Epilogue #3
Together, they massed against the shadow.
Below that celestial struggle, he saw men. Thousands. Tens of thousands. The greatest undertaking humankind had ever dared.
The beaches of France stretched wide, gray sand under gray skies. The sea boiled with ships, more than he could count, destroyers, transports, landing craft packed tight. The air was thick with planes, their engines a deafening chorus.
He saw the scale, the impossible weight of it. The grind of war machines, of logistics, of human will bent toward one singular moment. The shadow pressed heavily on the coast, waiting, feeding on fear, daring men to step into fire.
The whisper shook him. This was not only men against men. This was the hinge of reality. The line between dissolution and survival.
His gut clenched. He knew where this was going. He could feel the pull, narrowing. Not the generals, not the nations, not the armies.
The water.
The men in khaki, impossibly short trunks, with masks and knives, swimming through the surf with satchels of explosives to clear the way.
The Underwater Demolition Team.
His Navy.
His beginning.
The wind roared in his ears, feathers blazing with starlight, when the sky itself seemed to shiver. The world bent, time folding in on itself, and from that fathomless dark came a voice, vast, resonant, older than any war. “At last, you understand us.”
It wasn’t one voice but many, layered and endless, male and female, child and elder, whisper and thunder, all braided into a single resonance that pressed against his bones. Not divine. A chorus stretched past breaking, human tones warped until they became something other.
Every feather on his body trembled, not from fear but recognition. This was no dream. No phantom. Was this the Veil itself, alive, aware, speaking?
Flash opened his eyes. The hood stayed low, the figure wrapped in pale green shadow, edges blurred as though it wasn’t entirely bound to flesh. The cloak shimmered faintly, threads of light running like veins through the fabric, then fading as if swallowed by the dark.
It stood too still, weightless in a way no living thing could be. Grounded, yes, but his feet left no impression, no shift of balance, as if gravity were a courtesy it didn’t quite need.
“So, where am I, exactly?”
“Your body is in Walter Reed, Bethesda. Your mind is caught between.”
“Between what?”
“Between the Veil and Reality.”
He snorted. “Limbo. Perfect.” He shifted. “Who are you?”
“To know us, you must first understand the Veil itself.” The timbre of his voice was ancient and charmed, almost musical in the way an orchestra’s instruments moved into a collective of sound.
“Long ago, there was no Veil. Magic and men shared one sky. Then came the Great War, burning across the world. To guard against another terrible conflict, the magic-wielders withdrew, removing themselves, and all enchantment went with them. Their departure split the world like a wound. One-half became Reality. The other, hidden, became the Veil. We are its Keepers, tasked by them to guard the scar.”
Flash blew out a breath. “And folks, that’s why reality bites.”
A ripple moved through the voices, not anger but something closer to patience. “Even in jest, you remind us why we reached for you. Lechuza chose well.”
The name landed hard, a weight in his chest, the aching brush of her presence left him shaken. Now the Keeper said it like prophecy.
Flash’s mouth tilted in a crooked smirk, but the words hit like a round to the chest. “Yeah, well….” The smile slipped, voice dropping rough and low.
“She lives in my body and my heart. There’s no way I would ever abandon her.
SEALs never leave a man behind. We finish our missions no matter the cost. If she’s the price I have to pay, I won’t only die willingly.
” He looked up at the hooded figure, eyes burning. “I’ll die happy.”
The figure lowered the hood slowly, as if Flash’s vow had earned him the privilege of seeing behind the shadow.
Pale green fabric slipped back inch by inch until darkness fell away.
Beneath it wasn’t a single face but a shifting continuum, flickering in and out like overlapping transparencies.
For an instant, Flash glimpsed a thousand lives layered in one body.
The chorus softened, a low resonance threaded with something like regret, laced with awe. “You continue to surprise and delight us. Our face is yours alone to behold.”
Flash bowed slightly in acknowledgment.
“You are the only one we have ever pulled against his will. All others came to us by choice, by invitation. We broke our own law to reach you, and yet you are understanding, ready for our task, ready to take up the burden. Do not think we did it lightly.” The chorus faltered for the briefest instant, as if ashamed of its own necessity.
“We achieved no satisfaction in it. But without you, the scar would already be bleeding open.”
Flash nodded slowly. “I get the gravity, and the reason. It wasn’t pleasant what you pushed me to see.
But…goddamn. Seeing my dad. Talking to him again.
That did something to me. It cracked my grief loose, and I’m grateful for that.
If you need my forgiveness, you have it.
” The silence deepened, heavy as stone. Flash exhaled, restless, the weight of all the fantastical stories still rattling through his skull.
He couldn’t help himself. “So, tell me.” His mouth curved. “Unicorns. Are they real?”
The cloaked figure’s answer came without hesitation. “They were. Once.” A faint ripple, like amusement buried under centuries, brushed through the chorus. “If you enter the Veil, you can see for yourself.”
Flash narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I see what you’re doing. Wouldn’t that constitute as manipulation? Isn’t that against the rules?”
This time, the Keeper chuckled outright, the sound rusty, like laughter unused for eternities. “We see why Lechuza considers you a special individual. We could speak with you for eons and not mine all that you are.”
Flash smirked. “I’m special all right. Unicorns…loved by more than just little girls.”
“Indeed,” the Keeper said wryly. “There is never any shame with love.”
Flash laughed softly.
“You stand at the edge of what we need. We do not make you what you are. We call you to it.”
The words seared into him like fire across bone, binding, undeniable. He felt the weight of it, the gravity of oath.
Flash frowned. “So, me and my brothers aren’t reincarnations of warriors across time?”
“That is correct.” The answer came sharply. “Those battles were not your lives. You were placed inside them to live through their weight and receive our messages. Your bond with your teammates heightened that signal, our last-ditch attempt at breaking through your resistance and making you hear.”
“Then what were the visions for? Are we some kind of chosen guardians?”
“Not chosen gods,” the figure said. “We do not bestow divinity.”
Flash tilted his head. “So, my dad was never Lincoln or Tex Washington?”
The hooded figure’s voice tilted, almost amused. “You sound disappointed.”
Flash snorted. “Hell, yeah. Who wouldn’t want Lincoln as a line on their résumé?”
“You have a way with wit. It will serve you well in the battle to come.”
The figure’s hands gripped the hood and drew it a little lower, shadow spilling back over its features.
“No. Those were not lives you actually lived. We used the imagery of leaders, Washington, Lincoln, because they were men of leadership, and you follow and trust your mentors. Lieutenant Michael “Tex” Penn is a man of integrity, strategic, grounded. His care for you and your brothers is great. Then there is your father, a foundation in your life. Your love for him was the first doorway we tried to use to reach you.”
“So, you used Tex and my dad as messengers?”
“Exactly. As I said, the visions were connections, images molded to your experience so the message would land. Your resistance turned signal into static.”
“What’s the message?”
“Two parts. First, the power of mind. Second, the power of body. You read threats and move in ways civilians do not. That makes you the right receivers.”
“The warrior gene?”
“A working label. Aptitude. Pattern recognition under pressure.”
“Those ghostly tendrils?”
“A way to show you your connection. Threads of the brotherhood you already share.”
Flash let the words settle. His mouth curled, but his chest was tight. “So, you want me, us, to fight for you.”
“Yes…if you so choose. But you were singled out because of your bond. This is the true reason we broke our own law.” The cloaked figure stepped closer, its form wavering, edges blurred now.
“We implore you to find Killa Saqra Rumi, callsign Lechuza, CIA Shadowguard. Chaos and his agents have broken free. They mean to ignite a war that will end in the annihilation of the Veil, and with it, Reality itself. Existence snuffed out in a single snap.” The chorus deepened, the timbre rolling through him like a low tide.
“Only she can stop them, and only you can reach her. Allies will come to you. Some you already know, some you have yet to meet, but all are bound to the same heart. She is the lock, and you are the key.”
Everything went to black, not coma black, just dark.
Flash swore he felt a tightening, a warmth, a vow snapping into place inside his chest. Not unlike the moment they’d pinned on his trident, an oath hammered into bone, a creed written in blood.
One purpose. One team. A mission he couldn’t fail, no matter the cost.
The voices swelled, then dropped to a resonance so low it echoed in his heart. “We will not stand by, either. You, Jae ‘Flash’ Shaw, will take up the call. We are certain, and we are grateful to partner with such men and women. When the scar tears, we will answer.”