Chapter Two: Avoidance

“Um…you mind if I sit with you guys?”

Wildwing looked up at the owner of the voice, then rolled his eyes. Not again. “Kiddo, why don’t you—”

Canard smacked his brother in the shoulder and interjected, “Sure. Someone’s going to have to give us the Heimlich maneuver when we choke on…” He twiddled the brown meat-like substance onto his fork. “…whatever this is.”

Nosedived smiled his thanks and took a seat next to Wildwing, diagonal from Canard. “Ah, this stuff is cake compared to the camp gruel.”

“No kidding,” Canard answered warmly, dropping his fork to the plate in disgust. He eyed Wildwing for the moment, who caught his gaze. Exchanging a commiserating glare, they both let the subject drop.

Wildwing glanced down at Nosedive and noticed for the first time just how thin he was. His little brother was emaciated. His cheeks were a pale peach, and Wildwing recalled vaguely that Nosedive’s feathers were much more vibrant when his brother was a younger hatchling. Sure, the feathers could have evened out in color, but not to that extent. The boy’s clothes hung limply on his body, while the muscles about his arms were frail under his teal tee-shirt. Wildwing felt something deep within him tug at his heart, and he found he couldn’t look at his brother anymore. He didn’t know what Nosedive looked like before or just how built his brother was, but he certainly couldn’t have been this thin. Not wanting to dwell on that particular thought, he rose from the table with his tray and made his way toward the kitchen.

At the table, Nosedive watched him go and waited until Wildwing was half-way across the room before uttering, “Okay, Canard. Dish.”

Canard blinked at the accusation. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent. Why doesn’t your brother like me?”

Shaking his head, Canard picked at his food with a fork. “It’s not…you, per se. He’s just going through some tough times; that’s all.”

Nosedive practically implored to Wildwing’s back as it moved farther away. “You suck at lying, Canard,” he retorted flatly before sighing and taking a sip of his soup. Repulsed, he clamped a hand over his mouth and jumped from the table. Toppling half-way into the nearest garbage can, he expelled what he had for breakfast and whatever little lunch he had.

“Soup not edible, kiddo, or can you just not handle it?” A callous voice chuckled behind him.

The word “kiddo” made his thoughts ricochet to Wildwing, but by the dark tone, he knew it wasn’t. While Wildwing was cold and distant, he knew the white mallard wouldn’t tease him about this. Wiping off his beak with the back of his hand, Nosedive raised his body out of the can with frightened hesitation. He turned on his heel and saw two male and one female commanders standing in front of him, each supporting sadistic smirks.

The male with white and brown feathers in the front, at least ten years older than Nosedive, cocked his head to the side. “What, kiddo? Can’t speak either, or did you wet your pants?”

Nosedive glowered at them for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I’m not the one who needs diapers. Really, how old are you, and you have to pick on a teenager to feel all high and mighty? How sad are you?”

With that, the teen pivoted on his left foot and hurriedly exited the lunch room.

*^*^*

“Oh, he thinks he’s so smart,” the brown and white duck seethed with rage as he and his two companions lunged toward the door. “Is he going to be taught a lesson even the Saurians wouldn’t teach.”

“He’s right, though,” a voice behind them claimed.

The three ducks stopped just before the door and turned to see a pure white mallard, dressed in combat gear in the form of goalie equipment, while a tan mallard stood at his left, dressed in navy battle gear.

“Dragaunus is on a power trip sufficient enough for one planet. I don’t think we need you three doing it, too,” the white mallard spoke again.

“And who the hell are you?” The female demanded harshly, stepping in front of the two men.

The tan mallard glared at them. “Let’s just say we’re concerned citizens who don’t like to see a hatchling who you should be protecting being harmed.”

The other male, considerably younger than the first two, found his voice. “Protecting wayward hatchlings isn’t our job.”

“Protecting the citizens of your planet should be.”

“And what are you going to do if we don’t?”

Wildwing stepped within arm’s length of the three and leaned within centimeters of the first man’s face. “Depends. Leave the kid alone and nothing.”

“You don’t boss me!” The man punched at Wildwing.

Wildwing ducked the punch, retaliated with a jab to the man’s kidney before delivering a kick to the duck’s stomach. Flying in the air, the man landed on top of the garbage can Nosedive had used. The can toppled over, sending the man crashing to the floor. A putrid, rancid smell overwhelmed the area as the man slid upon the ground in a pinkish-yellow liquid. His two friends dashed by Canard and Wildwing, obviously avoiding eye contact, as they rushed to the man’s aid.

“Touch the kid, and he’ll be the last thing you do touch. Got it?” Wildwing threatened.

The man narrowed his eyes, and he haggardly rose from the floor, albeit with the help of his two friends.

Wildwing took a half-step forward—

“Got it,” the man replied grudgingly.

“Good,” Canard confirmed as he and Wildwing turned from the three and walked out of the mess hall. “By the way, Wild, I think we should avoid the soup.”

*^*^*

Wildwing paced in front of the door of General Flashblade’s office for what seemed like the last six hours. After returning from another mission, he wanted to ask Harper how Nosedive was doing. It had been a week since the incident at the mess hall, and he wanted to make sure those creeps hadn’t done anything. However, Harper was scheduled in a meeting for at least another hour, and sitting wouldn’t help him at all.

With an abrupt squeak from his boots, Wildwing halted in mid-stride. Did he just hear a laugh from the general’s office? He listened again, but when nothing else sounded, he once more began his rant pacing.

“SHUT UP!”

Wildwing heard something that time, he was sure. Walking up to the door, he knocked hard. “Harper? You around?”

Nothing.

Then, a harsh voice answered, unmistakably Harper’s, “Vamoose, soldier! I’m busy!” The word choice, though, was a bit odd.

Wildwing paused, then proceeded to open the door. A bit brash, sure, but Harper always made time for him. As the doors parted, the white mallard blinked, startled at the sight of Nosedive behind the general’s desk.

A look of dismay fell upon Nosedive’s cheerful features. “Uh…hey, Wildwing. You here to see Pop?”

“Yeah, I thought I heard him,” he said good-naturedly. “I guess you do a good impression.”

“You should see me do a mean Lucretia. That one I have down to an art form.”

“Lucretia?” Wildwing blinked, suddenly cognizant of the purple-haired female sitting in a seat in front of the desk. Legs and arms crossed, eyes piercing, Lucretia DeCoy glared at Wildwing with brazen reservation.

“Hello, Wildwing,” she greeted coolly.

“Lucretia,” he returned, his tone even harsher than hers. “How do you know Dive?”

Uncrossing her legs and standing, the female almost stood tall enough to stare into Wildwing’s eyes. “Dauphin’s my—”

“She’s just a family friend, Wing,” Nosedive supplied fast, maybe too fast.

Wildwing regarded Nosedive, alarmed at the tone of his voice. He was nervous, even more nervous than the night he was freed from the Saurians. Eyes darting to Lucretia, Wildwing didn’t miss the change in her face. It was slight, and if he hadn’t been looking for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. There in her eyes was a flicker of anger, while lines formed about her beak and eyes.

Wildwing felt his muscles tense and had to restrain himself as Lucretia reached over. She slapped Nosedive across the back of his head, unkindly.

“Friend of the family?” She echoed, sounding out the words carefully. “I don’t think your father would appreciate that overstatement.”

“I don’t understand,” Wildwing interjected.

“The less you know the better,” Lucretia declared as she headed toward the door. She waved a flippant hand good-bye to Nosedive, and the door closed behind her.

Wildwing stared at the door for a long moment. “Your father doesn’t like her?”

“Well, if you define ‘like’ with the traditional translation, then no. But if you mean ‘like’ as in ‘hating her guts,’ then yes.”

“I can’t image why.”

“So, you two aren’t on good terms, either?” Nosedive asked, his voice a mixture of fondness and mild sorrow, as he looked away.

Wildwing closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Good terms” was probably less of an understatement than Nosedive’s earlier one. Lucretia was reckless, her methods vicious. True, she was an asset to the Resistance, doing missions other ducks wouldn’t dare even speak of, but there was something Wildwing couldn’t put his finger on that he just didn’t like about her. It was a gut feeling, really, with no evidence, but Lucretia DeCoy was no good.

“There’s just a way about her,” was all Wildwing said out loud.

“I guess that’s what you don’t like about me, either, huh?”

Wildwing’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared down at the teen. Nosedive just rocked back in his father’s chair with a creak, the only noise in the room.

“What did you mean by that?” Wildwing demanded.

Nosedive turned back him, face scrunched in contemplation. “Why do you care anyway?”

Shrugging, Wildwing attempted to keep his face neutral. By the look from Nosedive, Wildwing knew he wasn’t succeeding very well. “I was just wondering.”

“Do you have a double personality? Seriously, you’re like the model of it.”

Wildwing rolled his eyes as he dropped to the seat Lucretia had occupied. “How long until Harper gets back?”

“Harper?” Nosedive repeated in shock. “Dad lets you call him ‘Harper?’ ”

Wildwing scowled at his all-too-pertinent slip. “Uh, yeah. I…my father was close to him, so…Harper’s like a family friend, too.”

Nosedive snorted. “Not like Lucretia, I’m sure.”

An awkward silence settled between them as Nosedive jumped back in the chair and pulled his legs onto the seat. “So…when’s your next mission?” The teen ventured cheerfully.

Wildwing suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. “What you don’t know can’t kill you.”

“And what you don’t know could be hovering above your unsuspecting planet, harboring a millennia worth of hatred to give your planet a major wedgie.” Opening a file on his father’s desk, the teen preceded to ignore Wildwing.

After a moment, Wildwing glanced down at what his brother was reading. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the red letters stamped across the pages. “That’s classified!”

Nosedive didn’t even raise his head.

“You can’t read that!”

Blinking as he met Wildwing’s gaze, the teen feigned innocence. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”

“You’re not cleared for that!” Wildwing hollered, grabbing the file from under Nosedive’s hands and closing it on the desk.

Nosedive laughed. “Oh, please. Like you didn’t go home after school, make yourself a sandwich, grab your father’s classified folders, and sit down in front of the ‘toons.”

“What?”

“Oh,” Nosedive snatched the file from Wildwing’s side of the desk and reopened it. “I guess that’s just me.”

Wildwing felt a headache coming on. “Kiddo, it’s not right to—”

“If you’re really nice and don’t tell my dad, I just might let you know what it says about you,” Nosedive broached with a smirk.

That caught Wildwing’s attention. “About me? There’s something about me?”

Nosedive titled his head to the side. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“How long until your father gets back?”

Lifting his head from the desk again, Nosedive seethed, “Long enough for me to finish this file unless you keep bothering me!”

Wildwing slumped back into his chair and stared at the door. If Harper saw Nosedive reading the file, the teen would certainly be in big trouble. Of course, if Harper saw him watching Nosedive read the file…he didn’t want to ponder that.

Luckily, his brother was a master at speed reading files. Obviously, the kid knew what he was doing. “Okay, Wildwing Bronzeplume, it seems you’re going on a top secret mission.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Wildwing spouted, inching up to the edge of his seat. “What else did it say?”

“It said take Nosedive Flashblade with you.”

“No, it didn’t!” Wildwing yelled incredulously as he grabbed the file and skimmed it quickly.

“No, but you could.”

Wildwing continued to hold the file and didn’t lift his head. He tried to remain calm at what the teen just asked him. He couldn’t…take Nosedive with him. He and Canard were Marked! There was no way he could…could he?

Closing the folder, Wildwing met the teen’s pleading eyes, as the dam broke.

“Look! I promise I won’t be any trouble! I’ll do what I’m told, even though my father will tell you differently! But really…and I can handle a puck launcher! Dad used to take me to the shooting gallery all the time. Not to mention I can fight! Not really well, but descent enough—and I can be a lookout—and—and!”

“Dive—”

“I’ve been crammed up here for over four month now! I’m no longer malnourished, and my strength’s almost back—mphm!” A hand clamped his beak, preventing him from speaking.

“I’m sorry,” Wildwing emphasized, his heart breaking as he continued, “I—I can’t. You don’t understand.”

“Sure I do,” Nosedive bit back after freeing his beak. “I understand perfectly. You don’t have to say a thang. I’ve got it.”

“No! You think you do, but—”

“But what? You don’t like me! I get it, okay? You don’t have to keep acting—”

“I’m doing this for your own safety! You think I want to keep ignoring you? You have no idea—”

*Knock!* *Knock!*

Beaks open, Wildwing and Nosedive glared at each other. Wildwing held his breath but found it hard to keep staring at the boy’s deflated and languid expression.

“General Flashblade, sir? I’m just looking for my brother. He said he was going to—”

“Come in, Canard,” Wildwing growling, shaking his head as he stood. Finally, someone else who was on his side with this.

“Hey, kid,” Canard greeted as he entered, gaining a grunt and a half-hearted, half-disgusted wave. Looking over at Wildwing, he seethed, “What’d you do?”

“What! Me?” Wildwing fumed. “He wants to come with us to get DuCaine’s Mask!”

Nosedive’s eyes widened as his head perked up. “Did you just say Mask? As in the Mask? As in Drake DuCaine’s Mask?” Astonishment tinged his voice.

“Okay,” Canard shrugged. “Why not?”

“Seriously? No joke?”

“Canard! He can’t come!” Wildwing howled madly at his brother. “Are you insane?”

“Why not?” Canard asked, leaning back against the desk. “It’s not like we’re going to be fighting any Saurians. We’re not even going to be within a hundred meters of a camp.” He shrugged again. “I don’t see a problem with it.”

Nosedive leapt to his feet. “All right!”

“No!” Wildwing barked, grabbing his brother by the shirt and dragging him toward the door. “What are you doing? You know we can’t take him. If he—”

Canard whispered, “You can’t be his brother; that’s all, Wild. Flashblade didn’t say you can’t be friends with him.”

“But if a traitor sees him with me—with us!—Nosedive might be—”

“Everyone saw what we did in the mess hall awhile,” Canard whispered in an exasperated retort. “Let him come. It’ll be okay.”

“Canard…” Wildwing would have glanced back at Nosedive, but knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say no a second time. “I can’t…I won’t put him in danger like that.”

Sighing, Canard shook his head. “Okay, then I will.”

“What!”

Canard clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Wing. His father will probably say no.”

*^*^*

“No.”

“But Dad—”

“No.”

“You don’t—”

“No.”

“Why won’t—”

“No.”

“Will you just let me get it out?”

General Flashblade stared down at his son for a moment, his eye level easily half a foot taller than Nosedive’s. Sighing, he walked about his desk and took a seat. Glancing at his watch, he affirmed, “You have thirty seconds.”

“Canard has agreed to let me go with him and Wildwing,” Nosedive zipped off his tongue. “Now, we won’t be going near any Saurian camps, and we’ll be really careful when crossing over the Saurians trade routes, so we won’t get caught. And I don’t see the problem with climbing Twin Beaks because you and I climbed the Fisticuff Mountains my last hatching day. Then we’ll get the Mask and come back, and I’ll get to see the daystar again! No harm, no foul. Not to mention you get a day free of me and—”

“Time’s up!”

Nosedive clasped his father’s wrist and wrenched it toward him. “I have ten seconds left!”

General Flashblade’s beak formed a brief, fond smile. “I don’t want a day free of my son. I had over six months of them, and I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

“But I’m sixteen! You just can’t lock me in here forever!” He released his father’s wrist and plopped down in the seat next to Canard. “I want to help! I can—”

“Sir,” Canard interrupted, “if I may, your son is capable. He held his own pretty well during the execution. For a few moments, Wildwing and I thought we weren’t going to have to save him. And he was malnourished and exhausted.”

“He’s still recovering!” His general retorted off-handedly.

“I’m good to go!”

“You’re too young!”

“I’ll be with Wildwing and Canard! They’re older!” Nosedive spurted, slapping his forehead.

His father suddenly sat up in his chair, a brightening, smug smirk growing on his beak. Nosedive knew that look all too well. It was the look his father always gave him when he came up with an excuse not to let Nosedive do something he wanted to. Sure, his father was normally right, that it was dangerous, stupid, and could get him killed, but still…

“Has Wildwing agreed to this?”

Nosedive pleaded to Canard, but his hopes dwindled as the older duck sighed.

“Sir, Wildwing showed a bit of resistance toward allowing Dive to come,” Canard announced dismally.

Standing, the general smiled, satisfied. “Okay, then. Until Wildwing agrees this is a good idea, Dive, I’m sorry, but you can’t go.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

“Can’t I at least get my ten seconds?” He snapped, yet General Flashblade held firm.

Grunting, Nosedive stalked out of the room and toward his quarters, not even noticing the white mallard leaning against the wall next to General Flashblade’s door. Canard exited a second later and glared at Wildwing. Without saying a word, he shook his head and followed Nosedive’s path down the hall.

Wildwing bowed his head, studying the ground. It wasn’t a good idea, he told himself. It could get Nosedive hurt. It could get him killed. He shouldn’t put his brother in danger like that. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Then, why, a moment later, did he growl and enter General Flashblade’s office?

*^*^*

“I know this might not be the greatest of times, but I was just wondering why you hate me.”

Wildwing’s feet almost slipped from small ledge, and he only managed to stay alive by his brother’s hand against his back, forcing his stomach against the rock. Regaining his equilibrium and grip, the white mallard stared over his shoulder and down at the teenager a few feet below. “Huh?”

Nosedive, tongue out to the side of his beak, grunted as he pulled himself up, then situated his feet on a tiny shelf. “Well, you didn’t want me to sit at your table. You didn’t speak a word to me on the way back to the base, and now you’ve hardly looked my way. Not to mention, you didn’t want to come. The only reason I’m here is become my dad had a lobotomy or just went mental. Admit it. You have this weird disorder that no one can pronounce that deals with the hatred of adorable, witty, teenage mallards who have great hair.”

“You’re right,” Wildwing gasped as his fingers finally cupped the landing above. “This isn’t the time.”

With a strained heave, he lifted himself up and fell stomach down onto the slab of rock. Wildwing immediately took three, quick breaths before turning around and offering Canard a hand. In turn, Canard and Wildwing both reached down, clasping Nosedive by his wrists and hauling him up to the landing.

Lying stomach down between the two older mallards, face to the side upon the soothing, cold rock, Nosedive gasped, “Now better?”

Wildwing rolled his eyes as his head dropped back upon the mountain’s face. He looked over at the other half of the mountain, the left half of Twin Beaks, that faced their colossal precipice. After climbing in between the two mountains for the last three days, Wildwing could barely make out the Eastern Ice Forest anymore. The iced trees slightly were noticeable in the dim moonlight, while a section of the forest radiated a burning, fiery blaze. Smoke rose into the Puckworld sky, probably from a work camp.

“You never answered my question,” Nosedive pressed as he sat up, dusted the chalk from his hands, and unclasped his harness from the older mallards’.

Wildwing rolled his eyes. “What do you want to hear from me?”

“The truth,” was the dry, harsh reply.

“The truth’s…complicated.”

“So clarify it.”

“Why do you care?” Wildwing returned, reiterating the words Nosedive had used on him earlier.

A flat snort sounded behind him, and gravel shifted next to him. Situating himself on the ledge, feet dangling over the edge, Nosedive looked out at the forest, too. He bowed his head suddenly, probably trying to gather his thoughts. Wildwing had to fight the urge to push his brother back from the edge.

“I feel like I know you,” the teen whispered awkwardly, obvious uncomfortable. He glared down the thousands of feet below them unkindly. “I felt like I should remember you, or get to know you, or…I dunno! I’ve never this way about anyone before!” Dragging a hand through his long hair, he released a heavy sigh. He gripped his hands in fists, squeezed shut his eyes, and muttered angrily, “It’s stupid, I know, so you don’t have to tell me that. But…I don’t have many people in my life that I just tell things to. In fact, I really never had the need to spill my guts to anyone, and yet with you—It’s just different!” He shrugged absently, yet his breathing increased. His arms were spread wide in front of him. “For some reason, I feel like I can talk to you, that I want to talk to you, and I don’t know why! I just…don’t know why, and it freaks me out, and at the same time, it makes me feel…warm, and needed, and—and!—like I belong!” He finally brought his feet underneath him and shook his head, as if clearing distant memories that he didn’t want to surface. He spat hollowly, “You make me feel safe, and I haven’t felt safe in a long time.”

Wiping the tears that had worked their way through his closed eyelids, he turned and sulked to the far interior of the small landing, about ten feet behind Wildwing, and sat there, back facing the older mallard.

Wildwing didn’t turn toward his brother, only stared out into the foliage. Closing his eyes, he felt his heartbeat rapidly thundering his chest and was powerlessly to stop it. His thoughts whirled at what his brother had just confided in him, that Nosedive felt comfortable enough with him to divulge so much information to him. Yet, somehow, he thought it would be easier than this. When he pictured these moments, his big brother instincts would kick in, and he’d know exactly how to handle it. Shane always made it look so easy when he was working with him and Canard. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just tell Nosedive everything? They were here, alone, no one else would know—except Canard, but he trusted Canard with his life, with Nosedive’s life.

Stars, damnit, why did he have to be Marked!

A hushed, urgent whisper tore through his thoughts, “Are you imprinted on him?”

Wildwing, at first, just processed the thought before replying with a rigid, somber nod.

“Great Mother of Ducks…how—? Why—?”

Turning to Canard, Wildwing sighed exasperatingly but murmured so as not to alert Nosedive, “Look, when Nosedive’s egg was hatching, Dad had just arrived with me, and he brought me in the room with him and Mom. I didn’t think of it as anything at the time, but now…”

Canard looked back at Nosedive fondly. “It’s all starting to make sense. That’s why he cares about you so much.”

Wildwing followed his gaze with a grin.

“Wildwing?”

“Yeah?”

Canard’s face darkened as he glared at his twin brother. “Do you realize just how much this is tormenting him? You’re probably the first person he’s ever felt completely comfortable with, and you’re just…” His voice trailed off as harsh honesty resonated from his words.

Wildwing’s face fell. “I know.”

As he continued to observe his brother, Nosedive curled up along the side of the rock and used his hands as a pillow, his back to them. Shaking his head slightly, Wildwing stood and crossed the short distance between he and his younger brother before settling down next to him for the diminutive amount of nighttime left. Shivering slightly as the cold, mountain wind blew over him, he moved to take off the new jacket the Resistance had supplied him with to cover his little brother. His eyes ricocheted to the pack that Nosedive had brought with him. Overflowing from the top was a white and teal jacket, lightly tinted brown from overuse. A small smile formed upon Wildwing’s face when he took his old jacket from Nosedive’s pack and draped it over the slender duck’s body. Trailing his hand tenderly through Nosedive’s hair, Wildwing murmured, “I love you, little brother.”

Content with the warm presence of his little brother against his side, he drifted off to sleep.

*^*^*

Wildwing didn’t know what it was. Hunger? Nervousness over what he was about to embark upon? The responsibility he was going to inherent? He wasn’t sure, but as he stared at the tomb’s entrance, a deep, agonizing pain twisted in his gut like a sharp knife, cutting into his soul.

To the left of him, Nosedive tensed, Wildwing felt, even though the two were over a foot apart. His face paled and scrunched, his eyes wide and vacant, his baby brother must had felt the same thing.

Canard stood on the opposite side of Wildwing, eyes determined, face serious. It was obvious he didn’t feel a thing.

The tomb’s entrance was worn from a millennia of age and weathering. Nestled in the mountain were two wooden doors, arching to a point, at least twenty feet in height. Broken and shredded in some areas, they were only shells of their former brilliance. Overgrown foliage contorted about the doorway, lightly ruffling against twisting carvings of small pictures contouring the rock about the doors.

With a rigid nod, Wildwing took a deep breath, then walked up to the door. It creaked as he pushed it open. Flickering on his light, Wildwing was mystified to silence at the elaborate tunnel, sealed with golden paint and silver binds that wound over the gold, twirling within themselves. The silver lines almost seemed to announce the presence of the three strangers as they made their way into the pitch black precipice of the pathway.

The silver strips twirled into a circle archway, leading to an abrupt drape of obscurity. Coming to the end, Wildwing stopped, then felt a body slam into his back. He shook his head, but spared his little brother an annoyed glance—not that he could see him to do it.

A flash of light beamed from behind them, grabbing their attention. The three ducks whirled to see the silver binds glimmer from the edge of doors of the cavern and spiral through the tunnel, finally blazing about the archway. In a burst of intense, radiant light, Wildwing felt a being grab onto him, and he wrapped his arms around Nosedive tightly as suddenly he was blinded.

Blinking, he froze. His vision cleared of snow and fuzz, and his breath caught in his throat. Nosedive slowly uncoiled from his chest, a breathless gasp escaping his beak.

There, in front of them, was a illimitable room. Wildwing stepped tentatively inside, spinning on the tips of his heels. The room was immaculate, breathtaking. The rock walls of the cavern were astounding, reaching as high as the mountain’s crest. Etched into them were those pictures once more, culminating the circular confinement. In the middle of the room, held up by white, crystalline pillars, their tops ablaze with fire, was a golden sarcophagus—

And a silver one.

Side-by-side, they lay, one unquestionably shorter than the other, but nonetheless, decorated just as extravagant.

Wildwing’s eyes pored over the scene before him, the pain in his stomach flourishing more sharply. He tired to push the feeling aside as best he could, but it was impossible to ignore. It hurt. It really hurt. He adverted his eyes from the room. It was more than slightly unnerving. While the place was incredible, he suddenly wanted to get the Mask and leave as soon as possible.

Canard sent his brother a worrisome gaze, which Wildwing ignored.

Nosedive took a step numbly forward and staggered toward the coffins. He looked weak, Wildwing noticed, lightheaded himself. Everything was just too much. Too much to handle, too much to comprehend, too much to…to…

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, his body almost collapsing in exhaustion. He felt Canard’s grasp on his jacket, heard the rushed question of concern, but when he opened his eyes, his brother wasn’t there. No, correction, Canard wasn’t there…but Nosedive was.

Dead.

Laying in the silver coffin, the teenager was so pale. His once vibrant peach feathers had dulled, while his long, once ethereal hair curved about his lifeless face. A peaceful, calm expression overtook his expression, unlike any his brother ever had worn. The deep claw marks that marred his left cheek were bitter reminders of the beating his brother took and what was hidden under Draven’s tunic.

The H.O.C.-Key entwined between the teen’s fingers on his chest, Drake realized forlornly his brother hadn’t taken it off since he had been given it, nearly a decade earlier.

–How did he know that?—

Since Drake made it to stop the Saurians from tracking his brother.

From reclaiming his brother.

But in the end, they did.

Drake fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes. His head dropped to his brother’s stomach, and he grasped Draven’s hands under his.

He wept endlessly. There was no escape from the pain, no reprieve.

“Final battle, blood signaling the heartache…” Draven’s voice sounded wistfully, causing Drake to lift his head, “…Tormented howls…broken and destroyed…in the wake of a new age…was the destruction of the royal family of DuCaine…”

Wildwing’s eyes fluttered open with a deep, shocked gasp. He blinked a few times frantically to regain his surroundings.

Canard whispered something to him, but no words befell upon his ears. His trembling eyes focused upon the quivering form in the middle of room, hand clutching a dangling silver object. The teen’s free hand wiped dirt desperately off a pillar, tearful eyes concentrating on the small pictures.

No, Wildwing realized, not pictures—words.

His eyes ricocheted to the silver coffin, its top pushed off, its continents open for the eye to see. Wildwing, languid and weary, took Canard’s offered hand and steadied himself on his feet. Detaching himself from his brother’s side, he hesitantly made his way across the room, eyes focusing on the remnants of—no one. The silver coffin was empty from centuries of decay; the body must have disintegration over time…right? Still, there was no doubt that it once held him. The teenager. The boy warrior. The second heir to the Puckworld throne.

Draven DuCaine.

Close the casket. He had to close the casket. Just close it. Now.

Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Wildwing clasped the top and with Canard’s help, situated it back on the case.

He turned on his heel and surveyed the golden coffin. What he needed lay therein. He could feel it. It belonged to him. It called to him. Ever since the Saurians attacked, ever since he and Canard had found the lost documents, written on paper at Karthin before the emergence of mass technology, ever since he stood at the opening of this tomb, he knew what he had to do.

It called to him.

He lightly touched the edge of the coffin, letting his fingers become acquainted with its feel. He took a shivering breath, looking at Canard unsteadily, uncertain. His brother returned a weary gaze, not knowing what was happening.

Hell, Wildwing didn’t know what was going on. All he knew was that he wanted to get the Mask and get out of there.

The Mask.

Drake DuCaine’s.

He opened the coffin and was engulfed by light.

*^*^*

An arm curled around his waist and squeezed gently. His eyes lifted from the teen’s stomach and met the tearstained face of Draven, the teen kneeling next to him.

A soft voice floated through his conscious, but the boy’s beak never moved.

I didn’t want to leave.

Drake didn’t reply.

Tears trickled down the boy’s face. I had no choice.

The older brother couldn’t find it in himself to speak.

Forgive me, the boy pleaded, then faded from sight, hands buried in his face. He never received an answer.

*^*^*

Wildwing grasped the Mask in between his hands, a look of determination in his face.

He didn’t move to put it on.

He didn’t look over his shoulder at the teen perusing the walls.

Promise me you won’t leave again, he found himself beseeching silently. He didn’t know why.

He turned on instinct, and there stood Nosedive, his eyes darting frantically, conveying the emotions that he didn’t speak. He held the object in his hands out to Wildwing, and suddenly, the elder duck noticed with alarmed fear that it was the necklace in Draven’s hands.

Wildwing grasped it instantly just to get out of the teen’s grip.

It’s not mine to keep, Nosedive expressed silently. It’s not mine to give.

Their eyes met.

Wildwing’s face, haggard and anguished, demanded an answer.

A wistful, genuine assurance, I promise.

To Be Continued…