21. Broken Bonds

In mid-air, Cre felt his magic ripped from his soul—a force so raw it left him suspended in a churning void. Before him, a familiar face emerged, yet altered: the green goatee he once recognized now appeared darker and more foreboding, his hair pulled back into a severe knot, and a jagged scar marred his right eye. As shock and confusion churned in Cre’s veins, a sudden flash of memory seized him. He recalled being tossed among a writhing pile of dying creatures—failed experiments, perhaps his brothers and sisters—discarded like the vermin they were. Even as he crawled desperately over the cold corpses of his kin, the bitter realization hit him: he alone possessed a spark of sentience, surviving not only the experiments but something else unknowable. Amidst that grim carnival of death, a dark hand reached out and pulled him upright.   “Well, aren’t you an interesting little one? There’s great potential for power in you,” whispered the shadowed figure, its tone laced with both menace and promise. Before Cre could fathom the offering, the figure darted away into the darkness, leaving only a solitary ring in its wake. In that moment, Cre’s mind named this person Friend and that they were who saved him, however all he saw of Friend was a green goatee and two horn-like protrusions, no wonder he though the Fool art looked like Friend. Back in the present he found himself alone, amongst scattered debris, his greatest achievement reduced to mere rubbish, as one silent tear traced a grieving path down his cheek.   Prior to what happened to Cre, Gwen awoke in a dreamlike space. In front of her, an ancient tree — familiar in a sense from recounting dreams shared by friends. Beneath its sprawling boughs, she found Lia and a figure of sparkling, golden hair that shimmered between elf and something altogether more enigmatic. Gwen couldn’t pinpoint whether this figure belonged to any reality at all.   The mysterious presence broke the silence with urgency, its voice echoing like a half-remembered lullaby. “Oh, wow—I did it. I wasn’t sure I had enough connection to bring you both here. Listen, I haven’t long… it’s like a ticking clock in my head. I needed Lark to let Belathor go—he’s dead, my past self. I must embrace a new life—to be reborn— which i cant if I remain trapped in this ring. There are forces at work trying to silence me, so I must be brief.” In that charged moment, Lia and Gwen recognized the spectral murmur as the echo of Lark’s departed husband—a presence they’d been encountering in this dreamscape time and again.   Softly, the apparition continued, “Gwen, your dad knew me back in the days—I went by Pan then, it was certainly my chaos era. He sacrificed himself for my renewal, and I only wish none of you, not Lark, not anyone, should be forced to do so again… But wait—Cre… he—go, go now.”   In an instant, the dream collapsed. Gwen and Lia were thrust back into the stark clarity of their own beds by a forceful jolt. The sound of thunder mingled with anguished screams as they raced down darkened corridors. Lia burst through the door ahead of the others, with Gwen close on her heels. They halted in horror at the sight of their friend Cre slumping lifelessly on the floor, while a malignant shadow, his “friend,” dissolved into darkness with a bitter cackle.   Overwhelmed by grief, Lia sank to the cold floor, her sobs echoing in the silence left by devastation. Through the chaos, Hey pressed through the gathering, settling beside Cre. For a moment, Hey’s eyes blazed a startling bright pink before softening again, as they murmured, “He’s okay—well, not okay, but he’s alive. There is great emotional damage, wounds that time alone can’t fix.” With those words, a surge of chaotic energy propelled Lia from the room, her steps erratic as she raced past the uncles. Norman, ever steadfast, declared with grim resolve that he would follow to keep a watchful eye. In the end, most of the others retreated to their beds, leaving only Lia and Hey to vigilantly guard Cre’s fragile life.   The following day dawned with a delicate reprieve. Lark and Ygwain ventured out to collect new armor, and Lark, in a generous spirit, donated spare goods from his reserve. Meanwhile, Polites and Hey approached Cre with cautious hope, explaining how a spark of latent power had been detected within him. Eager to nurture this newfound potential, they asked if he was willing to explore it further. Gwen, Talon, and Lia, determined not to abandon him, clung tightly to his side as they all prepared for the ritual ahead.   Hey and Polites led Cre to a secluded rooftop garden, where the gentle hum of nature intermingled with whispered magic. There, beneath an open sky, the trio embarked on a druidic ritual—one meant to awaken Cre’s intrinsic abilities so that he could once more channel magic through his own heart rather than relying on others. As Cre began to sneeze out bursts of pollen—a quirk that hinted at his inner metamorphosis—the remaining companions slipped away to seek counsel, their footsteps guiding them toward Uncle Norman.   In a cozy, shadowed corner of a nearby café, Talon, Gwen, and Lia found themselves ensconced in a booth with Uncle Norman. Over low, intimate voices, Norman recounted nostalgic adventures he’d once shared with Gwen’s father—a motley band that included Hel, Oshun, Vulcanus, and, of course, Pan. He admitted his uncertainty about whether Pan and Phaedric had ever forged a romantic bond, though their closeness was undeniable. Norman’s tales then turned to the extraordinary: Ygwain’s new weapon was revealed to be one of the revered Shards of Ameranlos. He named them one by one—Stormlight, Baldr’s Might, Celerity, Beljuril, Beowulf’s Saddle, and Boreas, the very weapon now wielded by Ygwain. Moreover, he hinted that the enigmatic artisan responsible for these relics was the same entity behind the fabled Book of Baccus—the object that had once compelled Cre into a dire act at Friend’s bidding.   With minds and hearts laden with revelations, the band gathered their things and sought out Captain Dahlia at the café. With her at the helm, she led them toward the distant shore, accompanied by Hey and his six linen dragons—a motley, majestic company bound for sanctuary. As the boat sliced through the dark waters, uncles and villagers on the shoreline raised their hands in farewell. Amid the poignant parting, Gwen—her soul weighed down by memories—lifted her gaze to the horizon and, with an act both symbolic and liberating, released a cherished necklace into the depths. A gift from a long-lost love, it became the emblem of her resolve to shed the past and make room for the promise of a new life.   What further mysteries might unfold in the wake of such revelation? Perhaps more secrets lie hidden within the ancient rituals, or maybe the true nature of Cre’s newly discovered magic will spark adventures yet untold. The tapestry of their fates remains richly woven with threads of loss, hope, and the relentless drive to reclaim power from the shadows.