Chapter 4 #3
You have both shown incredible integrity, and the hope I placed in that flicker that was Jae Shaw has been returned tenfold.
Flynn Patrick Gallagher, Nathaniel Maka Locklear, will you take the vow?
Will you bind yourselves to the protection of Reality and the Veil, knowing the cost it will exact from you?
Fly looked at North and saw his own resolve reflected in his friend's dark eyes.
We will, they said as one.
Then speak the words that will bind you.
We’re the Shadowguard who stand between order and chaos. We’re the shields that hold when others fall. We choose meaning over meaninglessness, connection over isolation, love over fear. We bind ourselves to this sacred trust, whatever the cost, until our last breath. We walk the shadowed way.
The blue space erupted in golden light, and the fractured trident blazed to life, whole and unbreakable once more, no longer conscripted victims, but sovereign warriors.
Fly wasn’t human anymore. His kite form burst from him in a transformation that was natural, beautiful and whole, his human form giving over to who he was in this magical place.
When he looked at North, his massive buffalo form stood like a bulwark.
Behind him, Flash, fully in eagle form, his cry piercing and confident.
Easy’s cougar prowled the perimeter, the muscles in his feline form flexing and bunching with power.
Twister, white, glowing, as a swan that took his breath away.
Bondo, the rhino’s leathery hide glinting like blue steel.
Shark, a massive hulk suspended and deadly.
Dagger, in full phoenix-feathered flame.
Brawler, the huge white wolf fully integrated with Beast. Finally, Tex, a magnificent stallion, reared, his whinny commanding everything in Fly and the team.
“So, what exactly did North and I get involved in?” Fly asked.
I’ve been trying for centuries to communicate with descendants of her bloodline without success. They refused to listen, and Lechuza has continued the same path. Flash has a direct corporeal connection to Lechuza. He can hopefully find her and convince her to cooperate.
“How?”
When he broke free after the Weavers’ containment, her ancestor created and maintained the wards to Chaos’s prison, the ones I mentioned he’s in the process of breaking.
So, approximately five hundred years ago, she sealed the font to the Veil.
It was a turbulent time in the Inca Empire’s history.
It is the only place where our Shadowguard can cross.
Since her ancestor sealed it, she is the only one who can open the way into the Veil.
You must decipher how it was sealed and how it must be opened.
Fly stared at him. “Why did she seal the font?”
I’m afraid I have no information on the how or why. Only the outcome.
“Do you know where this font is?” Fly asked.
I assume near the home of the Inca.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Fly grumbled. “Their empire stretched twenty-five hundred miles along the Andes mountains.” Fly worried his lip. “In addition to Peru, the empire also covered parts of Ecuador, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina, and Colombia.”
“It’s a good thing we have your big brain,” Easy said.
* * *
Flash shook in the sand as the Veil receded. Some desperate part of him wanted to hold on to it, to reach back and change what had already happened. Confusion twisted through him. What past? His? Theirs?
He jerked his head up as Twister shifted, checking both him and North.
Flash looked at Fly and North lying silent in the sand.
Easy had been right when he came back from BUD/S talking about his newly minted SEALs.
They were special men. Now Flash and the entire team understood why.
What they had turned down…Flash’s gut clenched hard.
He’d felt Fly’s crushing guilt. North’s devastating love. Their shared grief and the impossible choices they had not only endured, but risen above.
Endurance, integrity, courage weren’t just words to those kids. They lived them right down to their marrow.
Before anyone could speak, ten phones chimed at once. Flash pulled his free. Briefing in twenty minutes. The hair rose along the back of his neck. The next movement had begun.
They drove over to base, Fly and North riding with him. “You guys doing all right? That was some heavy lifting back there. Did you pull a muscle?”
North chuckled and Fly’s mouth kicked up. “I pulled every goddamn feel muscle I have, Flash. Doesn’t change a thing.”
Flash nodded. “No, it doesn’t. We’re still in this. Hoo-yah!”
He was rewarded with their strong response. “Hoo-yah!”
“We’ve got some paperwork bullshit to do later. Congratulations. Worst onboarding in Naval history.”
Fly and North chuckled again, joined by several of the others as they reached the building entrance. He opened the door, briefly fist-bumping Easy.
“Man, you’re a piece of work,” Easy said as he went inside.
Tex was the last to enter. “Keep that sense of humor, Shaw. You’re going to need it.”
Flash entered the conference room last, taking a seat next to Fly and North. He was feeling like their damn den mother now. Keeping an eye on them was part of his mandate now.
Their CO, Lieutenant Dillion Casey, entered the room, along with two…his breath sucked in…wraiths.
The Asian American man was a coiled spring with lean, dense olive-brown skin over muscle contained in a frame that moved with a fluid, economical grace. The matte-black suit had no seams, disappearing beneath a leather duster that moved like liquid shadow, but on him, it accentuated his sleekness.
Flash's breath hitched as the man shifted his weight, and for a terrifying second, a ghostly overlay flickered across his form, a pattern of sleek, razor-sharp scales that shimmered like polished obsidian along his forearms. His eyes held the true horror, dark and unblinking, but they didn't just file away details.
They calculated, measuring every person in the room with the cold, patient gaze of a predator that knew exactly when and where its single, explosive bite would land.
The woman moved with a sinuous efficiency that made Flash's skin prickle, her presence somehow more unsettling than her male counterpart's overt menace.
She stood tall with sleek, athletic strength, her buttery brown skin marked by faint iridescent patterns that seemed to shift and writhe just beneath the surface when he wasn't looking directly at them.
Her dark locs were pulled high into a controlled crown, the heavy ropes gathered away from her face while the closely shaved sides revealed intricate geometric lines cut into the hair with almost mathematical rigor.
Nothing about the style felt decorative.
It looked deliberate, ordered, and faintly dangerous.