Failinis ignoredboth the words and the glare of warning when the warrior slipped past him to take his place in the room.
Finally, finally, he was free. He shook himself from nose to tail, fluffing out his fur, and stalked through the trees. The forest was alive with the faint echo of ancient whispers. Something slithered through the underbrush like serpents, their voices tangled in the rustle of leaves and the sigh of the wind. Failinis paid them no mind. His focus was singular, a burning ember in his chest that flared brighter with every step, every breath, every thought of the man who was his.
You promised me.
I did not.
But even he was aware of the allegiance they had given to Fionn and the Fianna, and millennia of habits were hard to break. Failinis slipped into his routine of running the perimeter to check for intruders.
Slowly but surely, the wolf made his way around Dún Fianna’s grounds. He sniffed, he marked, he even took the time to chase a rabbit, all in an effort to have his warrior brother lay down his guard.
Finally, the Fianna Door loomed ahead, its presence a hum in the air, a vibration in the earth that called to everything his soul, both wolf and man, craved. The magic wielded by the druid descendant, Ward, to create it was old. Older than the stones that marked the boundaries of Dún Fianna. Older than the oaks that stood sentinel in the woods. It thrummed beneath Failinis’s fur, a steady, insistent pulse that resonated through his bones,through the very marrow of his bones. The door was both a tantalizing treat and a wound on the essence that made him a wolf. It was a bridge to where he wanted to be, and he was not allowed to cross it as his stupid warrior side had pledged to obey An Rhí, Fionn.
Reaper.
Failinis lifted his nose, and a long mournful howl emerged.
Mo Grá Choí.
The scent of his mate was like a ghost on the wind, faint but there, like the echo of a howl carried on the night breeze. Failinis’s ears twitched, his muzzle lifting as he drew the air deep into his lungs, scenting smoke, fire, weapon powder, and beneath it all, something darker. Something wild. Something that called to the beast’s heart. It made his fur bristle, and his teeth ache with the need to bite, to claim, and to keep for all of his days.
He padded closer, his massive form moving with a predator’s silence, his paws barely disturbing the damp earth. The door was a thing of beauty and terror, a swirling mass of mist and light, the edges of it shimmering like the surface of a lake under the moon. It pulled at him, a siren’s song, a promise of him—of home. Failinis’s chest tightened, making his heart pound against his ribs like a drumbeat or a war chant. He could feel Reaper on the other side, distant as if he no longer lingered next to the door, yet still a warmth in the cold and a light in the dark. The bond between them was a thread, thin but unbreakable, a tether that stretched across worlds, universes, and time.
He took a step forward, whimpering softly as the magic pushed back. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating from his soul and through his ribs. The door denied him. The power of it was a wall, invisible but solid, a barrier that hummed with the magic of ancient runes and warnings. It knew him, it recognized him, and still it refused him entry.
No. Do not do it, Failinis.
I must go to our Grá Croí.
No. We gave our word.
You.
The word was a snarl in his mind, a protest that clawed at his throat. He needed to cross. He needed to find Reaper, to see him, to touch him, to press his muzzle against the human’s skin and breathe him in until the world made sense again. The bond was a fire in his veins, a storm in his blood, and the door’s refusal was a bucket of ice water thrown over his flames.
You gave your word. Not I.
Failinis lunged.
His body hit the magic like a physical force, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs, sending him sprawling back onto the damp earth. Pain flared along his side, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest and the hollow in his heart. The magic burned where it touched him, a searing flame of sparks that left no mark but hurt all the same. He snarled, his lips peeling back from his teeth, his golden eyes narrowing as he glared at the shimmering veil.
Let me pass.
The door didn’t answer. It didn’t care what the wolf or the warriorwanted. It cared for order, for rules, and for fate to work as it must. It answered to the blood of the druids, to the will of the land, and to the heart of the one who sought to cross.
Woooo. Wooooo. Woooooooooo.
Reaper.
Failinis, you are breaking my heart.
We have to go to him.
Woooo. Wooooo. Wooooooo.
The howls were long and mournful, but no matter how many times he called for his Grá Croí, the sounds did not cross the Fianna door into the mortal world, and Reaper did not appear.
We will die and pass from this world.
