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“Thank the Sisters,” Hedda muttered behind him. “I’m not in the bloody mood.”

“I was kind of hoping to see the look on Brand’s face, myself,” Faldir said, something akin to a smile ghosting across his lips. “Ah well.”

Sorcha’s argent muzzle pushed through the stalks up ahead, a quiet yip the only warning before she sank back into their patchy shade.

“Right.” Mag swiped up Thad’s discarded robe and tied it around his waist. “Let’s go.”

They followed his cousin’s gigantic wolf out of the field and onto a vaguely-worn track, keeping low as they traversed through muddy hollows and over scorched hills. It was hit or miss whether the streams they leapt across were stained or not with a sludgy ooze. But when they were, Brand vehemently ignored the visceral pull he felt when near it. The familiarity.

After more than an hour of trekking, he finally picked up sounds in the distance. Shrieks and howls and battle cries, the thud of weapons on flesh. The urge to race towards them was strong, to aid his brethren in whatever plight, but he tamped it down. This mission was not his to command, and he already had his orders—strange as it was that they came from Thad of all creatures.

At last, their party slowed and reached the bottom of a steep incline. Thad shifted back to himself, caught and donned the robe Mag threw at him, and gestured for all of them to draw closer.

“I need you all to listen very carefully.” He pointed upwards. “Our bonny Thodelebor isn’t what it used to be, aye? From here to the chasm border, there’s fuck all but death and suffering. For your own sakes, don’t bother to stop and take it all in. It’ll eat you alive.”

Tension rolled off of Magnus in waves, his brother clearly doing his damned best to appear unperturbed by all Thad was saying.

“When we reach the top,” Thad continued, “look just to the southwest. You’ll find two Wolflords and a pair of Demons keeping watch. They’ve been set to mind the hole until we arrive. Anyone else you see is tasked with their protection. If, for some reason, they aren’t there, say a prayer to the Sisters and get ready to fight. Are we clear?”

Brand nodded once along with everyone else. He didn’t need to know exactly what manner of monster he was fighting. Every battle he ever fought, the years spent on practice fields, was imprinted on his flesh and bones. His body held memories, even if his mind didn’t. Of that, Brand was certain.

“Aye, good. Let’s go.”

They set off at Thad’s command. Fern flew up ahead to scout, the darting flash of her petite form little more than a blur, leaving the rest of them to climb. Faldir and Hedda took up the front and rear respectively, their sheer size providing a shield for the remainder of their group.

No one spoke a word, but with the well-honed instincts of true warriors, they each knew just what to do. Brand couldn’t remember the last time he felt this welcome rush. To move with others in such harmony, a common goal between them, was the true Dominion of Demons. Easy as bloody breathing.

He let the ease of it wash over him and sighed through pursed lips.

There was only one stain on the heady sensation, and it was the overwhelming urge to reach out and lend a hand to Lunara. She was keeping pace well enough, but she had this look—a sallow, haggard quality to her face that set alarm bells off in his mind.

Perhaps there was still some part of him that recalled what it meant to be mated to her. That knew she was his to protect. Even so, in his current state, it was a surreal fucking feeling to have for a complete stranger.

Brand swallowed a rise of nerves and pretended nonchalance. “Are you well?” he asked beneath his breath, eyes darting away—to keep watch on their surroundings, obviously. Not because he was too nervous to meet her azure gaze.

She stumbled but righted herself with relative ease. “Are…y-you talking to me?”

Shite. He’d really fucked everything up if she was that surprised by the prospect. “You’re the only one I don’t know well enough to gauge, and the Fae doesn’t count, so yes. You.”

“Oh. Um…” She couldn’t seem to look at him either. “Right. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Much as I love to see the two of you having a chat, this isn’t the best time,” Magnus growled. “Heads out of arses, aye? Save it for later.”

Brand clenched his teeth. Half a conversation, and he even managed to fuck that up.

They cleared the top of the rise, funneling onto a massive tract of rolling pastures, stretching down and away from⁠—

Weeping. Fucking. Sisters.

Brand knew he wasn’t supposed to stop. That he was supposed to keep his head down, keep going, and get the mission done.

Impossible.

The Westrealm of Thodelebor, verdant lands of the mighty Wolflords, had been obliterated.

Fields razed. Buildings scorched and fallen. The stench of death swept in like a putrid cloud, courtesy of the sheer amount of corpses littering the ground. Of the mutilated parts and pieces of otherworldly things, all in various stages of decomposition. Here and there, patches of eternal fire raged on the near horizon, the magic of his oldest brother’s dragon unmistakable in the flames. A ripple of rainbow light broke across the sky, branching out like spiderweb cracks before disappearing again.

Never in his life had he seen such a sight.