|| ×3 FEATURED || When the ever-skittish, homesick, twelve-year old Fralith accidentally-on-purpose stops a kidnapping, no one knows what to think--especially Fralith. Newly stranded on a planet not his own through a misdirected HomeKin portal, wher...
Laughter echoed around him, full of brightness and warmth. Figures gathered around the table, eating and throwing banter at each other. He grinned, looking up at the smiling faces around him. This was his family, and they were happy. He was happy.
Prickles raise the hair on the back of his neck. Twisting around, his gaze lands on the window behind him. SecondHomers, dressed in green shawls and armed with torches, gather outside, faces hidden in sharp shadow. In the front of the crowd, atop a black MetalEater, stood Father.
Their eyes meet for a brief moment, Father's stern gaze filled with hate.
He gasps and jerks back. Colors blur and shift, the warmth and laughter vanishing into cold, empty fog. Trees huddled around him, dark forms stretching out before him like a pike wall.
Birds twitter quietly from the branches, feathers fluffed and little bodies never staying still, as if they sensed danger. He looked around him, turning in a slow circle. His family was gone. The SecondHomers were gone. Father was gone.
He was alone in the foggy forest.
A mimmink flashed past, fur black and forboding. He followed it, darting around trunks looming out of the slowly thickening fog. After some time—how much, he couldn't tell—the trees pulled away and the mimmink faded into nothing before his eyes.
Skidding to a stop, he stared at the spot the mimmink had been. Where had it gone? Something shifted to his left and he whirled, fists up and feet falling into a ready position.
From the fog, Drao stepped into the clearing, looking exactly how he had the last time he'd seen him except that little scuffs and tears marred his sleeves and hems. Drao's eyes landed on him and he smiled.
"Drao!" He jumped forward and hugged him tightly. "I missed you!" Rough, warm hair brushed against his arm. Lifting his head, he gasped.
The Lion stood next to him, large and golden. Leaning forward, the Lion nuzzled his shoulder, breathing out a long hot breath.
A giggle bubbled out his throat and he wrapped his arms around the Lion's neck. "I missed you too."
The Lion rumbled and gently nudged him aside. Padding to the middle of the clearing, the Lion bent and touched his nose to the grass. From where he touched, flowers sprouted, unfurling leaves and petals like a scroll. But they didn't stop there. As the petals unfurled, sparks and light burst from its middle and stretched upwards until it shaped a shimmering oval.
His breath caught in his throat. It was a portal! A HomeKin portal!
Drao passed him and approached the portal. As silently as he came, he stepped through it and vanished.
"Drao?" Scampering forward, he peered into the oval's depths. Far away, on a mossy rock, Davith sat with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. An extinguished torch lay at his feet. Drao was nowhere to be seen.
He pulled back, brows drawn together, and looked at the Lion. Huh?
The Lion gazed back steadily, love and compassion in his warm brown eyes. But past that, in the glimmering depths, was a warning.
Fralith's eyes flew open to darkness. He blinked, squinting up at the ceiling, shadows curling around his ribs. That was...weird. Sitting up, he scanned his room, shoulders tight and senses prickling. Unease rolled around in his belly, thick and salty.
Something was wrong. No. He just had a weird dream; things were okay. Nothing was wrong. Curling his fingers, he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He held it, counting heartbeats.
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three hear— creak. Ice froze his limbs, banishing all remnants of sleep. Shakily, he let out his breath, trying to calm the wolf while straining his ears. Creak. Step. Creak.
Someone was walking outside. No. Not someone; someones.
In a flash, he was out of bed and slinking towards the door, his journal clutched in his hand. It wasn't a knife, but it was hard and better than his pillow. Reaching the door, he grasped the handle. Just as he was about to turn it, a whispered voice penetrated the thick silence.
"Which room? I don' wanna open the blasted cop's."
A pause, then a second voice barely audible through the door spoke. "Boss said top floor."
"This is the second floor!"
"Shh! There's a third floor, you bloomin' idiot."
Footsteps. Another creak. Silence. He pressed his hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. There were two men outside the door and they were not BlueShirt or Tim.
"When danger arises—and it will arise—you must remain calm. If you panic, you are as good as dead. Do not panic, you hear? Do. not. panic."
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he straightened. Don't panic. Remain calm. He could— do that.
"If you want to die by the sword," Jatmap said, pacing in front of them. "Run into your opponents blindly without a plan. If you don't want to die by the sword, take a moment to learn your surroundings, scout the number of your opponents, look for ways to use the things you have in a surprising way— just anything before you attack."
Clutching his journal tighter and opening his eyes, he turned the handle and cracked open the door, peeking through. The hall was dark and still, no sign of the two men. If he was going to attack, he would wait for the men to pass him so their backs were towards him. Then he could fling the door open and throw his journal at the closest one's head and hopefully distract him long enough to slam the door shut.
If he had his knife, he could follow the journal into the hall and stab the man's back, then maybe attack the other one. The hall was too thin for a sword to be useful, but the men probably weren't going to have swords. Daggers, maybe? Or ThunderObjects? He shivered. That wouldn't be good.
The night stretched on, unmoving. Maybe he should leave his room and look for the men or go wake BlueShirt. BlueShirt could help him take down the men, or at least he might have a knife. Yes, it would probably good to wake BlueShirt.
He nudged the door open a little more and was about to move when a quiet thud rippled through the air. Immediately, he froze, hunkering down into a crouch. A muffled scream cut short and footsteps approached.
Two figures drifted past his door, the last one carrying a bound and gagged lump. An arrow stabbed through his heart as his eyes locked with the lump.
It was Ray-chel.
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