The glasses were still clinking when the old count also took the floor: “My dear friend Reichenbach has given the father our little Friederike well-deserved praise, but having children is a matter that involves at least two people, and if we men were alone in the world, the emperor would soon have no soldiers left. So let us not forget the mother of today’s christened child, who sadly cannot be with us today because the stork bit her leg a bit too hard. We wish her a speedy recovery and the return of her strength. But we should also honor another woman to whom we owe a thousand thanks. ‘Honor the women,’ our great Schiller already said, and truly, he was right, for it is women who bring sunshine into our lives and adorn it with the roses of love and loyalty.”
The old count paused and lowered his gaze into his half-raised glass, as if he saw something reflected there that made him pensive.
“Reinhold!” Ottane whispered to her brother. “Pass me a Linzer Kränzerl. No one’s looking.”
Reinhold saw all eyes fixed on the speaker; they were unnoticed, they could risk it. Carefully, his hand crept across the tablecloth to the tempting dish and snatched two of the round, golden-yellow, fragrant cookies—one for Ottane, one for Hermine.
“You’ll have no doubt who I mean,” the old count resumed, his voice thick with emotion, “none other than the good angel of these houses and huts, who has bestowed a thousand blessings and deserves a thousand thanks. There’s likely no family in this valley that hasn’t experienced the kindness and generosity of this woman who hasn’t found her a comforter and benefactor, a helper in misfortune, and a sympathetic friend in good times. This time, too, she has shown our good Ruf that she shares in the joys and sorrows of even humble people. So I believe I speak for all when I say: our hostess, the godmother of little Friederike, our esteemed Frau Director Reichenbach, may she live long—cheers, cheers, cheers!”
The speaker unleashed enthusiasm—who could toast more sincerely than this woman, so different from the stiff, formal, aloof old countess? Everyone knew the dishes sent in her name went on her husband’s account.
But as the old count leaned toward Friederike Luise to clink glasses, she said with quiet reproach, “Why did you put me on the spot like that?”
“Please,” the old count defended, his voice still trembling slightly, “let me at least once say what I think of you. Forgive me.”
Then Frau Paleczek signaled that the children’s great table delights could begin—the Linzer Kränzerln, gingerbread, preserved nuts, candied calamus. The christening cake was cut, the strawberry punch served, and the mood grew ever cozier toward evening.
The first to leave was the doctor: “I must still check on Frau Ruf, and I have a patient at home who needs me.”
The others rose from the table and left. Forester Ruf pressed close to Reichenbach, grasping his hand, his eyes glistening with tears and wine. “Herr Director… Herr Director… forever… forever your grateful… to you and the gracious Frau… an honor till my dying day… I’d let myself be cut to pieces for you…”
His tongue stumbled, reluctant to obey, but his heart was deeply moved. “Alright, Ruf,” Reichenbach soothed, “stay steady, just do your duty well.”
As the guests departed and the children started to leave with Herr Futterknecht, Reichenbach called his eldest back. “Reinhold! What’s the seventh commandment?”
Reinhold stood rigid and paled. Merciful heavens, did Father have eyes everywhere? “Thou shalt… not steal!” he stammered.
Two hefty slaps landed on the boy’s cheeks. “There! One for each Linzer Kränzerl. And you’ll write a hundred times: I shall not be naughty at the table. That’ll be on my desk by noon tomorrow. Good night.”
Frau Friederike Luise took a vase of roses from the table and carried it to the bedroom. “You shouldn’t always be so harsh with the children,” she said as her husband followed.
“Should I just let such nonsense slide? When even Futterknecht doesn’t keep a better watch! Honestly, he deserves a slap too.”
“I saw it too. Reinhold slipped them to Ottane and Hermine.”
“It’s always better one slap too many than too few. Today Reinhold didn’t know a thing about chromite again.”
Next door, Frau Paleczek bustled, barking orders in her rough bass voice to the maids clearing up. Frau Reichenbach removed her hairpins and loosened her hair before the mirror. “Don’t you think love is the best way to raise children? They’re afraid of you.”
“Oh, nonsense. They can’t learn soon enough that life demands you stay sharp and it’s no child’s game.”
With a small sigh, Friederike Luise dropped an object, letting go of a matter they’d never agree on. “Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, starting to unbutton her blouse.
“I’ve got to head to my study,” Reichenbach said. “Tomorrow, I’m making a new contract with the old count—I need to draft it. We’ll grow sugar beets, big scale, and produce sugar. If it pans out, I’ll buy Reisenberg near Vienna—a proper castle, and you’ll be a castle lady.” He chuckled briefly, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. “By the way, I think the old count’s a bit sweet on you.”
Big eyes stared at him. “Karl, how can you say such a thing?”
“Oh, come now!” he smiled with a sly grin. “Let him have his fancy. I’d believe his heart doesn’t warm to the old countess. And I know you’ve got no eyes for anyone but me.”
With that, he went to his study to draft a solid, profitable contract that would secure him a good share.
A medallion pulse lingered as the High Priestess helped Tobal to his feet and showed him a small bowl of oil and a clay goblet of wine sitting on the altar. Moistening a finger in the oil of Svartalfheim, she traced a symbol in the middle of his forehead where his third eye was located. “I mark you with the triple sign.” “I consecrate you with the oil of Svartalfheim.” Dipping her finger in the wine of Vanaheim, she again drew a symbol on his forehead. “I consecrate you with the wine of Vanaheim.” “I consecrate you with the lips of Midgard,” she said lastly and softly kissed him on the lips. Then she handed Tobal a piece of paper. He recognized the Oath of the Apprentice written upon it. “Now you must sign the oath you have just taken.”
Tobal signed the paper as everyone cheered and applause erupted all around the circle. Looking around the circle for the first time, Tobal saw fifty or sixty people cheering and waving cups at him in celebration and congratulation. After the applause died down, the High Priestess first presented a knife, its blade humming with an earthly resonance. She handed it to him separately, and Tobal took it in both hands, feeling the energy it held—a deep, grounding vibration that pulsed with life and death. “This is your true weapon, blessed of Niflheim as a tool of life and death. It symbolizes the mastery of thought and intent over the material world. As you learn the art of survival in the wilderness, you will come to appreciate how important this simple tool can be. It will one day save your life. You will also use this tool in your dreams as your spirit grows stronger and is tested by your personal fears and demons.” She then presented the belt and sheath, which he buckled around his waist, the knife now secured at his side. The High Priestess gave him a decorated wineskin filled with the sacred vital life force of the Lady.
“This is the vessel of the Lady, the Holy Grail of immortality. From this we drink in friendship and in honor of them both. It is the emotional joys and pleasures of human companionship that make life deep and rewarding. It is in sharing our lives with others that we find purpose and reward. Life is an eternal celebration, and it must be celebrated with others lest we find ourselves alone and unloved. These are the tools of the Apprentice. In the second degree, you will learn other mysteries.”
Then, taking her own knife in hand, she said, “Brother Oak, to learn you must suffer and be purified. Are you willing to suffer in order to learn?” “Yes,” Tobal answered. Gripping his right thumb, the High Priestess expertly made a small cut. “You signed the oath with a pencil, but your Higher Self signs with the blood of your life.” She took his bleeding thumb and placed it on top of his signature. Then both she and the High Priest placed a drop of their own blood over his, saying, “I know you as a beloved brother. Our blood is forever mingled. I will defend and help you according to my higher conscience and Higher Self to the best of my ability.”
She gazed intently into his eyes, “Look at this oath that you have signed, witnessed by your Higher Self.” Turning, she stepped and threw it into the bonfire. He started as the paper burst furiously into flames. She continued, “As a symbolic act, this paper is consumed and purified by the flame of the bonfire until nothing is left but your pure intent. So also in reality may all levels of your being find their true place in the transforming fire of the Lord and Lady that are both found within your own heart. Your commitment and oath is between you and the Lord and Lady. It is not a matter for us. This simple act is a token and symbol of your desire to live in the spiritual light and to be purified in mind, body, and spirit.”
“Yet, this is not enough,” she continued. She took his wineskin and drank from it before offering it to him. “Truly the powers of your higher self flow ever into your being, and if you are open to the process, your life will be changed forever. Let the chalice of your soul freely receive the wine of your spirit and experience divine intoxication thereby.” At her gesture, Tobal lifted the wineskin and drank the mead. It seemed to glow in the firelight as if it were full of some vital energy that had a life of its own. He felt the warmth and energy spread through him, warmly bursting with love. As the golden fluid poured down his throat into his stomach, he could feel the warmth grow until he was standing in a large ball of energy and spiritual light, a transcendent Hel surge enhancing the taste.
Then the High Priest and High Priestess both placed their hands on his head, invoking the highest power of the Lord and Lady. The energy poured into him, sealing his initiation forever. The High Priestess said, “I now salute you in the name of the Lord and Lady.” Turning, she led him to each of the four smaller fires at each quarter of the circle and proclaimed loudly at each station. “Brother Oak has been consecrated Apprentice of our ancient craft and is become a Child of the Lord and Lady.” As she finished, the entire circle came forward in a wild celebration and swept over Tobal. The party had begun.
That night, as the party blurred into a haze, Tobal drifted into deep dreams. In one, he saw his parents, their faces etched with resolve, trapped in a rune-lit cell of Niflheim, their voices whispering of a hidden truth. In another, Lucas and Carla appeared, their forms shimmering with Hel’s light, guiding him through a crystalline rift with cryptic words of destiny. Groggily, he raised his head as Rafe shook him, grinning mischievously. “Hey, c’mon. We’ve got a lot to do today. You going to sleep all morning?” Tobal groaned and put his hands to his head. He had a splitting headache and a nasty hangover feeling in his gut. Must have had too much of the mead and home-brewed beer last night, he thought morosely. He rolled over and tried going back to sleep, but Rafe was shaking him again cheerfully. “C’mon, I’m not kidding. It’s a busy day. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
Tobal sat up and looked around, realizing he had been sleeping in one of the teepees he had seen yesterday. He didn’t have any idea how he had gotten there. There were empty blankets where other people must have slept, but they were all gone. He was the only one left. Sitting up, he looked bleary-eyed at Rafe. “What are we doing today?” He tried valiantly to ignore the throbbing in his head and the churning in his gut. Rafe gave him another light-hearted, good-natured poke with an elbow. “How does it feel to be a witch?” he asked cheerfully. “Perhaps I should say an Apprentice witch.” He chuckled. “An Apprentice witch?” Tobal mumbled. “I didn’t know I was going to become an apprentice witch! What the hell are you talking about anyway?”
Rafe hunkered down on his haunches, “I keep forgetting your parents are dead,” he said. “I can’t believe all of this is completely new to you. Most of us have grown up within the system and understand it.” “Well I don’t,” grumped Tobal. “Maybe you can fill me in on what I’m getting myself into here.” “There are three separate degrees in our system,” Rafe told him. “These three degrees correspond to the three degrees of the ancient mystery schools, the three degrees of ancient Freemasonry, and the three degrees of witchcraft. We simply call it the three degrees of the Craft.” “The first degree of Apprentice is concerned with learning the basic survival skills that will keep you alive in the woods during all seasons of the year. We are given gray tunics and trousers…by the way.” He grinned. “How do you like your new trousers?” Tobal flushed and grinned back, “They are pretty nice actually. It was getting kind of drafty after they shortened my robe.” Rafe snickered, “Well anyway, the color gray symbolizes the degree we are in. The second degree is black. You probably noticed your guards last night were wearing black?” Tobal grinned. He was starting to feel much better. “They were pretty rough too, but my guide was nice looking, that dark-haired girl?” Rafe ignored him, “That’s part of the Journeyman degree. The Journeyman degree is where you learn self-defense among other things.” Rafe looked at him quizzically, “Do you remember how you have to train six other people to solo before you can enter the Journeyman degree?” “Yeah.” “Well, to complete the Journeyman degree you need to beat six other people in hand-to-hand combat. That doesn’t mean how many times you get beat yourself,” he grinned ruefully.
He looked a little worried, and Tobal couldn’t help but think Rafe was a bit anxious about becoming a Journeyman. That was probably due to his small size. It was hard to think Rafe could beat anyone in a fair fight. “What about the third degree then? What’s that degree about?” he asked curiously. “Are they the ones dressed in red tunics and robes?” “Yes, they are dressed in red.” They are titled Master of the circle and accorded the highest respect. You never know when your life is going to be in their hands. Their obligation is to serve as emergency medics and to officiate during circle and initiations. They monitor the health and well-being of everyone. You will see them riding around on their air sleds. They monitor our med-alert bracelets and are instantly alerted if our vital signs change through injury.” He held up his silver bracelet to show Tobal. “If something ever goes wrong and we are badly hurt, our wrist alarms go off, and it is the third-degree Masters that give us the medical attention we need. Sometimes they are too late or nothing can be done. Other times they will take us to sanctuary or the hospital for serious injury or illness. Basically, they keep tabs on everyone and make sure we are healthy and doing all right. They serve as medics for three years. After three years of medical service, they are accepted as citizens into Heliopolis.” “Three years!” Tobal blurted. “It will take forever to become a citizen!” Rafe shook him hard and looked seriously into his eyes. “Don’t even think about becoming a citizen,” he warned. “Focus on learning and living right now in the present moment. Get this right, or you will not live to become a citizen.”
Tobal found his pack and carried it silently, thinking about what Rafe had just told him as they went off to find some breakfast. The second day of circle was pleasant. Rafe introduced him to many friendly people he instinctively felt comfortable with. Tobal wondered how many of these new friends Rafe had personally trained and helped solo. He noticed Rafe was well liked by many circle members. Even more interesting was a certain section of the circle that seemed to really dislike Rafe. Tobal wondered why. This small group went out of their way to be disagreeable to Rafe and to him. After one roughly pushed past him, Tobal asked Rafe about it. “What’s with those jerks anyway?” He asked. Rafe regarded him gravely a minute before answering. There are not many people claiming sanctuary in the winter. Some of these people have been Apprentice for three or more years. They might remain Apprentice for the rest of their lives if they don’t grow up and train someone. They either have no interest in training or no one wants to train with them. Some people pick a partner to train, fall in lust, become sex partners, and don’t care about advancing. Then there are others that want to advance and simply not enough people to train. It is highly competitive, and you really have to hustle if you want to advance. I’ve made some enemies. You’re my sixth trainee in a year. No one else has ever done that before. Another thing is that I’m younger than most of the people here. Some of the older people really resent me. They not only resent me. They resent the newbies I’ve trained because I’ve taught them to be competitive too. Some of these old timers are finding it almost impossible to get anyone to train. They don’t want to camp out at sanctuary for weeks at a time waiting for someone to show up like I did waiting for you. They are getting older and blaming the people I’ve trained for taking all of the newbies. There are some hard feelings out there, and some day something is going to happen. That’s why you have to be careful. Not everyone here is friendly. Some people would like to see you or me disappear or come up with a broken leg or something. Watch your back, brother, watch your back.”
Tobal thrilled at being called ‘brother,’ but a chill feeling of dread swirled around his tailbone. What had he gotten himself into, he wondered? The events of last night’s party were hazy, and he didn’t remember much. He did remember the initiation though and how powerful it had been. He said as much to Rafe. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to participate in other initiations and experience them more completely.” “In fact,” he grinned, “you can have an active part in every circle and initiation from now on if you choose. It is an important part of your spiritual training. That’s how we do it out here.”
As they walked toward the center of the camp, Tobal was surprised at how big it was and how many permanent log buildings had been built. This was his first real opportunity to see the camp in daylight. There were permanent structures like the sweat lodge nestled near a clear pool of mountain stream water. Others seemed to be just empty sleeping quarters. The larger log building where they were headed was the galley and stood out from the others. Teepees were being taken down and put away. It seemed some of the empty buildings were used for storage. The teepee seemed to be the favorite for those desiring a little more privacy. They were built with long poles lashed together at the top and spread out in a conical shape at the bottom. They were covered with the gray woolen material that seemed to be used for just about everything out here. Many were insulated with heavy furs fastened over the woolen material and tied into place. Tobal wondered in an amused way how many trips through the sanctuary building had been made to get that many of the gray blankets.
They were not the only ones getting ready to leave. Many others were already leaving or saying their final good-byes. Tobal was trying to remember the names of people he had met and failing miserably. He felt good though and found himself looking forward to next month when he would see them again. In the galley, they had a final breakfast of cooked venison, wild onions, and sweet potatoes. With bellies stuffed, packs and canteens full, they picked up their walking sticks and headed out of the camp.
They didn’t go back up the cliff but went down further through the valley and into the foothills. Rafe explained that nobody stayed near Heliopolis. His camp was about 40 miles away from sanctuary, and there were other camps even further out. Most people stayed no further than thirty to sixty miles from the gathering spot though. Everyone was expected to find plenty of food and game in individual areas that were not over-hunted and fairly private. It was mainly a nomadic existence, especially during the training phase. So you followed the food. At various times of the year, animals would migrate and move out of one area entirely and into others. Winters were hard, and people set up permanent camps with stored food caches to help survive when fresh food was hard to find. This time of year, the weather was mild, and the days were warm and beautiful. The snow was rapidly thawing, and new shoots of green vegetation ensured they wouldn’t have to worry about adequate food in a few more weeks. There were small animals and new plant life everywhere they looked, although it was still too early for any insects.
Shortly after leaving the gathering spot, Rafe said, “Give me your map.” Tobal handed Rafe his map, and Rafe marked an “X” on it. “This is my main camp,” he said. “We will be heading there first. That’s where I will show you how I make things and what a permanent camp looks like, especially in the winter. We’ll stay there a week or two while I teach you the basics you will need to know. Then for the last two weeks, we will go out and find you some new territory to solo in. Ok?” Tobal fought a knot of icy fear and managed to nod in agreement. He wasn’t quite certain about how easy this was going to be. Two weeks didn’t seem like very much time at all. “Ok, then,” said Rafe. “You know where my camp is now, so you lead the way!”
Tobal was momentarily confused. Then he understood and took his map back. He studied the spot Rafe had marked and compared it to where the mark for the gathering spot was. He knew they were about ½ mile north of the gathering spot and tried to orient himself on the map. The map showed Rafe’s camp lay about 50 miles in a northeast direction. Damn, he thought, Rafe certainly isn’t one that likes living close to the gathering spot. It would take a hard two days getting to his camp, maybe even longer if the terrain was really rough. He noticed something else. Rafe was making certain his map had sanctuary, the gathering spot, and Rafe’s own permanent camp on it. He felt a warmth of gratitude toward Rafe for that. If anything went wrong, he would be able to find help if he needed it.
Tobal sat down with the map, trying to puzzle out the best way to get to Rafe’s camp. He noticed that it was in some very rough country, which meant it would be at least three days and not two. “I don’t know if we can get to your place by going in a straight line.” Rafe grinned evilly, “It looks like 50 miles in a straight line, but it’s more like 100 miles the way we’ve got to go. It’s going to take us almost four days to get there.” Four days! Tobal suddenly felt very vulnerable and unprotected. How in the world was he supposed to survive in this God-forsaken place? He fought a rising panic and looked at the map again more carefully. Four days meant they were going to need water. He noticed a small stream 25 miles away and decided to make that their first camp. It was a little out of the way, but he felt it was a good idea to stay close to water.
He studied the map some more and decided the second day they could head straight north and set up a dry camp. The third day would be another dry camp, and they would reach Rafe’s camp sometime on the fourth day. They would also reach water on the fourth day before reaching the camp. He explained his plan to Rafe and showed him the map. Rafe studied the map thoughtfully. “Ya, we can try that,” he said. “You did a good job thinking about what you were going to do and made a plan. You also remembered we need water, and that’s very important out here. It looks like a good plan, and I’m willing to try it with you. Lead the way,” he said. As they began, Rafe added, “Yggdrasil guides us through these wilds, Brother Oak—trust its roots to show the path.”
Tobal pulled out his cord and undid all the knots in it. He aligned the red line on his compass for a northeast heading and surveyed the landscape, seeking the best pathway through it. Choosing his route between trees, he set out purposefully with Rafe following cheerfully behind him. It was rough going the next three days. He didn’t need to worry about water because it rained all the way to Rafe’s camp. Tobal was glad for the makeshift woolen poncho that kept him halfway warm even when it was wet. It was miserable traveling. A shadow flickered on day two, hinting at unseen eyes, but the rain masked its source.
He made a hat to keep body heat from escaping out the top of his head. It was welcome protection from both the sun and the rain since Tobal had fair skin that burned easily. Rafe had been insistent he had some type of head covering. One of the quickest ways of losing body heat was not having your head covered. Sunstroke and sunburn could be dangerous killers. In the wilderness, these things were not to be taken lightly. Tobal learned to move carefully and deliberately in the rain and slick mud, his sense of balance sharpening with each step.
Rafe continued his education by pointing out and gathering herbs. The unceasing rain made the snow disappear almost overnight. He explained about tinder and how to find good dry firewood even in the rain. Tobal learned to always have enough dry tinder and kindling to start a fire. He carried it with him in a pouch on his belt. He created the pouch by cutting some of the fabric off the poncho. He used the sewing kit to sew it together. He also used the sewing kit to mend some of his socks.
He made it a habit to gather small pieces of firewood as they went along so he didn’t need to look so hard for it at night. While it was more weight to carry, it was easier than looking in the rain and darkness for dry wood. Each evening, Tobal would select the campsite and start the fire under Rafe’s supervision. Together they would gather the rest of the evening’s wood and take turns preparing the meal. At night, they set snares for small animals. In the morning, they would check the snares and sometimes they would be lucky. Often they would find only an empty snare.
They couldn’t get warm enough in the constant drizzle, but the fire did feel good even if they couldn’t get dry. During the day, they also hunted for small game. Rafe and Tobal each cut a long strip of fabric and made a sling out of it. Together they practiced with small stones at various targets. The first day, Rafe hit a rabbit, and that night they ate rabbit stew. There was always some kind of greens for a salad.
Small animals were not all they would eat. Rafe showed him how to break open rotten logs and find the grubs within them. “They are better cooked in something,” Rafe grinned as Tobal fought off a wave of nausea. “Still, they are better than not eating at all. The large wood ants have a lemony flavor, but you need to make sure you bite them hard before swallowing, or they will try to crawl back up.”
By water, they set traps overnight for fish and set snares for small animals. If they caught anything, it was usually a rabbit or squirrel and went into the stew or was simply roasted. They ate the fish immediately. At noon every day, Tobal triangulated his true position on the map and made small corrections in their course. At times, he rethought the best route to Rafe’s camp from their current position. The wilderness often looked much different than it did on the map, and the differences took some getting used to. Some areas that looked passable on the map certainly did not look inviting in real life, and other times it seemed appropriate to take a shortcut that had not been considered.
In all this, Tobal was the guide, and Rafe simply listened and followed. Once in a while, he would make a comment about some of the changes in the plan that Tobal proposed, but he went along with them. At times, Tobal realized he had made a mistake, and hours were spent retracing the way back to their starting point. Still, with each success and miscalculation, he learned more about both reading the map and moving through rough country.
Late afternoon of the fourth day, they arrived at Rafe’s base camp. The rain had stopped, but they were soaked to the bone. It was in a secluded valley, and Rafe had to show Tobal the hidden entrance, or he would never have found it. The main camp was a large teepee with several small outbuildings made of logs. He had his own sweat lodge built next to a small mountain stream. There was also a rack for smoking meat and making jerky. The first thing they did was get into some warm dry clothes and fix a decent meal.
The rest of the first week passed quickly. They stayed in the area and set traps for fish and snares for smaller animals. Tobal learned the ways of each animal he hunted. Rafe showed him the game trails and what the individual tracks of each animal looked like. They smoked the fish and other meat so it would keep and not spoil.
In the evenings at the campfire, Rafe had him work first on a bow and then on some arrows so he could hunt larger game. He learned how to skin and dress the smaller animals like beaver, muskrat, and mink. He would carefully stretch and dry the pelts for later use as winter clothing. He learned the basics of tanning leather and made his first leather-crafted items. The weather was turning too warm to be wearing furs anymore, and the pelts would soon lose their value as the animals shed their heavy winter fur. He could always use some leather though and concentrated mainly on tanning leather.
Each morning, they explored the area, checking game trails and sneaking up on animals without trying to kill them. They had plenty to eat and practiced stalking larger game animals like deer and mountain goat. During the following week, Tobal learned more about tracking and how fresh an old track might be. He was getting fairly good with the sling and practiced every day with the bow.
The smell of burning incense and the glow of burning candles was completely unexpected. A dark shag carpet muffled his steps and he sneezed involuntarily as he stirred up some dust. “Antiquities and Curiosities” was not a normal shop in any sense of the term. He gazed around in awe. It was like being in a museum. The shop was large and divided into several sections, each section set up and displayed according to a historical time period.
He had been expecting to see odds and ends of junk that cluttered so many antique shops. Instead each section was divided not by year but by century. There were complete room like displays of furniture, clothing, weaponry, art, games, toys, reading materials and more. Entering into a section was like stepping into a different world.
He stepped into a display about prehistoric cavemen. There was a replica of a cave painting on a rock. The painting and rock looked like they had been hewn out of the back of a cave somewhere. There was a clay bowl and goblet, three flint knives looked sharp and fairly unused. A hand axe had been used to cut chips out of a log lying in the middle of the display. Admiring it, he picked the axe up, hefted it and gave a couple practice swings. There was a primitive energy and vitality about each item that made him instinctively want to pick it up and start using it. He just knew these items had been made to be used. As he moved through the displays, a clock on the wall began ticking erratically, its hands blurring between moments. The air thickened with a temporal tug, and the hand axe flickered, as if caught between eras. Nearby, a small etched crystal in the display pulsed faintly, its glow hinting at something ancient and alive. He felt a shiver—could this shop hold secrets of time itself?
A female figure was dressed attractively in furs and armed with a bow and quiver of hand made arrows. There was a small pack on her back and a blanket robe of rabbit fur lying on the ground beside her. She had a necklace of brightly colored bird feathers around her neck and there were price tags on each item. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he looked at a few of the price tags. There was a small fortune in this one display alone.
He realized this shop must deal in specialty replicas. Perhaps theater props. Each item was extremely well made and looked real and functional. The clothing, furniture, weapons and even the leather shoes were all obviously handcrafted. Moving to other displays he could see each item of clothing was crudely woven in the old manner, hand stitched and buttons were hand made. He would have believed he was in some type of museum but no museum carried items in such a perfect state of repair and like new condition.
He wandered for an hour looking at various displays and getting an increasingly troubled feeling that something wasn’t right. He could believe one or two displays of meticulous craftsmanship and diversity. There were re-constructionists that studied the old ways of ancient civilizations and tried duplicating them. But this was different. It was as if someone had stepped back into time and brought back these items for sale in this curious shop. Touching a flint knife, he saw a flash—a warrior wielding it in a shadowed battle, his parents’ faces flickering beside a crystalline portal. The vision faded, leaving a hum in the air, the Wild whispering of past lives.
That was absurd of course but the feeling of unease was growing more uncomfortable inside him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these items were real and that was not possible. He felt a chill go up his spine. These items shouldn’t exist and this store shouldn’t exist. The knowledge and ability to create these things had vanished long ago. No people living today had the knowledge to make these things that were so exquisitely crafted.
This was not an ordinary shop. Dealing in replicas of this quality had to be very expensive and these items very hard to come by. Why would any person in today’s world want to use these old fashioned things or buy them? The only reason Tobal could think of was for theatrical props. In a flash of insight he wondered if Tavistock Educational had purchased theatrical costumes from this place to use at the Halloween dance. He winced and rapidly brought his mind back to the present.
He sneezed again and a blond girl about two years younger than Tobal came around the corner with a smile, wearing a spring colored dress. She was five feet four inches tall and pretty in a plain sort of way. Her eyes were a warm bright blue and danced with humor.
“Bless you!” She said brightly with a smile. “I thought I heard someone. May I help you, oh!” Her hand went to her face and covered her mouth in a startled manner. She was blushing furiously in embarrassment and backing away.
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I was just startled.”
He touched his face, relaxed and tried to grin.
“That’s all right,” the awkward moment passed.
“How can I help you?” She asked again this time a little nervously.
Tobal eyed her. She was too young to know about the medallion and the faded letter. She was younger than he was. Still his instructions had been to take them to this shop. Slowly and uncertainly he took the medallion off over his head and handed it to the girl.
“I would like to know what you can tell me about this medallion and how old it is,” he said.
She looked at it, her eyes widened and her face turned pale. She looked sharply and asked in a snappy voice.
“Are you trying to sell this?”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to find information about it. It belonged to my parents.”
“I have to get father. I can’t talk to you about this,” she said quickly. “Make yourself at home and look around the shop a little bit more. I’ll be right back with father in a few minutes.”
Tobal watched as she stepped through a curtain behind the main counter. He heard her running up stairs into the living quarters. Suddenly he wished he had taken the medallion back before she had left. He fought down a rising panic. She seemed honest enough and it would be all right. Still he knew he should have never let it out of his hands. He didn’t know her or anyone else in this town. If anything happened it would be her word against his and unlikely that anyone would believe him.
Trying to take his mind off the medallion, Tobal wandered around other areas of the shop looking with renewed amazement at finely crafted armor, ornate weapons, muskets and pistols. Some of the metal still had hammer marks from when it was forged and beaten into shape. Leather boots and woven tapestries competed with rich clothing hand sewn from the finest silks. Oil lamps lit ornate desks covered with hand written books and crude scientific instruments whose purpose he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Close examination of some items showed that not all of them were new. Some of the items were not only real and functional but had also been used. Some of the armor and weapons were sweat stained and scarred or repaired. He studied a Roman helmet and noticed the leather lining was soft and pliable with sweat stains on it as if it had been used recently. The bronze buckles were highly polished.
When he touched these used items he felt memories enter into his mind. Perhaps he was reminded of past lives when he had known, worn and used items such as these. Perhaps that was why they stirred such deep and powerful emotions within him and why they felt so comfortable in his hands.
He heard someone coming slowly down the stairs and headed back to the counter. The tread sounded slower and heavier and he knew it was not the girl returning. Whoever it was walked with a pronounced limp. The curtains parted and a very tall, distinguished looking gentleman with old-fashioned spectacles and long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail entered the room. Tobal stared at the spectacles. They were the kind of thing no one wore any more. Corrective surgery had long made any type of eyeglasses a thing of the past.
He wondered at the odd affectation and suppressed a smile. Anyone that owned a shop like this would have to be unusual. The man was holding Tobal’s medallion and staring at it with a peculiar look in his eye. Almost lovingly the old man’s fingers traced the outer circle and the two figures.
Tobal blurted out, his voice unsteady, “Last night—Lucas and Carla appeared. Time Knights. They said my parents built a Gaia time portal, that they’re alive, imprisoned. Harry says they drowned.” Adam listened silently, his expression unreadable, fingers pausing on the medallion.
He looked at Tobal and said softly, “Do you have anything else?”
Tobal pulled the faded letter out of his pocket and handed it over. The old man’s face paled as he looked at the broken wax seal. He carefully took the letter out of the envelope and began to read. When he was done he looked at Tobal with a new expression on his face. There was steely determination and something that looked suspiciously like newly forming tears.
The old man asked solemnly, “Do you claim the right of blood?”
Not knowing what to say, Tobal just nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
The old man smiled widely and stepping around the corner embraced Tobal in a warm hug.
“Then welcome son, welcome! You’ve come home at last!”
The old man’s name was Adam Gardner and his daughter was named Sarah. She was an only child. Her mother had died when she was an infant. She was only one year younger than Tobal. The way she pinned her hair into twin ponytails made her look younger.
Adam called Sarah down to mind the shop while the two of them went upstairs to talk. Tobal related what he knew while the old man sat quietly and listened. He was particularly interested that Tobal’s Uncle Harry had been reactivated and there was new interest in his parent’s research. He was not surprised uncle Harry had discouraged Tobal from coming to Old Seattle.
“He was right,” Adam told him. “Most of the people that knew your father and mother are dead. I think your uncle and I might be the only ones left and I never met your uncle. Your parents spoke well of him though and that was always good enough for me. It was a foolish idea coming here but I’m glad you did.”
“I owe your mother and father a lot,” he continued. “There are not many around any more that still remember what really happened. Hell,” he sighed, “I don’t know what really happened and I was there.”
“It was during the failure of phase II that I started working with Ron and Rachel. They were brilliant scientists and very much in love.” He glanced at Tobal and his eyes softened, “I’m sorry you never got to know them. I remember how excited they were when you were born. They brought you straight to the village from the hospital and showed you off. They took you everywhere they could. When they went on missions my wife, Linda, or I would baby sit you and some of the other children.”
Tobal’s head was spinning and he felt completely lost. “Wait please,” he interrupted. “What do you mean phase II, I thought there was only one project and why were there other children around if it was dangerous?”
Adam sighed heavily and shifted in his chair, “There were at least three different programs I knew about and more that I didn’t. Most of them were heavily classified Federation research. The overall focus of your parent’s research involved matter transmission from one point to another, harnessing crystals that tap into Gaia’s magnetic fields to produce free energy.”
“But that was done years ago,” Tobal said. “At least I think it was.”
“It has been done with solid crystalline objects but never with organic tissue or living things. Impurities within the cellular structure cause the collapse of the cell tissue under the stress of intense magnetic field energies. Your parents were trying to find ways to purify the human body enough so it would transform into pure energy and the back into flesh again.”
“Is that possible?” Tobal asked.
“Yes,” Adam replied quietly. “Your parents did this many times. I’ve done it as well. The entire sanctuary project was designed as the first round of purification needed to produce this effect in humans and was known as phase I. Its objective was to produce general spiritual, mental, emotional, physical health, self-esteem and competence by naturally strengthening the magnetic fields within the human body. It was very successful in producing sweeping changes physically, mentally and emotionally in a positive manner.
It was so successful the city-state of Heliopolis was forced to assume a ‘closed’ or ‘forbidden’ status under Federation supervision. Graduates of phase I were vastly superior to their peers in normal Federation society. Given a chance they would out perform or out compete others while remaining healthy and highly individualized. The main draw back from the Federation’s view was that graduates were too independent. They didn’t like taking orders from people they didn’t know or respect. Phase II tried to further purify the human body through mechanical means using high strength pulsating magnetic fields similar to how solid objects have been treated and transported in the past. This is the project that failed. Scientists exposed to these raw magnetic field energies began to experience bizarre side effects and deformities as their human genetic structure mutated. Your parents alone seemed immune to these hazards that were killing others.
That was when I became involved. I was going through phase I. A handful of us met secretly with your parents and studied natural shamanistic ways of purifying and energizing the human body. Your mother was pregnant with you and didn’t want to do anything that might cause harm to her unborn infant. She was already afraid she might have exposed you to harmful influences and genetic mutations.”
He peered at Tobal with keen interest through his spectacles.
“You seem to be healthy and normal though.”
He continued. “Howling Wolf was a local Native American shaman that had mastered the practice of bi-location, being in two places at once. He developed this ability through natural means. He was never a part of the official program and the Federation never knew about him.
Your parents met him accidentally one day in the mountains. He gave your mother herbs he said would help her pregnancy. Later they learned he was able to instantly teleport himself from one place to another. This was what your parents were interested in and didn’t involve sophisticated technology. They became his students. Training started out as a form of mental projection like remote viewing but deepened into the transport of the entire physical body. Howling Wolf was a strong influence and convinced your parents that you would be born healthy and that learning this bi-location ability would not be harmful to you. Your parents convinced Howling Wolf to teach a small group of us and we met in secret.
As our shamanism training progressed it became clear that spirit travel and bi-location could be achieved naturally and safely without the mutagenic hazards of high strength magnetic fields and super conductors.
We didn’t need the money or the machines the Federation supplied. Even more important we didn’t need the strict military supervision and control. Your parents researched the effect of Howling Wolf’s training on the human body and found ways to measure scientifically what was really happening.
They were able to duplicate his training and developed other methods that combined science and shamanism. They created a teleportation device capable of transporting Phase I graduates from one transmitter to another and back. That project was called Phase III.
Phase I graduates had no problems going through the matter transmitter even though non-graduates could not. My theory is Phase I training integrated body, mind and spirit in a way that ‘unified’ the entire personality.
Howling Wolf taught that these mysteries and natural techniques have always been known to a small group of individuals throughout history. These secrets have been taught in secret mystery schools and handed down individually through oral traditions.
This training involved the development of the non-physical body, aura or soul as it is some times called. It was the development of this non-physical body that ‘energized’ and harmonized with the physical body in a way that allowed the physical body to transform into pure energy and back again without damage to the individual cells.”
Adam glanced at Tobal before continuing, “Howling Wolf told us in ancient times this was called ‘becoming immortal or God like’. Each culture had it’s own name for it. The Taoists called it ‘developing the immortal physical body’. Jesus used this technique or something similar when he appeared in a closed room full of disciples after his supposed death. Thomas, the doubter, did not believe until he felt the holes of the nails in Jesus’ hands and feet. The ancient Greeks spoke of heroes and heroines that became immortal.”
He paused and took a sip of brandy before continuing. “ The holy men and women of the earth’s religions knew these techniques and passed them on in secret to a select few. The Gods and Goddesses of all religions were once human. After they learned these techniques they became ‘divine’ and transcended normal human life. Later they were worshipped as Gods and Goddesses.
Can you imagine the military application of such super human abilities? Imagine spies and assassins that can’t be stopped or caught. Do you understand what I am saying? Phase III was insignificant compared to Howling Wolf’s bi-location process. Your parents refused to cooperate any longer with the harmful studies because of the mutagenic effect it had on the human DNA. Several volunteers had already died horrible deaths. The Federation found out about our secret group and panicked. They sent in Special Forces and massacred our entire village hoping to kill every one of us.”
Adam’s throat caught and his voice faltered. “Many innocent lives were lost. Not just those in the sanctuary program. My wife was murdered and my two older children. Howling Wolf’s entire family was living in the village and they were murdered too. Only two of his grandchildren survived and that was because they were with us. We were at a secret meeting and had taken you, Sarah, and Howling Wolf’s two grandchildren with us. I was taking care of the four of you. The rest were in a meeting when it happened.”
“When we came back,” his voice faltered and there were tears in his eyes, “When we came back they were all dead. Your father and mother went to find your uncle. He was the Federation officer in charge of Phase III. They never came back. They took you with them. Howling Wolf’s son and daughter-in-law were hunted down and executed. The rest of us vanished. Howling Wolf took his remaining grandchildren and I took Sarah. She doesn’t know she had two older brothers.
“We went back in secret and buried our loved ones. Several times they almost caught us but we slipped through them like ghosts,” he laughed hollowly and without humor, “That’s what we were, ghosts burying ghosts.”
His fist clenched, “That’s what they were too, if we ever caught them. We wanted to stay but the children were not safe and needed protection. We waited for word from your parents but no word ever came. Howling Wolf was going to keep an eye on things and keep our secret meeting place from being discovered. We knew how to contact each other in an emergency. I was going to get money for the supplies to rescue your parents if they were still alive.”
“That’s all I know,” he said wearily sitting back in his chair. “Howling Wolf never contacted me. They must have hunted him down and killed him too. I don’t see how he could have survived.”
Adam peered at Tobal over his spectacles. “Now you tell me there is renewed interest in your parent’s research. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I’ve always wanted Sarah to go through the sanctuary program. I’m getting too old to train her myself. Knowing that you will be there makes me feel better about Sarah going. I will send her next fall after the tourist season.”
“Can you bi-locate?” Tobal asked in awe.
The old man nodded gruffly, “Howling Wolf and your parents taught me.”
“Can Sarah?”
Adam sighed and took another sip of brandy. “No she can’t. She needs to go through the sanctuary program first for the preliminary training. After that I can train her.”
“Will you train me?” Tobal asked hopefully.
Adam took a long time before answering. He bent forward and his steely eyes looked straight into Tobal’s soul. “Get through the sanctuary program first and then ask me. If it is still what you want, then I will train you. I owe your parents that much. Make sure Sarah gets through her training too.”
Tobal was overwhelmed by the information and needed some time to think. He believed the old man, but he also felt the old man was not telling the entire story. He excused himself and said he needed to go for a walk down by the park and clear his head. As he stepped outside, he noticed a shadow flitting near the shop, echoing the figure from that snowy night, stirring a flicker of unease.
The sun was high and it was almost noon when Sarah came to get him for lunch. She was shy and awkward in social situations. Tobal guessed she didn’t get around much and was surprised she was being home schooled. To be home schooled in today’s high tech society was unheard of. As they walked back to the shop for lunch he wondered how good her education really was.
Sarah and Tobal spent a lot of time together and became good friends. She was interesting to talk with and certainly knew far more about history than he did. The days crept by and early March brought heavy snows that made a mess in Old Seattle where traffic was foot traffic. Sidewalks were kept shoveled clear but the streets were left to melt on their own. Getting around on foot made travel hazardous. They spent most of the time inside the store or visiting other shops.
One day they went to New Seattle. It was like any modern city-state he had ever visited. It was lacking in personality and created to satisfy its population with passive pleasures like virtual gaming tournaments and interactive learning terminals linking people from all across the globe. Like many city-states if followed the European pattern of stacking people like sardines in limited living quarters. That was balanced with large parks, recreational areas and gardens where a person could spend time alone in nature without ever leaving the city itself.
It was Old Seattle that was a breath of fresh air to Tobal with its strange shops and residents. The entire area was filled with people that dared to be different and creative. Each person was living their own self-created reality and prospered or reduced to poverty on the merits of their vision and efforts. Old Seattle survived on the seasonal tourist trade. Still, it was surprising how much business it drew even in the slower months of winter and late spring.
There was a darker side to the city as well and they tried to steer clear of it. Drugs and prostitution had found a home in the old city along with other illegal activities not allowed within New Seattle. There were dangers that beckoned with shadowy fingers. This was an area of human predators and there was little protection from the law. Tobal realized why there were iron bars and heavy reinforced doors on most of the homes and shops.
The freedom of the old city came at a heavy price. That price was no medical or police service. It simply was not available even though one could go through the gate into New Seattle and have instant service. New Seattle did not want people living in Old Seattle and did not support its occupants. The local community united together to provide emergency service and transportation when needed. They looked out for each other through a neighborhood watch program.
Sarah and Adam lived in a fairly safe and respectable neighborhood but even she was concerned when they were followed home one snowy night by a shadowy figure they couldn’t quite make out. They never did know if it was a friend making sure they got home safely or a predator. The mysterious figure vanished into the snowy night when they reached the shop entrance.
Tobal spent a lot of time talking with Adam. One afternoon he was helping set up a new display in the shop.
“Where does all this stuff come from?” he asked. “How do you find things like this?”
The old man answered evasively. “They are just hand crafted items here on consignment. I know the people that make them and have an exclusive trade agreement with them. While I get a commission on each sale, I don’t really know the history of each piece.”
He eyed Tobal speculatively and continued, “Several times a year I take some time off to restock my supply. When I’m gone Sarah takes care of the shop for me. That’s why I’m going to miss her so much when she leaves.”
“Have you ever heard of Tavistock Educational?”
“Hmm, yes I think I have. Why?” Adam asked.
“That’s my old school. I graduated from there.” He paused and corrected himself. “I mean this spring is my graduation but I graduated early.” “Anyway”, he flushed, “last Halloween we had a costume ball and I was wondering if our theatrical department got its costumes from you. This shop reminds me of the costumes we were wearing.”
Adam Gardner eyed him shrewdly. “Your uncle must do pretty well to send you to an exclusive school like Tavistock Educational. It’s a very hard school to get into and I’ve never heard of anyone graduating early from it. I’ve heard it’s real high society, not like your parents at all.”
Tobal persisted, “Did the school get the costumes from you?”
Adam relented and said mysteriously, “Yes, they have an account with me and are one of my good customers. There are not many places that can afford high quality reproductions. I move in some pretty elite circles myself.” Then he changed the subject.
Adam also proved evasive about the medallion, especially when Tobal told him that he had seen the same image as a tattoo on Uncle Harry’s chest. Adam said there were some things he couldn’t talk about. Maybe later after Tobal completed the sanctuary program they could sit down and talk. It was just not the right time. There were some things that could only be told after he received the proper training.
“There are some things just too dangerous to talk about right now,” he told Tobal. “I haven’t been to Heliopolis in over fifteen years and they think I’m dead. I want them to keep thinking I’m dead. I don’t know if things have changed and I don’t want to endanger Sarah when she is taking the Phase I training this fall.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “ You come back here with Sarah after you’ve completed the sanctuary program and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” He looked hard at Tobal, “Will you trust me on that?”
Tobal didn’t have much choice. “I guess I will have to,” he muttered dryly.
Soon after that the old man made arrangements for transportation to the closed city-state of Heliopolis. It was about 80 miles from the coast into the Cascades. Heliopolis lay in a sheltered valley between mountains and was hidden by hardwood trees, ringed with dense pine forests and shaded by Snowcapped Mountains.
Tobal and Adam had one last talk in private before he left. Adam told him more about Heliopolis. It did not follow the accepted rules of the Federation. Tobal was reminded he would not have the same civil rights he enjoyed now. Heliopolis was a separate sovereign nation. He needed to be very careful.
Tobal was getting a little worried until Adam reminded him that Sarah would be coming next fall and she would need his friendship and help. It was a high honor to apply for sanctuary. No one was turned away but it was so secret few people knew they could apply. It was limited to word of mouth and generations of family members that had already gone through the training themselves.
Adam had been a citizen of Heliopolis before Tobal’s parents changed everything with their research. He remembered how Heliopolis had been before it became a closed city-state. His wife and two sons were buried back there and some day he wanted to go back and visit their graves. He was bitter about it because under the current political conditions he would never be able to go back.
His older citizenship was no longer recognized and his life would be in danger if he tried. Sarah’s life would be in danger if they knew who she really was. She would come under a false identity. He hoped Sarah would be able to visit her mother’s grave. She didn’t know about her two older brothers and he needed to talk to her about them before she left. His voice faltered as he was telling Tobal these things. Tobal knew it would be very hard for Adam to share these things with Sarah.
There was not much else to say and Tobal silently gave the old man a hug. Then they went downstairs to find Sarah. As he descended, the medallion’s pulse seemed to align with a faint hum from Gaia’s crystal energy, a whisper of the journey ahead. It was almost time to go.
Later that evening, as they sat by the shop’s hearth, Tobal turned to Adam. “About Lucas and Carla—what do you know of them? The Time Knights? They mentioned a time hub, something my parents worked on. Is that tied to this place?” Adam’s gaze darkened, sipping his brandy. “I’ve heard whispers of Time Knights, guardians of temporal rifts. Your parents spoke of a hub, a portal they built with Howling Wolf’s guidance—here, in Old Seattle, hidden in the artifacts. A friend of mine, a Knight, vanished during the massacre. I helped shield it, but the Federation’s attack disrupted it. I thought it lost. If they’re alive, it might still pulse beneath us. Tread carefully—Harry’s recall could mean they’re hunting it again.”
Tobal lay in the dimness of his bedroom, the air thick with the musty scent of old wood and the faint tang of whiskey drifting from the den below. The colonial uniform lay crumpled on the floor, the silver sword leaning against the wall where it had been thrown in frustration after the ball’s chaos. His face bore the dull ache of newly healed scars, a stark reminder of Becca’s fury. The hospital’s sterile silence still echoed, Fiona’s tearful departure a weight he couldn’t shake. He pulled the hoodie over his head, brown eyes staring at the ceiling, the dance replaying—Fiona’s fire in his arms, her kiss a spark, her whisper of something strange. The incident had plunged him into a deep disturbance, a refusal to return to Tavistock High, to face the whispers or the polished masks. School twisted his stomach, a prison he longed to flee.
In the restless hours before dawn, sleep tugged him into a dream. The oak box sat in the corner of his room, its carved glyph—a man and woman holding hands within a circled serpent, edges glowing faintly—casting a shadow of a memory he couldn’t grasp—his mother’s laugh, his father’s murmur, lost when he was 2. Its weight pulled at him, a mystery tied to Harry’s cryptic “Time broke that day,” a thread to a past shrouded in smoke and steel. The Wild called, soft and distant, a shiver pulling him half-out of body. Outpost steel flashed, yellow eyes glinted in the haze, then faded into a fleeting image of Harry laughing in cold water, a woman’s—Lilly’s—joyful laugh echoing before it dissolved. He jolted awake, heart pounding, the Wild whispering louder, a spark igniting his resolve to run.
Morning broke gray and cold, the Oregon sky pressing against the windows as Tobal slipped out of bed, his scarred face a stranger’s mask. The thought of school—of facing the aftermath—clawed at him, a prison he couldn’t endure. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he crept downstairs, dodging the fifth step, the air heavy with polish and Harry’s silence. He grabbed a coat, the front door clicking shut behind him, and headed into the biting wind toward the frozen lake north of the estate. The snow crunched under his boots, his breath fogging in the chill, the Wild whispering through the pines—a call to escape the life Harry demanded.
Hours later, he stood at the lake’s edge, its icy surface gleaming under a weak sun, sundogs flickering on either side. Exhaustion weighed him down, the scars itching faintly, his resolve faltering. Then he saw him—an old man, stooped and weathered, fishing through a hole in the ice. His gray beard caught the light, eyes sharp beneath a tattered hat, a presence that felt ancient yet alive. Tobal approached, wary. “Who are you?” he asked, voice rough.
“Name’s Joe,” the old man rasped, reeling in an empty line. “Lost your way, lad?” His voice carried a knowing edge, a hint of something Tobal couldn’t place.
“I… I can’t go back,” Tobal muttered, the weight of his scars pressing down. “School, my uncle—they don’t get me.”
Joe nodded, eyes glinting like the ice. “The Wild’s got a hold on you, boy. Run if you must, but home’s where you’ll find your first step.” He offered a gnarled hand, and Tobal hesitated, then shook it—a grip that felt like time itself, a shiver running through him. Joe pointed toward the estate. “Head back. Something waits there—something you’ll need.”
Confused but drawn by the old man’s certainty, Tobal turned back, the lake fading behind him. The walk home stretched endlessly, the cold biting deeper, his mind a storm of doubt and determination. He slipped inside as dusk fell, Harry’s snores rumbling from the den. The house felt emptier, the attic hum louder, but he collapsed into bed, the runaway attempt a fleeting rebellion, a seed planted by Joe’s words.
In the days that followed, with his face largely healed as much as it would—scars now a permanent mask—Tobal found solace outdoors with Shadow. The estate’s grounds stretched wild beyond the manicured lawns, a sanctuary of pine and frost. He saddled Shadow, the black gelding’s sleek coat warm against the chill, and rode into the forest, hooves crunching snow. The wind carried a raw, earthy scent, and a deer paused, its eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding. Tobal dismounted, kneeling by a frozen stream, the ice glinting like glass. He traced its edge, feeling a pulse in the earth, a connection to the Wild stirring within. A fox darted past, its red fur a flash against the white, and Shadow nickered softly, nuzzling his hand. This bond with nature and animals grew, a refuge from the chaos, a whisper of something ancient awakening.
One afternoon, the house trembled with Harry’s rage. Tobal found him in the den, wheelchair jammed against the desk, papers scattered, a Federation summons crumpled in his fist. “They’re recalling me to the Outpost near Heliopolis,” Harry snarled, his voice a bitter growl, eyes blazing with resentment. “After all I’ve given—Lilly’s death, my legs—those bastards think I can still serve. I’m done!” He slammed the summons down, the scar on his knuckles whitening. Tobal stood silent, the air thick with Harry’s fury, a hint of his past unraveling.
Later that evening, at dinner, Harry’s bitterness spilled over. “I don’t understand what the Federation wants with a cripple,” he spat, shoving his plate aside, coffee sloshing. “Reopening that damn research—your parents’ work—after I shut it down. They’re dragging me back to oversee it, and I hate every second of it.” His hands trembled, gripping the chair’s arms, a mix of anger and guilt, the Outpost’s shadow looming. Tobal nodded, sensing a fracture in Harry’s control, a thread to the mystery of his parents.
One evening, Harry wheeled into Tobal’s room, the oak box balanced on his lap, its carved glyph—a man and woman holding hands within a circled serpent—catching the light. “It’s time,” Harry said, voice low, haunted eyes meeting Tobal’s. His hands gripped the chair tightly, shifting uncomfortably as a flicker of unease crossed his face. The box’s weight settled on the bed, a promise and a curse, and Tobal lifted the lid with trembling fingers. Inside, a yellowed envelope bore his name, sealed with red wax embossed with the same glyph, and nestled in dark green velvet, a large gold medallion with a heavy chain, mirroring the carving. He slipped it over his head, its weight pressing against his chest, a calm power radiating through him. Tears welled in his eyes, a shock of connection to the parents he barely remembered, his breath catching as he traced the glyph’s curves.
He broke the wax seal with a letter opener, hands shaking, and unfolded the letter, reading his parents’ exact words:
“Dearest son, Tobal, if you are reading this, we are dead. We wish we could have been there to watch you grow and share our love as you were growing up. Events happened to make this impossible. We promised to do one last mission that is very dangerous and are writing this letter in case we don’t come back. You are in good hands with your Uncle Harry and Aunt Lilly. They love you and will take care of you. We asked them to keep this letter and give it to you when you come of age. You have the right to claim ‘sanctuary’ in the City of the Sun and find your true destiny, just as we have. It is our wish and dream that you be trained in the values and beliefs we hold dear. While we can not control the choices you make in life, we would like you to know what we believe; the things we feel are worth living and dying for. You may never know us, but you can know the things we love and care about. Perhaps someday you will learn what we died for. Take this medallion and letter to the Antiquities Shop on 2424 Oak St., Old Seattle, Washington, and show them to the proprietor. He will know what they are and what needs to be done. Your Uncle Harry will give you an airbus ticket. We would like to tell you more but there is no time left. Give our love to Howling Wolf. He can tell you what you need to know. Your loving parents, Lord and Lady of the Sun, Ron and Rachel Kane. Dated this day 25 January, 113th year of the New Eon, sun in Aquarius, moon in Scorpio.”
Tears streamed down his face as Harry spoke, his voice heavy with a past he’d buried. “Your parents were research scientists in Heliopolis, a closed city-state on the West Coast,” Harry began, his tone guarded. “Their work was classified—something about energy and time, tied to the OAK Matrix. They believed it could reshape the Federation, but it was dangerous. An air sled accident over a lake took them when you were 2—no formal investigation, just a Federation cover-up. I found their bodies, floating, no marks, but something felt wrong. I tried continuing their research, but an explosion killed Lilly and left me paralyzed. The Federation shut it down, called it too risky. Some say it was sabotage—my orders pushed them too far.” His voice broke, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I’ve kept it secret, fearing the Federation’s reach. Now they’re reopening it, and you’re tangled in it. You’re going to Sanctuary directly.”
Tobal gripped the letter, defiance flaring. “But the letter tells me to go to Old Seattle,” he said, confusion and stubbornness in his voice. “I’m supposed to take the medallion and letter to someone my parents knew. That’s what I need to do first. They will know what I need to do next. That’s what the letter says.” He looked stubbornly at his uncle.
“There is no one to meet at Old Seattle,” Harry barked. “They are all dead! All of your parent’s friends are dead. They have been dead for fifteen years! I am buying you an airbus ticket for Heliopolis and that is where you are going. That is where the sanctuary program is. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” Tobal replied meekly, shaken by his uncle’s outburst. Inside, he seethed, planning to exchange his ticket for Old Seattle—that’s where his parents had told him to go, and that’s where he would go.
Harry wheeled out, the door clicking shut, leaving Tobal alone with the box. Hours later, as midnight deepened, he sat on his bed, the medallion’s weight a silent vow. The air shimmered, and two figures materialized: Lucas, tall and stern with a warrior’s bearing, and Carla, her eyes alight with a spinner’s grace, timelines weaving faintly in her gaze. Time Knights from the future, they stood as echoes of the Wild. “We’re Lucas and Carla,” Lucas said, voice resonant. “Time Knights protecting the realms. We worked with your father and mother, Ron and Rachel, to set up a time portal on Gaia. They disappeared during the project, held prisoner still, alive but out of reach.”
Carla’s fingers traced the air, a temporal ripple shimmering. “The alignment isn’t right yet—nothing more can be done now. You’ll find help to rescue them, but you must trust the unfolding events. The medallion holds their legacy—your path begins here.”
They faded, leaving Tobal’s heart pounding, the Wild whispering louder, a spark igniting his resolve. That night, he packed a bag and slipped out to the airbus terminal, the estate shrinking behind him under a moonlit sky, Joe’s image and the Time Knights’ words lingering in his mind, a thread pulling him toward Old Seattle.
Day 5: The Core’s Embrace Dusk flared over Xenon, a crimson haze threading a trembling sky—blasts dulled in the distance, their hum fading as the shattered earth pulsed beneath the Knights’ boots, rubble thrumming like a lover’s heartbeat. A warm wind surged through, ash and embers threading soft from below—war-torn vines blazed bright across the ruins, their glow threading vivid through jagged scars, the landscape pulsing with renewed life. Tobal sat cross-legged in the cratered clearing, his tunic—red, frayed—draping loose, wild hair brushing his shoulders—scars ached, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he locked eyes with Fiona—her warmth pressed tight, a spiced spark threading his desire. Fiona melded against him, her tunic—rough, stitched—swaying free, red hair spilling wild, green eyes smoldering fierce—her staff rested beside her, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines coiling sensually around his hips—her hands gripped his shoulders, a tender heat flaring bold, lips claiming his with a fierce, sensual edge.
A low hum pulsed through—Xenon’s cry, raw and urgent, threading through the wild—“War consumes—wild fades”—a faint clash echoed, the war’s core throbbing beneath the chaos of factions tearing each other apart. Lumens sat radiant in the circle, her silver luminescent skin blazing in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes glowing with earth’s core—shimmering wisps struck the core’s pulse. Becca entwined with Kael, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head catching the crimson glow—blue eyes flared soft, axe resting aside, yin’s wild surging as she pressed against his scarred frame—her breath steamed hot, lips tracing his throat with a hungry growl. Kael, wiry and scarred, tattered cloak loose, melded into her, his sharp eyes burning with love—his blade stilled, resolve threading through—“Peace binds us tight.” Rafe lounged with Mara, his tunic—coarse, patched—draping loose, hazel eyes glinting mischief—his knife rested, steel glinting, yang’s playful spark threading his wiry frame as he pulled her flush—a grin flashed sly, lips nipping her ear. Mara, lean and steady, cracked staff aside, arched into him, her hands sliding under his tunic—her purr flared—“Love heals us deep.” Cal sat tall with Lila, his tunic—soft, faded—hanging loose, tangled brown hair brushing his brow—gray eyes smoldered warm, spear resting beside him, yang’s quiet strength pulsing as he held her close—his stance rooted firm, lips meeting hers with a slow, sensual burn. Lila, slight and quick, patched hood framing her face, melted into him, her hope threading through—“Duality sings alive.” Valentine sprawled near, his coat—thick, matted—bristling soft, yellow eyes glinting sharp—claws tapped rubble, yang’s instinct rumbling low through his shaggy stride, a soft huff threading his calm.
The warworn hum surged—the core throbbed, cold claws threading violence—Lumens’ voice rang out—“Core’s frail—strike now!”—her wisps flared, weaving Xenon’s strength through the circle’s pulse. Fiona’s vines lashed—“Web’s ours—shatter it!”—her voice sang fierce, green eyes blazing as vines coiled around Tobal’s chest, a fierce warmth threading her strike—her body arched into his, a spiced heat weaving through—“Now, love!”—her lips devoured his, heat flaring bold. Tobal’s pulse roared—“Core’s done—love breaks!”—his voice rasped firm, brown eyes smoldering as his whip pulsed—yang’s spark surged wild, a flare igniting free—his arms crushed her close, sparking alive—“Together!”—his grip tightened, wild threading fierce.
The circle pulsed—Becca’s growl flared—“War’s ash—love burns!”—blue eyes smoldered, axe still as yin’s fire surged, her lips claiming Kael’s—“Peace cuts!” Kael’s voice rumbled—“You’re my fire”—his scarred hands gripped her thighs, love threading through. Rafe’s grin burned—“War’s noise—love drowns!”—breath minty, a spark leaping as he nipped Mara’s neck, yang’s thrill weaving wild—“Duality sings!” Mara’s purr surged—“You’re my flame”—her hands clawed his back, heat threading through. Cal’s voice steadied—“Wild’s free—love holds!”—gray eyes locked on Lila, yang steadying the web—“Xenon breathes!” Lila’s hum flared—“You’re my peace”—her lips pressed his, hope flaring bold. Valentine’s growl pulsed—“Web fights!”—yellow eyes flared calm—“Peace howls!” Lumens’ wisps blazed—“Core falls—love weaves!”—her voice hummed—“Embrace strikes!”—her silver form pulsed, strength threading through.
The circle glowed—the radiant light of the Wild surged, shattering the core—rubble stilled—war’s clash faded—wild’s hum roared, Xenon’s cry surging—the crew stood firm with Lumens, Kael, Mara, and Lila in the warworn hub, love and sexuality flaring fierce as they meditated, duality as the loving embrace of opposites breaking Xenon’s strife.
Day 4: The Core of Love Twilight burned over Xenon, a crimson haze threading a fractured sky—distant blasts rumbled low, their hum fading as the shattered earth pulsed beneath the Knights’ boots, rubble quivering like a lover’s sigh. A warm wind swirled through, ash and embers threading soft from below—war-torn vines pulsed brighter across the ruins, their glow threading vivid through jagged scars, the landscape humming with a fragile hope. Tobal sat cross-legged in the cratered clearing, his tunic—red, frayed—draping loose, wild hair brushing his shoulders—scars ached, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he gazed at Fiona—her warmth pressed close, a spiced spark threading his desire. Fiona nestled against him, her tunic—rough, stitched—swaying free, red hair spilling wild, green eyes smoldering fierce—her staff rested beside her, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines curling sensually over his thighs—her hand slid up his chest, a tender heat flaring bold, lips brushing his with a hungry edge.
A low hum pulsed through—Xenon’s cry, raw and urgent, threading through the wild—“War consumes—wild fades”—a faint clash echoed, steel clashing in the distance, factions tearing at each other’s throats. Lumens sat radiant in the circle, her silver luminescent skin glowing soft in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes flaring with earth’s core—shimmering wisps pulsed outward, threading toward the war’s heart. Becca sat entwined with Kael, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head catching the crimson glow—blue eyes flared soft, axe resting beside her, yin’s wild humming low as she pressed against his scarred chest—her breath steamed hot, lips grazing his neck. Kael, wiry and scarred, tattered cloak draped loose, leaned into her, his sharp eyes glinting with love—his blade lay still, resolve threading through—“Peace binds us.” Rafe lounged beside Mara, his tunic—coarse, patched—draping loose, hazel eyes glinting mischief—his knife rested, steel glinting, yang’s playful spark threading his wiry frame as he pulled her close—a grin flashed sly, lips brushing her matted hair. Mara, lean and steady, cracked staff at her side, pressed into him, her hands tracing his chest—her voice purred—“Love heals us.” Cal sat tall with Lila, his tunic—soft, faded—hanging loose, tangled brown hair brushing his brow—gray eyes steadied warm, spear crossed beside him, yang’s quiet strength pulsing steady as he held her—his stance rooted firm, lips meeting hers softly. Lila, slight and quick, patched hood framing her face, melted into him, her hope threading through—“Duality sings.” Valentine sprawled near, his coat—thick, matted—bristling soft, yellow eyes glinting sharp—claws tapped rubble, yang’s instinct rumbling low through his shaggy stride, a soft huff threading his calm.
The warworn hum faltered—Xenon’s wild weakened, violence threading deeper—then a warm pulse broke free, surging from the circle. Lumens’ voice sang—“Web’s alive—love grows”—her wisps flared, guiding toward the war’s core. Fiona’s vines surged—“Web’s strong—peace binds”—her voice sang low, green eyes blazing as vines coiled around Tobal’s waist, a fierce warmth threading her grasp—her body pressed tight, a spiced heat weaving through—“You’re mine”—her lips claimed his, heat flaring bold. Tobal’s pulse roared—“War fades—love heals”—his voice rasped firm, brown eyes smoldering as his whip rested coiled—yang’s spark pulsed wild, a flare igniting free—his arms pulled her flush, sparking alive—“Core’s near—duality reigns”—his grip tightened, wild threading fierce.
The circle pulsed—Becca’s growl softened—“War’s nothing—love’s steel”—blue eyes burned, axe still as yin’s fire surged, her lips tracing Kael’s jaw—“Peace cuts!” Kael’s voice rumbled—“You’re my shield”—his scarred hands gripped her hips, love threading through. Rafe’s grin flared—“War’s noise—love drowns it”—breath minty, a spark leaping as he nipped Mara’s ear, yang’s thrill weaving wild—“Duality sings!” Mara’s purr rose—“You’re my spark”—her hands slid under his tunic, heat threading through. Cal’s voice steadied—“Wild’s frail—love holds”—gray eyes locked on Lila, yang steadying the web—“Xenon breathes!” Lila’s hum pulsed—“You’re my calm”—her lips brushed his, hope flaring bold. Valentine’s huff pulsed—“Web lives”—yellow eyes flared calm, claws still—“Peace howls!” Lumens’ wisps flared—“War fades—love weaves”—her voice hummed low—“Core’s found—embrace it”—her silver form pulsed, strength threading through.
The circle glowed—rubble stilled—war’s clash softened—wild’s hum surged, Xenon’s cry weaving—the crew sat firm with Lumens, Kael, Mara, and Lila in the warworn hub, love and sexuality flaring fierce as they meditated, duality as the loving embrace of opposites tracing the war’s core.
The Path of Love – Episode 4: Depth in the Grove (Cal/Lila)
OAKenspire’s spires caught the midday sun, their jagged silhouettes glowing softly against a clear sky, a golden thread woven through the warm light. No birds sang, but the gentle hum of a hidden grove filled the air, wildflowers swaying in the breeze, their petals catching the sunlight in vibrant hues. A soft pulse stirred beneath Cal’s boots as he stepped into the secluded clearing—grass gleamed with dew, the wild weaving a warm embrace through the grove’s quiet, a spark glowing in the green. The scent of honeysuckle drifted on the breeze, sweet and sharp, while beyond, ancient oaks stood tall, their branches swaying as if OAKenspire itself thrummed with the rhythm of peace.
Cal eased down onto a sun-warmed stone, his black cloak streaked with damp, settling into the soft grass with a rare softness in his frame. His face relaxed, the usual stormy scowl replaced by a quiet intensity, gray eyes tracing the wildflowers’ dance with a thoughtful gaze. The wild surged within him, a steady warmth, and his voice came as a low rumble, softer than usual: “Grove’s calm—stay close, Lila.” She knelt beside him, her silver tunic catching the sunlight, black hair tied back but loose strands swaying in the breeze like raven feathers. Her gray eyes glowed with a tender resolve, her voice cutting through the stillness: “Now’s wild—melt with me.” Her hand brushed his, fingers firm yet gentle, and the wild flared between them, his scowl melting as their gazes locked, the pulse of OAKenspire deepening around them—wildflowers sighed on the breeze, and the OAK stirred with a gentle breath.
The grove seemed to breathe with them, honeysuckle blooming in vibrant patches, the breeze weaving a soft song through the air. Cal’s hand stilled, his spear resting beside him as his callused fingers met her softer ones, a quiet warmth spreading through him. His rumble came softer now, almost a murmur: “You’re steady—wild hums.” Lila’s gaze held his, gray eyes shimmering like the sky, her voice lilting low: “You’re strong—sink in.” Her fingers laced through his, the wild surging between them like a shared heartbeat, his chest easing as his breath slowed: “Never stopped—till you.” Her smile was a quiet thing, a wildflower brushing her cheek as it fell, the wild pulsing in time with OAKenspire’s green heart—chill faded, the wild churned gently, and the OAK thrummed with a deep, resonant peace.
OAKenspire’s glow pulsed through the grove, wildflowers drifting like soft promises, the breeze a tender sigh against their skin. Cal’s voice came low, a rumble wrapped in warmth: “Now’s real—you’re here.” Lila’s voice sang back, a melody of light: “Present binds—feel us.” Her body pressed closer, her warmth melding with his, the wild flaring as a quiet depth bloomed between them. His grip steadied, breath murmuring: “Wild’s ours—with you.” Lila’s eyes glowed, her voice weaving through the air: “OAK holds—us deep.” The wild pulsed stronger, OAKenspire’s midday light flaring with a golden shimmer, wildflowers dancing in the glow as the wild churned, the OAK surging with a warmth that wrapped them in its embrace—depth pulsed through their shared stillness.
The breeze carried a soft hum, wildflowers trembling with the wild’s surge, Lila’s black hair swaying gently as her dagger rested beside her, its weight echoing the grove’s rhythm. Oaks creaked in the distance, their branches swaying as if in approval, the air shimmering with the wild’s quiet energy. The OAK thrummed beneath them, a steady heartbeat, the warmth of the day wrapping them in peace, OAKenspire holding them in its tender grip.
OAKenspire’s hum pulsed through the midday light, the glow softening as the wild surged gently. Cal lay back, his cloak dripping with dew, the spear still at his side as his breath steadied. Lila’s voice lilted, a soft strength: “Now’s alive—us.” The wild flowed like a river, the breeze whispering through the wildflowers, hope glinting in the golden light. The warmth deepened, the wild churning with a quiet joy as her resolve held him, his rumble softening to a murmur: “Present’s ours—you’re all.” The OAK thrummed, OAKenspire’s light dimming into a warm glow, his black cloak clinging to him as the wild surged, depth flaring between them—hope shimmered in the grove’s embrace.
Day 1: The Mountain’s Cry Dusk loomed over Argon, a gray haze threading a rugged sky—wind howled through jagged peaks, their hum fading as the rocky platform shuddered beneath the Knights’ boots, stone pulsing like a strained heartbeat. A cold gust whipped through, pine and damp earth threading sharp from below—mountain vines clung sparse across the hub, their glow dimming through craggy cliffs, peaks groaning under strain. Tobal stepped from the rift’s shimmer, his tunic—red, frayed—flapping loose, wild hair lashing in the wind—scars ached, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he scanned the familiar cliffs—Argon, where his parents birthed the OAK school, now hunted—Fiona’s warmth pressed close, a spiced spark threading his resolve. Fiona landed beside him, her tunic—rough, stitched—billowing free, red hair spilling wild, green eyes glinting sharp—her staff swung firm, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines twitching faint against the stone—her hand brushed his shoulder, a tender heat flaring bold.
A low hum groaned through—Argon’s cry, raw and urgent, threading through the wild—“Mountains fade—wild dies”—a sharp hiss followed, reptilian and cold, threading through the peaks, shadowed by Federation drones. Becca vaulted onto a ledge, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head catching the gray light—blue eyes flared fierce, axe sharp in her grip, yin’s wild snarling low as she eyed the sparse vines—her breath steamed hot. Rafe twirled from the rift, his tunic—coarse, patched—flapping loose, hazel eyes glinting mischief—his knife spun, steel flashing, yang’s playful spark threading his wiry frame as he kicked a shard—a grin flashed sly. Cal stepped steady, his tunic—soft, faded—hanging loose, tangled brown hair brushing his brow—gray eyes steadied calm, spear light in his grip, yang’s quiet strength pulsing steady as he traced the hum—his stance rooted firm. Valentine bounded out, his coat—thick, matted—bristling faint, yellow eyes glinting sharp—claws scraped stone, yang’s instinct rumbling low through his shaggy stride, nose flaring at the reptilian stench—Lumens emerged, her silver luminescent skin glowing soft in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes flaring with earth’s core—shimmering wisps pulsed, threading Argon’s fading wild.
The mountain hum faltered—a reptilian drone buzzed within Argon’s web, cold claws threading jagged tendrils through the wild’s roots—Federation shadows loomed, hunting Howling Wolf and Adam Gardner, Tobal’s parents’ allies, now hiding in the cave behind the waterfall at the lake—the sacred spot where his parents were murdered, where OAK classes still whispered time travel’s secrets. Fiona’s vines surged—“Web’s weak—Argon’s alive”—her voice sang low, green eyes narrowing as vines brushed a dying strand, a dry chill threading her grasp—her hip pressed Tobal’s, a spiced warmth weaving through—“They’re here”—her breath brushed his ear, heat flaring soft. Tobal’s pulse thumped—“Reptilian—Federation’s hunting”—his voice rasped firm, brown eyes glinting as his whip snapped loose—yang’s spark nicked a tendril, a flicker bursting free—his hand gripped her waist, sparking alive—“The cave—we’ll find them”—his grip steadied, wild threading bold.
Becca’s snarl rumbled—“I’ll crush that drone”—blue eyes blazed, axe slashing air as yin’s fire surged, steel brushing stone with a sharp crack—her boots sank into dust. Rafe’s knife spun—“Tech’s hunting—let’s hunt back”—breath minty, a spark flaring as he tossed it at a cliff shadow, yang’s thrill weaving wild—his grin flashed keen. Cal’s spear swung—“Wild’s frail—track the lake”—his voice flowed low, gray eyes tracing a tendril’s path, yang steadying the web—“Argon’s pleading”—his spear grazed rock. Valentine’s growl rose—“Web cries”—yellow eyes flared, claws raking air as the wild’s cry pulsed through his growl—fur bristled tense. Lumens’ wisps pulsed—“Mountains weep—tech binds”—her voice hummed low, green hair swaying as she scanned the cliffs—“The cave—I’ll weave it”—her silver form flared, strength threading through.
The rugged hub quaked—glow worms dimmed—reptilian drone hissed cold—wild’s hum weakened, but Argon’s cry surged, threading through—the crew stood firm with Lumens, bodies pulsing Argon’s strength, exploration sparking toward the lake and the cave behind the waterfall in the mountain hub.
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