Sannah

The Warm Ones were the more dangerous to cross the borders to their realms, Bya had found out not too long ago.

Tall, especially compared to the round-eared furless things called humans that he had occasionally gotten a glimpse of. Though it had taken many of his pack time to learn the language of humans, these creatures were often described as the Fair Folk and wielded magic that would burn the fur and flesh of him and his pack if they weren’t fast enough to skip past the blasts. Oh, how they burned.

Opposite the Warm Ones were the Cold Ones, who shared many similarities to their counterparts. Unlike most of the ones who chose to attack them instead of attempting any calm interaction with the canines, the Cold Ones tried to bridge the gap that was between them. The pack’s wariness had eventually caused the Cold Ones to give up, and he assumed the Folk faced the same response from every pack they came across. Even the Cold One that walked with a pack by their side had gotten the cold shoulder, though it was a strange sight to see five canines by their side.

Sightings of either group of the Fair Folk were few and far for Bya and the pack, though they had heard many tales of others butting heads with them. It was one Warm One that was an issue, one decked out in what humans said was gold. A strange color, by his standards, and a color none of them had seen before. This gold one was often in their realm, according to what the other packs would tell him, causing as many problems as possible and attempting to hunt down canines.

Bya always made sure he and the pack were as far from the gold one’s entry point whenever the Warm One entered their realm.

(O)

Again and again, the pack would cross paths with the Cold One and their companions of canines. High above the pack, they would sometimes fly, wings proudly arched around them as they seemed to search for something. As to what that something is, Bya does not know.

Other times, the six would be on the ground when Bya or one others spot them, frozen with their eyes set on the pack. Discouraged by the pack’s actions in the past, the six never made much movement towards any of them. Instead, they’d choose to back away and go on their way.

The Cold One would bow before they leave, a look on their face as their weirdly shimmering wings tense up against their back. Without a word to him or any of his pack, a member of the Cold One’s pack would huff and roll their eyes, seeming to respond to something that only they could hear.

Gren follows closely behind his general, eyes quickly scanning the rafters for the possibility of an elf or two hiding among them. He finds nothing to take note of in his search and quickens his step to catch up to the woman. She hadn’t stopped or slowed down to match his pace and had already made it to one of the stairs leading to the other floors.

Instead of going up like he expected, Amaya chooses to make her way down. Their footsteps echo in the air around them, the sound loudly bouncing off the walls. There’s a draft coming from somewhere, flowing up to the pair from below. From the outside of the fortress, Gren hadn’t seen something that could lead down to the rooms beneath it. Behind him, he can hear about half of the group split off, heading up the stairs instead of going down with them.

Most of the group mutters amongst themselves as they transverse down, their voices quieting as the smell of mold and mildew grows stronger, along with the smell of rain and wet stone. It isn’t just the usual smell of a basement that Gren is getting, as if there is something, or someone, else down there. He knows that, like all fortresses built by Katolis, the prisons are kept down below.

Did they even keep prisoners? Gren wonders, turning to watch his general carefully make her way down the hallway when the stairs stop.

Most of the cells are empty from what he can tell from where he still stands by the stairs, and from the way General Amaya’s head and body goes to the next cell. If one had something in it, she surely would’ve had some of them enter the cell to deal with whatever was inside it.

The general turns back towards them at the end of the hall, a frown on her face as she motions them to come to her. Gren is quick to do as she asks, a small bit tense as he wonders as to what she might have found.

The cell that General Amaya now enters is empty of anything, and that’s the problem. It’s too empty. There aren’t any remains of a bed, or something a prisoner had used for a bathroom, or any sort of thing for some kind of entertainment. The cell is simply empty.

Gren knows that the general is carefully scanning the cell for anything out of place, and he enters as well to aid in the search. A thought crosses Gren’s mind and he starts to skim his hands over the walls, wondering if something might be different about them. The act proves to be true when he feels a brush of air when there shouldn’t be any and knocks on the area.

The sound echoes back at him.

*~+~*

Aaravos’ eyes barely register the starlight with as unfocused as they are. He can barely hear them at this rate, either way, what with the collar and cuffs that the Sunfire elves had put on him. The things burn sharply at his magic, forcing it deep down within him, in a place that is hard to see or reach. His entire body aches at the lack of magic that courses through it, though the starlight that faintly shines through the small holes makes it a tad bit easier.

Though many centuries had passed since Aaravos had freely walked underneath them, the Stars still do whisper to him as best as they can. Most of what he hears is useless to him, but a few names do pop out to him.

He recognizes a few as that of the one he had married, as well as that of his younger sibling. It is his hope that they do not suffer due to his disappearance from most conversations that the Stars pass on, or from physical appearances among others. The other name was unfamiliar to him, but one he had started to hear after nearly a year of making his way to Xadia.

Aravae. Just… who is Aravae? And why are the Stars so insistent that I know their name?

*~+~*

The bond is empty. After all these centuries, the bond still sits ever so empty in his mind, and Raek doesn’t know why he expects that to change. His second Rider had left all those years ago, and the bond had gone dark a few months later. No matter how hard any of them tried, his Rider remained hidden from their eyes and magic.

His nest rubs roughly against his scales as he shifts around, and the dragon grumbles under his breath. It’s been far too long since he had changed out any of the materials, and he doesn’t feel rushed to go out and do that. Sighing, Raek shakes his head and tries to shift to a better position.

A cough from behind him has Raek uncurling a touch to lift his head, twisting around to stare down at the elf that stands beside him. The elf is a Rider that is familiar to him, having met him at the same time as his own Rider.

“Why must you seek me out?” The elf doesn’t shake or whimper at the loud rumble of his voice, and that fact makes him grin internally to himself. He is truly a fitting choice for Nazalath. She couldn’t have picked a better Rider. “There is not much I can do for your elfling, you know this.”

The Rider rolls his eyes, a toss of his head causing the beads around his horns to clink together. “That is not why I am here, and we both know it. I intend to do the Astral Ascent again, and I am here to, yet again, ask if you are to join me. Maybe together we’ll be able to reach him, Great One.”

“You know my answer, Braern, for it hasn’t changed from the last countless times you’ve asked me that. It will not be changing anytime soon.” Raek arches down to level an eye at the one that is so close to his Rider, and wonders for a few moments at the rarity of just a brave creature such as him. “Besides, I will soon be descending to the Xadians. It would be pointless to try and delay that meeting when their lives are so fleeting as they are. It’ll be a shame to have to wait for the egg’s hatching and for it to be of the age to have a proper conversation with.”

Braern sighs, though his eyes harden at the mention of the Xadians. “Great One, they will not be giving you the answers you wish for. Those cowards know that a severe punishment awaits them if they tell the full truth of what happened to Aara. If it wasn’t you that has a connection with him…”

“Are you alright?” The question that slipped out wasn’t what Callum wanted to ask, though it did seem relevant. The elf didn’t look okay, and they looked terrified. “You don’t look alright.”

There was no response from the elf, and Callum shared a concerned look with Ezran. Maybe they don’t speak English? Callum thinks, remembering that most elves they’ve met weren’t native English speakers. Or that they don’t even speak English and need a translator.

He motions for Ezran to stay where he is, carefully moving forward. While he’s an utter failure at all of the guard stuff Soren tries to teach him, Callum did learn that scared people can be very dangerous. If this elf does lash out, he doesn’t want Ezran nearby. If he’s bad at fighting, Ezran is even worse at it, but he thinks it is more due to age than anything else.

“Seriously, are you alright?”

The elf’s ears simply lower in response, their eyes slowly blinking as they stare up at Callum from the floor. At least, it’s a starting point that the elf doesn’t seem like they’re going to lash out at him. Even then, the fact that they’re still shaking shows how frightened they still seem to be.

Shaking his head, he reaches out a hand, and the elf flinches at the action. Callum stills, hoping that that is the only bad reaction he gets and that it doesn’t turn for the worse. The only thing he hears is all three of them breathing, and the occasional croak from Bait. At least the noises Bait makes don’t seem to freak the elf out.

Maybe they’ve seen a glow toad before? His mind trails to what this being has possibly seen, and what they might not have. He knows that most elves, not just those from his home world, tend to be long-lived in their years. Though the elf looks to be in their early twenties to mid-thirties, they could be older than that.

The hand that takes his snaps Callum’s mind to the present, latching onto the fact that it’s smaller than it should be. He’s seen an adult sitting on the floor in front of him, but it’s not the hand of an adult who seems to be taking it. Looking down, Callum can’t stop the surprise from showing on his face as he pulls a fellow teen up to their feet.

Scrawny in appearance and fear still present on their face, the elf looks close in age to him. The only things that haven’t changed are their clothes and their horns, clothes a bit big on the small frame and horns more fitting for the now younger form. They’re not much taller than him, and the horns add a bit of extra height.

“You look like you need better clothes,” Ezran’s voice says from next to them, Bait held tightly in his arms.

Neither of them had noticed him coming up, jumping at the suddenness of his comment from so close. The elf squeaks in surprise, the sound rough from what is possibly from disuse.

Eventually, and with some hesitation, the elf nods in response to Ezran’s silent question. A grin crosses his face, and he skips away, causing Callum to sigh and shake his head.

“Come on. Clothes, then food.” 

*~+~*

He’s not sure where he is, though it’s clear to him that this place isn’t home to slaves and gladiators. If it had been, he wouldn’t have come across two children wandering around the halls by themselves when he ran from that room, he first found himself in. They’re friendly, that’s for sure, but the taller one was more hesitant around him than the other. At least Aaravos thinks he’s a bit hesitant, it’s been a while since he’s been around other people.

And that is another thing he had taken note of: the passage of time he had experienced since going into the pearl. While he was aware that time was passing, he wasn’t expecting to find himself surrounded by Xadians and what could be the humans that they had thought were far lesser than them, working calmly with each other while surrounded by Stars. Especially since the human that was before him reeked of Dark Magic.

Aaravos wasn’t quite sure where his feet had taken him once he was able to get them under him, the sound of the Stars’ voices as they called out to him filling his ears alongside the rush of his blood and racing heartbeat, his weak and tired magic still managing to hold strongly as it kept the illusion up. The illusion had failed when he reached for the other boy’s hand, and it was easy to spot the surprise as he was pulled up to his feet.

Hiding his flinch as his magic failed and shuddered within his chest was easier than he had expected it to be, jumping in surprise when the younger human’s voice was closer than he expected it to be. It had taken Aaravos a while to realize that the boy had silently asked and nodded in agreement at the offer of some new clothes.

Following the pair, Aaravos reaches out to the Stars around them. They happen to be closer than he expected them to be, but that doesn’t matter much to him. They’re elated to sense him again, just as he is to sense them after too long of being cut off. The Stars sing as they reach back, seeming to coo as they start to surround him with as much magic as they can.

Need anything? They seem to call to him, constantly shifting magic filled with happiness and sadness. We want to help! Many of the other Stars seem to hum in agreement at the offer, and the few he can see through the windows glint in delight every time he lays his eyes on them.

I… Aaravos hesitates, eyes going to the door the other boys had led him to. I want my guardian.

The Stars quiet to a dull hum after he asks where the being is, nearly quiet if it wasn’t for the soft roar of their magic. It feels as if hours pass before Aaravos finally follows the two humans through the door, still waiting for an answer. As much as he wants to stand out there and wait for whatever the Stars will say, it’ll be strange if he doesn’t follow the pair inside.

Coming, the Stars eventually say. He is coming.

*~+~*

She finds him wandering again, eyes distant as he walks down one of the hallways near the animal pens. Though it isn’t as much of a shock as when she had first found out about the change, Sarai didn’t want her husband zoned out by himself when a potential threat is on the loose. Shaking her head, Sarai falls into step next to him, motioning for her two companions to follow close behind them.

“It was here,” Harrow eventually says not long after the three of them had joined him. “Whatever I seem to be searching for was here, in this hallway.”

Sarai frowns, eyes scanning the blank walls and the empty floor. “What makes you think that it was here? And why is it not here now?”

Harrow shrugs, his eyes barely focusing on her face. She can see a shimmery film covering his eyes, as if whatever is causing the man to wander is having more of a physical effect than she and the healers had even expected. It’s not as if there have been any cases of this happening before.

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s magical in nature? And it can move itself in some way?” Another shrug, and Harrow takes the right hallway when the one they are currently walking in splits.

Though expansive is the realm that the Folk tend to stay in, the speed at which the large group travels eats up the miles they need to get through. A little over a decade has passed since they were last in the city the older members of the Eternals had helped build and protect, and two of the trio are excited to head back to Apex. Even though they wish to check up on those they left behind in Apex, there is only one other place that Leo wishes to return to.

Their eyes narrow at the sight of the forest that nears the group, and Leo motions for the others to slow down in their movement. Though they aren’t expecting anything to try and stop them, the Eternal doesn’t want to accidentally start a fight if any of them trips over something, and its response is to lash out at what had bothered it. It has happened before, and it took their arm a while to truly heal from the break.

Shaking their head to focus themself, Leo motions for their companions to slowly move forward. Every step they take is loud, leaves crunching as the trio and the many Hounds make their way through one of the many forests within the Autumn realm. Much like every forest, it’s of no surprise to any of them to find fallen leaves littering the ground of the forest floor and the partially bare trees high above them. Flying up above the trees are Leo’s Hounds, all five quiet as they glide in the wind unnoticeable to those that walk upon the ground. Like those below them, the fliers know that if they make any noise, they are likely to attract unwanted attention.

It is then that the realm shakes around them, causing everyone to stall in their tracks. A roar echoes from somewhere to their right, the source of it distant but still audible. The roar is closely followed by a wave of magic, familiar to the group as the magic of an Eternal washes over them. Every one of them can tell that it doesn’t belong to anyone that any of them know, cluing them in on it belonging to a new Eternal. With all of them quiet, the Eternals all share looks as every Hound that walks among them carefully watches the trio. The shorter two finally sigh and nod, stepping towards their Hounds.

“I will catch up to you,” Leo tells the pair, hands going to their cloak to pull it off. “Please prepare a room for our newest guest.”

With recently revealed large, brown wings, Leo launches themself into the sky. All five of their Hounds are quick to join the Eternal’s side, fur and feathers standing on end. Unlike the Hounds and Eternals that are now racing away from them, the six recognize the roar that they had heard. They have heard the roar several times before, with the most recent time being nearly three hundred years ago.

Though none of them wish to see the source again, they have suspicions of what they might find when they finally find the new Eternal. Not only that, but they also suspect just what they might have to tell the others back at Apex when they finally get there.

No good will come from finding the freshly popped Eternal.

(∩` ﾛ ´)⊃━炎炎炎炎炎 

His bamph doesn’t take him far from the cage, though he knows that he is now out of sight of the train that sits within it. Even with that knowledge clear in his mind, another bamph soon takes the lavender Mage even farther from the damned thing. The shattering of his outer shield is still strong in his memory, along with the heat of the missiles that had collided with them.

Long had it been since another had gotten the drop on him, and the shields that Torcion put up shrunk slightly at the thought of the first time they had failed him. Shaking his mind free of thoughts about the incident a millennia ago, his mind wanders to the human that had the gale and ability to weaken his outer shields and cause them to shatter.

Though smaller and younger than most of his sheep, the Shepherd surely was smart and cunning in the way she had interacted with him. It was impressive, really, that she had managed to hide the fact that she was messing with his shield from him. If he hadn’t bamphed away at the last second, Torcion knows that his inner shield would’ve shattered as well, due to it not having been created to outlast anything like fire or things exploding against it.

Looking back to where he knows the cage is, Torcion sighs and opens a portal next to him. Though the Shepherd interests him, and he would like to have another conversation with her, returning to the train will surely end with another round of missiles heading his way. Besides, he’s sure the train is long gone after he has fled from the cage. Whoever controls the thing most likely has the capability to realize that they can continue to their destination with their path now clear of threats. That, or someone told them to get the thing moving before he or any other creatures showed up again.

Even with the temptation to subtly question the small human, his magic rolls at the thought of returning to the cage or seeking her out at this moment. Like with every Mage’s magic, his own has a mind of its own to an extent, and it clearly doesn’t want to go near a potential threat. At least, not at this moment.

Grinning, Harry opens the door and nearly runs into the person standing on the other side. Quickly apologizing, he sidesteps as his aunt comes up behind him.

“Be more careful!” Aunt Petunia hisses, causing the boy to wince. “You could’ve injured our…”

She trails off once she sees who’s at the door, eyes wide. The woman standing there is wearing what looks like an old-fashioned dress, the fabric following a tartan style. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight bun topped off with what is a witch hat. What’s even weirder is that, with a pale glow around them, are a pair of dark brown wings.

Strange.

There are some winged species out there. Gendaec’s voice mutters in his mind, and Harry jumps. Sorry, my rider.

“You… you… he…”

“Yes, Mrs. Dursley, was it now?” Her voice is sharp, her face set in a dark frown. “He takes after his mother, but he’s not the only reason why I’m here.”

“Vernon!” Aunt Petunia screams, her voice turning to a high shrill as she waves the woman in and closes the door. “We have a problem!”

९༨९༨९༨९

Minerva stares unblinkingly at the group, quickly realizing the problem the longer she looks. Her look turns into a glare, and the two adults shift under it.

Despite her thin and horse-like look, Petunia Dursley is as healthy as you can get at her size. Her husband and son, on the other hand, are overweight. The man looks like a walking walrus, his face turning a deep shade of purple. The son, though, is a baby whale. Harry, the poor boy, is painfully thin and abused.

The second after he nearly ran into her, Petunia started yelling at him and giving the angel a bad idea of what could be happening behind closed doors. When he flinched, the possibility quickly turned into a bad reality, and she had to put her Occlumency shields to full force to keep her instincts in check.

“Dudley, Harry, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall.” Might as well start simple. “And I am a teacher at a school called Hogwarts, and it is a magic school.”

The boy -Dudley- simply looks shocked at the words, while a frown makes it to Harry’s face. Did he see the letter? How much of it did he read? What happened to it?

“Magic’s not real!” Dudley nearly screamed; eyes wide.

“So that letter wasn’t a joke?” Harry says at almost the same time, voice unsteady. “I thought Dudley and his friends were messing with me.”

“No, it wasn’t a joke. Perhaps a demonstration is in order?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing that at least she had Dudley's hook, line, and sinker in regard to seeing some magic.

Eventually, the four nod and Minerva pulls out her wand. It’s going to be much easier getting Harry into their world, considering his… cousin… has magic as well. Otherwise, there would’ve been more resistance to her being there.

९༨९༨९༨९

Several hours have passed, completely made up of telling the Dursleys and Harry about the Wizarding World, displays of magic, and giving the two eleven-year-olds their letters. After a full night's rest, Minerva’s standing on the Dursley doorstep again. She hadn’t even knocked on the door when it opened, Dudley’s grinning face standing on the other side.

“Professor!” The boy practically yells, grinning from ear to ear as he attempts to drag her inside. A well-placed glare soon has him pulling his arm back to his side. “Are you going to show us the Alley today?”

Nodding, Minerva follows him inside and into the living room. “Yes, Dudley. At least, the part of the Alley that a student needs to be familiar with.”

One has a tight grip on ‘his’ right arm, midnight blue skin a huge contrast against the skin so like his own. The other had splayed themself across the person’s body, and the five fingers of the free hand thread themselves through snow white hair, carefully making their way around the elf’s horns. Like their makeshift pillow, the second child isn’t sleeping, and they simply stare out the window.

While it looks like not much time had passed, the part of the world Harrow can see is vastly different from his first dream. The visible tech outside the window is more advanced than what he’s seen in the last dream, though not as advanced as it is now. Everything that he can see in the room is typical for the room that gets used for a gladiator, for he knows from the last dream that this person is a gladiator, though it seems to be lacking in the camera department.

“You should be sleeping, Starlight.” The voice was an unexpected one, deep and raspy from sleep as it’s directed at the child who is clearly trying to keep their eyes open. “Join your sister in her dreams, little one.”

“I don’t wanna.” The child mutters, turning where they lay to stare at their older companion. “She dreams of our parents a lot. I don’t wanna dream of them.”

The person sighs, hand momentarily stopping in its path. An annoyed hiss from the child has him carding through thick hair again, smoothing out any knots that he finds. The two sit in silence for a few minutes before the not-quite-human speaks up, his voice quiet.

“Is that why you don’t sleep often?” The person asks the child, looking down at them. “Because you do not wish to see them?”

The child simply hums in answer, the sound drowsy as the elf’s ears and eyes start to drop. It’s clear, even to Harrow, that the young one is fighting the urge to fall asleep. With a small smile, he remembers how his own two boys do their best to fight their sleepy minds to stay up longer.

It is then that everything around him stills, including the breathing of the children. The only movement that remains is that of this person whose body he is in, the breaths long and even. A strong sense of what he can tell is something pushing against his back, the sense shoves him forward.

Harrow shoots forward, his form not going far from the bed. Instead, his now incorporate body floats in the empty space above it. Everything is easier to see up here, including those that remain on the bed. With a look down, he meets the eyes of the person whose body he was just in.

Vibrant magenta eyes stare up at him, the look that they hold alien is completely to what he knows. As Harrow had expected, the being isn’t human despite the form he currently takes. The harsh stare and the color of his eyes were not even remotely close to any of the types of humans he had met across the universe. Whoever, and whatever, this being is, is dangerous.

“You should not be here.” His rumbling voice is now different from the one he had used with the child, a deep and growling thing that vibrates Harrow’s entire form. “Leave.”

The voice seemed to have gotten deeper, and those eyes changed. Instead, the magenta color takes up the entirety of his visible eyes, looking snake-like in look as the person’s face hardens. Another forceful push makes its way to Harrow, shoving him back again.

That last push has the room quickly fading from his sight, and Harrow sits up in bed with heaving breaths. The now familiar med bay greets his eyes when he opens them, and he wishes that the nurses hadn’t suggested that he slept there for a few days. He'd prefer to wake up in his own quarters, with Sarai still in the bed next to him.

Across from him, Viren sits in a bed of his own, a small book in hand and datapad in the other. His eyes are jumping between the two, carefully noting things down as he scrolls through the datapad.

“Another dream?” Viren asks, not looking up. He must’ve heard his friend wake. “What was it about this time?”

Frowning, Harrow casts his mind back to the dream as he swings his legs over the bed. Right, of course he needs to think about that dream. Other than the wandering, that’s the other reason as to why he must stay in the med bay. These dreams he’s having.

“It was of those twins again,” he tells the other man, accepting the cup of water from the nurse when he hands him one. “Though they were older than in the first couple of dreams. Around seven instead of five, like before. Apparently, the twins can share dreams.”

The scratching of the pencil stops, and Viren the captain a confused look. Harrow shares the sediment, as he hasn’t heard of beings capable of sharing their dreams with each other. Maybe it’s because of their species? They were able to find out that the two were Startouch elves. They're extremely rare to come across, due to the unfortunate case of being an endangered species and having gone into hiding. Well, that’s what the other Xadians say.

“What else?” The nurse prompts, accepting the now empty glass. “What was going on in the dream?”

“One of them was sleeping, and the second one was still awake, along with their caretaker. It was from the perspective of the caretaker, though. Not from the child that was still awake.” He can see both Viren and the nurse frown, and Harrow sighs before continuing. “This caretaker wasn’t human, but he sure looked like one. Five fingers and horn-less, dark skin and hair that was in dreads. I’m pretty sure that he was a gladiator, as the clothes he was wearing looked like it, along with the fact that the room was clearly made for a gladiator in mind. It didn’t look like there were cameras, though.”

“What made you think he wasn’t human?” Comes the next question, and the nurse is back in his sight, a small flashlight in hand. “Can you tell us any more about him?”

Wincing at the bright light, Harrow nods in response. “He had pointy ears, like a Vulcan, though it was easy to tell he wasn’t one. Vulcans wouldn’t be caught alive, let alone be forced to become a gladiator. He had strange eyes as well; they were this strange purple color. It looked like they had stars in them when they turned into snake eyes.”

“You were able to see him?” Viren gasps, snapping his book shut as he leans forward. “I thought you said you were seeing things from his perspective.”

“I was! Then things got weird, and it was like there was someone else there. Like, there was someone else in the dream, and they were able to control things. Maybe whoever that gladiator was is still alive, and they were sharing it with me somehow.”

Viren snorts, sliding himself out of his bed to stride over to Harrow’s. “Why would he share a dream with you? You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you, I assume. Besides, I’m pretty sure only those with a connection to the Stars can share dreams, and only with those who also have a connection. It must be something else.” He frowns, flopping a hand at Harrow to silently ask him to move over, sitting down in the now-open spot on the bed. “Like some sort of telepathy. Some species of telepathic powers, but I have no idea why one would focus their magic on a random captain.”

Harrow agrees with the specialist, though he isn’t sure how much the other man knows about the things that come with a connection to the Star Arcanum. It's not like those that actually have a connection is forthcoming with any details. Not only that, but he’s also certain that half of what they do know probably isn’t even true. Like, how can the Stars be linked to the truth?

With a sigh, he continues describing his dream to the others.

*~+~*

There is a connection that doesn’t belong to his charge. How he hadn’t noticed the thing before, he doesn’t know. All the dragon knows is that it isn’t that old of a connection, only about six months.

The connection had made itself known during a dream, when a memory he had wished to never see or remember again brought itself into focus. He was in his rooms from back when he was a slave gladiator, when he was forced to fight to keep his little Starlights safe from the horrors of the arena.

Only one of the twins was awake when he had woken himself, out of it from waking from a deep sleep and worn out from that day’s fight. Aaravos had obviously tried his best to keep quiet so as not to wake his Guardian or his sister, though it wouldn’t have worked anyway if he was truly successful. A Guardian will always wake if one of their charges is in need. And with the tears that the humanoid dragon was able to see, it was clear to him that his youngest charge needed comforting.

The dream-memory had progressed before he was able to sense the other presence, the mind of this person a strange tingling behind his eyes. It was different from the connection he makes with every one of his charges, an irritating feeling that screams that it won’t go away. With barely a twitch of magic, he had frozen the dream-memory in place and pushed.

The presence had resisted at first, before caving and allowing itself to be ejected from the form it had temporally watched from. A human had stared back at him when the mist had taken shape, a small and round-eyed thing when he stared at it. The human hadn’t said a word as they stared at each other, and it still didn’t when he demanded that it leave. It had gone without issue.

Though, now that he was aware of it, it was easy to search for the connection that led back to the small creature. Weak, and fresh when compared to the strong bond he has with the Starlight. Unlike with the connection he has with the sweet child he still searches for; this connection isn’t hidden from his senses. It would be so easy to follow the thing and find what’s at the end. Clearly, this strange bond is there for a reason.

Snarling at the Scree1 that still swarms around him, the large dragon stands and stretches. A small shake has the rest of the Scree that were still on his back and wings flailing as they fall off, chittering as they scatter. He huffs in laughter at their panicked running, spreading his wings and taking flight.

They can have the last of the purrgil2 he had. Kersess had a human he needed to find.

*~+~*

Scree are insectoid creatures from Star Wars that inhabit many asteroid fields. They are a non-sentient species of spacefaring insects and will typically attack anything that would venture near the asteroid fields they claim as home.

Are there any stories or legends that the Jedi have? Kit Fisto had nodded, a grin on his face as he waved for them to follow him. Sometime later, the trio had ended up in a large and circular room, mostly filled by both old and young seated on the mats, the center a raised cushion. Seated on that cushion is Plo Koon, who soon gains the attention of everyone once the door closes and the lights dim.

“Do you know the story of Tarwen the Ancient?” He asks, soft voice carrying across the room. “If not, let me tell you my tale.” The room quickly hushes after those words, and Lesta leans in with the rest of the group.

“There were five beings, who were all mortal and human once. They never knew each other before they gained their immortality, and became unlikely friends that very same day.” A clawed hand makes its way through the air, and five different forms of humans appeared. One of the forms increases in size, showing a human male with greying hair.

“Tarwen was a writer, one who gained the ability to see the future once he had gained his immortality. Unfortunately, the man was unable to see what was bound to happen. One of the other four happened to be a practitioner of blood magic, and he had agreed to be a part of her newest ritual.”

Multiple beings around the room gasp, Lesta one of them. Even she knew that blood magic wasn’t something to be trifled with, even if you didn’t have the power to use it. She’s heard enough horror stories to have an idea of what must’ve happened.

“Things didn’t go as planned. No one knows what happened or how, and can only guess. One of the steps was either done wrongly, skipped, or was never there in the first place. The result was Tarwen being forced into a new form.”

Several whimpers as the Kel Dor hesitates, the sound of his mask filled the air. Lesta soon has the feeling of eyes on her, and she looks up to see Master Koon facing him.

“The form he had taken is unknown, and all we know is that it is similar to the reptile species. Drakken, dragon… who knows? All I know is that his story is a warning, a warning not to practice magic you don’t understand. Tarwen and his friend ignored the warnings, and he suffered for it.”

•~*~•

Mikado watches the four before him with wide eyes, mouth open in shock. Confused as to what some of the lineages did together in their free time, he asked one of the many Jedi around what theirs do. In response, he was led to a large room with two pairs of Jedi. The younger member of each pair has a braid in their hair, or beads if they don’t have any hair of their own. The older Jedi are most likely the teachers, playfully scowling at each other from across the room.

Several minutes of murmuring passed before one of the pairs, a Zabrak, and his Barabel padawan, quickly and easily flowed into a dance. The other pair soon follow behind them, and Mikado realizes that their dances seem to have the same basic movements, but with a different… flare to the steps. Next to him, the Jedi that led Mikado there smiled at the pairs.

“It’s the same dance,” the Cerean starts, “but each lineage adds its own style to it. Most of the lineages introduce their new members to how their line masters learned the Force. Some have an elegance to it while others are way too complex for their own good, to name a few.”

Frowning, he looks to the being. “What about your lineage?”

Like those around him, Torcion is shivering as the cold wind dashes its way around him despite the warm clothes that he had put on earlier that day. His magic is frigid within his chest, and it now rattles with each breath he takes where it had settled between his hearts. If they don’t get somewhere warm, it feels as if they will freeze in place and never move again.

Maybe they should’ve grabbed more layers like the healers had suggested that they do. Maybe then they wouldn’t be as cold as they are now. Midwinter is the day after tomorrow, and the main Court for the realm of the Winter Folk is clearly functioning at the coldest temperature possible. He truly has no idea how any of the Folk can function in this cold, let alone any of the pests capable of surviving in it that they keep with them. Even now, Torcion can see a couple of pests flying high above them.

Frowning, he squints at the creatures as they come closer. Many of the creatures truly don’t look like what he has seen before and are not as big as he was expecting. A handful of them Torcion was able to tell were Folk, many with their wings spread wide in flight. Among the somewhat familiar forms of the Folk is what clearly is a human, wings small and weak when compared to the others.

If there is a winged human among them, Torcion thinks with thoughtful and narrowed eyes, then the Line Breaker must be among the group. Though which one, it is hard to tell from this distance.

And that is an issue for many of them, no matter which Court that a Mage happens to come from. While he largely had fantastic encounters with the strange being, the Line Breaker had managed to get on bad terms with most leaders that hail from the warmer Courts. For a reason that the ex-human had never bothered to give to anyone, they had hunted down and decimated most of the powerful families that were born and raised in the warm Courts. After the last family nearly three thousand years ago, they had vanished with no warning, size, and stature much like the human that flies with them, and came back three centuries later with five Hounds by their side, much like a Folk in size and stature and a haunted look in their eyes. Whatever happened clearly had changed them, and not in a good way.

Torcion's suspicions are correct when the group lands by them, the Line Breaker’s large wings carefully folding themselves up soon after landing. A concerned look is on their face as they quickly look every member of the group over, dark brown eyes finally landing on the lavender Mage. The look on their face shifts into one of softness and something else he can’t quite figure out, wings tensing tightly and closely to their back. The human’s face gains an exasperated look, their eyes rolling in friendly annoyance. 

“Let’s get you all inside,” a Mage eventually states when they realize that the Line Breaker wasn’t going to be saying anything, their hibiscus-colored robes accented with midnight blue. “The whole lot of you have been out here for far too long. Your magic must be freezing.”

The thankful sound of agreement reaches his ears, and the Line Breaker tears their gaze away from his own. Their wings quivered with something that rang a hint of familiarity in Torcion’s mind and brought an image of his parents into focus. He realized it was a common sight from his father, and it only happened when the Mage had looked at his much shorter mate. This Mage’s wings moved the same way, but he knows that it isn’t just Torcion that made their wings move like that. Looking over, he spots those large, soft wings doing the same quiver he had just seen.

To whom, though, Torcion is not sure.

(∩` ﾛ ´)⊃━炎炎炎炎炎

Most of the Winter Folk had left them when the group led them to one of the buildings within the Court, every single one walking off with anger clear in their eyes. Only one of them remained within the building, large dark brown wings ruffled as they walked around the room, their pet human following close in their steps as they checked over the warmer visitors.

Just like the Mage it follows; the human isn’t like any that Myrin has seen before. Large, slim wings are carefully folded to the thing’s back, the color of its hair and feathers that some humans in his Court would say would make the strange creature a redhead. Every piece of the clothes it wears is a dark grey in color, thick and fluffy to ward off the cold. Unlike the Mage it is claimed by, it isn’t made to survive in the chill of a Winter Court for long unprotected.

His gaze shifts to the Mage, and Myrin tenses as he meets familiar brown eyes. Long has it been since he had last seen the now Folk Mage, and the look of stubbornness in their eyes is still the same. Wearing robes in the same color as the human, the design of their robes is more akin to what one of the Summer Mages would wear in the middle of a hot day. With thin long sleeves, a sheer V-neck, and a split skirt over long uncovered legs, the cold chill of Winter clearly doesn’t bother the Line Breaker one bit.

“You all will be staying here and the building nearby for a place to sleep and warm up,” the Line Breaker states to the silent group, eyes straying away from Myrin. “As to why we were not told you were here sooner, only the Court Mage knows. It’s clear the snow does you no wonders. Someone will come to tell you which rooms you’ll be staying in. Otherwise, please do amuse yourselves until then.”

Their wings flare out and towards the human, silently telling the thing to follow them. It nods in agreement with no hesitation, bowing to the group before it heads out the door, close on the Line Breaker’s heels. There is a look of amusement on the human’s face, like it can see something as clear as day and is amused by it. As to why, he doesn’t know.

Shaking his head clear of thoughts on the human, he searches the room. Eyes landing on the one he was trying to find; Myrin is quick to make his way to a form clothed in lavender. Many clothed in the same color stray close to the one he aims for, talking to each other and their Court Mage.

“The Line Breaker had chosen to speak to you for a long time,” Myrin whispers to the shorter Folk, curiosity clear on his face. “It looked like they were trying to flirt with you, Tor. Why is that?”

Torcion snorts in response, his magic cold to the touch as it reaches out to softly curl around Myrin’s. “They were simply saying how shameful it was we couldn’t finish what we started last year. Having my mother walking in on us and cursing them out was not what they wanted.”

“No one wants that,” he murmurs in response, magic happily humming. “Especially considering how scary your mother is. I heard her from the other side of the Court that night, you know.”

A chuckle is his response, and Myrin smiles at the sound. The sound of his laugh always had Myrin weak at the knees, though it wasn’t the only reason why he was drawn to the older Folk. It was one of many, and the main reason is that he is the opposite of the first who had claimed his hearts. Though his thoughts trailing back to that particular being has him frowning.

It doesn’t take long for the lavender Mage to notice his souring mood, though the elf is hesitant to lay a hand against his face. The concern is written on his face and in his now warm magic, though Torcion doesn’t get a chance to voice his concern.

The walls of the building shake around them, causing scattered screams to echo around them. Many of the buildings within a Court, especially within a primary Court, tend to be magically sound and unwavering to many things, even when the earth quakes beneath them. For this one to shudder as it did so, and not long before the celebration of a Solstice, would shake even those least likely to falter.

Shouts from outside the building soon reach them, and Myrin whistles a familiar tune. The few Folk of his Court make their way over quickly, their eyes wide as they turn to stare at their Court Mage. Those in Myrin’s color aren’t the only ones to turn to him, though Torcion’s companions look between him and their own Court Mage for direction.

“We stick together,” Myrin quietly tells the group, half his mind focused on the sounds coming from the outside and the other half on the sounds within it. “Who knows what is going on out there, I’m sure it won’t be a good thing if we get separated.”

“And what of the other Courts?” someone asks, their yearning-filled eyes going to another that is not within their group.

His response never comes when the door bursts open, and in the doorway stands Winter’s primary Court Mage and the Line Breaker. Concern and fear are clear on the Court Mage’s face, bronze-colored eyes wide as she scans the group before her. Acceptance is just as clear as the other emotions that he can see, paired with something he can’t quite make out.

“The Barrier to the Mortal Realm has fallen!” Myantha calls out into the silence, hands shaking as she starts pulling her long hair into a messy braid. “The Calamity has awoken. You need to leave.”

Myantha motions to the Line Breaker, and they step aside as the bronze Mage rushes out the door. The ex-human's face and magic are void of emotion; their tense wings and the sword on their hip are the only things showing just how bad it is out within the Court. It is just now that Myrin truly notices the lack of gloves on their hands, showing off the strange markings that stand out on them. Their markings give off magic that isn’t Folk in nature and seems to pulse in time to something.

“I am Leo,” the Line Breaker starts with, their voice unwavering, “an unattached Mage that stays within the confines of the Winter Court. Due to unforeseen events, my Hounds, Eternals, and I will be leading you all and several other Winter Folk to the Mortal realm. Do as I say if you wish to live.”

A roar makes its way through the still open door, and Myrin winces at the sound, knowing that he isn't the only one to do so. He knows that It can't be too close to the Winter Court and that It had only just recently awakened, but that roar sounded too close for comfort. Just how far was the damn thing originally?

Shaking his head, he follows the Mage that pulls him along. Torcion's nails dig their way sharply into his arm despite the thick sleeve, betraying just how scared he is despite the way he holds himself. Even if he didn’t have an image to uphold, Myrin understands the fear all too well.

It was that fear, though, that forced him to leave the Line Breaker and a familiar pink Mage behind as the Calamity’s large form came ever closer, though he was sure that the ex-human didn’t notice the Mage that stood behind them. The three beams of lightning he sees racing toward the pair have his breath catching in his throat, and whispered curses from some of the Mages around him have him turning away before he can see what happens next.