That isn’t even remotely fucking possible.
Excitement and disbelief warred inside him. “I told you.” His voice cracked as he stood slowly, not taking his eyes off the crack in the wall. “These symbols, this mountain. It’s a prison. That’s the king they bound. He didn’t cross into Tír na nÓg with the rest of his men.”
“They bound him to the stone.” Juice’s voice had gone quiet, haunted. “Bran says… he was betrayed. Trapped here by someone he trusted. Some druids ambushed him before he could follow the Fianna across the veil.” Juice cracked a smile. “He is bitching at Fionn for getting drunk and trying to cross the Boyne.”
Bran let out a long, shuddering howl and slumped forward, pawing at the edge of the crack like a wolf mourning at a grave.
Fionn’s voice came again, rougher this time, the cadence slow and tired. “No other voice has reached me in millennia. Not even the wind. But the hound… he carries the key to the curse in his bloodline.”
“He means Bran,” Juice whispered. “Somehow, because of his DNA or family, Bran carries the last of the Fianna’s link to Fionn. That’s how the chant broke the barrier.”
“But then why can’t we get him out?” Kaze asked.
Bran whined and pressed his shoulder to the stone, shaking with the effort to force it open again. The wall glowed faintly beneath his paws, runes flickering in pale gold along the seam, but the crack held.
“He says he’s not supposed to come out in this world.” Juice blinked. “Bran asks if there is some sort of key that wasn’t part of the glyphs Sutherland deciphered.”
Ward ran a hand through his hair, heart still racing. “There wasn’t more. I searched every damn inch.”
“Not carved,” Juice murmured. “That’s what Bran’s saying now. It might not be written in stone. It had to come from the soul from deep within.”
“Within who?” Viper demanded.
“By the brother. The second in the chant.” Juice touched the wolf. “Bran gave blood. That fulfilled the oath of the hound.”
“Then the rest falls to him,” Fionn said, his voice like gravel and wind. “The one who leads the Hound’s Grá Croí. The one who chooses no throne, but serves his brothers.”
“Viper,” Juice whispered.
Ward’s gaze snapped toward Viper as the weight of the moment sank in.
“It can’t be me,” Viper insisted. “The only ones who could cross the fairy protection line at your den, Bran, were Juice and Reaper. You said that meant I had no fairy blood… right?”
“He says there are other things than fairies, Boss.” Juice winced and braced himself against Bran when the ground rumbled in fury. “Shit, can we hurry up? Because I don’t want to die in here.” His comment drew a vicious snarl from the wolf, who crowded his mate against the wall as if he could protect him.
“Only a druid warrior was ever meant to enter this place,” Fionn said, the rumble of his voice drifting through the split stone like it carried the memory of storms. “Not one of robes or chants, but a true warrior. One whose blood serves the ancient mark of the Triad. The Triple Oath. Earth beneath his feet. Sky above his soul. Sea flowing through his veins.”
“Earth, sky, and sea.” Juice blinked. “Wait a sec. Do you know what we get if we move those around?”
“I don’t fucking know, Juice. Explain it to me,” Viper grumbled. “I don’t come here for twenty fucking questions, I came to kill the bastard who took my team brother.”
“Bran says, and I quote,” he made an inverted commas symbol in the air, “that is why you are the warrior foretold to open the lock.”
“Break it down Barney-style, o’Leary,” Viper ordered.
“Sea, Air, and Land…”
Viper’s brow drew down tight, a low breath escaping his lungs like something old had just clicked into place. “SEAL? But that could mean any of us. We are all SEALs, Bran.”
“You are their leader.” Fionn stepped closer to the edge of the crack, one hand braced against the stone that still held him prisoner. As he leaned into the light, the shadows peeled back enough for them to see his face, etched with time, carved from hardship, and regal despite the centuries of captivity. His gaze moved over each of them. Not searching. Seeing. Weighing. And then the corner of his mouth curled. “Of course,” he whispered. “It has to be you.”
“What does that mean?” Reaper asked, his voice hoarse. “Viper, how?”
Fionn didn’t answer immediately. He was staring directly at Viper, but Ward stepped forward before he realized he was moving, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush of instinct and awe. “The Triskele.” The connection made sense in his head, but he had no idea if he could explain it or not. But he had to try. “Three spirals. Three paths. Three promises. It’s in everything. In old language, in pre-Celtic ritual. Creation. Preservation. Destruction. Life, death, rebirth. The triad is the balance of all things.”
Fionn nodded once, solemn. “The Triad is not magic. It is true. The druids knew it. The Fianna know it, and the gods swore by it. When they feared what I had become, they used it to bind me. Only one who stands in balance with the Triad could pass into this sacred space and not be destroyed.”
Ward’s breath hitched. “Not a mage… but a warrior of balance. A soul forged in all three elements. Then how am I here? I am not a warrior.”
