A Court of Ravens and Shadow

6

 Throwing my hands to my ears, I try my best to block the tranquilising screams that sounds. The death, the terror, the torture, careens through my ears.

Breathing heavily, kneeling, I look around. Searching, but all that surrounds me is the mass of winds. Slivers of red remind me of the fight that is taking place right outside of the wind wall.

Being inside the ring, my blue siphons glow with a dull ache. Power suppression. I growl to myself in frustration. Here I am, cowering like a child. Cowering like the child I was. Weak and afraid. It brings me back to myself as a child, crouched in front of my father, his arm raised, ready to strike.

I shake my head. Pressing my feet to the ground, I power my way to a stand. My chest heaves with the suffocation of the air tunnel. I must think. Think.

Hissing sounds through the screams around me. Taunting me. Hissing, Shadowinger. A chaotic and violent melody.

I fumble for the dime in my pocket. If I throw this dime, it will all stop. But I risk it falling to the wrong ring. For this one, as I fell into, unsettled the souls of terror. As I am trapped in the vortex, I face no option of escape. And my brothers. My brothers out there fighting the beast that be Bannik.

I look skyward. The peace of the stars and moon shining through a slither of the tornado that encase me.

Skyward. The familiar whispers edge in my ears.

Looking around once more, cold sweat running down the back of my neck, by breath thin. I gulp, throwing my arm high, I release the dime. Its metallic surface flickering as it fly's through the air. For where it will land will be the tell. Here's hoping it finds the centre of the seven rings, where peace will be found.

The wind dissipates, the screams of terror fading to a sly hum. Rhys & Cassian grit their teeth, as sweat runs down their temples. The black fog of Bannik cowers, patchy, drifting along the edge of the clearing. "We are to leave" I grumble through gritted teeth, my chest beating.

As we push off the ground, I spy the falling dime. My breath catches.

I trace its metallic flickers back to the ground.

It disappears through the trees, before a small thud sounds, and the third ring glows with a beat. As we soar past the treeline, I feel a warmth press to my shoulder. I shake my shoulder, as my wings pound. The pressure does not dissipate. Glancing to my right, I see nothing.

If I were specific, it almost felt like a hand.