around his small form, tail flicking out to complete a full-circle of protection around him.

Harry's heart flipped over. How was he supposed to handle something that made him feel so much?

The soft, gentle purring that started up was the final straw. Harry couldn't help it anymore. This had to be Quinn and it was just a bit too much in all the right ways.

Even now, in his own head, his own mindscape—Quinn was there. Helping, guiding and simply being. It hit every single little instinctive button that he hadn't known existed.

Slowly, cautiously, Harry leaned back until he could feel the faint warmth from that massive scaled body curled up behind him, supportively. He eased back until his entire body was pressed up against the dragon's side.

A pleased chuff came in between the purring.

Harry flushed with warmth all over again. They were only sitting there, really. Touching skin to scale and yet, it felt like coming home. Like stepping into a warm bath and feeling all the soreness of a long, hard day, melt away beneath a steady warmth that cradled him close.

A single, idle thought danced through his head and Harry reached out to grab it with both hands. It was the kind of thought he wouldn't have ever considered before, if it wasn't for the way that Maury had reached out and given so much of himself.

Had even caspered himself, for someone like Harry.

Just for Harry.

So that he'd have someone in his corner.

Blinking away the sudden appearance of tears, Harry sniffled, willing them away. He could get emotional over all of it later.

Much, much later.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he folded his arms across them and allowed himself to sink deeper into the tentative thoughts now taking root in his head. He wanted to work out the logistics of it.

He liked Quinn—and not just because he'd healed him and explained some of the confusing things about dragels and dragel society. He liked him simply because of the way that Quinn made him feel seen.

As if he wasn't invisible. As if his hurts, aches and pains mattered.

Maybe they did, now.

Maybe because there were people who cared—genuinely seemed to care—about his well-being and continued comfort. His Bonded. The Deveraines. Prince Raspen. Riven Cairothe, even—and that had been—his strange surroundings grew foggy.

Harry squinted up into the whitened haze, craning his neck back to try and see the dragon that was distorted behind the puffs of whiteness.

"...Quinn?" he tried, softly. "I wish you were one of my soulmates."

The haze parted and the dragon was no longer wrapped around him with its gentle purring. Instead, there was a vast emptiness.

His mindscape blurred and narrowed until there was a single spotlight ahead of him. A halo of light streamed down on that spot; the greenish tinge quite visible from a distance.

Slowly, almost robotically, Harry rose to his feet.

He walked and walked until the whitened spot grew bigger and brighter. The closer he drew, the clearer the image became.

And when the white light eclipsed everything, Harry could see.

Could see his Quinn standing there in front of him, his expression fragile and vulnerable. His clawed hands curled into his tracksuit, the jacket zipped up to hide his scarred neck. Blond hair pulled back into a topknot to keep it out of his face while he worked. The necklace peeking through at one spot. Teal eyes shimmering with such conflict.

The green glow grew larger, slowly overtaking the white fog, until it replaced it entirely. Quinn stood just out of reach, watching miserably as the green seemed to envelop him from head to toe.

Harry lurched forward. "Quinn-!"

HARRY'S MINDSCAPE - KALZIK GUESTHOUSE - HARRY X QUINN

Harry was not supposed to be able to reach him.

Panicked, Quinn flailed in the tenuous grasp of the mental connection that dumped him straight into Harry's mindscape.

There was no getting out of this, it seemed.

"Quinn—are you alright? I don't know what's happening but-" Harry, wonderful, kind-hearted Harry, stood almost within reach, separated by a shimmering disc of pale green energy. He looked so young in his mindscape, the tiredness that plagued him on the outside was now missing.

This was a Harry that was scarred, but free. Hurt, but healed. Battered by life, yet rescued by Fate.

He could see it now, from where he stood. The determined glint in those steady, emerald eyes. The stubborn set to Harry's jaw and the slightly braced stance, ready for what would come his way next.

It almost broke his heart.

Because here was Harry, worrying about him.

I'm fine, he said, coaxing the energy around him to spell out the letters overhead. What else could he say, but that everything was alright.

Harry's face fell. "Quinn," he said, softer. "If you're fine, why do you look like you're about to cry?"

Wetness trickled down his cheeks and Quinn found himself swiping at tears with an oddly bewildered sense of detachment. He'd forgotten he could do that.

"Quinn?"

Harry was closer now, sitting on the other side of the green energy disc, a hand splayed across the glowing surface.

A choked sound came from his throat, the only kind of noise he could properly make. Quinn's knees buckled and he found himself kneeling in front of the desk, a steady longing growing in his heart.

He wanted this.

Wanted it so badly, even if he had no right to it. He wanted to reach out and take that hand that reached out to him.

To have a lifetime of reaching for Harry and Harry reaching back. To stay beside him, no matter what came their way, steady and supportive through it all. To share in his joys and sorrows, celebrating the good times and mourning the bad ones.

He wanted. Oh, how he wanted!

To just hold him, every now and then, to feel him in his arms, warm, solid, alive. To keep him close, drowned in his warmth and scent. To take care of him in the best ways he knew how—feeding him good food, healing any injury he could and taking such good care of his heart that even the Immortals would have to record it in their archived records.

"Quinn?" Harry whispered, pressing harder against the green disc of energy separating them. "It's alright," he said. "It's alright."

And then somewhere, in the middle of it, the words came through crystal clear.

"I wish you were my soulmate."

His world tipped into blinding green and white light pouring in from all sides. The disc shattered between them, the swirling haze of a mindscape tearing itself apart and rebuilding from the ground up.

For one full second, he could've sworn that Harry's fingers had brushed against his. That they'd actually connected, reaching for each other.

But he'd heard Harry loud and clear. Words that could not be erased from his memory.

And Quinn?

Quinn could not unhear them.

ILSA AND BHARIN - EARTH - RESIDENCE OF DELORES UMBRIDGE

Bharin Kalzik stepped out of the portal, following Ilsa Deveraine on the invisible path she'd already determined. He'd wondered when she would enact the full weight of her transferred Alpha Rights from Theo.

It soothed his darker Gheyo nature to see that she was actively protecting the heart and soul of such a new, young Circle. Harry certainly deserved that and so much more. He'd hoped that Quinn would at least consider offering a hand of courtship, especially after witnessing the physical aftermath of the great lengths Quinn had gone to—solely for Harry's sake.

There was something there. A subtle thread of connection, a promise of something more—if either of them would act on it. He'd observed their interactions, quietly, from the sidelines, noting that even Surajini struggled not to interfere, though Hiram had calmly nixed that possibility before it could turn into outright matchmaking.

He knew Quinn.

Knew that his youngling—because truly, Quinn was every bit his child, regardless—deserved a lot more than he believed he did. The countless times he'd held himself back, stepping down or moving away to allow someone else to take over had left Bharin struggling to understand.

Renouncing an Alpha rank was not without repercussions, but it had demanded more changes of all of them than originally expected. Even Alejandro, for all of his brashness and outward dislike of him, had begrudgingly toned it down when directly requested, unable to admit that Quinn's changes had affected him as well.

They were the last of the Alpha children and it had showed so much in their younger years with a strange sort of viciousness that was decidedly out of place now. Bharin twitched, rubbing at the claim marks lining his well-muscled arms.

Something was bothering Surajini and she wasn't quite blocking it from all of them yet. That detail meant that she wanted them to be aware—for him to be aware—just in case she needed him.

It wasn't often that she requested anything of him and it made him take notice of it. Tucking away that thread of thought for later, he let his senses seep out, forming an invisible network around the changed surroundings.

Like his namesake, The Puppeteer, it required a heightened sense of awareness of his surroundings at all times.

There was a silence in the air that he hadn't expected, based on the last time they'd visited the living space of one Delores Umbridge. He had no delusions as to why Ilsa Deveraine was returning now, though he did admire her restraint.

If it were him, despite his darker urges, there would've been zero hesitation in wiping her existence from the realms, if only to offer up an iota of penance for what she'd done to Harry.

Even thinking about it now, made his blood curdle. No youngling—no child—should ever have to suffer through the horrors that Harry had lived. Children were meant to be cherished. Loved, guided and encouraged to become the truth that lived within them.

He paused, briefly, as Ilsa's eyes flared a bright gold for the briefest of seconds. It was hard to miss her energy spiraling so close to out-of-control within his newly cast network. She was upset about something and he didn't have to be a mindreader to know the reason why.

"I did not think you would step off-realm so close to your trial," he said, softly. "I could have summoned her directly if you needed to work off your frustrations."

Ilsa gave a rather unladylike snort. "I wouldn't, normally," she agreed. "But as tempting as that offer is, I have more than a little steam I need to let off and if I take to the arenas right now, it'd be...messy. Very messy. Neither of my keepers would appreciate that."

He perked a brow at her wording, but said nothing. The Deveraine Twins were indeed the sorts of Submissives that he would go out of his way to never cross, no matter the circumstance. It fit to think that they would be unhappy at their ACE's inability to keep from leaving a bloody trail behind during such a sensitive time.

Matters within the courts were always extremely delicate and there was never any telling of how a matter might play out. Considering all options, he could hardly blame her for seeking an alternate outlet to express her famous temper.

"Indeed, I doubt they would."

Her lips twitched in a near smirk. "They're smart when they want to be and I knew what I was getting into. Mostly. They don't want to give our hand away before we need to, so off-realm is best for now." Her gaze turned appraising. "By the time Nevarah receives reports on my activities, it'll be too late to complain about them. Besides, I do believe I can trust you, Puppeteer?"

Bharin smiled, fangs showing. "You can. I would swear it on Quinn, if that is acceptable?"

A sliver of appreciation flashed in her eyes, before she hummed in acknowledgement. "More than acceptable."

He trailed after her, expanding his network with gradual strands of invisible energy. "What are you hoping to find? We did look over the entire place when we were last here."

"I know, but something's off about it. I can't ignore the fact that I feel something is missing. A very big piece of something. Just can't see what it is. Can't get a claw or fang into it." Her shoulders twitched again. "Feels as if it's hanging right over my head and I can't do a single-"

"You're not following just a hunch," Bharin said, slowly. It was almost easier to read what she wasn't saying than what she was. "You know something. Why am I here? Besides the obvious?"

"You're largely here to make sure I don't destroy a planet," Ilsa said, flatly. "Damage control, if you will. I'm here to at least take care of the one thing that Theo asked of me."

"You mean the one thing he asked on Harry's behalf?" Bharin asked, knowingly. "He'd do anything for him, wouldn't he?"

"That's simply who Theo is," Ilsa said, relaxing. "Harry is his world and when you see them together, it makes you want to protect them. I guess that's the instinct talking though."

"Or the heart," Bharin said, mildly. "There's no harm in caring a little too much." In fact, he thought that particular trait would balance out where Quinn was concerned.

"Perhaps. That isn't true for everyone though." Ilsa frowned at the thin, silvery sliver of energy that should have taken them straight to a certain doorstep of one Delores Umbridge. "You're sure this is the thread leading to her? It's rather—thin."

"Let me see," Bharin said, coming up beside her. He frowned at the glistening thread, noting that it was still present, but stretched taut.

As if someone had tried to break it.

As if someone had tried to move the one stitched to it.

Ilsa wasted no time in spelling the door open and making a quick sweep of the flat. Her golden eyes fluxed to a deep, dark brown, her jaw set. "She wouldn't have been able to move, right?"

"...yes," he said, slowly. "But at the same time, I had that-" he paused. "Her astral form. I can summon that now, if you like? It would likely have some of the answers we need. I was not aware that something had changed so drastically. The threads should have alerted me..."

"Please do whatever you need," Ilsa gritted out. She curled her lip in disgust at the still too-pink room and hideously clinging magic. There was simply something disturbing about all of it and she preferred not to think too deeply on the reason why.

It would set her already ruffled temper on a path of no return and despite Bharin's presence to keep her in check, there was still the possibility of accidentally severing things that ought not to be severed.

Like planets.

Bharin's magic scarcely took more than a few seconds to start the initial cast. Soon enough, he had a burning white flame hovering at waist height in front of him, a thin, wispy figure beginning to form.

A slight hum of interest came from Ilsa as she crossed over the room to stand beside him, watching curiously as the astral form of one Delores Umbridge came into view. The thin threads keeping her bound to the astral plane were thick and glowing, just as when Bharin had first stitched them into her.

His eyes darkened to near black. "Where is your physical body?" he intoned. "And why are you not where you should be?"

Astral Delores jerked and writhed in the summoning flame's hold. I-I can't...release...I-I command you...r-release me...release m-me...!

Bharin's smile turned dark. "You're not in a position to make requests of other people," he said, matter-of-factly. "And you didn't answer the question."

"Hogwarts?" Ilsa echoed in disbelief. "What in Ergen's name would she be doing at Hogwarts?"

"You know the location?" Bharin asked. He folded the threads carefully around his hand, weaving them into an even more complicated pattern than before. "It holds some significance for her. I haven't had an astral fight as much in a little while."

"Not that it's doing her any good," Ilsa smirked. It was fascinating to watch him work, especially considering the way his large hands manipulated such delicate threads.

"Indeed. Now, what's wrong with this Hogwarts place?" Bharin's magic flickered around his fingertips.

"...it's where Theo went to study his magic. It's a school. Like the Noir, Merlin and Ageis Academies, but more—rigid. You know how Noir encourages economic interests, Merlin works on pulling out the full magical potential and Ageis is based solely on Ancient magics and the Immortals?"

Bharin frowned. "I don't think I'm going to like this."

"Hogwarts is very much under the Earthly sense of their lack of open-mindedness, the pointless struggle for perfection and the age-old problem of discrimination in multiple ways and forms." She sighed. "He said he was used to it though and even when I had him enrolled in Ageis, it took almost six months to undo a fraction of the issues that place cultivated in him."

"Then why come back? Why not ask him to stay in Nevarah? He would've listened to you-"

"The same way Quinn listens to you?" She perked a brow. "That was rude of me. Sorry."

"...it's a good point," Bharin allowed, neutrally. Quinn was headstrong and determined—listening when it suited him or if he felt that he owed some sort of responsibility to the requestor.

He followed her out of the flat, taking note of Delores' protesting astral form drifting along above them. The woman was trying quite hard to break free, despite the inevitability of her situation.

Ilsa offered a half-smile in answer. "Here was his home. I took him from a place that didn't want him, but old habits die hard, I guess. He needed closure and this seemed like the best way to give it to him. I didn't expect him to return, then call me after bonding with Harry and fooling around with his password."

Bharin nodded, slowly. Her explanation filled in a few more gaps than he'd known before.

Another portal was carefully spun on Ilsa's talented fingers. The magic, pale blue, wove delicately around her fingers, gradually spiraling into a large, swirling disc of light that would take them to the desired destination.

A sweet, herbal scent clung to the air, a simple purification spell, just in case.

"Anyway. It's a school for magical children and-"

"Where he met Harry," Bharin said, flatly. The furrows in his brow deepened. He absolutely did not like where this was going. "Lady Ilsa."

"Just Ilsa," she hummed. "And yes to whatever you're thinking. It's right. All of it's right."

"A school did that to Harry?" Bharin bristled, scales lining his arms and nearly covering his face as his dragel nature pressed up against the thin threads of restraint.

"Well, it certainly didn't help, but I'm afraid they're not the only ones to blame. You'll hear about it in the trial, but think about it—before Harry went to school-"

"No," Bharin uttered, his voice tinged with despair. "He's a-"

"Child? Youngling? A young man forced to grow up well before his time because of incompetent adults and no support systems? Good support systems?" she corrected herself. "Yes. Theo's told me tales and I like none of them."

"And the boards or headmaster—whoever—they allowed this?"

"It isn't Nevarah," Ilsa said, simply. "They do not have treaties with us either and they would argue that it's for empowering the next generation, though I don't see anything positive coming out of training children to be soldiers in a war that shouldn't have started in the first place."

Bharin rumbled warningly.

Her smile was bland, but filled with sorrow. "I know, believe me, I know. Remember, you're here to keep me from throwing myself off the rails, as it is."

"Yes," he rumbled. "Damage control. Shall we?"

"Follow along," she said, easily.

"What's the name?"

"Of the headmaster? Theo said it was some kind of bore or door. Bumbledoor or Dumblegore-something or the other. He's a big deal in this world." Her head tilted to the side. "I can't quite remember and I don't really care."

Bharin's smile turned dark. "True. The name doesn't matter. Just the body, or should I say, the corpse?"

Ilsa smirked. "The corpse is fine." She spun her 'portal and set Hogwarts as the destination. Whatever they found there would hopefully be enough to entertain their bloodlust for a little bit.

LEWIS X SHADOW - NEVERAH - MAIN CITY MARKETPLACE

Weariness settled in every corner of his bones as Lewis shuffled along the walkway towards the marketplace stalls. He was tired, the day weighing heavily on his shoulders and all the little bits and pieces of information that were now crammed inside his brain.

It was too much, sometimes.

Lewis swore at his empty pockets and the equally empty air around him. He'd gotten distracted—through no fault of his own, thank you very much—and somehow, had managed to misplace Shadow yet again.

The little Nytura had perched on his shoulder, chirping and warbling along for a good hour as he ran errands and fielded messages from busy vendors and supply depots. Things were in full production for the requested Bloodstones and he was still left feeling as if he wasn't doing enough.

Granted, his entire Circle was making up for that in spades, in the way that they patrolled the distribution centers and production plants. It was just another detail that stuck in his Pareya brain, refusing to relinquish the tension it brought along with it.

Scrubbing a half-clawed hand through his hair, Lewis retraced his steps, muttering and grumbling all the while. He'd intended to visit the Royal Lodgings with the intent of leaving a message—before he'd gotten three calls and one shopping list.

Since the shopping list was from Cora, he'd immediately reshuffled his current day schedule to figure out when he could manage to order and pick up everything required. It was somewhere in between of those points that he'd lost Shadow.

The absence of the light, chattering chirps should've given it away, but he'd been preoccupied. The Bloodstone production was a very important and necessary responsibility for their Circle—and the Peverell Clan overall.

He turned the corner, sniffing the air when a particularly light scent wafted his way. That was odd. It wasn't any kind of a scent that he knew off-hand, but it was—dragel? Lewis slowed to a shuffle, head cocked to the side.

No, it was almost like a Hellhound? Hellcat? He couldn't pinpoint it beyond the fact that he was sure he'd recognized it before.

Another careful whiff allowed him to zero in on a bushy-haired young woman standing awkwardly in a group of older dragels, flustered by the attention showered on her as a redheaded Submissive pulled her into a hug.

His brow furrowed as he tried to reason out exactly what was wrong with the picture. Not the display of family or friendship. It was more specific, almost as if—oh.

Not a Nevarean native, eh? Lewis mused. That particular scent was only ever noted as 'off-realm' in his mind. He'd spent too much time close to the border factories, to label it as anything else. A twitch of his fingers brought the air currents rushing to his beck and call.

He pulled on them just enough to render his presence barely noticeable. Drifting along, parallel to their little group, he tried to keep his attention focused on Cora's list, instead of the strange conversation taking place.

None of it made sense. Bits and pieces about meeting friends, staying in their viewing box and so on. Normal things, except for he was fairly certain that he knew that Clan and that—oh.

Harry. It'd been Harry that had such a just-recently-off-realm scent.

Lewis sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to maintain his outward calm. Harry had talked about a lot of things—when his sullen Alpha wasn't around. It was his easy-going manner and genuine heart that had endeared him to Lewis in the first place.

Enough to take all the necessary steps that would have that seal removal taken care of as soon as possible. He made a mental note to poke at the issue again, before the day was over. The sooner Harry had it off, the sooner he could focus on things like filling out his Circle, preferably with a few more Air Bonded.

Maybe even enough to annoy that little Alpha...ha. It's his choice. I should respect that, even if he is an annoying little—is that a dryad? That's rare. Odd to see one walking about in the open like that. I thought they preferred to sink their roots into something and stay there.

Lewis paused in front of one of the market stalls, holding up his Clan preference card to pick up the usual round of raw materials kept in the back. He thanked the merchant, tipping well for the ease of the transaction.

That was one thing off of his list and now, onto the rest.

Cora certainly didn't do anything by halves and she wanted to be sure that she had certain things on hand, in case of an emergency. He wasn't sure he liked the fact that she was actively planning for an emergency.

The last time she'd done that, she was right. They hadn't taken her seriously and she'd paid the price in order to protect all of them.

His stomach clenched tight.

It was a price all of them would've gladly paid a thousand times over, if only it had meant that Cora wouldn't have to. What they lost because of their arrogant self-assurance was something that would haunt him, always, as a Pareya.

He'd failed to protect her.

It was one reason why he couldn't help the desperation that rose up within at the thought of leaving Harry alone to his own devices. Yes, he still had to be cautious—there had been countless others who had tried to cash in on the Peverell name, but this was the first one that had ever felt so genuine.

The only one that had passed the few personal tests and checks he'd put in place to be absolutely sure before summoning their Clan head. Sure, he'd submitted the request, but pushing it along during the Hunt had been his own prerogative.

He'd looked into those beseeching emerald eyes and found that his heart had slowly thawed from its cynical cage of indifference. There was so much he'd learned from Harry and still so much more to come. It was impossible to ignore that, he could feel it in his very bones.

Harry was the kind of soul that would change a world—no, a realm—without breaking a sweat. Without trying or even meaning to, simply by virtue of who he was. A fierce, but kind soul that tried to help and do no harm.

That kind of light was something that only showed when there was a true heart behind it. Lewis blinked away the sting of tears that had blossomed over such raw emotion. Now was not the time for that.

He could feel things later. Much, much later. Right now, he was supposed to be looking for that little Nytura, not thinking on missed futures, unfortunate ends and all of the unhappy feelings that accompanied them—or how much he wanted to help Harry, but couldn't, just yet.

Harry...Harry...Harry...I don't know what you're looking for, but there's a definite possibility that you've got Air Soulbonded somewhere. I hope you find them soon. From what your Circle said, it sounds like it was a soulscream, so it's likely that they're already here somewhere in the Hunt. Maybe I could arrange a few events? Or simply take you along with me on a few dinners or duels? Would your little Alpha even allow that? He seriously doesn't like me...no, wait. I'm getting ahead of myself here. Harry needs an ACE first. I should see if there's any Gheyo connections that are interested...no point in bearing the mantle of this name if I cannot use it for something good...

A child's happy shriek made him wince, turning to see the source of the noise. He caught sight of a fluffy-haired brunette, hiding behind a round-faced young man, clutching his arm as she yelped and ducked away from a flying little—ah!

Lewis began to work his way through the flow of customers, intent on reaching Shadow before the bushy-haired young woman from before, burst onto the scene, reaching up to snatch it straight out of the air.

He stopped in his tracks.

Before he could even think to call out, a veritable sea of redheads converged and in a flurry of magic, hasty charms and a few strained apologies, the entire group 'ported out from the marketplace.

The empty space mocked him, the reality of being so close to something, yet somehow so far, started the first stirrings of a headache. Lewis sighed. He rubbed his forehead.

He'd lost Harry's Nytura. Harry's Nytura. Vincent wouldn't be happy and the thought of having to explain the missing creature to Theo, set Lewis' fangs on edge. Their little Circle had so much to deal with already and he was loathe to add more to that burden.

Slowly, he counted to ten, measuring his breaths and sending a silent prayer to the cosmos for his deteriorating sanity. The scent of fresh fruit caught his attention and his Pareyic instincts perked up at the thought of a natural nutritional boost.

Reluctantly, Lewis returned his attention to the list. He didn't see any fruit on there, but maybe he could make an exception. Maybe he could send a crate of fruit to Harry—like a gift! Yes. That could work.

Nice fresh fruit. A few of the rare ones too. That would at least show that he didn't mean them any harm.

Lewis drooped at the thought of the crate being refused upon delivery. It was a gamble he'd have to take, depending solely on whether Harry's new Pareya could keep his little Alpha from a social snub—or personal dislike—by outright refusing the gift.

Still, he could worry about the rest of that later. If he didn't get everything on Cora's list, Vincent would take it out of his hide and he was not in the mood to appease his dominant Pareya.

THEO, CHARLIE & ETHAN - THE HARTWOOD FAMILY - NEVARAH

Ethan's head snapped up at the soft, quiet crooning sound from his mother. She stood off to the side of their little gathering, a tiny furrow in her forehead, a contrast to her otherwise serene expression. Her lovely braids were gathered into one of the sweeping golden headpieces that denoted her as an elite scholar accepted within the Safe Seven Realms and acknowledged by all Royals at court.

It lent her an intimidating aura, but to him, she was always his mother. His Mama. The one who had patiently taught him how to speed-write an essay before a midnight deadline and how to fold laundry while listening to a lecture through his headphones. All the little bits and bobs of brightness scattered throughout his childhood leading up to adulthood.

The furrow, though small, was reminiscent of a look he knew well. "Mama?" he asked, slipping over to her side.

Astrid pursed her lips, tapping one elegant finger along the corner of her mouth. "I don't mean to overstep," she began, delicately. "But why is he wearing a glamour?"

Ethan blinked. He followed her line of sight straight to Theo and felt his heart clench. Of course, it would be Theo. He'd been wondering what exactly was off with the quiet Alpha, but given that Charlie was currently commanding the social spotlight, he'd figured Theo was just resting in Charlie's shadow to recharge.

"...you didn't notice?" Astrid prompted, a beat later. "I would say he's tired, but there's a tension around him. What exactly did you say happened to your Submissive? For the Healing Trance, I mean. Are you sure he can be away from him?"

"We're keeping him at one of the Kalzik guesthouses," Ethan said. "In fact, Quinn Kalzik is watching him so we could come out to the Hunt."

The furrow deepened. "And there were no adverse reactions?"

"Not that I know of. When we stepped out earlier? That was to check in on Harry and everything's fine. Quinn even walked over to show us that he was still in a trance." His expression softened. "It's fine, Mama. Don't worry."

She shook her head, fondly. "I will always worry, because you are the little boy I remember who was always tripping over his own wings."

"Mama!" he couldn't help the whine in his voice. "They were very big and-"

"And magnificent," said Leonell, smoothly. He joined them, slipping an arm around Astrid's round middle, drawing her close for a kiss to the temple. "Your wings were magnificent."

"They are now," Ethan said, wryly. "They were a pain before." He eyed his Third parent with a hint of worry. "Everything alright?"

Astrid stifled a laugh. "He's worrying because I said I'd take over the speech for him at that awards luncheon in a bit. That's why I'm all dolled up and they're all chilled out."

"But you look lovely all dolled up," Kunal drawled, gravitating to their little cluster with ease. "Are we having a grill Ethan session?"

"We are not having a grill anyone session!" Ethan protested. "I don't need be grilled and neither do my Bonded!"

Predictably, his parents laughed in a mixture of parental amusement and clear fondness.

"We wouldn't interrogate them," Kunal said, eyes dancing with mirth. "Just—ask a few questions, is all. We already know not to scare off your precious-"

Ethan flinched.

Astrid stiffened at once. "Ethan, baby?"

The sharp lancing pain through his chest had stolen all the air from his lungs. He doubled over, hacking out a cough that hurt.

"Ethan?" Charlie's voice was strained. "I think we should—call Quinn?"

Ethan jolted under the spell-cooled hands of his parents fussing over him, straining to see Charlie and Theo. The sight of Theo crouched down on the ground, clutching his head, gave him enough of a reason to push his own pain aside.

"What happened?"

Charlie winced, fisting one hand in his hair and pulling at it, as if to ground himself. His eyes fluxed from a pretty, clear blue, to a darkened, stormy depth. "Something's happening," Charlie gritted out. "I feel—ow." He released his own hair to rake smoking fingers across his dress robes—directly over his heart.

"Barriers!" Leonell called, briskly. "Boys and girls-!" He gave three crooning chirrups and almost at once, the entire Hartwood viewing box quieted, then dissolved into a flurry of activity.

Seats were pushed aside, several different wards and magical barriers were thrown up in quick succession, while blankets and pillows were produced to set on the ground beside Theo.

Astrid immediately spelled her clothes into a protective style, sleeves drawn up, collar folded down, skirts gathered to the sides, so she could move easily. Kneeling beside Theo, she spelled two glowing golden orbs into her hands. One she held over Theo's head, a real-time scan slowly turning out a series of vital measurements, while the second orb was held over his stomach, gauging whether he'd eaten anything strange.

"You said something about a Kalzik?" Kunal wanted to know. He hovered anxiously behind his Bonded, watching with a critical eye. "Can you contact them—can we?" He caught Ethan easily in his large arms, guiding him down to the ground to sit on a pillow.

Roslyn was there at once, wrapping him quickly in a fluffy blanket, thumping three different healing charms over his head. Her gaze flicked up to Charlie and she patted the ground beside Ethan. "You—down here with them, just in case your Alpha's a little touchy about heights and hierarchies."

Charlie made no complaint, though he winced as he joined Ethan on the floor, leaning into his side, while reaching out to rest a hand on Theo's shoulder. "It feels—strange," he said, slowly. "Pain's fading a bit."

Ethan grimaced. "Mine's sort of stopped—this never happened before, did it?"

Charlie shook his head and winced at the movement. "No, never."

"Think it's the soulbond?" Leonell asked. He added healing charms to Charlie's softly flickering hair. "This is to help with nausea, potential migraines and a general curse removal, in case you've picked up negative energy from somewhere."

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, a minute later, almost in tandem with Theo's pained gasp. "It stopped—what was—I don't—Mama?"

"Right here, baby," Astrid hummed. She reached out, gently scrubbing a hand through his coarse hair. "You alright?"

"That really hurt—I couldn't—it hurt. Like nothing could ever be right as if-" his head snapped up, locking gazes with Charlie.

"Harry," Charlie breathed.

Ethan tore at the blanket, struggling to get free of it. "Quinn, we have to call-!"

"You will sit your little self down and breathe," Astrid said, firmly. "Kunal's calling," she nodded in his direction. "Main house, instead of the direct line, in case something's up with your friend and your Submissive."

"There seems to be something going on," Kunal said, gravely. He drew near, the hazy message bubble showing a connecting loop. "It's not reaching. You had a direct line?"

Ethan nodded. He held out a hand, waiting for the message bubble to be placed in his palm. It was easier to ignore the fact that his hand trembled than it was to acknowledge that something could've happened to Harry.

Their Harry.

A collective breath seemed to hold, waiting for the connection to take.

Theo gave a pained whimper, eyes rolling up in the back of his head as golden energy began to leak out of his body. A faint glow grew steadily stronger as his body relaxed and his magic took over.

"Eyes!" Astrid called, out.

The wards held as Theo glowed from brilliant, soul-searing light to pure supernova.

DAWNE AND PERYTON - ROYAL'S QUARTER'S, DAWN'S FLOOR - NEVARAH

"Psst—princess!" A whisper-soft voice caught her ear at the precise moment that Dawne turned the corner of the hall that led to her rooms.

She jerked around, sharp eyes roving across the walls and ceilings, before the faint buckle in the corner off to her left, shimmered and became visible.

"Perry!" She threw herself forward and into strong arms that caught her easily. Her gasp of surprise was muffled when she was easily spun in a circle, before squeezed into a hug once more.

"How's my favorite sister?" Air Royal, Prince Peryton, smiled down at her, his tall, freckled form as warm and inviting as she remembered from the last time she'd seen him.

He'd gained a few inches, but everything seemed just as she remembered—her favorite older brother.

The scent of fresh mountain air clung to him, along with the coolness that came from high altitude flying. His scales, a shimmering pearlescent baby blue, were visible from his neck, disappearing beneath the fancy high-collar of his dress robes. The pendant denoting his royal status was hidden beneath said dress robes, giving nothing away about his birth status.

"You came," she mumbled, pressing closer to him for the comfort that was readily given. Simply seeing him had caused a tightness inside of her chest to ease significantly. Peryton was always something of a calm center in the midst of all the turmoil that often accompanied a royal station.

"You called," he countered, fondly. There was warmth in his silver eyes as he studied her with care and concern that came from being an older sibling already used to the stresses of a royal court. "What kind of brother would I be if I didn't at least show my face?"

"I thought you'd be off-realm for another two years at the rate you were going!" Dawne avoided his gaze as her cheeks warmed. There was a slight knowing in those eyes and she'd been hiding some of her stress with a bit of a manic energy.

"Probably would have," he agreed, easily. "But it's the Hunt. I wanted to see everyone. They couldn't exactly refuse me." A flicker of mischief danced through his eyes, vanishing almost as quickly as it had popped up.

Dawne managed a small smile at that. She pulled away, stifling a giggle when he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and fell into step beside her, acting every inch of the perfect gentleman. "You're going to stay for the whole thing?"

"Have to. Especially since we're on lockdown. There's no way around that until it's over. Not worth the necessary permissions for the 'portals I'd need to get back," he said, unbothered. "It's been a while since I've visited anyway and I rather missed it."

"I missed you. Can't speak for the others, but—I did miss you. Things are always calmer when you're around."

He snorted. "We all have our talents. I'm sure you've done well. I saw your introduction for the Hunt via livestream. You did good."

The tops of her ears grew pink and Dawne managed a pleased smile. "The nerves were awful. I'm surprised I didn't trip over anything."

Peryton laughed. "You did good," he repeated, fondly. "And I saw that Soulscream thing with the Deveraines. That's pretty high-profile and quite an accomplishment to add to your arsenal."

"It was pure luck. I didn't even know the Imaldis Clan had a soul-oriented daughter. I mean, I knew she had the Casper's blessing and all that, but—Dahlia Deveraine?" Dawne sighed. "I nearly lost it."

He hummed, faintly in acknowledgement. "The Deveraines are their own brand of chaos. Always have been and probably always will be, just in different ways. Will you take them on as your retainers?"

"I hope to."

"...and I'm hearing a 'but' in there somewhere."

"I want to, but I don't know if they'll accept. It was—we haven't really treated them—we as the Royals, I mean. They're a good choice. One of the best. I'd have peace of mind like no other, if I had her behind me."

"So, you want them?"

"Arielle, yes."

"It's that simple then."

Dawne snorted. "I wish. It probably could be, but I'd have to do a few more things first, before I could ask her properly, in good conscience and all that."

"Really?" there was a teasing tone to his voice, as he smiled down at her, fondly.

"Is it bad that I've already considered it?"

"How so?"

"They're young and I'm sure they'd appreciate a less restrictive role, considering what will fall to their shoulders if Paielda-"

"Paielda will always be loyal to our crown, you know that," he said, firmly. "There's nothing to be worrying about as far as they're concerned. It's a mutually beneficial relationship for both sides and she occasionally will work well with a Circle that she appreciates."

"And you think she'll work with them?"

"I think she'll be proud to work alongside her own protégé. She wouldn't have let her get to the Alpha transformation point, if she had doubts. It's not like you're pulling in a green Circle right off the circuit before their first go-around."

"True," Dawne said, slowly. "I guess it just—it caught me off guard."

"So were a lot of others," he said. "Make sure you show her support if you want her to be guarding your court. I expect you'll have to add a decent bit of courtship in there, no matter what you choose, especially if you want to stay on their good side. Gheyo Circles like to know they're wanted and appreciated."

She winced. "Unfortunately, I think that's the area where I won't have any issues at all. Paielda's stuck close to court because she was the only one available. I didn't—we couldn't—have her off-realm, but with them. They have options and I worry they won't want something as boring as staying in Nevarah..."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Peryton frowned. "They're so young."

"Says you," Dawne tried to joke. "We all know what we're getting into when we agree to these things."

"Knowing and accepting are two different things," he said, simply. "But as long as you are clear and honest with each other, then do what you must. It will do none of us any favors if you ignore what has to be done."

Dawne nodded, seriously. "I understand. Thanks."

He patted her hand, lightly. "Show your support so there is no doubt, alright?"

"I know. I will." She bit her lip. "So—you're back! I missed you. Are you sure they could spare your genius mind?"

He snorted a laugh, a faint silvery glow enveloping him from head to toe. "They'll manage. Whining and griping a bit, but they'll manage."

"How's the project?"

"Slow-going, but decent. Rebuilding takes time. There were—there are—a lot of hurting people. We do what we can."

"A perfect, diplomatic answer," Dawne said. But the attempt at levity, fell quite flat when her brother pinned her with another knowing look. "What?"

"You're sulking," he said, amused. "Has no one paid any attention to you at all?" He patted her head, ignoring her quiet growl of irritation at the gesture.

Dawne flushed. "I've had too much attention in the past few hours. You don't have to make it sound like I'm a little-"

"Mum or is it Meena again?"

"Stop it!" She poked his arm with one blunted claw, slightly mollified when he winced theatrically. "When did you even get in, anyway? Does anyone know you're here?"

"A little while ago. I've turned in my token, but I've yet to meet-and-greet, officially."

"Mom's going to yell," Dawne sang out. "Seriously. When did you get here? I didn't even see your request for realm admission."

He winked. "I sent it straight to Dad. He probably wanted to surprise you. I came down through The Dive. It's quite the hotspot this Hunt. Lots of pretty people with lots of pretty wings."

Dawne groaned. "You're awful!" she said, nudging him again. "I haven't even had the chance to sneak out and take a look myself. That's not fair!"

"Well, now that I'm here I can cover for you," he said, grandly. "You might even find someone since Meena's off limits."

"Perry!"

He dodged her half-hearted swat. "Besides, I thought I'd find you first so I could deliver your little present and all that. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"You got me a present?" Dawne practically sparkled. Her eyes lit up with pure delight. "What is it? Can I see it? Did you bring it with you now?" she leaned back, looking behind him. "Where'd you put it?"

"Hey, hey—give a guy a break!" Peryton protested, clearly amused. "And don't get your hopes up. I said it was little."

"Which means you have it with you. I don't care what it is. If it's from you, I'll love it. Now cough it up."

He blinked, once, twice and then pulled her into another hug, squeezing tight. "Is Mum giving you a hard time again?"

Dawne froze.

"You know, you can tell her to back off. She just worries a lot. That's all. You don't have to deal with it if you don't want to."

Her fingers curled around the sleeves of his fancy robes. "I can't," she muttered. "It's too—I just can't. I'm not—as brave as you."

"You're brave when and where it counts," he shot back. "Tell her that she's putting too much pressure on you. She needs to know. You can't back-seat Royal because you feel like it. This is supposed to be your first Hunt with support."

She huffed out a laugh as they resumed walking arm in arm again. "If it was that easy, I'd already be courting without issues and prepping for fancy events, instead of arguing about seating policies and signing a truly impressive amount of paperwork. Arielle—why does everything require paperwork?"

"A necessary evil," Peryton agreed, solemnly. "I envy you not."

Dawne sniffed. "That's because you were smart and refused the Crown. You could've warned me, you know!"

"And miss out on all of this?" he gestured to her. "Never! Besides, The Crown chooses with purpose. You know that. I was a candidate, but not the chosen for a reason."

"And I'm sure it was a stupid reason," Dawne grumbled. "What was it that I had that you didn't?"

"...a sense of humor? It could be worse, you could've been Merrow."

"You take that back!" Dawne slapped his shoulder, fighting a laugh. "And for your information, Al's crowned now. Literal king and everything."

"Oh?" Peryton perked up. "Didn't think he had it in him, the scaly bastard. Did he surface alone or with his queen?"

"With his—what? No. He—wait. He wouldn't have—well, he probably would have, but he didn't invite anyone! He can't be bonded already!"

Peryton smirked. "He's a Merrow. Why wouldn't he? Besides, he probably knew you'd be obligated to gift him something or the other on behalf of the element or whatever. Merrows choose their Royals through combat and you have to bond before they gift you the crown, if I remember correctly. Naturally, if he's crowned, there must be a Queen, regardless of whether he said anything or not."

Dawne stifled a groan. She skimmed her fingers over the moonstone outside of her bedroom door to admit them to her living quarters. "I completely forgot about that," she muttered, dropping his arm to head straight to the couch, flopping face-down into the cushions.

"How do you forget literal court rules for ascension to the throne?"

"You're making sense. Stop it," she grumbled.

"Ah. Does that mean none of the rest of you have any prospects? Besides Meena, of course."

"Quit. It." Dawne shot him a glare. "I asked her point-blank and she practically—well, nevermind what she didn't do, but I highly doubt any of the rest of us will have a complete Circle this Hunt. Probably by the next. They're putting together that stupid list again."

Peryton winced. "I hate that list," he said, feelingly. "Half of the names on that list are so high up in social standing that they have no idea what it feels like to be anything else. They'll be terribly out of touch and forcing them to get to know their realm better, never ends well."

"Ugh. I know. I mean, some of them might not be so bad, but-"

"But you have hopes and dreams?" he teased.

Her sad gaze fixed on him, silently.

"You're working too hard," he said, concerned. "You've always been good with details until you get overwhelmed. Then it's just too much of a constant headache. Have you been pacing yourself?"

"...if you had any idea at all what we've been through since this whole mess started, then you wouldn't ask me that."

"That bad, huh?"

"Awful. Simply awful." Dawne twisted to the side, squinting up at him. "Don't just stand there. Sit somewhere. You're too tall. Why are you so tall and I'm so short?"

He stifled a laugh. "Genes. I got the tall genes." He settled on the floor, whisking his outer robes off to drape over the arm of one chair in the corner. "Want to talk about it?"

Misery reflected in her dull gray eyes. "You won't like it," she said, at last. "It's not a pretty story and the whole—well, it's a mess. There's so much more going on than I can explain."

"I literally have nothing better to do," he said, kindly. "And what kind of brother would I be, if I didn't at least try to hear you out?"

"That is...seriously messed up," Peryton said, at last. His expression was a complicated mix of frustration, disbelief and deep sadness. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

Dawne rolled over, cuddling a throw pillow close to her chest. "It's not your fault. It comes with the Crown, right? I just have to—stand my ground and not cry my eyes out in front of an audience."

"Doable, but still painful," Peryton said, simply. "Want any help?"

"How?" She squeezed the pillow tighter. "Perry, I can't ask you to-"

"I'm offering," he said, easily. "I can talk to Mum, if you want? Or I could at least talk to the Deveraines."

"They don't know you. They won't talk to you if they don't know you." Dawne hesitated. "Same for Harry and his Circle." She twitched when a message bubble popped up within reach.

"What is it?"

"A notification for extenuating circumstances," she mumbled. Tapping on the glowing blue bubble, she waited. "...alright. Not surprised, but still unexpected."

"Dawne?"

"Harry's Alpha, Theo. He's requesting a delayed trial on account of Harry being in a healing trance."

Peryton frowned. "He's in a healing trance?"

"First I've heard of it."

"...for how long?"

"Theo says—three days?"

"That's quite a healing trance. How badly was he injured?"

Dawne bit her lip. "See, that's the thing. I don't know that it's a physical injury, you know? I think a lot of his hurts—his wounds, really—are the worst kind. The ones you can't see."

Peryton's frown deepened. "Sounds about right, considering everything else they've been through. Maybe you should set up an alert every time his name crosses the higher end of a danger spectrum."

A stifled laugh slipped out. "I have a feeling if I do that, I'll never get any rest. He's practically a trouble magnet and believe me, he's trying very hard not to be."

Peryton's lips twitched in a near smile. "I see. An alert all the way on the life-endangering side, then? That might do it." He sighed. "Or not. It's your choice. Tell me more about this trial?"

"It gets ugly," she offered. "Ugly and wrong—I just feel so helpless, you know? Like, I know it didn't happen while I was—when the crown was passed—but it still feels, I still feel, responsible for it. For them. I wish it hadn't happened."

"That's the side effect of caring," he said, simply. "Of truly caring."

"What do I do, Perry? How do I do this without hurting everyone?"

"You pick and choose," he said, holding up a hand. "I know you don't like to think about it that way. But the truth of the matter is that someone is always going to get hurt and sometimes the only thing we can do is to be right there beside them when it happens."

"...I have to attend."

"I'd be upset if you didn't." Peryton was quiet for a moment, allowing the silence to settle comfortably between them. He pulled lightly on the air currents in the room, coaxing some freshness back into the atmosphere.

"He's technically in Raspen's court because of Theo," Dawne explained. "He's Ilsa Deveraine's and Harry has ties to the Evanson Clan-"

"Earth, right?"

"Fire leanings after they stepped down. The issue with their Beta?" Dawne rolled over onto her side, one arm hanging off the edge of the couch to trail on the soft carpet on the floor. "When their original Beta passed on—he courted a Fire Beta. Soulmates. She was the mother of that famous one—Juniper, I think?"

"Ah. So that's why they stepped down as one of the Chief Clans?" Peryton sighed. "How far did you have to dig for that?"

"Far enough. You know, Raspen tries a lot—his element is very grounded, but there's also a lot of twisted things that have happened and it's no one's fault, but-"

"It is no one's fault," Peryton stressed. "Things happen. As much as I'd like to think that it's for a reason, it isn't always the case. Sometimes bad things happen just because bad things happen. It's our own decision to try to make something good out of it. Are you going to back Raspen or just showing up there for moral support?"

"The Deveraines," Dawne said, simply.

Peryton frowned. "Dawne, I adore you, but you know that you have to be impartial there?"

She sighed, loudly. "That's why I'm having my existential crisis now."

"Good plan. Might I suggest limiting the audience for public entry? Make it private or of high-standing, so it doesn't turn into a spectacle."

"That's—a good idea," Dawne said, sitting up, slowly. "Any other good ideas like that?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure we can think of a few things."

MOLLY AND SADARA & CO + HERMIONE AND OTHERS - MAIN CITY MARKETPLACE - NEVARAH

There were three things in her life that Sadara Prewett had always wished she could redo. One, was turning down that gorgeous Fire Mage from the Roswolde Clan, two, was allowing her twins, Gideon and Fabian, the rascals—to plan their own bonding ceremony—it'd been a nightmare and three, was allowing her youngest daughter, Mollandria, to sneak off-realm with her self-proclaimed soulmate, a blood traitor.

She'd gone around the market stall to show Hermione a possible title and instead, had come face to face with her missing daughter that looked equally wrecked to see her.

Arielle's sweet saving grace...Sadara's maternal instincts rushed to the surface in a flurry of emotion, unable to help the way she instantly catalogued Mollandria's current state. She was injured, somehow, nothing requiring immediate emergency medical attention—but the severity of it seemed to have taken a toll on her.

From the slant of her shoulders, to the way her eyes had lost their natural spark and the slight tremor of her left hand. It almost seemed as if the years had done worse to her, than to Sadara.

Gone was the youthful glow and fiery spark that she'd once fondly recalled. Now, she stared at a burned-out husk of a dragel. The last time she'd seen her daughter, Mollandria was young, fiery and filled with light, a passion burning in her veins. She'd been headstrong, but kind-hearted and Sadara had loved to see that she'd taken her own magical talent—Family Magic.

But now, in the furrow of her wrinkled brow and the softness of her gait, it was clear to see that age had touched her and stress had wrought its cruel hand in whatever struggles and obstacles she'd been through.

It was a little bit of instinct that had her pushing Hermione behind her, a subtle gesture to protect the little earth witch. She hadn't even realized she was doing it, until Hermione's hand—warm, but hesitant—slipped into hers.

Sadara squeezed it gently, reassuringly, but kept her gaze fixed ahead, still cataloguing, waiting to see what would happen next. Mollandria had left after a fairly volatile argument and given her own temper—well, Sadara wasn't quite sure what she expected in such a crowded space.

A feather-like brush of magic twined around her. Sadara's instincts flared yet again and she read the defensive posture for what it truly was.

Fear.

Mollandria was afraid of something and while that wasn't a topic she wanted to broach straightaway, perhaps, it was the easiest, safest route.

At least, that was her thought when she caught sight of a slender, redheaded child half-hidden behind her.

A girl? Sadara's heart flip-flopped in her chest, a pleased purr fighting its way up her throat, demanding to be let out. She stubbornly tamped it down, thinking of whether there was an actual threat present or if they were simply and—oh.

Her hair was on fire.

Of course, it was.

Sadara sighed. She tossed her head, lightly, flipping the flaming strands over her shoulder with practiced ease. It'd taken years to grow out of the habit of actually putting up her hair, knowing that her emotions were far too deep to keep from manifesting in some outward manner.

There was the slightest, minute flinch, before Mollandria's shoulders set into a stiff line. Her own hair remained limp and bedraggled, half-pinned up behind her, no longer flowing over her shoulders like the rich, auburn waves they once were.

Her heart clenched.

"...Mollan-"

"It's Molly, now," Molly said, stiffly. Her wary gaze flicked around the market stalls, taking in their surroundings and zeroing on the way that Sadara made no move to close the gap between them.

"Molly, then," Sadara said, quietly. "Shall we take this someplace quieter?"

She hadn't thought it possible for Molly to grow even more defensive, but apparently, it was. Her temper sparked, faintly and she reigned it in.

"Or we can stay here until your other half arrives," Sadara said, pleasantly. "And perhaps—lunch or something?"

"...he's not...coming," Molly said, pained. She turned away. Her jaw clenched. "I-I don't know where else—to go."

Sadara's heart clenched. Her breath hitched.

Oh dear.

It took a bit of quick thinking and a very deliberate shift in her specific brand of Family Magic to wrangle her Circle and Molly's friends into agreement to meet in the neutral space of a large family restaurant.

Her Pareya were quick on the uptake and offered to give them some privacy for an hour, before descending. The time limit hung over them like an unwanted footnote that she couldn't ignore.

She was lucky they hadn't spotted Molly, though it probably helped that there were several disguise and misdirection spells layered over. But it was just Molly.

Her Molly.

And Molly had never been able to lie to her.

Wariness was at its peak and even though Sadara dearly wanted to scoop Molly into a hug and hold onto her for the next decade, at least, it was not the most appropriate action, given that Molly had very carefully positioned herself to be a literal shield to a petite version of herself that could only be a daughter.

Sadara's heart ached and ached just to realise how much she'd missed. There were no other children present, but she could already read the energy pouring off of the nervous young woman. Her hair was just as red as Molly's had been in her younger years and she stuck close to her mother, in a way that was achingly familiar.

The Golden Top family restaurant had several large private dining areas for equally large Circles, catering to those with big appetites and hordes of children accompanying those large Circles.

Mouth-watering food scents hung thickly in the air, some of the ordered dishes being cooked on tabletop grills built into the dining tables. Happy Pareya were visible ferrying food back and forth from the main kitchen to various customers.

A cheerful, upbeat atmosphere brightened up the space, blending easily with the semi-transparent walls of color that served as practical, magical dividers. With that, it was easy to block out a custom-sized space to suit every Circle.

Their servers led them to a large square blocked off by pale green and orange, colors that gradually grew stronger as the semi-transparent panels of magic grew solid and more vibrant, allowing privacy and a sense of safety.

Menus were keyed up; drinks were poured and bowls of finger food snacks were positioned within easy reach.

Sadara waited until both of their servers had left—young Pareyas learning to indulge their instincts of caring and helping without overwhelming or smothering their own family. It warmed her heart just to see their happy, bright faces.

Such a contrast with the memory of Molly in her head and the world-weary woman sitting across from her now. Familiar thrums of energy alerted her to the fact that her family—namely, a certain pair of Twins—had just received the news of their meeting.

Inwardly, she winced. Perhaps she should have directed her Pareya to be more discreet in alerting the rest of her Circle, but she'd been a little—distracted.

Alright. More than a little.

It was an excuse to keep from trying to break the awkward silence, because everything she wanted to ask wasn't the way she wanted to start a conversation.

The silence was strained.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking as if she desperately wanted to sit on the other side of the table, the only real reason preventing her, being the little scaled Nytura currently curled up in her lap.

That was a whole other conversation that Sadara was not ready to touch just yet.

She mentally noted Molly's friends, checking them off in the simplest of ways—an elderly dryad that looked withered to the bone, a chubby-cheeked young man with a soft-faced succubus hanging onto him, and a cluster of other younglings that she couldn't place at first glance.

"...you can order something?" Sadara tried, at last. "Whatever you'd like. We'll be here for a while."

"Will we?" Molly challenged. Her shoulders squared; her posture stiff. "I'm surprised you'd chance it. I thought you were—I thought you said that if I walked away, that was it."

"I did," Sadara said, simply. "I was hurt."

"So was I!"

"And I admit that I could have handled that better."

A low whine slipped out, before Molly clamped her mouth shut. Anguish burned in her eyes, as they lightened to a near orange hue. "I don't understand," she said, slowly. "I thought—I just—I don't know where to start. I don't know what to ask. I don't know what to say anymore. Everything hurts and I-"

Magic sparked visibly overhead, tell-tale flames sparking in fluffy hair, while embroidered threads snapped and curled.

Each flame manifested differently, darker and lighter hues mixing together.

"Yes," Sadara said, simply. " We have a lot to talk about and I, for one, would prefer not to do it on an empty stomach. Not to mention that I've only bought an hour with the rest of your parents, so what little time we have uninterrupted, is exactly that."

Molly blanched. "An hour?"

"My dearest, you've been—we've missed you and after you left, there was nothing. No letters. No calls. No messages. We've been very—I've worried about you many times throughout the years."

"Then why didn't you ever reach out?" Molly demanded. Her eyes grew watery. "If I was that important, why wasn't I worth reaching out for?"

Sadara's expression grew pained. "You were. Believe me, you were. I tried several times, but—nothing ever went through."

"And you didn't think that was strange?" Molly's voice cracked.

"I thought it was very strange," Sadara said, quietly. "But I also could not leave to check on it personally."

Molly curled closer to Ginny, who remained silent and still beside her. "Really?"

Sadara's gaze flicked between them, her eyes downcast. "Molly—how do you think the rest of them fared? Gideon? Fabian?"

The paleness returned. Molly quivered. "They're…here?"

"I expect you'll see them in a bit."

CEDRELLA AND CO. - CEDRELLA'S ESTATE – NEVARAH

Cedrella was silent as Mariana's portal shuffled them off to Nevarah. She said nothing as the magic washed over them in powerful, shadowy waves. The only hint of emotion that shone through was the tight grip on her husband's hand.

Septimus, to his credit, did not flinch, though the clawed tips were undoubtedly drawing blood in little crescent-shaped divots on his pale skin. He gave a startled huff when the magic retreated, depositing them on the overgrown grassy field of a front yard. Black feathers flared up around his neck in a protective ruff.

An odd silence seemed to settle over the entire plot of land, bringing a strange stillness with it.

One breath, two breaths, and a third, before Cedrella pried her hand from his and stalked forward through the overgrown underbrush. They were standing before a massive ruined wreck of a manor.

Or perhaps, it was an entire estate.

She was privately pleased, for Mariana had actually put some thought into their destination. Her original expectation was to land either directly in the centre of the main city or somewhere along the edges of the Shadow section.

This was much better than she could've hoped for. To land at the edge of her own home was a singular delight, despite the obvious lack of care and maintenance over the entire space.

Thick fog clung to the corners of the cracked stone and broken glass. Fat vines of decaying greenery wormed their way through the chips in the foundation and gaping holes in the walls. Thorns were visible in patches, where flowers had once grown.

The scent of damp and rot permeated the air, drenched in an unmistakable overcoat of swamp-stench, likely on account of the algae-and-debris-filled streams, that were really more of clogged waterways now. Several of them cut through the front yard, now heavily overgrown and overtaken by the land's attempt to reclaim itself.

It was like a forgotten world of crumbling paradise.

Wading through the dry, crunching grass, Cedrella moved this way and that, until she found what she was looking for.

Moss-covered stone squares half-buried in the ground with runic carvings down the front. It was a lovely basic ritual setup, but now, overgrown by way of nature reclaiming what once belonged to it.

She dropped to a crouch, reaching down with careful fingers to brush over the visible portions of the carvings. It would work, if she was careful. The runes were all intact. It would simply be a matter of magic and that was always workable.

"...Ceddy?" Septimius ventured. He shifted uncomfortably in the shadowed aura of the decrepit estate. "Are you sure this is where the-"

"Found it," she said, waving him off. "You might want to stand back a way."

"How far?"

"Far enough to cast a shield. I can't say how long this will take, but it'll save us some work in the meantime." Cedrella rolled her neck to the side, cracking her knuckles for good measure. A small patch of shadows sprouted at her feet, creeping up to flutter at her ankles.

Bilius stiffened, shuffling closer to his father, his gaze wary. "What are you going to do now?"

"Clean the place up, of course. We have to stay somewhere tonight and the Hunt's underway. Too pricey to stay anywhere else and that's if there's room. Off-realm guests get first pick."

"It's that bad?" Septimius asked. His dark, feathered wings stretched out from behind him, gathering his children and grandchildren closer in around himself. Magic sparked in frosty spirals of pale-white-blueness.

"The Hunt is a big deal," Cedrella said, simply. "I'll explain the finer points of it later, but yes. It is. There's very little extra space because every year, it grows. No matter how much they expand and shift, the realm does grow, you know."

Percy looked rather queasy, his greyed expression no better than when they'd landed. The initial arrogance that was there was now overwritten by a strange sort of hollowness. He clutched at Arthur's sleeve, shoulders hunching forward.

Arthur himself, looked several shades of pale and uncertain. He kept his children close, his gaze wary as Septimius cast a large protective bubble over all of them.

It was clear to see the reason why, because no sooner had it been properly cast and anchored, did Cedrella release her own magic.

A powerful, massive wave of pure darkness radiated out of her. It swelled and grew, racing out to the edges of the property and towards the ruined mansion.

Her voice rang out, clearly at first and then somehow, sounding a tad off. Eerie, almost, with the lilting edge as she sang a little rhyme to direct the magic of her Shadow Element.

"All the little shadowed feet, walking after me, all the little shadow eyes, watching in surprise, all the little shadow hands reaching out, helping me, all the little shadow people, the shadows of me be."

Arthur shuddered, drawing Percy close. "What is—how-?"

Beside him, Septimius fared little better. His shield held, wavering once, before Felix and Bilius hurried to help. His wings shuddered, but remained curled forward around them all.

Eventually, the darkness faded away.

The light from the shield gave off a lovely, muted glow, as the shadowy haze melted away to show the results of Cedrella's magic.

"You can come out now," she called to them, her voice raspy. "It's safe enough."

The shield flickered and pulsed, before it clicked off. Septimius made it three steps before he wobbled.

Bilius was the closest one to catch him, a scowl on his face. "What kind of-!" he began.

Only for Cedrella to cast a lazy smirk in their direction. "Sorry love," she said, holding out a hand to pull Septimius to her side. "Haven't done that in a while," she murmured, burying her face in his feathered hair and breathing deeply.

His hands shook, minutely, before they came up to rest on her hips, drawing her even closer to him. Leaning down, he allowed her to pull whatever strength and comfort she wished from his presence.

A few minutes passed, before Cedrella finally straightened up. Her gaze was clearer now, even if her face seemed thinner and slightly hollowed. "Welcome home," she said, quietly. "Welcome to Salven Haven. The Casper that protects this space is Salven. Beware of it. Treat them as a—guardian spirit, hm?"

Septimius made a sound of disgruntlement in his throat.

Her lips twitched into a sad smile, before she reached up to scratch a hand through his feathers. "He's a good spirit. I promise."

"How can any spirit be good?" Felix demanded. He bristled, tiny feathers sprouting along his cheeks.

Cedrella sighed, pulling away from Septimius, even though his hands reached after her. "We need to talk," she said, calmly. "I believe it's long overdue. But first—food, and probably a good bath. I haven't had a decent hot bath in years and I fully intend to eat my weight in fruit, in between of drowning under a very nice, very deep hot spring. This way. I need to key all of you to the wards on the way in."

"All of us?" Arthur couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "After all this time-"

"Yes, Arthur. All of you," Cedrella said, matter-of-factly. "If I don't, the wards will kill you. This estate was meant to be a last resort. A personal fortess, if you will, for my Clan. It is safe, if you follow its rules."

Percy choked.

Bilius patted him on the shoulder and fell into step behind Septimius. This was a development he hadn't expected at all.

ARTHUR AND CO. - CEDRELLA'S ESTATE - NEVARAH

The inside of Salven Haven was quite different from its ancient exterior. Of course, there were still plenty of lavish hints making its rich roots known, but the decor was done in tasteful slivers of black, burgundy and rich navy hues.

Hallways filled with flat portraits and gilded busts on marbled pedestals were visible through some of the parted velvet curtains, as Cedrella led the way through a massive, open foyer and a circular front lobby.

Marbled floors and tapestry-covered walls were examples of wealth, status and more. Arthur was sure he'd seen a few enchanted items instead of busts, on some of the gleaming pedestals.

A warm, inviting atmosphere filled the air and despite the silence, it was comfortable. Cedrella seemed to lose years of stress as she moved, strolling through the maze of halls to an overwhelmingly large kitchen.

Gleaming countertops and strangely modern appliances were thrown together in a sleek design, with the odd magical adaption visible here and there.

"Seats by the counter," Cedrella said, briskly. "I'll order something in, but it'll be easier to talk here instead of opening up one of the war rooms."

"War rooms?" Bilius managed. His wings unfurled with a snap and he hissed, eyes flickering blue, then red.

"This was—is—the main family estate for Blackthorne," Cedrella said, quietly. "I maintained it when they moved up to the fire mountains. The Shadows were not—particularly kind, given the number of hellhounds at the time. I liked it here, so I stayed. Mariana—Lady Mariana—was kind enough to give me a place in her court. Unofficial as it was, at the time. I took it and hosted them here. I had it closed down when I left."

"Magic repaired all of this?" Septimius wanted to know.

Her lips twitched. "I'm practically all magic, darling. What else did you expect?"

The pained expression on his face said more than his mouth would have. Instead, he folded his hands atop the counter of the kitchen island, not quite trusting himself to take a seat just yet.

"Sit," she reminded, tapping the counter. "And if there's something you feel like eating, now's a good time to mention it." She dug through a drawer on her side of the island, pulling out a handful of creased take-out menus. "Maybe it's better if you all just took a look at it anyway..."

"Mum-!" Felix protested, lowly.

She shrugged. "We'll have to talk," she said, quietly. "And there's a lot of explanations on both sides, I expect, but we're also going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable and make sure we're in the right headspace for it."

"How does that matter now?" Arthur snapped, unable to help himself. "What good does any of that-"

"Arthur," Cedrella said, sharply. Her eyes flashed darkly. "Don't push."

"And why not?" he challenged. "You told me—you made me-!"

"I didn't make you do anything that you didn't want to," she said, calmly. "I only told you that you had to be absolutely sure before you decided to run off."

"With a dragel!" he threw back. "You knew, didn't you? That Molly was—that my Molly-!" his voice cracked.

Cedrella sighed. Circling around the island, she held out her hands, telegraphing her movements as she drew close.

Percy shuffled closer to Arthur, but it only took a handful of shadows to pry them apart at a single thought. Gathering him into her arms, Cedrella hugged him gently at first, then gradually tightening the embrace until he cracked.

It was a single, hiccupped sob and then, a full, complete breakdown.

"Why?" Arthur demanded. "Why didn't you tell me that-!"

Pressing her cheek to the top of his head, Cedrella simply held him. "I knew you loved her," she said, simply. "I thought it was enough."

Her words only made him cry harder.

WESTON AND THE SNAPES - NEVARAH

The knock on the door was unexpected. It was too sharp and crisp to be anyone that they knew, especially considering that Severus was reasonably sure that no one knew where they were at present.

He exchanged a glance with a sleepy Terius, who belatedly began to rouse himself from the sleepy cuddle pile with Draco and Calida.

"Stay," Severus grunted, rising from his corner where he'd been taking notes in one of his potion's journals.

The wards were quiet and thrumming as he approached the front door, a hint that there was nothing wrong with their guest, despite the unannounced visit. He opened the door and swore at the bloodied vampire that toppled into his arms.

"Severus?" Terius was wide-awake now. He shushed his Bonded, before attempting to untangle himself from their limbs.

"Who is it?" Viktor appeared in the doorway. He sucked in a harsh breath, then hurried forward. "Bring him in?"

"Yes," Severus said, stiffly. "It's—Weston." He half-carried, half-dragged the vampire in, before remembering that levitation charms were handy things. It took a half-second to cast one and another to guide him into the sitting room with the others.

"Sev-rus," Weston choked out, weakly. His colour was pale, waxy-white and it was clear from the bright red glow of his eyes that he was actively fighting his own bloodlust.

There were more spots covered in blood than not, his outfit a bizarre mix of semi-formal and semi—well, Severus wasn't exactly sure what to call the too-short shorts or the strangely laced sandals.

It was an outfit he'd never seen the vampire in before, but the desperation—that was something he was all too familiar with.

"What happened?" Severus demanded. He lowered Weston onto the empty sofa across from where Terius now stood protectively in front of Draco and Calida. "Weston-!"

"He knows," Weston choked out. His teeth began to chatter.

"Blood potion," Severus snapped out, gesturing at Terius. "Hurry!"

"I told you we should've replaced that bloodstone," Terius muttered. He whirled from the room in a flurry of movement, flickers of his Air element guiding him through the apartment with ease.

Calida pressed herself into the corner of the sofa, fingers pulling at Draco until he was practically plastered to her side as a living shield. Her normally bright golden gaze was now a deliberate hazel brown, her instincts hyper-aware at the overwhelming scent of blood—from a stranger.

Her nerves caused Draco to grimace and he patted her arm, awkwardly, in an attempt to offer some measure of comfort. His silvery eyes were startlingly clear as they zeroed in on Weston and then Severus.

"He's still—bleeding?" Draco asked, uncertain.

The scent of blood had only thickened since Weston's relocation to the other sofa and despite Severus' healing charms, it grew worse. Rivulets of blood dribbled down the charmed, tanned fabric of the sofa to splatter on the pristine carpet.

"You only have half a phial," Terius said, disgruntled. He swept into the room much in the same manner as when he'd left. A tall, thin glass tube of a dark, nearly black potion, was visible. "Here. Is he healing?"

"No," Severus said, tersely. He bit off the corked end of the phial and upended the contents into Weston's mouth—held open by the metal casing of his potion's pocketknife.

Weston whimpered, thrashing weakly to free his head, even as the necessary life-giving potion was poured down his throat. He was coaxed to swallow with gentle fingers massaging his throat and Severus' velvety voice instructing him to do so.

The effect was almost immediate in the way that the brightness in his ruby eyes dimmed to a more tolerable hue. He managed a few shuddering gulps of unnecessary air, before his entire body went lax with relief.

"What happened?" Severus demanded, for what felt like the nth time.

"I don't know," Weston croaked. He struggled to sit-up, whining when Severus placed one long-fingered hand on his chest to push him back down. Shiny tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but didn't quite fall.

Severus' dark eyes narrowed as he reached down, prying Weston's jaws apart again—this time, without the pocket knife. "They took your fangs?" The sheer venom in his voice had everyone shrinking back.

Weston included.

"Weston!"

The vampire merely averted his gaze, shrinking in on himself. "...I have nowhere else to go," he said, hoarsely. "And while our queen sleeps, I have no recourse."

"I'll make some calls," Terius said, wearily. "We'll see about finding you a bloodstone. Severus, a word?"

There was a grunt, before Severus turned away, following him out of the room.

Draco and Calida watched, silently from their position on the sofa, comforted only by Viktor's silent presence beside them.

On the other end of the room, Weston curled in on himself, eyes downcast.

At least, the bleeding had stopped for now.

SNIPPET : THE DEVERAINES - DEVERAINE MAIN ESTATE - NEVARAH

Ariki pushed the door open with a gentle hand, guiding Bruen through in front of him, meal tray clutched in small, chubby hands.

A few charms kept it upright and practically floating on its own, but Bruen had insisted on carrying and like the good brother he was, Ariki had simply charmed it.

Kandra lay sprawled on her bed, expression pinched, hair a tangled mess in the rumpled blankets and eyes red, as if she'd cried herself sick at some point. She barely even stirred at his entrance.

Her feet were propped up against the wall, her head pointed at the opposite end, arms spread out to her sides. She huffed, loudly.

"Kans?" he tried, coaxingly. "Bruen brought you something to eat."

"Yeah!" Bruen cheered, gripping the wooden tray tightly between his little fingers. "Kan-kan, here! Food." He shoved the tray towards the bed, trying and failing to hoist his little self up after it.

He turned, expectantly, to Ariki who simply lifted him up. Setting him down on the unmade bed besides Kandra's sprawled figure.

"Don't jump," he warned.

Bruen pouted. He flopped onto the bed, little head pillowed on his hands as he stared down the new sister he didn't know that well at all.

"M'not hungry, Riki," Kandra said, from beneath the pillow now hiding her tear-stained face. "I just wanna be alone right now."

"Tough luck," Ariki drawled. He dropped onto the bed, hard enough to make both of them bounce, tucking his hands behind his head, legs dangling off the edge. "Bruen wanted you to eat, so he made sure Alma fixed you a plate."

"...m'not hungry."

"Didn't say you had to be."

Bruen whined for attention, clambering over to sit on Ariki's stomach, his eyes bright and half-silvered. "Ari-ki! This is boring!" he chanted, thumping his hands on Ariki's chest as if he were a drum.

"First—ow," Ariki began. "And second, ow." He rolled over, tackling Bruen to the covers to tickle him silly.

It took a few minutes until Bruen was squealing and shrieking, before getting free to run out of the room as if his little feet were on fire.

Ariki grinned, relaxing back into the covers, as the happy shrieks echoed down the hall. He cast a glance around the bland, white guest room and the fact that Kandra's luggage was still packed and stashed by the plain dresser at the left corner.

"Don't," Kandra warned, following his gaze. "I don't wanna talk about it." Her voice cracked on the end and she hid her face in the pillow again.

Ariki rumbled comfortingly. "That bad, huh?"

"I hate this. I hate it so much."

"...have you talked to-"

"No!" Kandra hurled the pillow at him, sitting upright in a blaze of fury. "I'm not going to either. I just—I hate all of this. It's fine. It's always been fine. If it wasn't fine, then why didn't-"

"Hey, hey, c'mon," Ariki swatted the pillow to the ground, easing up to prop his head up on one hand. "It's fine. You're allowed to have feelings. Arielle knows you didn't get to express them the last time."

Kandra sniffled, glaring at him. Her hands were curled into shaking, reddened fists. "I hate it," she repeated. "Hate. It."

"You should talk to one of them," Ariki said. "You know they'd listen."

"Listening won't do me any good to-"

"...it wasn't right."

"So?"

"Kandra-"

"It's my life!" Kandra bristled, glaring at him. "It's my life and it should be my choice. He's already taken enough from me and now I have to go up in front of that stupid court that couldn't be half-bothered to-"

He sighed, flopping back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know what to say to make it feel better. To make any of this any better at all, but—it wasn't fair to you then and it's still not fair to you now. I get that."

"Do you?"

"...you could tell them, you know. They'd stop. Or at least-"

A hiccuped sob left her throat. "I don't want them to stop," she ground out. "M-maybe it's too late for me, but they could—for someone else—maybe for someone else, it'll be just the right time."

Ariki managed a small smile, just for her. "Yeah. Maybe."

"I'm doing it for that. So there won't be anyone else. So there won't be-"

"Kandra," he said, simply. Quietly. Steadily.

She twitched.

And it was like a final crack in the dam before the wall broke. "I want to rip his head off," she ground out. "I wish I still had claws to tear into him and I hate—I hate-!"

And then there were arms, warm, soft and steady, wrapping around her. Salani cuddling up to her left side and Sueh taking her right.

Kandra shuddered, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as she cried. Anger finally carving a hole in the carefully constructed wall around her emotions.

"Why?" she choked out. "Why was it just me? What did-"

"It wasn't your fault, baby," Salani murmured, squeezing her tight. Her own eyes glistened with tears as she rubbed her cheek across Kandra's messy head of hair.

"You didn't do anything—and neither did we," Sueh said. Her small, fine fingers slipped through Kandra's hair, spelling the strands back to order. "We had no idea how others were reading us at the time. We were—too focused on everything else. We existed and that was enough to scare some of them. Unfortunately, not everyone keeps their morals about them."

Kandra's cry tapered off to a wail, muffled in her mother's shoulder as she curled closer for comfort. "There wasn't any kind of—he just—he wanted and he took."

"And now he's going to pay for it," Ariki promised. He slid from the bed, a grave expression on his face. His work was done for the moment—luring Kandra's favored parents over for comfort and advice—so that meant he was free to go.

Swinging his arms overhead, he watched them cuddle and whisper among themselves, before deeming it safe to leave, as she was in more capable claws now.

Ducking out of the room, Ariki trotted down the hallway and to the shared study where the Deveraine Alphas resided when the War Room wasn't needed.

He tapped on the door in the familiar pattern that identified him, before entering at a murmured answer.

Delani and Ithycar were crowded together at Ithycar's desk, poring over several large files.

"Ariki," Delani greeted, holding an arm out to him.

He went, at once, leaning into the hug and hair-ruffle that followed. It was always nice to have their attention and affection, especially when he could tell that they'd taken the time out of their work just to be sure that he had it.

"Salani and Sueh are with Kandra," he said, by way of explanation. "She's—you were right. She's not taking it well."

Ithycar's expression saddened. He sighed, softly. "I knew it, I just couldn't get her to talk to me," he said, simply. "I'm glad she listened to you."

Ariki snorted. "Never underestimate sibling influence," he said, dryly. "It works every single time. Did you have something you wanted me to do? I felt a tug."

"Just some errands," Ithycar said. He sifted through the papers on his desk. "Raspen needs these. Would you mind?"

Ariki shrugged. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," Delani said, hugging him again, but this time with the intent of scenting him thoroughly—and casting a half-dozen protective spells over his person.

"Mama!"

"Hush," she murmured, smoothing her thumbs over his brows. "It's fine. You're fine. There's nothing wrong with having a few extra charms on you."

Ariki grumbled, half-heartedly, but allowed it, even as his face warmed. After all, Delani really did have the best protective charms out of all of them.

A/N: Hey guys! FFN had a lot of issues every time I tried to upload this week. Here's to hoping this goes through. RL is a bit chaotic at the moment and I am a little stressed, but ok. Y'all take care and STAY SAFE! I am already working on chapter 114. ^_^ Probably going to be posting around Christmas, probably?

Thank you for reading through all these years and being so patient about my updates! ~Scion

I was asked to include a short ranking summary in a recent comment, so here we go for quick reference!

DRAGEL CIRCLE -RANKS
• ALPHA — the dominant authority figure, equal to the Submissive, within a bonded dragel Circle. One corner of the operating triad.
• BETA — Mediator between the Alpha and Submissive. Usually acts on the Alpha's behalf, when needed. One corner of the operating triad.
• SUBMISSIVE — the heart of a dragel Circle and generally the shortest. One corner of the operating triad.
• PAREYA — the protector within a Circle, usually attuned to the Submissive and proficient in defensive magic
• GHEYO — the fighter within a Circle, usually attuned to the Pareyas and proficient in offensive magic. Gheyos have multiple titles within their ranks, denoting special fighting skills and establishing a clear authority figure. A Circle with all Gheyo ranks filled is referenced as having a full Suite. They are ACE, King, Queen, Prince, Princess, Knight, Page, Trainee
• MAGE - A magic-oriented fighter within a Circle that does not follow Gheyo ranking or authority. They are known for having tremendous magical ability and control.
Additional ranks include, HEALER, ADVISOR, RHEYO, ROYAL, COMPANION, and CARRIER.

Find me online as Chera Carmichael for updates on all kinds of dragel stuff. I also have a Tumblr for chapter update progress, random fandom slash and some AU fic teasers at Scioneeris.