Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Jack
I’m following Dyfri as he zips through portal after portal, my stomach lurching with each transition between realities. The sensation never gets easier, a moment of weightlessness followed by the jarring snap back into existence somewhere entirely different.
One second we were in the abandoned shopping mall, stepping over Cai’s blood still pooling on the cracked tiles, the next we stumbled through what looked like a shimmering doorway into a London alley that reeked of rotting food and exhaust fumes.
There was a lightning-fast discussion between the magic wielders. Far too rapid-fire for me to follow, and then everyone broke off in different directions, and we’ve been portal jumping ever since.
My legs are shaking from the repeated dimensional shifts, but Dyfri doesn’t slow down.
If anything, he’s moving faster, each portal opening and closing behind us with barely enough time for me to stumble through.
The magic radiating from him is palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity before a lightning strike.
Another portal. This time we emerge in what appears to be someone’s living room, flowered wallpaper and family photos that I don’t have time to process before we’re moving again.
The elderly woman in the armchair doesn’t even look up from her television program as we disappear through her back wall.
Nobody has stopped to explain what’s going on, and I’m fine with that. More than fine. I can see from Dyfri’s rigid posture, from the way his jaw is clenched, that time is slipping away from us like sand through an hourglass. Every second we waste is a second closer to failure.
MI5‘s attack has changed everything. The careful timeline we’ve been working toward, the planned coordination for the summer solstice when the cosmic energies would be perfectly aligned, all of it is out the window.
I don’t need to know anything about magic to understand that.
We’re no longer waiting for the perfect astronomical conditions.
We’re closing the portals today. Right now.
Ready or not. Before our enemies can destroy us completely.
The sheer magnitude of what’s happening hits me like ice water in my veins.
This is it. This is actually happening. Not in weeks or months when we’ve had time to prepare properly, but right now, with half our allies potentially dead or scattered and our enemies knowing exactly what we’re trying to do.
The weight of it crashes down on me all at once. If we fail today, there won’t be another chance. Earth remains under fey occupation forever.
My hands are trembling as I follow Dyfri through another shimmering portal. I clench them into fists, trying to force some steadiness back into my limbs. This is no time to fall apart. Dyfri needs me steady, needs me focused.
But Christ, I’m terrified. Terrified and dazed, running on pure adrenaline and absolute trust in the man I’m following through impossible doorways.
The logical part of my brain is screaming that this is insane, that we’re rushing into the most complex uprising in history without proper preparation or coordination.
The rest of me doesn’t care. Dyfri moves with such certainty, each portal opening and closing behind us with mathematical precision. Whatever plan is unfolding in his head, he’s executing it with the focus of someone who’s been preparing for this moment his entire life.
We go through another portal, this one feeling different somehow. More substantial. More significant. The air tastes different on the other side, ancient and heavy with the weight of centuries.
I blink, and suddenly I’m standing in Buckingham Palace. The current home of the Fey Court.
The shock of recognition hits me like a physical blow.
We’re in the heart of the British establishment, in a room where kings and queens have held court for generations.
The room is ornate beyond belief. Gold leaf catches the light from crystal chandeliers.
Every surface speaks of power and privilege and the accumulated weight of empires.
It’s the sort of formal receiving room where world leaders have met to discuss matters of international importance. Where decisions have been made that affected millions of lives.
Being here feels preordained.
Three figures are waiting for us, and I recognise them immediately. Dyfri’s brothers. The princes of the fey realm, here in the seat of human power.
Rhydian stands near the massive windows, his imposing presence seeming to fill the entire room. He’s radiating the kind of authority that makes people instinctively step back. But there’s tension in his shoulders I’ve never seen before, a hairline crack in his usual perfect composure.
Mabon looks younger and more nervous than I’ve ever seen him, pacing near the fireplace with jerky, anxious movements. His usually careful court mask has slipped, revealing genuine fear underneath.
Tristan sits in one of the ornate chairs, but his usual cheerful demeanour is nowhere to be found. His red hair is dishevelled, his clothes rumpled, and there’s something wild in his eyes that makes my stomach clench with unease.
Selwyn is not here, and his absence speaks volumes. Presumably, he is enacting his part of the plot. But are his brothers thinking? Do they know they have been betrayed?
They all clearly know something is up.
Confusion and alarm spike through me. What are we doing here? Why are we meeting with them instead of focusing on the spell? But I trust Dyfri completely, so I stay quiet and wait to understand.
Dyfri crosses his arms over his chest, his posture radiating authority and absolute determination. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of royal command.
“Thank you for meeting with me. The portals to the Fey realm will begin closing permanently in nine minutes. You need to choose whether you are staying on Earth or returning to the realm. And you need to let your loved ones decide if they want to stay by your side.”
The words hit the room like a physical blow. All three brothers go pale, the blood draining from their faces as they process what Dyfri has just told them. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock in the corner.
Nine minutes. We have nine minutes before this all ends, and they have to make the most important decision of their lives. Choose between home or love. Or ask their loved one to give up their home and family forever and follow them into the Fey realm.
The same choice that Dyfri had to make. He has chosen to stay with me in my homeworld, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m worthy of that decision.
But he had weeks to decide. His brothers have mere minutes.
The weight of that deadline presses down on the room like a physical presence.
I can see it in the way Rhydian’s hands clench at his sides, in the way Mabon’s breathing becomes shallow and rapid.
This isn’t just about choosing between worlds.
This is about choosing between duty and love, between family and passion, between the certainty of power and the uncertainty of exile.
They all have human lovers. Rhydian is married to Jamie. Mabon has Blake. Tristan has Ollie, that tiny, beautiful, sharp-tongued human who follows him everywhere with barely concealed devotion.
They’re not just choosing between worlds. They’re choosing whether to abandon the people they love or drag them into permanent exile among beings who see them as nothing more than interesting pets.
Tristan straightens, his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something fierce and determined. “Llywelyn must also be given a choice!”
Rhydian shakes his head, his expression grim. “There is no time to safely warn him.”
“I’ll make time!” Tristan declares, his voice rising with passionate conviction. “He doesn’t deserve to be cut off from his family forever!”
Before anyone can stop him, he’s running out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond.
Mabon looks distraught with worry, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “How do I explain this? How do I ask him to give up everything he’s ever known?”
Rhydian… just looks like Rhydian. Controlled, calculating, giving away nothing of what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look like a man betrayed, a crown prince defeated. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set. Even he’s not immune to the weight of this decision.
Dyfri offers neither comfort nor additional explanation. He’s given them the information they need. Shown one last loyalty to a family that has never protected him. What they do with it is up to them.
Without warning, he turns on his heels. I scurry after him, my heart hammering as we head toward what appears to be a solid wall.
We disappear through it as if it were made of mist.
The next thing I know, we’re standing in a park on a slight hill, the lights of London spread out below us like a carpet of stars.
Hyde Park, I realise, recognising the familiar landscape.
Buckingham Palace is laid out before us like a glittering jewel, every window blazing with warm light against the darkness.
It’s nighttime and raining, fat droplets that soak through my clothes within minutes.
The grass beneath our feet is slippery with moisture, and the air smells of mud and the approaching storm.
Lightning flickers in the distance, illuminating heavy clouds that are rolling across the sky like portents of doom.
The ice cold rain is coming down hard, turning the perfectly manicured park into a muddy battlefield. The city around us thrums with oblivious life, millions of people going about their evening routines with no idea that their world is once again about to change forever.
We wait.