It settled on the other side of Sidney, its corrupted fire casting orange-black shadows across the grove. Up close, the contamination looked worse than Ben had realized. Maybe approaching eighty percent now, although he had to admit that was just an educated guess. The shadow veins had spread through most of its feathers, and the clean gold fire only flickered in small patches near its chest.
The creature looked at Ben with ancient, knowing eyes, and he felt something brush against his consciousness. Not words, or even images, just a profound sense of urgency mixed with gratitude.
“I’m doing everything I can,” Ben said quietly. “But I don’t know if it’ll be enough.”
Despite that lackluster promise, the phoenix lowered its head and tucked its beak against its chest. Within moments, it had fallen into a fitful sleep, its corrupted fire dimming to embers.
Ben pulled out the files Lewis had given him, along with his laptop. The battery was limping along — the EMP must have damaged the charging circuits — but he had maybe two hours of power left. Enough to go through the digitized journal entries from Emily Thompson that Sidney had shared with him weeks ago.
He’d read them before, of course. But he’d been looking for general information about the portal and the dimensional creatures that used it to travel between worlds. Now he needed something much more specific.
He needed to know about the phoenix’s rebirth cycle.
The journals were meticulously organized, decades of careful observation recorded in Emily Thompson’s precise handwriting. Ben scrolled through entries about griffin migrations and shadow stalker behavior and unicorn sightings, looking for the sections on phoenixes.
He found the first mention in an entry from 1978.
I observed the phoenix beginning its rebirth cycle near the portal site. The creature’s fire burned clean and bright, consuming its physical form over the course of approximately eight hours. I attempted to maintain electromagnetic contact throughout the process, as Grandmother’s journals suggested this would anchor the phoenix to our dimension and prevent it from becoming lost between worlds.
The strain was terrible. By hour four, I was bleeding from the nose and ears. By hour six, I’d lost consciousness twice. But I held the pattern and kept the image of what the phoenix should be fixed in my mind, even as its physical form dissolved into pure energy.
The rebirth was completed successfully. The phoenix emerged renewed, its fire stronger than before. But the cost —
The entry cut off there. Ben flipped to the next page and found it dated three days later.
I woke this morning for the first time since the anchoring. Mother says I’d been unconscious for sixty-three hours, occasionally crying out or convulsing, but never fully waking. The doctors she brought in were baffled. All my vitals were stable, but I simply wouldn’t wake.
I feel different now. My electromagnetic sensitivity has increased significantly — I can sense the portal’s fluctuations from miles away, can feel dimensional barriers thinning before any creatures cross through. It’s as if anchoring the phoenix left some of its fire inside me, expanding my abilities beyond what they once were.
I don’t know if this change is permanent. Mother’s journals contain no mention of similar effects, but then, she never attempted to anchor a phoenix through full rebirth. I may be the first in our family to do so.
I hope I’m the last.
Ben sat back, frowning. Emily had succeeded in anchoring a phoenix, but it had fundamentally altered her, had left her unconscious for days and permanently changed her abilities.
And that had been with a clean rebirth, a phoenix that wasn’t corrupted.
Sidney stirred, and a small sound of distress escaped her throat. Ben moved to her side immediately, one hand finding hers.
“I’m here,” he said in what he hoped was a gentle, comforting murmur. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then gradually clearing. When she saw him, something in her expression softened.
“Ben.”
Her voice was hoarse, but she sounded mostly like herself.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like someone replaced my nervous system with live wires.” She tried to sit up, and he helped her, keeping one arm around her shoulders for support. “How long was I out?”
“Three hours. The unicorn brought the phoenix here — it’s sleeping on your other side.”
Sidney turned carefully, her movements stiff, and looked at the dying creature. Even in the dim light, Ben could see tears gathering in her eyes.
“It’s worse,” she whispered.
“Eighty percent corrupted, maybe more. But stable for now.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Sidney, I’ve been reading your grandmother’s journals. The entry about anchoring a phoenix.”
