“When Dreams Die”

Chapter Two

Nosedive watched the light as Tanya moved it from his left eye to his right. She temporarily blocked Wildwing from his version before blocking Canard, then back again.

When she clicked the light off, he once more saw the rest of the team huddled behind her. As she straightened her bent back, she smacked into Mallory, fueling her growl.

“Will everyone please take a few steps back? I promise you will miss nothing by allowing me breathing room.”

A smirk formed on the boy’s face as she shook her head, then physically pushed Wildwing a step back.

“So, your assessment, Tanya?” the older brother retorted, his voice hardened even without the Mask upon his face.

A long sigh blew through Tanya’s beak, then she moved toward a small duffle she had brought from her lab. Pulling out a blow-torch and an igniter, she appealed to Nosedive with a slight shrug. “Do you mind?”

He eyed her—no, the torch—nervously. Kres seemed to have gotten over the problem—no. Only a dream. It was only a dream, and in reality, Nosedive Flashblade still feared fire. “Y—Yes. Hello. Were you there a half an hour ago when I almost…” He rubbed his bare arms as if cold, then averted his eyes to the floor. There was no way he could say it out loud. He’d almost killed the closest people to him—his brother and Wildwing’s best friend.

Still dressed in whatever outfit the Fire Mistress granted him, he felt repulsed and at the same, ironically reassured. He knew no reason why he would be; the woman manipulated him to attack Wildwing and Canard as well as the other ducks. Yet, somehow, when he gave himself to her, he felt unfathomably calm, though never as much as he did with his brother.

A hand fell upon his shoulder and squeezed, and he knew the familiar feel even before Wildwing spoke. “Come on, kiddo. It’ll be okay. We have to see exactly what happened to understand what happened.”

“You mean, you have to once more turn me into a guinea pig?”

The hand grasped harder. “No, we have to see what the Fire has done to you and what hold the Fire Mistress has over you.”

Nosedive snorted. “That’s what we’re calling her now?”
“It’s better than Fire Bitch, don’t you think?”

The nonchalance of his brother’s usually serious voice along with the words shocked Nosedive into a laugh, and he only recovered when Wildwing nodded once to Tanya. The team medic opened the valve to allow for the gas to exit, then cracked the igniter against the opening. In a whoosh of air, the fire burned.

And Nosedive stared at it, transfixed for a moment, his eyes huge and fearful.

Wildwing opened to his beak to tell Tanya to turn it off, but the teen blinked and turned to him, his eyes clear and unfazed. “I…I don’t hear anything.”

“Nothing?” the older brother inquired.

Nosedive glanced at the fire, the blue matching his eyes perfectly, before looking away and shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s like…the voice never spoke to me or the song never drew—” His hand waved dismissively, and the flames looped about his fingers, though a continuous string kept him tied to the fire. “I don’t understand. How could she just want me all these years and then suddenly—”

“Dive.”

“—it’s like she’s totally forgotten me—”

“Nosedive.”

“—not that I’m complaining or anything.” He put his flameless hand to his head, shaking his blonde yet still braided locks. “I’m just saying—”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him from his rant. Wildwing looked at him with urgency, then grabbed his left wrist and held it up to his eyes. “Nosedive, look!”

About his hand whirled wavering flames of blue fire, and his eyes followed the cord to the torch before Tanya turned it off. Though the fire wire retracted to the flames on Nosedive’s hand, never did any of it dissipate. When Wildwing released his wrist and shoulder, Nosedive whirled his hand about a few times, trying to rid himself of the flames’ touch, before sticking out a finger toward them. From one hand to the other jumped the flames, and he willed them up his arm about his shoulders before they crawled back down arms. Then, he moved them down his torso and about his waist, but the moment they touched the blankets underneath him, a bright and luminous fire burst into being—

—and a bucket of water splashed him and the bed.

He shot a glare toward Mallory, his golden locks stuck against his cheeks. “What was that for?”

“Uh, do you want to set the place on fire?” She smirked, alerting him just how much she had actually enjoyed the job of water-thrower.

He growled, but Wildwing’s warm fingers brushing back his bangs helped to soothe him. “Tell you what, baby brother. Why don’t you head to your room and put on some dry clothes? Then, maybe Tanya can take a look at these and see what they’re made of and just where they might have come from.”

Nosedive rolled his eyes but hopped off the bed nonetheless. “She’s gonna get all that from material? Ha.”

“Hey!” She smacked him up the back of the head. “You have no idea how much I can do.”

The tone sounded more like a threat than a correction, and the boy quickly fled the room.

*^*^*

As soon the door swished shut, Wildwing expected a backlash of demands to explain just what happened, yet, instead, Tanya simply changed the bedding upon the medibed, then patted the seat. “Canard, would you mind sitting down? I want to take a look at that taint you now have.”

Canard, now dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, shook his head and crossed his arms. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I don’t know anything about already.”

“What are you talking about?” Mallory now forced, slamming the bucket to the ground and sharing her glare with Wildwing. “Look, I know you probably don’t know much more about today than we do, but I need to know how much you do.”

She was right, Wildwing hated to admit. Like before when Canard witnessed the full assault of the Son of Fire, now their teammates, too, saw just what Nosedive was and just what his baby brother could do. It was a miracle in itself that he was able to keep his brother from finding out in the fifteen years the boy lived with him and their father. Perhaps, though, with the help of the Ducks, he could keep the secret another four.

With a distraught exhale, Wildwing collapsed to the bed where Tanya wanted Canard to sit and fidgeted with his hands. “…Look, there’s something you need to know first.” He glanced up at them, a scared and terribly haunted look in his eyes. He suddenly seemed nothing more than a little boy, fearful of losing everything he had. “Nosedive, he has no idea about what I’m going to tell you, and I’m not going to tell you everything. So, please don’t ask for more. However, in return, all I ask is that you don’t tell him. I promised my father and the Prime Leader that I would always keep Nosedive safe, and when the time for him to reach legal age, then I would tell him the truth. But until then, he is my baby brother and nothing more. Okay?”

Apparently, no, it wasn’t okay. “Did you just say the Prime Leader?” Duke echoed, astounded. “As in the head of government for all of Puckworld?”

Wildwing nodded, his attention focused once more upon his fingers. “Nosedive… he’s… he’s a Firehawk.”

The realization met different reactions. Mallory gasped, while Tanya looked somewhat peeved and unsure. Grin did nothing, only continued to sit in the corner of the room with his eyes closed, though Wildwing thought he heard the burly duck’s breathing increase. Duke crossed his arms and stated bluntly, “What, exactly, is a Firehawk?”

Tanya shook her head, then busied herself by cleaning off the torch to keep her excitement in check. “You’ve never heard the myths before?”

“If I had, would I be asking?”

“It is an old legend,” Wildwing interjected, never glancing at them. “But mainly, the Firehawks were one of the two native people of Puckworld before unification occurred almost a millennia ago. Little is known about them other than they had the ability to manipulate fire and worshiped a religion slightly different than the Stars, one in which Fire was their goddess and from whom they received their ability to weave the flames.”

“According to the legend,” Mallory continued, “those who were without Fire outnumbered those with the ability, and eventually, the Firehawks retreated from existence to live a life of solitude away from the rest of Puckworld or were assimilated. It is believed the majority died out since no traces of their race have been found since.”

“Obviously, until sixteen years ago.” Grin opened his eyes, but the firmness of his voice stole Wildwing’s attention. Their eyes met and a melancholy like no other shone in both. “If Nosedive is truly your brother, then how are you not a Firehawk as well?”

Wildwing shot to his feet, then started toward the door. “I said I would tell you some but not all.”

“Then tell us this.” Tanya caught his arm and stopped him. “What happened when Nosedive touched the fire? What did it really do to him?”

“I…I don’t know.” He glanced down at his helpless and empty palms before glancing back at the team. “My whole entire life, I have attempted to stop him from ever falling prey to the Fire’s touch. Ever since he could talk, Nosedive told him he could hear its voice, its siren song, when no one else could. Not until today did the Fire talk to me, and not until today did he accept its embrace. Even before, when Canard and I found him hypnotized by its flame, Nosedive never allowed it to control him to this point where the Fire Mistress provided for him.” His voice lowered to a whisper, emotions straining its volume, “Now that he’s accepted her and her favor, I think she might…”

He averted his eyes and left the room. A heavy silence reigned as the ducks realized just what Nosedive might have done. True, Wildwing found a way to bring the boy back, but his new powers, his control over fire, could just be the beginning.

And Nosedive—the boy had only accepted the Fire Mistress to save them.

Duke whirled toward Canard, who simply leaned against the wall of the infirmary. “Mind filling in some blanks here?”

Canard met his inquisition with a smirk and shrugged. “Depends upon the blanks.”

*^*^*

The smoke rising from Dragaunus’s nostrils actually calmed Wraith’s nerves. Though many saw that as a single for anger and a want of bloodshed, the elder Saurian mage knew differently.

Lord Dragaunus was excited.

“What do you mean by ‘Firehawk’?”

Wraith bowed slightly, holding onto his cane for support. “Milord, a Firehawk is one of the three ancient civilizations of—”

“No—No! I know what a Firehawk is, you old fool.” Dragaunus leaned forward in his throne and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Unlike others, I do research before taking over a planet, so that we are able to hit them by all means. What I mean is, what makes you believe there is a Firehawk on Earth? Where? And what proof do you have?”

“I am not sure, milord, but I saw something in Flashblade’s younger brother. When I started to form the fireball to destroy the ducks…” The mage paused, collecting his thoughts and allowing Dragaunus to stir with anticipation. “...he seemed distracted, almost afraid of the fire itself.”

Leaning back in his throne, Dragaunus growled and flicked his foot, almost hitting The mage. “So? Anyone sane being would be scared of a fireball. It is natural reaction.”

“No, my lord. Not that sort of afraid. I’ve seen the look a few times before, and it is more than a simple phobia. It is true and unaltered fear in its purest sense.” He bowed and inched closer to reveal, “I have my suspicions, milord, that he maybe of some use to our cause.”

“And let’s say that this boy is, in fact, a Firehawk. So what?” Dragaunus’s claws glimmered in the overhead light. “How can that be of any use to me?”

The smirk upon the mage’s whitened lip demonized. “Allow me to test the boy, milord, and I’ll show you.”

He’d show Dragaunus everything—just like last time.

*^*^*

Nosedive threw the black Fire uniform down upon the bed, then crumbled down next to it, his face falling naturally to his hands. He scrubbed the tired muscles and groaned lowly, trying to put everything together. First, the Fire Mistress taking him within her fire and granting him this and undoubtedly more, then the situation with Kres and Raen—

Were they connected?

No, they certainly couldn’t be. Kres and Raen and that world—Wildwing had always said he had an overactive imagination. Perhaps this was just one of those times.

But Stars…it felt so real—the coldness, the empty look in his brother’s eyes, the hit from Calder—

The door whooshed open, and Nosedive shook himself to be alert. Plopping back on the bed with one leg dangling over the side, the teen waited patiently for the person he knew would come to show his face, and Wildwing did.

“Hey, baby bro. You okay?” the older brother asked, leaning his shoulder against the metallic bedpost.

Nosedive thought for a brief moment of putting up a strong front, smiling goofily, and replying with a flippant remark. Yet, he knew Wildwing would see through it. Wildwing always saw through his fronts.

Thus, he resigned to sigh and fling himself back upon his bed, the crook of his arm over his eyes. Freed from its confining braid, his blonde locks now littered the bed about his crown. “What would give you that impression?”

The bed rocked a moment later, and a tender hand conformed to his knee. “I know this is tough on you, but I promise you, Dive. I’m not going to give up without a fight, okay? I’m going to make this right.”

“What is there to make right?” The teen’s arms dropped lifelessly to the bedspread, and he gazed up drearily at his older brother. “What do you know you’re not telling me?”

“W—What are you talking about?”

“What’s wrong with me, Wildwing?” Nosedive practically pleaded as he sat up and crossed his legs before him. “Why am I such a freak?”

Wildwing ruffled his little brother’s still wet crown. “You’re not a freak.”

“And yet, no one heard the Fire’s call. No one heard its song, and no one I know has ever been able to whirl fire about their body. Care to change your opinion?”

Nosedive watched his brother closely and watched the subtle changes—Wildwing fidgeting with his fingers, the averting of his trembling eyes, the shaking of his head as if he thought of something, then declined its offer.

Nosedive looked away himself, slumping with a sigh. He feared what Wildwing thought and at the same time, knew he just couldn’t stay silent. “…I’m sorry…y’know…for what happened before.”

Wildwing’s head perked up; his eyes grew with shock. “What are you sorry about, kiddo?”

“I…” Stars, did he have to say it? He rubbed the back of his neck and stuttered, “…about today. I—I heard you. I even agreed with what you said, and yet…I couldn’t stop myself. I just heard her command, and I did as she asked without question. I could have k-k-killed you, and—”

Lunging forward, Wildwing snatched Nosedive’s beak, silencing the boy instantly. “Listen to me and listen well. You have nothing to apologize for. What happened to you back there was my fault. It shouldn’t have gotten to that point where you had to save us by giving yourself to her.”

“But what happens now?” Nosedive asked, launching forward to wrap his arms about his brother’s torso, and accordingly, Wildwing held him tightly to his chest. “What she will make me do? What has she done to me?”

Wildwing glanced down at the boy’s head and parted his bangs. With an relieved exhale, he dropped his head to the boy’s crown. Thank the Stars the fire droplet had disappeared when Nosedive fell unconscious.

“I don’t know, little bro, but we’ll do this like we’ve done everything else. Together.”

Nosedive nodded against his brother’s chest, and then, Wildwing slowly moved the boy back on his bed. Pushing the black jumpsuit off the cover, he laid down next to his brother and smiled gently. “Why don’t you sleep? I’m going to stay up and make sure everything’s okay.”

“But—”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Wildwing promised, and Nosedive knew his brother needed to be close.

And Nosedive needed him so.

*^*^*

Groaning, Kres never even attempted to raise his head. The agony of Calder’s hit still ravaged his noggin, and he wasn’t even sure who he was, let alone where he was, and just what had happened. A consoling hand worked its way through his now unconstrained hair as it plummeting over his dangling head. The blood seemed to rush into it, causing its weight to double, and he barely realized what Calder had done. He was flopped over the pommel of a saddle, his body jumbling up and down with the movement of the horse.

He struggled to open his eyes, and looming over him was Calder, cloaked in the shadows of the night. He couldn’t see his guardian’s facial expressions, though he felt something wet drop onto his cheek. Calder brushed from the boy’s feathers, then ran a hand through his hair once more.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered brokenly.

And he felt the fist against his cheek.

*^*^*

Wildwing lied.

As Nosedive shot up in bed, his breathing shallow, his heart racing, he sought his brother’s warmth next to him, only to find himself bereft. Wildwing left, leaving him alone in his room with a mild ringing in his head. Calder had hit him—twice.

If it was him.

Oh, Stars, what was happening?

Reality broke through his stunned barrier in the form of Drake One’s alarm; he whirled toward his alarm clock. He couldn’t be reading that right. Eight-oh-five—in the morning? He’d slept all night, and again, the Saurian attacked. Didn’t they usually do that night?

Ah, well. Guess they decided to get an early start on the day. He grabbed his comm. off the endtable and hurried out of the room, smacking his uniform retrieval as he did so. In a flash of green, his clothes faded into his underwear. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks, and he thanked the Stars he wore boxers. His Fire Mistress must not have returned them. Growling under his breath, he retreated back into his room and glanced about for his normal clothes, but apparently, Wildwing cleaned up while he slept. Wonderful.

Over the back of his desk chair, however, lay the Fire Mistress’s gift, and if he wanted to fight the Saurians, then he had no choice but to use it. Wildwing would not be happy, but what could he do?

Reaching for it, a blue flare shot out from his hand and snatched his black uniform. In another shot, he found it clinging to his body as it did before, no longer wet and perfectly fit for his muscles. His hair, somehow, palliated into a braid.

Sighing, he hoped his brother wouldn’t freak out too much and headed to the Ready Room. Well, he knew his brother; that was for sure.

“Why the hell are you wearing that?” he demanded. The Mask’s crimson eyes burned with a fury only held for the Saurians.

Nosedive shrugged helplessly. “What else am I supposed to wear? The Fire Mistress took my battlegear, and trust me when I say she didn’t give it back.”

His anger still fuming, Wildwing opened his mouth to retort, only for Tanya to whirl from Drake One’s console. “We have teleportation energy again. We have to go—now.”

“Fine,” Wildwing conceded, then shook a hand toward Nosedive, “but you’re staying.”

“What?” First enslaved by His Fire Mistress, now benched? “You can’t do that!”

“I’m team leader and your older brother. I’m completely in my right!”

“But—” Nosedive halted abruptly when a hand held him back from lunging at Wildwing.

“I know you want to prove yourself now, especially now that you’re afraid at what that fire person has done to you and what we have seen,” Canard explained shortly, tugging playfully on his braid. “But please. See it from our point of view. We love you, kid, and we wouldn’t survive seeing you hurt. You don’t have armor, and you don’t know what this new power is. That’s more or less making you a token target for the Saurians. And Wing’s not asking you to get out of the fight permanently, just this one time, right?”

Wildwing crossed his arms and averted his eyes. “Right.”

“See? So let us handle this for once, huh?”

Nosedive mirrored Wildwing’s reaction, not at all happy, but he understood Canard’s message, as much as he hated to admit it. He hated being treated for what he was—the youngest teammate and nothing more than a kid. Still, he really had no choice.

He threw up his hands in defeat, then leaned against Drake One’s console. “Fine. Go. I’ll stay here and play Oracle.”

The other ducks didn’t seem to get the reference, but the brother of a comic book freak did. He patted his brother’s shoulder before heading out, “Thanks, little brother.”

“Bah. Thank Calder.”

The best friends traded bewildered glares, as did the rest of the ducks, and they instantly shook their hands.

“Guys, we need to go,” Mallory urged. “Saurians. Taking over a garbage facility. Ring a bell.”

Duke leaned his elbow upon her shoulder. “I bet you never thought you’d say those words together, did you, sweetheart?

Flicking out two fingers to Wildwing’s one, Canard growled as he lost the game of Odds and Evens, then flung himself into a seat. “Fine, go save the world. I’ll be bored back here with the kid.”
“Wait. What?” Nosedive shot a glare toward Wildwing’s rapidly retreating back. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Yeah, I’d think you wouldn’t by now, either.”

As the doors swooshed shut, Nosedive slapped Canard across the back of the head. “Y’know, this is all your fault. You convinced me to stay behind. If you would’ve just let me fight Wildwing, I’d be going, and so would you.”

“Kid,” Canard huffed, “sometimes there are more important things than fighting the Saurians.”

Ducking his head to hide the blushing, Nosedive muttered, “You can still catch up with them. I’ll be fine. Contrary to public opinion, I can take care of myself. Really.”

“Really?” Canard asked sardonically as he glanced back. “Then care to tell me just who ‘Calder’ is?”

Nosedive plopped back onto Drake One’s console and grumbled, “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
*^*^*

Wildwing slammed his foot upon the Migrator’s brake.

“SHIT!”

“Wildwing?” Mallory asked, then redirected her gaze from the GPS to the hills of garbage—and the fury that engulfed them. “Stars…”

Duke’s boots clicked against the floor, and he grabbed hold of the back of Wildwing’s chair. “The Saurians did all this? But why? What’s the purpose?”

“…to see the truth,” Grin grumbled, “and to see what we wish to know—what truly has happened to our little friend.”

The Migrator jerked as Wildwing threw it in reverse, then backed it up swiftly. As it spun around like a NASCAR racer, Wildwing switched gears once more, yet he never was able to depress the gas pedal.

*^*^*

Nosedive narrowed his eyes at Canard, who, in turn, glared. Then, he jumbled his hands—until he slapped his left one into his right, missing Canard’s completely.

“Damn!”

“Hey, you gotta be fast, kid,” Canard snorted, then once more placed his hands on top of Nosedive’s. “And here I thought you had the fastest hands in the NHL.”

“You forgot fastest skates, too,” Nosedive added, then grunted when Canard not only avoided his slap but also smacked him lightly in the forehead. “Hey, totally not fair. You forfeit.”

“Sure, I’ll give you that one,” Canard relented with a shrug. “After all, it’s fifty-to-one now. What’s that one?”

“Great. I’m not just getting my ass kicked now; I’m also getting pitied.”

“Hey, be thankful I don’t decide I’m bored enough to use you for target prac—”

Drake One gave out a blip, and though Nosedive leaned back against his chair, slumping, Canard shot to his feet, his muscles tensed. As he leaned over the console and glanced up at the monitor, his face only became grimmer. Klegghorn seemingly stood outside the Pond entrance, playing with the keypad.

Nosedive rolled his eyes. “Seriously. Wing needs to give him his own code. After all, he comes here enough to live here, too.”

“We could give him Phil’s,” Canard offered before hitting the button and speaking loudly. “Captain, can I help you?”

Jumping, Klegghorn grabbed his pistol’s handle before realizing Canard spoke to him through the intercom. He hesitantly dropped his hand. “Hey. I’m looking for your team leader. He around?”

“Actually, no. He’s not. Mind if I relay a message for you?”

Klegghorn sighed, then dipped into his pocket and pulled out a few envelopes. “Trust me, Canard. I need to speak with Wildwing personally before it comes to a head.”

The sight of the envelopes drew Nosedive out of his chair, a nervousness edging itself into his gut. “A—Are those what I think they are?”

“We’ll be right up, Captain,” Canard informed the police captain fast, then grasped Nosedive’s wrist and tugged the boy behind him. “Come on. I’m not leaving down here alone.”

“Great. I get a paranoid babysitter,” Nosedive groaned, to which Canard once more tapped him between the eyes.

“Sorry, kid, but I can’t trust you down here by yourself nor can I trust Klegghorn up there, especially if he’s not who he says he is.”

Canard sometimes reminded Nosedive so much of his brother it was scary, but then again, perhaps that was why Canard was the first captain of the team. Like with Wildwing, Nosedive followed Canard’s lead easily and naturally, standing behind the older mallard when Canard opened the front door.

Klegghorn stepped inside and took one look at Nosedive. “What happened to you, kid? I’d say your manager once more took you shopping, but your outfit is too styling for his taste.”

Not only was Nosedive enslaved and benched, but now he received fashion commentary from a man wearing suspenders and a bow-tie. Life sucked royally.

“So, Klegghorn.” Canard let go of the door and allowed it to start shutting by itself. “Don’t tell me you have warrants for our arrests—again.”

“Nope. Lawsu—”

Blaster fire shattered the glass, shrieked the metal, and sent Nosedive, Klegghorn, and Canard diving for cover. Pressing his back against a pillar, Nosedive reached for his blaster, then blinked down at his empty hand. A holster no longer hung by his left thigh, and he growled as he turned toward the Saurians firing at him. He cringed when the glass sprayed across his shoulders; the blasts blared within his ears. A cry sounded over the blaster fire, whirling Nosedive’s head toward Klegghorn. The police captain’s gun clattered to the ground, while he clamped a hand over his bicep. His trench coat sleeve burned black below and above his hand.

Nosedive tilted his head back against the metallic pillar. He felt so helpless! Canard at least returned fire; all Nosedive could do was huddle and hope not to be hit.

Hello, my dear. I am still here.

Nosedive clutched the sides of his head. No, not again. At least he’d hope that had gone away.

This time, it’s different; I must admit. Your brother’s best friend, your guardian, is in need of your add. Learn, my son, from what they have shown. Their love—their protection—is on loan.

Loan? What was his Fire Mistress trying to tell him?

His eyes shot toward Canard—and the fireball soaring toward his second older brother. Instinct drove him to lunge forward out of his hiding spot and his hand to extend out toward the fire. He heard Canard’s echo, though the words were indistinguishable, but ignored the assumed command. The fireball’s heat tingled upon his fingertips, and its yellow-reddish color darkened to an azure, burning blue, then once more became a little string that seeped into Nosedive’s fingers.

A hand clamped about his forearm, and Nosedive felt the harshness of it—not Canard. He swung his elbow back, but the appendage never hit its mark. Instead, the arm was twisted painfully behind his back, while the first hand circumvented Nosedive’s neck, almost cutting off the boy’s breathing. A painful kick knocked into the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground, while Siege’s haughty laughter reverberating in his ear. The Saurian’s hot breath slicked sweat upon his cheek.

“Try it. Please. Give me a reason to hurt you more.”

Nosedive learned the different degrees of malice in Siege’s voice through the year the ducks had been on Earth, and he knew when to push buttons and when not to, even with the Saurians. Still, he struggled until Siege cut off his air supply, and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

A puck launcher cocked, and Nosedive didn’t have to look to know Canard held his weapon to the back of Siege’s head. “Let the kid go, and I might decide to let you live.”

The Saurian’s response blew through the air, a mystic bolt from Wraith that sent Canard sprawling into the boards behind, knocking the older drake unconscious. Nosedive clutched onto the arm about his neck, yanking and trying to free himself, but Siege simply twisted his arm to the point of liquid fire, something Nosedive couldn’t absorb, and the teen steadied.

Before him, Wraith sauntered before bending down. His bony hands seized the side of Nosedive’s face, and his long, sharp fingernails ruffled Nosedive’s feathers. A fine trembling seized the teen, especially when ancient Saurian language spouted from the mage’s lips. Fire, red and hot, flamed to life, and a bright aura of blue fire surrounded the teen’s body. Upon the boy’s forehead between his blue eyes burned a droplet of Fire, and continuously, as Fire lit Wraith’s hands, it seized and devoured Nosedive’s fire until it became a thin line.

In the boy’s ear flourished the Fire’s song once more, and he closed his eyes in attempt to stop the sudden weakness flowing through his body. He felt his stomach bottom out, while his body loosened until it resembled jello. Then, he felt nothing but weightlessness, and his body plummeted.

*^*^*

Canard’s head ached with a piercing throbbing, and he awoke to hear Siege’s hearty laughter. He’d heard the sound enough times—and way too many times—in his life to know Siege was hurting Nosedive. For some reason, the Saurians seemed to take pleasure in harming their youngest teammate, and Canard kept his suspicions that since Nosedive was so much younger, they perceived him as weak.

Then again, the Mighty Ducks made no qualms about how they felt about the boy, especially Wildwing and him. No doubt they tried to safeguard the kid like clingy parents.

Siege’s laughter urged Canard to feel for his second blaster behind his back and whirl to hit, but a blur of orange fire beat him to the attack. A kick connected with Wraith’s side, knocking the decrepit mage from the boy, before the person turned and attacked Siege with a shot of Fire. The burly Saurian screamed and clutched the sides of head, losing his hold upon the boy instantly. With Siege out of the way, Canard could see the person clearly—a drake, barely older than Duke, with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed in a black and orange outfit with a blaster attached to his thigh.

A Firehawk.

Before Nosedive slumped to the ground, the drake caught the boy and attempted to steady Nosedive on his feet, an arm about the boy’s waist. When the boy didn’t become responsive, he screamed at Canard, “FIRE! I need Fire! Where is there—”

“Grk! Captain, are you there?” Klegghorn’s speaker came to life. “You’re needed here at the garbage dump! The firemen—”

The Firehawk nodded, and before Canard could stop him, the drake, carrying Nosedive, disappeared.

*^*^*

The familiar warmth pressed upon his cheek, and sadly enough, an all-too-familiar pain assaulted Kres’s head. He groaned lowly and allowed his entire weight to lean against the warmth in front of him, his forehead against the older drake’s back. Though he knew it was wrong to trust Canard, he’d done it most of his life, and even the recent events he couldn’t change that.

If only the person before him was Canard.

“Hey, kiddo.” Calder’s back vibrated when he spoke, urging Kres to sit upon his own a little quicker. Yet, as he did, he found he couldn’t disengage his arms from around Calder’s torso. Leather straps, too, bound his legs to Calder’s.

“How’s your head?”

“Hurts a little. Wraith, he tried to burn me, but y’know he couldn’t.” He wrung his hands in attempt to discern just how Calder bound him. “I don’t know what’s the fascination with Fire and me these past few days.”

“Well, that’s what you get for being the Fire Heir, my prince.”

Kres would have sent Calder a bewildered glare if he didn’t ride behind the older drake on the horse. “Fire Heir?”

Calder’s torso depressed with an disparaging exhale. “Forgive me, your highness. I should not have said anything. Please do not ask again. It is not my story to tell you.”

“But it’s your place to make snide comments, to kidnap me from under my brother’s watch, and to bind me to you like a hatchling.” He tugged and tugged, hardly unhitching or unnerving Calder, who just let out a soft chuckle.

“Good try, my prince, but I learned from the best how to tie up hogs and other farm animals. You have no chance of escaping.”

“So, this is your ultimate betrayal, huh, Calder?” When he accepted Calder’s proclamation, he leaned his forehead against the older drake again and tried to ride with the rhythm of the horse. “This is where brotherhood and friendship meets its match—at your loyalty to the Council of Nobles.”

“You’re tied to me because I was afraid you’d fall off my horse, not because I kidnapped you.” Calder’s soft, gloved hands patted his, and in the biting coldness with snow flurrying about them, the older drake’s warmth was welcome—as was his love. “What happened to you? Why have you forgotten everything about us, about me? How can you forget your brother, Kres?”

The prince knew Calder only used his first name when they were alone, as a token of familiarity and fondness, not disrespect. “It’s not that I don’t remember,” Kres replied, choosing his words carefully and slowly. “I just remember things…differently.”

“How so?”

“Well, like I said earlier with your name, and I don’t remember Isylaca but Puckworld.”

“Perhaps this all has to due with the assassin attempt? Maybe the Fire changed your memories somehow and tried to manipulate you to do what it wants.”

Kres feared as much. “Calder, tell me. What happened with the assassin? Tasha didn’t seem to check any wounds, and I haven’t seen any on me.”

For the first time since meeting Calder, Kres saw the guardian squirmed uncomfortably in the saddle and detached one hand from Kres’s, fidgeting with the reins in his hands. “Y—You see, my prince…King Raen sent you home. When the demand was made by the Saurians for their retreat, Raen feared the Lizards would attempt to kidnap you. Halfway through our journey, however, we were attacked. Not by a Saurian, b—but it was a drake—dark and cunning and far better at hand-to-hand than me. He took me out of the fight easily—” Calder? Impossible. “—and when he came for you, he did nothing more than kick you into our campfire.”

Like he’d did in Anaheim—embracing the flame. “How is that an assassin attempt, though? Was he trying to burn me?”

“I think he was trying to take you away from us, to have you rejoin the—well, anyway. Let’s just say he wanted to steal you from us, and in my book and Raen’s, that is an assassin attempt.”

“How do you know he won’t attack again?”

Calder smirked over his shoulder and elbowed the boy lightly in the ribs. “No one ever strikes you twice, my prince, and I only wish I could tell you no one would ever touch you once.”

Kres took the vow with honest appreciation, then glanced down at Calder’s thigh. “That reminds me. How do you have a blaster, but we ride on horses? Where are the ice rovers or cars? Why aren’t you still wearing a sword?”

“I will not attempt to know what cars or ice r—ru-vars?—are, but the blasters we stole from the Saurians. With a model, Lady Tasha has been more than helpful in duplicating the technology.”
Tanya always made an impact, whether here or in Anaheim.

Calder’s hand once more cupped Kres’s, and his soft voice calmed the boy better than any cup of tea. “My prince, I promise you I will not allow the Saurians to separate us. If they want you, they will have to take me, as well.”

Fear and hurt and so many emotions tore through Kres. “If you care so much, then why are you handing me to them? Why are you following the Council of Nobles’ orders if you fear for my life among the Saurians? Do you even have any idea what they will do to me?”

Kres had some ideas what the Saurians on Earth would do. He didn’t want to think of the torture methods the Lizards of the Middle Ages would do.

Calder held his breath. “Kres, I wish you remember at least this, so I would not have to repeat it. However, it is not my doing, which brings you to the Lizards. It is your own.”

“What!”

Nodding solemnly, Calder continued, “When the council received the Saurians’ demands, they immediately voted to send you to them. King Raen was furious, of course, for how could the council order a prince of the kingdom to be given as a sacrificial lamb? Yet, the council remained firm, and thus, Raen came to me and asked me to take you away.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Kres perked up. Raen cared for him after all!

Sadly, Calder shook his head. “No, my prince. You fought your brother and his decree, knowing the consequences of his actions. Once I disappeared with you and the Saurian do not retreat, the council will know what Raen did and order his arrest for his subordination.”

“But he’s the king!”

“One who is bound by the law, just like you and me, Kres.” Calder clicked his tongue to make the horse trot through the forest a tad faster. “So, once Raen ordered you to listen to him, like he always does, you did what you always do—disobeyed him and asked me to take you to the Saurians.”

“Wait.” That made no sense. “I asked you to bring me to my death?”

“You asked me to save your brother and the kingdom he loves,” Calder corrected. “You know what will happen when the council takes over. They will not ready the kingdom for war, which is undoubtedly coming. You, alone, will not appease the Saurians. They want Isylaca, and they will not stop until they have it—completely and utterly. Though Raen denies they have been planning this for sixteen years, he knows they are here for malevolent purposes, and you are simply giving your brother time to convince the kingdom that war is, in fact, coming. His subjects need to be prepared.”

Kres closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Calder’s back. He allowed his guardian’s words to sink into his mind and tried to come to the terms with the terrifying realization weighing down upon his shoulders.

To save his brother, he was going willingly to his death.

“And the binds?” he inquired, yanking Calder closer to him in lieu of the dread seeping into his quivering frame. “Are those to make sure I go through it?”

“No,” Calder replied lovingly, “they are to keep you close to me.”

*^*^*

Wildwing blocked a blaster shot from the Chameleon, then ducked as Duke soared over his head to smack his foot directly into the Saurian’s stomach. When the Saurian crashed into the back of the Migrator, Wildwing made sure Chameleon stayed motionless before turning back to the fight at hand, yet the rest of the Mighty Ducks had already dispersed of most of the hunter drones. Blown-apart metallic bodies littered the ground, while Mallory and Tanya finished the rest of the fight. Grin currently spoke with the fire department chief about the fire burning just above them.

Wildwing turned to Duke to order the thief to tie the Chameleon up when a flash orange flames caught his eyes. It shone for a briefest moment just above the flames, and somehow, Wildwing saw it through the thick smoke. Yet, blue fire helped to keep an eye on the object as it rapidly plunged toward the fire below.

Oh, Stars. No.

“NOSEDIVE!”

His brother neither seemed to hear him nor stirred. His lifeless body just raced toward the garbage heap, and so did Wildwing, but the older brother needed not to. As soon as the flames licked the boy’s body, they cradled it, twirling about his frame and brightening the blue flames surrounding him. The flames thickened under him, and they seemingly lowered him gently to the ground while the blue flames simultaneous absorbed the garbage’s fire. The entire fire gave out completely as Nosedive hovered about twenty feet from the ground, and the boy plummeted before thudding into the heap.

Burnt to black, the garbage heap only held a few sporadic, blue flares here and there, and dressed in the outfit given to him by the Fire Mistress, Nosedive blended into the surroundings. Wildwing still rushed forward, ignoring the shouts of the fire officials to wait for them to secure the area, and shrilled frantically, “Nosedive!”

When his brother’s reassuring voice remained silenced, Wildwing tried to focus and slammed the sides of the Mask. An outline of a motionless drake entered his vision a little over a few hundred feet away, and he rushed forward. He slowed to a stop just before his brother’s body, shock and terror flooding him.

His brother’s forehead burned with the symbol of the Firehawks, while his black suit glistened with the reddish tinge of blood. Soot blackened his peach face, and when his eyes opened a crack, they were dull, void of the intensity they held his whole life.

“Bro…?” He raised a shaky hand toward Wildwing, who immediately fell to his knees and gathered his trembling brother in his arms.

*^*^*

When Kres awoke the morning after, he found himself unbound by Calder and laying next to a roaring campfire. His guardian had placed his cloak on top of his, allowing himself to freeze for his little brother and charge. They went through the morning rituals without conversation, a demoralized silence swallowing any words between them.

Calder and he walked the rest of the way, though it wasn’t too far. They had entered the western plains of Isylaca the night prior, and even from their camping spot, they saw the tents of of the Saurian front. Black and red cloth hung from sticks, while the flag of the Saurian sovereignty—a lizard’s tail wrapped in itself with the head of a dragon and a slash over it—flittered into the cold breeze of the cold kingdom.

Kres gulped as they neared the camp, and he wanted nothing more than to run. Yet, his heart wouldn’t let him. Raen’s life and kingdom depended upon his cooperation, and he would not allow his brother’s death and misery to be because of him.

A hard hand clutched his elbow and whirled him into Calder’s chest. “Tell me to take you away; order me not to let you go. Please. It’s—”

Kres smiled softly, the grin of a reserved royal. “Calder, thank you, but I need to do this. You know that.”

Anger flashed across Calder’s features. “You and your brother’s stupid love and morals. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter—not if you’re killed!”

“Don’t you see? That’s why it’s so important.”

“So…that’s it?” The guardian glanced toward the Saurian camp, his voice fleeting and strained by emotion. “Nothing I can say will save you?”

Kres hugged him once, reveling in his guardian’s hold, so he might have something to get him through the future months. Then, he marched forward, Calder on his heels. As they came to the gate, a dark, black Saurian with beady amber eyes and a crimson cloak and tunic hissed, “What do you want, boy?”

Kres hardened his resolve. This was it. Now, he proved what he always knew—He would die for his brother. “I am Prince Kres, member of the High House of Frostfeather and Fire Heir to the Throne of Isylaca. I have come to settle the contract between the Ice Drakes and the Lizards of Sauria.”

The crimson eyed Kres, as if he thought the boy would be taller, then motioned for both him and Calder to follow. As they weaved through the maze of tents, Saurians stopped and stared at him; others tried to shoot them. A smaller number actually lunged at them, with whom Calder dealt. When they finally reached the black and crimson tent in the very center of the stronghold, the Saurian let Kres enter but stopped Calder with a hand upon his chest.

“You must first leave your weapons outside the door.”

Calder shook his head and crossed his arms. “That boy is under my protection. It is my job to make sure no harm comes to him, even while he is a prisoner of war.”

The lizard chortled. “Then you should not have brought the boy here, guardian.”

When more Saurians came toward the tent, Kres realized, finally, that this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some nightmare he would finally wake up from with Wildwing next to him, murmuring reassurances that everything was alright.

Nothing was alright. The end of the world was coming, and Kres—not Nosedive—was simply the herald.

Oh, Stars. He would never tease Mallory again or eat Triple Spicy Tacos or read comic books or play hockey.

Or see his brother one more time.

He was going to be tortured, hurt—murdered.

He sent Calder a pleading look, which the guardian interrupted correctly as, “Don’t make me do this alone.” Kres was strong, but he didn’t know if he was that strong.

Thankfully, Calder relinquished all his weapons—blasters, daggers, even his belt—before heading inside the tent. Kres stood close to him, for if being in a Saurian camp didn’t unnerve him enough, the overlord’s tent did. Dripping on the crimson walls, an overwhelming sight of blood sent trembles through Kres’s frame. To the left of the boy came the thick stench of rotting flesh, though, on second glance, the a caldron bubbled over a burning fire. Kres realized it wasn’t “rotting” so much as “cooking” flesh. To the right was the highly decorated pallet of the overlord, where also various weapons hung—as did a carcass of a drake not much older than Kres himself. Calder instantly took a step forward to be even with Kres and block the boy from the macabre sight. Directly in front of Kres stood the most terrifying sight of all, and the prince hoped Calder could block that one.

Dragaunus.

Raath.

“Hello, Fire Heir,” the overlord greeted with a grin that showed too many fangs. “I see you have taken the bargain given to your people.”

“Yes, I am here. So, you will withdraw?” Kres asked, his voice firm, which surprised him, as well.

A chilling chortle sounded from the overlord’s mouth, and he actually threw his head back to enjoy the laugh. When he finally focused upon Kres again, the princeling realized what fools the council members truly were. “No, little prince. I will not, and you will help me to conquer your kingdom.”

Kres snorted. “Like hell.”

“If you wish, your stay can be just that.”

As he rose and came about his desk, Kres saw just how tall the lizard was with at least a hand upon Calder; he wanted to kick himself for ever letting his guardian come. He doubted Raath would allow his guard to live.

“And you are, Calder Thunderbeak, Guardian of the Son of Fire and Fire Heir to the Ice Drakes, and eldest son to the chairman of the Council of Nobles, Kanten Thunderbeak,” Raath stated. It was not a question.

Kres whirled to his guardian, hurt glimmering in his eyes, and took a big half-step back. “Y—You’re allied with the council? How could you—?”

“Because my father is of the council,” Calder explained tersely, his narrowed eyes never leaving Dragaunus’s, “it does not mean I agree with their decisions or uphold them.”

The overlord kept his eyes locked on Calder. “You probably wish to stay by the boy’s side.”

“Yes, Lord Raath.”

Raath smirked, evil and malicious. “That would be merciful, Thunderbeak, but your people weren’t merciful to one of our own, who simply wandered into your lands. Like our boy died alone, so will your Fire Heir. However, I will allow your exit, if you leave him now. If you choose to stay, then you will die.”

Kres knew the answer before Calder ever spoke, which was why Kres seized his arm. “No. You will go.”

Calder’s hands formed fists. “But—”

“No, Calder.” He left no room for argument. “If you stay, the only thing you will find is your death—and mine. You cannot fight off an entire legion of Saurian soldiers. Please, I chose this, and I will see this through. Nothing you can say can change my mind.”

Kres knew he had won when Calder’s face relaxed and a despaired sigh blew through his beak., though a part of him selfishly wished he hadn’t, that Calder fought. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to give himself to the torturous Saurians.

The older mallard sent one last acidic glare toward the overlord, though it would change nothing, then drew the boy into a tight embrace. “Survive, my little brother. They will not have you long. Raen will not allow it.”

“If only that were true,” Kres replied back before the protective embrace of Calder dissipated and the warmth of his love fled with a flap of a tent and the fleeting reply, “It is.”

Once he was gone, a scaly hand clamped down hard upon Kres’s shoulder, its claws violating his skin and digging mercilessly into his soft flesh. The pain was enough to bring Kres to his knees, and he barely heard Raath through his mental screaming, “Welcome to Hell, boy, where not even your stature can save you.”

*^*^*

Kres knew nothing.

After first, the Saurian tents had been somewhat relaxing, though he still grunting in pain from his shoulder. The Saurians were like he, liken to heat instead of the cold like Ice Drakes. However, when the lizard striped him down to his waist and dragged him outside into the cold, Isylaca plains, the temperature shocked him to be unresponsive and simply allow the Saurians to do as they wished.

A red lizard, appearing too much like Siege to be comforting, checked the bonds holding him in an X-formation just inside the overlord’s compound, while having fun petting him every few moments. A mage slithered about, placing down certain objects, such as eyes of a drake, a beak, oil…

Siege slapped Kres across the face when he finished with the boy’s wrists and ankles, then smirked up at Kres with a grin of nothing but malice. “Can’t we just play with him a little? Teach him just how bad a mistake he and his people have done?”

“No,” the mage said flatly, finishing placing down something red and wet and putrid smelling. “I need him alive and intact to perform the ritual. And the Ice Drakes are not his people.”

Then, he stepped forward. With his twiddling cane, he tore through Kres’s flesh and adorned his biceps, forearms, chest, and stomach with wavy lines, arrows, flames, and icicles. In the cold temperatures, Kres hardly registered what the mage had done, even as the crimson trickled down his once pristine body. The mage stepped back to observe the work he’d done, then his hands lit with a fierce and orange fire. As they grew in intensity, so did the blue flames that flitted to life about Kres’s body. The temporary wash of heat warmed the boy and allowed him to breath and move, but it also let the pain flow through his veins. Swallow gasps burst from his beak, and he cringed, his body shaking in the coldness and blood flicking upon his cheeks. He wrung his hands, grunting when these bonds cut into his wrists.

“W—What are you doing to me?” he demanded, leaning forward when it began evident he would not escape the hold and the agony surged until he could no longer contain the pain.

The mage’s smirk deepened. “Taking everything you are, so that we may take everything that is your brother’s, and then his people’s, like everything was taken from me.”

And then, the blue aura slowly began to drain from Kres.

As the boy slowly became weaker and his body sagged within his bonds, the objects about him slowly glowed in his deep, blue aura. A fury of fire rose in the sky from what remained of Kres’s flames, and a female—the Fire Mistress—formed above him, glaring about with a disapproving, even fearful face.

“Guardians! Where are the Guardians of the Son of Fire!”

Then, she dissipated as fast as she came.

The mage’s chanting increased in volume, an excitement in his voice, while Siege had cocked his head to the side to see the Fire Mistress in all her glory. Kres struggled to stay awake, to not allow his power to become fuel for their war against Raen, and he only succeeded when an arrow tore through the mage’s shoulder, stopping the process.

Siege caught the falling mage, then whirled with his blaster, though he saw no one. Then, a flap of a tent opened and a second shot hit, burying its tip in Siege’s chest. When he collapsed to the ground, his breathing ragged and his life force oozing from his flesh, Calder emerged from the tent, blood stained upon his teal tunic and his cloak torn in more than one place. He held a quiver in one hand and a blaster in the other. As he sauntered forward, he lifted the blaster and said firmly, “The hatchling is under my protection, and no one, especially filth like you, will ever play with him.”

Then, he fired shot after shot until Siege no longer moved.

Kres tried to keep awake, to not look as bad and drained as he felt, but as much as he tried to stay erect, he only fell forward ever more.

“It’s okay, kid,” Calder eased before slicing the bonds.

Kres felt his body fall and could make no attempts to even brace himself. He didn’t have to, for Calder caught him effortlessly and held him close in a tight embrace. Kres’s head fit naturally under Calder’s beak, and Calder’s arms kept him safe and secure. His eyes were slits as he gazed up at his guardian, and he muttered weakly, “You came back.”

“I had to,” Calder grinned down. “You’re my charge, Kres. You’re my responsibility—and my brother.”

After wrapping an insulated cloak about Kres’s shoulders, Calder climbed onto his horse awkwardly with the boy in his arms, then flicked the reins, making the horse dig his heels into the rocky earth. As they fled through the corridors of the tented compound, Kres took note of the dead bodies lining the ground and the fierceness of their murders.

Calder had a talent; that was for sure.

A startled shriek blared through the compound, and Calder uttered a curse under his breath. Saurians came into the corridors, shocked by not only the declaration but also the drakes fleeing the compound. With one hand about Kres’s waist to keep the boy against his chest, Calder shot blast after blast, hitting the Lizards with precision. Chests exploded; heads flung back. No matter where he hit, Saurians crumbled to the ground, surrounded by their own crimson.

They turned around bend, and Calder let out a sigh of relief at the sight at the gates into the ice plains. The metallic pointed doors slowly started to close, and Calder ducked the shots fired at him and his charge from the outer sentinels.

Calder gritted his teeth in anger, then pulled an arrow from behind his back. Somehow balancing Kres and his quiver, he let go a fury of arrows, hitting guards, bystanders, and even the gears for the wooden gate. The guards scattered, while the gates slammed to a halt, allowing Calder and Kres to escape.

Angered shouts still cut through the air, and arrows and blasts whizzed past the two, dangerously close to their flesh. Horse hooves pounded the dirt behind them, alerting Kres that the Saurians weren’t far behind and wouldn’t allow him an easy freedom.

Calder nuzzled his head. “Don’t worry, my prince. I won’t let them hurt you.”

They rode frantically long after the reached the forest and only stopped once they no longer heard the horses behind them. When Calder eased Kres down to a log, the boy noticed his guardian’s stained teal tunic, which now seemed to have bathed in the crimson fluid.

When the guardian touched the side of Kres’s head, the boy felt the shaking hands and saw the trembling eyes filled with morose heartache. Desperation fostered his moves, the teen could tell, as he beseeched almost madly, “I’m sorry, my prince, so sorry. I tried to save you from all this. I had hoped the fire would take you—completely and utterly, but it left you to this fate.”

“What?” Kres murmured, pulling out of Calder’s embrace. How could be—? His own guardian? “You? You were the assassin?”

Calder pitched forward to seize Kres’s hands, despite the boy’s attempt to escape, and ducked his head. “Please, your highness, I had no choice. Don’t you see? There is winning for you, no ending which allows you to survive. The council had its way, and you were tortured and used for the Saurians’ malevolent purposes. If you stayed in the castle, then Raen and you would be hanged for treason, which I, as your guardian, could not allow. Now, the Saurians are upon us, and even if we fight, there is no doubt we will lose, and you will suffer.” His quivering hands followed Kres’s arms, up the boy’s wrists and biceps before running his fingers over the boy’s neck. Sobs wracked his body as he encircled them, as if in a trance. He raised his bloodshot eyes to meet Kres’s widened ones, the sound of Saurian steeds thundered in the forest. Bloodthirsty shouts increased to create a cacophony, and heart-wrenching tears stained tracks down Calder’s voice.

“Do you see? This is the only merciful way. After what those bastards did to you—it’ll quick, and you’ll hardly feel it compared to their—”

“No!” Kres shrilled, kicking out with whatever strength he had left. It barely knocked Calder to the ground, but the reprieve allowed the boy to vault off the log and dash into the night cloak of the forest. How could Calder to do this? His guardian? His brother’s best friend? His second older brother?

A hand grabbed his arm just above the elbow and slammed his back into a tree with crippling strength. With his entire weight, Calder pinned the boy against the trunk, ignoring the boy’s grunt of pain, and his gentle hand titled the boy’s tearstreaked face upward to stare into his eyes.

“If you are to die by my hand, then I should at least have to live the rest of my life knowing the evil I have done to you and how wrong my thinking truly is.”

His soft hands, strong in muscle and emotion, gradually tightened about Kres’s throat, causing the teen to choke and his sobs to increase his trembling and the torrent of tears.

Raen.

Wildwing.

Stars…save me!

Calder ducked his head to nuzzle Kres’s head, his thick, soppy tears seeping down into the boy’s crown. “I’m sorry, Kres, so sorry, but this is the only way to save you.”

To Be Continued…