“You killed me.”

Joey’s eyes open, and she's back at the burnt and shredded remains of the garden shack. The grounds of Asqualia are damaged, and the area is stained with violence. She knows it's a dream, but it still fills her with dread. She's back to her scorched lab coat, scuffed injuries, and that taste of bile still in her mouth. That voice is familiar. Too familiar. She walks over toppled bricks, and metal and wood splinters, to find the source.

What she sees fills her with revulsion. The light of the world seems to fade out. All she can see is the remains of the shack. Splintered wood, metal shrapnel, the charred outline of the blast.

And Curtis. Except, his corpse is leering at her. A chunk of his abdomen is gone. Limbs have torn flesh, and bone is exposed. And blood…drips off of him. There's a tear of skin and muscle, and she sees cracked bones where his muzzle would be. And he's glaring at her with accusing eyes. Most of the rest of his face is…intact.

“You killed me.” Blood continues to drip, but it never forms a puddle. It just seems to be looped at the instance of his death. “You shot me, and you murdered one of your own.”

Joey stands silent at the accusations. His brown fur is burnt at the edges of the gruesome, fatal blast, and his ochre-colored eyes follow her as she steps closer. Old Joey would have been terrified at this. She would have woken up by now, screaming, sobbing uncontrollably, just like the night terrors from when she was thirteen.

Not today. Debris floats away at the slightest touch, and she remains calm. Even furious. “You always wanted to be a killer, Joey. You got your wish. How's that plan for all kin living as equals working for you now?”

She taps a nail impatiently on her wristwatch. Blood runs down his body, and never hits the ground. This grotesque fountain of Kin trauma is violating physics and arcanistry on every level. It's not real. “Fox got your tongue, Joey? Got nothing to say?”

“To you? No.” The words are quiet but forceful, and his grin fades to a suppressed snarl.

“You and your short stack friend were judge, jury, and executioner for me, Joey. Not even a shred of remorse?” His jaw just hangs slack as the meat falls off. The corpse adjusts the muzzle back into position with a squish of flesh, and a grinding of bone. “Or the other people you killed?”

“I'm not justifying myself to a bad dream. I defended my friends, and my home.” She wishes she could wake up from this. She usually recognizes dreams for what they are–maybe because she's a psionic? Her mother had explained so agonizingly little. How many had she directly had a hand in their deaths? At least six? Does she dare to count?

No. Think of the one hundred and change people who survived because you were willing to stand and fight. She doesn't know where the thought comes from…but it almost sounds like something Drenar would say. The corpse doesn't care though. It just stands there on shredded limbs and stares at her. That lecherous, bony grin of a cracked muzzle. “I can live with what I did.”

“What about little Blake? Think you can live with that day, when you told him to jump in a lake?”

That flash to eight years ago sends a cold chill down her spine. As cold as the water she dove into, and she shivers uncomfortably. Curtis grins. “Yeah, you remember. You told him to go jump in a lake, and he did! I bet that was a surprise. You wanted to kill people when you were a little kit. He walked off the dock, and just stood there on the bottom of the lake, and let the water go into his lungs.”

“That–that was an accident.” She stumbled on her words, her limbs shaking. “He didn't drown.” Drops of water are dripping down from the lake above her head, a rainfall under a massive body of water. Her heart rate spikes, and she feels her breath go rapidly. “I saved him!”

Curtis smiles evilly, drops of water mixing with blood. “That's what you're telling yourself, so you don't have to face the truth. You're dangerous. Kitsune are all dangerous. It's why they put us down. Can't have the Kitsune race telling people to go kill themselves–”

“You don't get to judge me. You, the person who tried to get me to shoot myself with my bolt pistol. I felt it.” Her heart is still pounding, but she's focused. This awful, horrible scene isn't just from the past few days. It's from eight years of fear. “I have more powerful psionics than most. It's why I all but stopped using them. I never wanted to cause harm again.”

It's how she avoided pressing the bolt pistol to her neck against her will. It's how she snapped Curtis's insidious suggestion away with a mental shield.

It’s the first time she’s admitted to herself on why she held back. It was supposed to be a red letter day when she got the acceptance letter for London Academy for the Arcane, all those years ago, and sharing the news with a friend. Instead, it almost ended in tragedy. She grips the fabric of her jeans tightly. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“That first kill would've been such a rush, though! Little Blakey still can't look you in the eye, the last time you saw him. He's still afraid of you. He called you a traitorous rat, and you just couldn't take it, told him to go drown himself–”

She cuts off the horrible manifest of her fears and growls. This bad dream is trying to distort reality. “Never. I know there's more to psionics than anyone’s told me. I know they have uses beyond destruction. You want me to choose the easy way, and become a power-hungry psycho like Val? Never. I'm a woman on a mission with determined friends, I'll learn my limits. I'll train. I will never let my powers shape me again.” Curtis continues to dribble while the drops of water intensify.

“Until you hurt your friends. Who's the new one, Drenar? Or that shapely one, Angela? You've got a thing for them both. Make them your friends. They won't have a choice. They'll want to do things for you. And they won't be able to say no.” That lecherous grin sets her on edge. Does she care about Angela in that way? She draws a blank and focuses on the now–this ghost is trying to rile her up. This is her fear trying to control her, and she locks eyes with him.

“Go to hell, Curtis. Where you belong.” She doesn't remember when she transformed as she bares her teeth at this malicious wraith, and her claws are tensed. “I don't regret killing you. You, who betrayed everyone. I don't regret killing several other Kin. I regret that I couldn't save more lives. I regret that I couldn't save Reeves. Or Betty. I'll carry those scars with me for a long time. I'll take those failures and learn, so others won't suffer the same fate.” She tenses on the tips of her toe claws, waiting to see if this corpse has any fight left in him.

“You'll fail. Even if you don't, they'll despise you for what you are. Go drown in your insecurities, Joey. Go drown like little Blakey almost did.” That last sneer of his mangled muzzle does nothing to break her resolve.

She doesn't flinch when the magical barrier breaks, and an entire lake falls on her. The cold rush of water sweeps her away, and she feels the burning agony as her lungs fill with water, and her body spasms…

She snaps awake in her bed, soaked in sweat and panting, and shivering in the cool air of the subfloor. She looks down–still in her human form, that hasn't changed. And she's trembling. She curls her hands into fists repeatedly, and brings her hands to her chest, wrapping around herself and trying to calm down.

Even with the realization it was a dream, her body is still reacting to it. She shivers from the horrible dream and throws the blanket back, and cups her cheeks with her hands, and takes slow, controlled breaths.

She'd buried that bad day away, when her psionics went into overdrive. She'd almost killed her friend as a result. She rubs at her bruised and cut-up arms, like her skin is still crawling.

“Traitorous rat! You're ditching us for bigger and better things in London! What about the rest of us, barely squeaking out a life here in Bixby?! You'll never fit in there! They'll skin you alive and put your corpse up for display, when they find out that their shining new student is a Kitsune!”

“Go jump in a lake, Blake, and go cool off!”

This has to be different. She presses her fingernails into her skin to get her head out of the past.

Two minutes of CPR. Two minutes praying to Gaia that he'd make it. And when he did, that look of terror in his eyes broke something inside her. She'd done this to him, even though she never wanted it to happen.

You're wrong, Curtis. These powers can be used for more than destruction, she thinks adamantly. Her link with Angela, Julia, and now Drenar…there's something different about it. To be connected to someone in this way suggests that bond goes both ways. It would need to be something…

Something they both wanted? A connection of mutual trust, maybe? Her heart steadies, but it does nothing for the fact that she's soaked in sweat still. She hops out of bed and peeks at the bunk bed. Kyle, looking more peaceful in sleep, even though he still looks beat to hell. She smiles faintly, and hopes that he’s having a less fitful dream.

She should feel safe inside the home of Nick, someone she considered a friend. But these nightmares don’t respect walls or resolute words. Her body still betrays her, and she wills away that nauseous feeling of seeing that corpse standing there, taunting her. She’ll never go down that path. No matter how tempting it might be, that power to destroy people’s will…nothing good can ever come of it.

She’d never even told Kyle this one. And she doesn’t want to. Because he’d never look at her the same way–or, maybe he’d tell her that having seen it used once by accident should be a teachable moment, of the responsibility of power? And how to use it for good? It sounds like a Kyle thing to say.

She inhales sharply, and lets out her exhale past her lips slowly, and tries to baseline her body. She reaches for the blankets, and it’s still warm–but soaked in sweaty grossness. It’s not an appealing retreat to slumber. I need…something to take the edge off. Rebalance my stress hormones. Anything to stop seeing that awful spectacle, maybe walk around?

At least her logic is still working, and not locked up in existential fear. She swings her legs out of the bed, and for the first time in a while, looks down at her own body, and winces. She isn't in much better shape, either. This might be the first time she wants to say the hell with it and take her Kitsune form, and just bury herself in her covers, nestled tight. Consequences be damned. Boy, would that cause a stir in the morning. Next plan please, brain.

…

Right. No drakensoul to bounce ideas off of. I do see the appeal of it, I just… eh…why's Alex such a pain? She rises unsteadily and hops out of bed. Maybe someone else is awake…though at three in the morning, she doubts it. She does pause at Kyle's bed and adjusts the blankets over him. They'd all taken beyond the recommended max dosage of Regen potions, the rest would have to wait until the alchemical compounds broke down before anyone could use more. That would be a good twelve hours or so. He looks a little more at peace, and she runs her fingers through his hair gently.

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Kyle, I honestly don't know what I would have done without you there. They'd all done the impossible, and come out of that night alive. I dragged you through hell on earth, and you still stood by my side.

But, it had not been without losses. And the damage inflicted was more than just ugly bruises, ugly gashes, and the inability to sleep. It would be the emptiness of seats no longer filled with chattering coworkers. Or friends. It would be the lasting silence that would be the overbearing reminder.

Every single day.

And then, there would be another day of a subtle dread. The day when they eventually remove the cheap, plastic label of someone’s name on an office door, or on the plaque of their laboratory that conveyed far, far more presence. Maybe they’d have a memorial set up. Someday. But they’d fade from memory. And be forgotten. Like their deaths meant nothing in the cosmic scales.

She shudders at the thought. No one should be forgotten like that. Those who fought and died defending friends and loved ones, their spark of courage would never die out, or be forgotten by those who survived.

She walks down the dimly lit hall to the larger training area, now hastily converted to a resting area. She's not sure why she's here. Angela is resting on a dragon sized cot. She's the pinnacle of beauty with her shining silver scales and iridescent feathers accenting her wings, cheeks and arms. Bandages still cover a good portion of her body, but she appears to be resting well. She places a hand on an arm gently…still radiating warmth, just as she would expect. She turns to Julia's cot, but it's empty.

She pivots to see her curled up and nuzzling against Drenar, one arm protectively wrapped around him, and she's resting her head against the crook of his neck. Her face is scrunched in pain, or sadness, and Joey can hear a faint mumble from her throat. Drenar isn't faring much better, and his tail twines around hers, one hand resting on hers. Bandages adorn their bodies, and there's still the smell of the medical ointments she'd managed to manufacture to help speed up their recovery. He looks a little more at peace.

She reaches her arm out, but hesitates, and her hand hovers over his shoulder. I barely know you, Drenar. So why were you willing to put your life in my hands? And I did the same thing, and I can’t think of a reason why. Her hand trembles in the air not from fear, not from hesitation…but anxiety. She’d committed to helping him do the impossible, because of a single common thread:

The champion of the Valkyries chose her to defend her legacy. Maybe it wasn’t just the sword she handed her…but a trust they would find each other? Could she have planned this? It’s an irrational question, how could she have seen so many moves ahead? How could she have predicted he would find the sword? Could it be Fate, even as much as she doesn’t want to believe in it?

Or the easiest answer is, it was a cosmic coincidence beyond calculation. It’s the first time she’d doubted the most logical answer.

She stops hesitating, and places a hand on his scaly shoulder, and feels that warmth radiating off of him. So few people realize the dragons run at fairly higher core body temperatures than most other kin. As a kitsune, she runs at about 39 Celsius. But, dragons run as high as 41 Celsius, depending on subspecies. He barely stirs in his slumber, except to shift his head on the stiff pillow.

He is something different, isn’t he Alex? She dares a whisper to his drakensoul, and she feels that slight arc through her brain.

Joey? Are you out there? Drenar’s fast asleep.

I know. I figured… he needed this moment. She sits down on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid pressing on his body. Just tell me one thing, Alex.

I could tell you a lot of things, but I feel like it’s something that you two need to talk about in private sometime, it’s…not my business to interfere in such things. This side of Alex, minus the snark, sounds more wizened beyond his years. He lets out a soft huff. You’re an empath, if you can make connections like this. The term is alien and unfamiliar to her, other than the meaning in normal English literature.

What is an empath? She dares to ask the question she's been dreading. Kyle had mentioned it once as a sarcastic comment–but did he know more? Maybe the reason he hadn’t gone into more detail, was because he wasn’t sure. It’s a sound theory, from what she knows of Kyle and his behavior.

Powerful psionics. But in a different way. I…knew one. She was talented beyond measure. She could form bonds with individuals, even though she didn’t quite know what it meant, other than forming a connection between her and someone else, where they could share thoughts. Mind speak, if you will.

I connected to Angela in the same way, too. And I think Julia, and maybe Kyle. She realizes that this is an answer she needs desperately. The two snoozing dragons don’t even notice her presence, they’re beyond exhausted, and still healing. Drenar looks like he’s got a tapestry of violence on his body–dented scales, cuts, and one older scar on his wrist. So, there’s more to it?

There is. It’s said that such bonds are rare. They don’t happen by accident. Some of the older Kin have argued it’s a bond of fate, preordained from birth. I don’t know if I buy into that theory perpetuated by stuffy old scholars who were busy getting high off of select medicinal herbs, But there is power in it. I never researched it, I just knew of my own experience with a friend.

Only Kitsune have this power, don’t they? It takes a moment, but then she feels that mental tug of a nod from Alex. An emote on a mental level.

Yeah. And you’re worried about what it means.

There’s…something that happened a long time ago, you could say. She doesn’t go into detail on this one. She just can’t. Not until she knows more.

I know you're a sharp arcanist, but Joey? Don’t experiment on the lad, he’s been through a lot.

I wouldn’t experiment on someone I’d be potentially dating–

She claps her hand over her mouth and lets out a squeak, that had to be the most bold thing she’d thought of, and it’s met by instant laughter by Alex. She narrows her eyes at Drenar, still fortunately asleep. Oh, you do like him, don’t you?!

Tell him that one before I’m ready, and I’ll burn your soul out of him Alex, she offers in an empty threat. No seriously, I just want to know why. Why did his mother pick me? I mean, from what I know of the four days I’ve known him, he’s brave. He’s resourceful, and more than a little bit awkward in that adorable teen way.

Yeah, he’s got his charm moments. If only he’d use them to start his dragon harem, because he easily could. She tries to stifle a giggle–this dragon is so bold! He also laughs softly at this comment a few seconds later. No, I’m not trying to lead the lad down a bad path. I also am not sure how uh…secure this connection is. Because we are mentally linked, he might be able to sense your thought speak.

Guess we better not chance it then. But does he have anything I should worry about, Alex? Like trauma that I don’t know about?

If you’ve been paying attention, Joey, you’ll know he was scarred deeply by what happened. You’re a sharp lass. You understand this is one I can’t talk about, it has to come from him.

Joey lets out a slight sigh of relief. Well, I suppose that’s a good start.

Oh, and he has this strange obsession with magical fox girls. No idea where that one originated from, you wouldn't know anyone who matches that description, would you? She narrows her eyes and is tempted to punch that dragon in the jaw–except, unfortunately, that would also hurt Drenar. She lets out a barely audible sound of disgust. Right, sorry, sensitive subject. You’re a lovely young lass, I think Drenar’s mind hasn’t been poisoned like the rest of the world against the history of the Kin. Same with his friends. Keep that in mind, yeah?

I can. She feels more at ease now, and she notes Julia stirring–did she see the gleam of a sapphire eye for a split second? Better to not chance it. Alright Alex, thank you. I uh…I should probably head back to bed. Back to the night terrors.

Keep the company of good friends, Josephine. You’ve already found them, for what it’s worth. She smiles faintly–despite his dripping snark, he is decently natured, for a seven-hundred-year-old dragon soul. She glances at the two of them, still curled up like nest mates.

It might have only been a few days since she'd met them, but it felt so much longer.

He needs this right now. They both do. They just found out their entire life was one big sheltered facade, and I can't imagine anyone being able to take that as well as they did. Her arm goes slack to her side, and she smiles faintly. It's kind of cute, those two all cozied up. But…Julia said that it’s not a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship. It’s something different…like siblings, I think she said?

She manages to ease off the bed and hop back down to the cool floor, accented by small rugs that line the way back to the temporary accommodations. Maybe the terrors will be more manageable now, since she has someone in her corner. She has all of them, now, not just Kyle and Claire, and few others. A bond of chance…as friends? Or fate?

She figures, one way or another, she’ll find out for sure, with a healthy dose of evidence to go along with it. She stops mid-stride when she hears a shifting, scraping sound– a silver tail gently blocks her way back to her room. She turns to face the not-so-sleepy Angela peering at her from the cot, with those brilliant blue-gray eyes of hers etched in curiosity.

"Can't sleep?" she asks quietly. Joey shakes her head.

"Bad dreams. But…they’ll go away, eventually. There's nothing I can do but ride it out, for the moment." Angela looks like she's still waiting for her to say something, and she arches one eye crest. "Do you…mind if I hang out with you for a bit?"

Angela smiles warmly, and slides over a bit from the edge of the bed. "Darling, you don't even need to ask. Here, hop on."

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