I went to meet my friends, Rhonda and Layla, my heart heavy with the secret I carried and the urgency of the days ahead. We met at Rhonda’s home, a sturdy stone home on the edge of the village that had been expanded since I last visited to accommodate her growing family. Thomas and Lark had returned, finally, after what felt like an eternity of separation.
When I got to Rhonda’s house, she was very busy, even heavy with pregnancy she moved with the practiced efficiency of a mother who had learned to do everything one-handed. She lifted her son, her firstborn, the cub I had met for the first time a year ago when he had been nothing more than a few month old cub. Now he was almost two years old, which in this world meant he looked to be about twelve years old, maybe a year younger or a year older in his man form. It was hard to tell with the rapid aging of their kind, the way childhood blurred past in the blink of an eye.
He was a young handsome boy, I observed, with his father’s strong jaw and his mother’s kind eyes, his hair falling in dark waves around a face that was losing its baby roundness and gaining the angles of impending manhood. He tolerated his mother’s affection with the long-suffering patience of the young, squirming only slightly as Rhonda smiled and kissed her first cub all over his cute face, murmuring endearments that made him roll his eyes but also, I noticed, made him smile.
Lark stood nearby, watching this display with the curiosity of a child who was beginning to understand the world in more complex terms. He looked at her belly, his head tilting to one side as he studied the pronounced curve of her abdomen, the way she moved carefully to accommodate the new life growing within.
"Mommy," he asked, his voice clear and bright, "are you pregnant? Your belly is bigger."
Rhonda laughed, the sound rich and genuine, her hand coming to rest on the swell of her stomach with unconscious tenderness. "Yes, Lark," she said, crouching down to meet his eyes despite the awkwardness of her condition. "I am pregnant. You are going to be a big brother."
Lark’s face transformed. He had the happiest grin I had ever seen on him, pure joy lighting his features as he processed the news. He whooped, a sound of pure childish delight, and threw his arms around his mother’s neck, hugging her with a ferocity that made her stumble slightly before she caught herself.
"Seems like the older brother is very happy," I smiled, moving forward into the space they had created, feeling the warmth of their domesticity wrap around me like a blanket.
My older cubs, Atlas, Ryder, and Chase, now in their man form and looking to be about six to eight years old, ran toward Lark as soon as they spotted him. The cub they had not seen since before the winter took over, before the snows came and locked the world in white silence. They had been cubs together, playing in the dirt, chasing each other through the grass, and now they were older, meeting again as strangers who had to re-learn each other’s shapes.
Thomas emerged from the house, his arm around Rhonda’s waist, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he watched the reunion. He looked tired, I noticed, the kind of tired that went deeper than missed sleep, the exhaustion of grief and travel and hard choices.
Thomas and Lark had gone to Thomas’s family tribe after I became mated to Caelion, leaving abruptly and, I had thought at the time, somewhat mysteriously. They had not come back for season after season, and I had wondered, worried, questioned whether everything was okay.
But from what Rhonda had explained in hurried messages, Thomas’s father had gotten sick, the wasting illness that took so many of the old ones. Thomas had gone to be by his father’s side, had wanted Lark to get to know his grandpa before he died, to have some memory of the man who had raised his father. Then Thomas’s father had died, and they had stayed for the burial ceremony, the mourning period, the settling of affairs.
And when winter came, the snow had locked them in, deep drifts that made traveling impossible, that turned the mountain passes into death traps. Traveling was hard, so they had stayed in Thomas’s father’s tribe, waiting, surviving, marking time until the thaw.
"Look at my Lark," Rhonda said, her voice thick with emotion as she watched her son wrestling with my boys, their laughter ringing out sharp and bright in the morning air. "He has gotten so big. I cannot believe in another year he will be old enough to find his own bonded mate. It feels like yesterday he was nursing at my breast."
She cried then, dabbing at the sides of her eyes with the hem of her tunic, the tears of a mother watching time steal her children away before she was ready to let them go.
I looked at my own children, at Atlas with his serious eyes and Ryder with his quick smile and Chase with his boundless energy, and I felt the familiar lurch in my chest. Yes. In two years for them, they would be old enough to have their own bonded mates. They would be men, with men’s responsibilities and men’s dangers, and I would have to watch them walk away from me into lives I could not control, could not protect, could not share.
I could not even wrap my head around that.
"Hey Layla," I said, spotting my other friend approaching from the path, her belly also rounded with child, her face glowing with health. "Rhonda. I need to speak to you both. Do you think you can spare me some time?"
I wanted to tell them about my powers. I wanted to unburden myself of the secret that had grown heavier with each passing day, to trust them as I had trusted Alara, to build the alliances we would need not just for the war that was coming, but for the peace that would follow.
Rhonda and Layla exchanged glances, something passing between them, some understanding of the gravity in my voice. They nodded as one, their expressions shifting from joy to seriousness, from the celebration of reunion to the weight of what was being asked.
"Of course, Krys," Rhonda said softly, her hand finding mine and squeezing. "We are your friends. We always have time for you."
Rhonda led us through the narrow passage at the side of her house, emerging into a small clearing behind the stone structure where a fire pit sat cold and blackened, surrounded by logs worn smooth from years of use. The space was private, enclosed by a low wall of stacked stones and the dense foliage of berry bushes that had begun to bud with the coming spring. It was a sanctuary, a place for conversations that needed shielding from curious ears.
"Darius," Rhonda called toward the house, her voice carrying the authority of a mate who knew she would be obeyed. Her massive sea lion of a husband appeared in the doorway; his brow raised in question. "Keep everyone away. The children, Thomas, Lark; everyone. Krys needs to speak with us, and we are not to be disturbed."
Darius nodded, his dark eyes flicking to me with something like concern before he vanished back inside. I heard him calling to the boys, his voice booming but gentle, redirecting their energy toward some task that would keep them occupied.
Rhonda settled herself on one of the logs with a grunt of effort, her pregnant belly making her usual grace difficult. Layla sat beside her, her own hand resting on her stomach, the two of them exchanging glances that spoke of the bond they had forged in my absence. I stood before them, suddenly nervous, the words I had practiced vanishing like smoke.
"I do not know where to begin," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"At the beginning," Layla suggested, her green eyes kind but sharp with curiosity. "That is usually the best place."
I took a breath, then another, grounding myself in the scent of earth and growing things, the distant sound of children laughing, the warmth of the sun on my face. "First, I need you to know how happy I am to be your friend," I said, the words rushing out. "How fortunate I feel, every single day, to have found you both in this world. You have been sisters to me when I had none, have stood by me when others would have cast me aside. I need you to know that before I tell you the rest. Because the rest might change how you see me, and I could not bear to lose you."
"Krys," Rhonda said softly, reaching out to take my hand in hers. Her fingers were warm and calloused, strong from years of work. "Nothing you say could change how we see you. You are our sister. That is the end of it."
I squeezed her hand, grateful beyond measure, and plunged ahead. "I have powers," I said, the words strange on my tongue even now, after all this time. "They manifested during the fight with Ken, that first terrible battle. I thought it was just a fluke, just adrenaline and desperation and luck. But then the cheetahs attacked, and Caelion..." My voice broke, remembering his broken body, the way his heart’s blood had sprayed over me. "He sacrificed everything for me. And in that moment, I knew. I could save him. I could save anyone."
I told them everything then; the blue binds, the healing tide, the way I had kept it hidden, hoarding the secret out of fear. I told them about Alara and Krane, about how I had finally trusted someone outside my circle of mates, about the weight of carrying this alone.
"There are still things I do not understand," I admitted, my voice hoarse from talking. "Things I still need to train on, limits I have not tested, rules I am only beginning to learn. But for a while now, I have known how to heal. Truly heal. Not just herbs and stitches, but... mending flesh, sealing wounds, bringing someone back from the edge of death."
Rhonda’s expression had shifted from concern to confusion, her brow furrowed as she tried to process what I was saying. Layla was shaking her head slightly, not in denial but in disbelief, her logical mind struggling with the impossible.
"I am sorry, Krys," Layla said carefully, "but I need to see to believe. I have heard stories of such things, old tales from before I was brought into this world, but... seeing is believing. You understand?"
"I understand," I said, relieved in a way. The demonstration would be easier than the explanation. "But I cannot cut myself. The power does not work on me; I cannot heal myself, only others."
"Then what do you propose?" Rhonda asked, her hand instinctively covering her pregnant belly in a gesture of protection.
"I could nick your finger," I suggested. "Just a small cut, something that would normally take a day or two to close up. And I could show you. Both of you."
Layla paled, her hand flying to her mouth. She had never been good with blood, she nearly fainted during her own childbirth. "I... I do not know if I can watch," she admitted, her voice small.
But Rhonda was braver, or perhaps more desperate to understand. She held out her hand, palm up, her fingers steady despite the tremor I could see in her wrist. "Do it," she said firmly. "Show us."
I drew the small knife I kept at my belt, the one I used for herbs and food preparation. The blade caught the sunlight as I held it over Rhonda’s outstretched finger. "Ready?" I asked, waiting for her nod.
She did not flinch as I made a small slash across her fingertip, just deep enough to well with blood. Layla gasped and looked away, but Rhonda watched with fascination as the crimson bead formed, as the pain registered in her eyes.
Then I called the blue binds.
The power came at my call, rushing to my fingertips like water through a breached dam. I kept it controlled, contained, just enough to demonstrate without drawing attention or wasting energy. The blue light enveloped my hands, soft and ethereal, and I pressed my fingers to Rhonda’s wound.
The effect was immediate. The bleeding stopped, the edges of the skin drawing together like water flowing uphill, knitting seamlessly until there was nothing but smooth, unblemished flesh where the cut had been. The entire process took less than a breath, less than a heartbeat.
Both girls looked at me in awe, their eyes wide and mouths open. Rhonda touched her healed finger with her other hand, rubbing at the spot as if expecting to find a scar, finding nothing. Layla had turned back despite her squeamishness, drawn by the gasp that had escaped Rhonda’s lips.
"By the beast gods," Rhonda whispered, her voice trembling. "It is true. It is all true."
"How?" Layla breathed, reaching out to grab my hand, to touch the fingers that had performed the miracle. "How is this possible? What are you?"
"I am just Krys," I said softly, letting the blue light fade, feeling the familiar exhaustion that followed even a small healing. "But I am also something more, a lineage I do not fully understand yet power I am only beginning to learn. And I need your help. I need your friendship, your counsel, your strength. Because Rina is coming, and she will not stop until she has destroyed everything we love. And I cannot face her alone."
Rhonda and Layla exchanged glances, something passing between them, some silent communication of the bond they shared. Then they both turned to me, and Rhonda spoke for them both, her voice steady and sure.
"You are not alone," she said. "You will never be alone. We are with you, Krys. Whatever comes. Whatever you need. We are with you."
And in that small clearing, behind a stone house in a village on the edge of war, I felt the first true peace I had known in days. Because I had chosen to trust, and my friends had chosen to believe. And that, I was learning, was the most powerful magic of all.
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