FSE

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11

Carson awoke at seven o'clock, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Thanks to his father, the young German shepherd had been getting up early since he was a pup--if he hadn't he would've missed Raymond before he left for work. Carson loved his dad, but being the mayor of Bellemont (and a high profile hero--retired or not) kept him pretty occupied, so the young man had to take what he could get. The habit stuck with him, but he didn't mind being an early-bird anyhow.

On a usual day he'd be sitting at the breakfast table, spreading jam on some toast and listening to his patriarch as he sipped coffee and went over his schedule, all the while scrambling eggs and frying bacon on the stove. Raymond always took it upon himself to cook in the morning. Listening to his dad's daily calendar and smelling the wholesome food being prepared was sacred to Carson. Breakfast: that was their bonding time; a time when they could simply be father and son, not Atlas and his boy wonder. Normal.

Of course, the last few weeks had been nowhere near normal, but Carson wasn't complaining.

The young shepherd, having made his bed and donned his clothing (a simple white athletic shirt, some workout pants, and his Nikes), now stood gazing out of his room's wall-sized window at the all-encompassing forest, a tranquil mist sifting through the trees as the sun peeked over the tops of the mountains in the distance. The sight was tranquil. He missed home, but he was where he wanted to be: in the company of other supers. They were even his age! He could say he missed school, too, but that would be a thick hunk of bologna. And it wasn't like he wasn't still learning, and he called his father every day. He had no choice with that--Raymond made it mandatory.

It had taken every ounce of diplomacy he'd had to convince the retired Atlas to let him join the heroes. The elder dog had been furious by what Carson had done at the school explosion, but the young man hadn't been able to help himself. When he'd flown off their porch he hadn't known what he'd find, but the mystery is what had called him into action in the first place...that and the want to prove himself. Besides, he'd helped Rhykard, and that was a justifiable enough excuse for his actions. As displeased as his father had been, Carson wouldn't change what he'd done. Something had gone wrong, and he'd been compelled to help; it was his nature like it was his father's.

He breathed heavily and wiped his eyes, wondering how Rhykard was doing. The wolf, freshly manifested, was struggling to learn control of his powers, and Carson was helping him along as much as he could. He felt obligated to seeing as he'd been raised by a family of supers; his understanding of control was founded at a young age, even _before_his powers had shown themselves. Rhykard hadn't been so lucky. He was incredibly knowledgeable about what he supposedly could do, though, since he'd inherited his abilities from a predecessor, but he didn't know how to trigger many of them yet. Having full mastery of his powers, Carson served as a good mentor to Rhy. Plus he really enjoyed being with the wolf. He had acquaintances back in Bellemont, back at school, but no real friends--none that understood him at least. Most were normal and, no matter how long he'd known them, Carson figured deep down that they were afraid of him and what he could do if the thought crossed his mind. The shepherd had only ever wanted to be embraced by his peers, not held at arm's length. He'd never been able to get close to anyone, but things were different now.

He thought of the day before with Rhy. He'd flown the wolf around over Sentinel hall, hoping the sensation would trigger his own flight capabilities since Totemic had been an aerial. The dog had held the lithe, toned wolf by the waist, his awestruck laughter and spiced scent wafting back to Carson's eager ears and nose. He'd weighed nothing at all. The faster and higher they'd gone the more Rhykard had spread his arms and enjoyed the soaring feeling and unbounding freedom of the sky. The wolf had reminded the shepherd of himself when he'd first flown with his father. He hoped the memory would be just as precious to Rhy as it was to him. When they'd touched back down, Carson received a hug out of the blue from the wolf so it must have resonated.

Carson wanted to fly with Rhy again. He was sure that another opportunity would arise, but there was other training to do in the meantime.

With his heightened hearing, Carson picked up footsteps in the hall outside. They were stealthy even without being purposeful, but the squeak of rubber soles and soft clopping of heels was unmistakably a pair of boots. The person was singing softly to themselves; Carson recognized The Black Keys and the smooth voice: Anthony. He knocked on the door and the shepherd called him in.

The Doberman strode into the room and grinned, his sharp ears perked as Carson turned to him. He was dressed in grey, slim-fitting cargo pants and a black tank top, the peaks of his chest sticking out above the fabric, that military parka he always wore covering up the rest. His russet fur shimmered as the sunlight broke fully over the mountains through the window, and Carson couldn't help but marvel at the shape the other dog was in. He looked more built than he had yesterday..._and taller._

"Good morning," Anthony said.

"Hey! Ready to get to it?" Carson asked, smirking and popping his knuckles.

The Doberman grinned, twisting his neck to resounding crack. "You bet, Wonder boy."

Carson huffed as he grabbed a light jacket from a rack by the door, the Vigil's logo--a sun emblazoned shield bordered by seven stars--stamped on the back. He playfully shoved Anthony as he passed out into the hall. The Doberman barely budged. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" Anthony asked as he followed the shepherd to the right. Both of the dog's tails wagged as they walked--a stubby twitch and a lengthy swish. "It suits you, no?"

Carson chuckled. "_No_is right."

"Don't be so modest," the Doberman said. He put his arms casually behind his head, the sleeves of his heavy coat straining to contain the muscle. "You can do almost everything; pretty wondrous I'd say."

The shepherd huffed, embarrassed by the compliment. Squinting, he watched the other dog as they passed by a couple more inhabited rooms--the Vincent kid's, Max's... Once again he thought that his new friend looked bulkier. They paused outside one room, and Carson remembered an attribute of Anthony's abilities. He grinned and crossed his own muscular arms. "You bulked up on metal didn't you?"

"That's right," Anthony admitted, flexing his chest. His power to absorb metal and enhance his physical structure was something Carson couldn't wrap his head around.

The result is nice, though, Carson thought, tail swaying. He cocked an eyebrow. "Need a boost to take me on, huh?"

"No."

The shepherd deflated, and Anthony just shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, friend; you hold back in combat practice so the extra power would serve no purpose."

Carson shuffled where he stood. "I...hold back?"

"Do not be ashamed. I take it you've never had the opportunity to fight other supers, so it is understandable. You're not used to it." His lips pressed into a line and his ears tweaked down as he pointed to the nameplate beside they door next to them. "This one, however, is another story. I doubt she shows much restraint."

Carson looked at the name and his throat dried. He groaned a bit. "Kizzi?"

Anthony nodded. "She is joining us today, hence the added...protection."

"I thought you weren't going to fight her? Ever?"

The Doberman rolled his eyes. "It troubles me, but Chloe asked that I do it so we can gauge our compatibility as teammates."

"Teammates?"

"Yes," Anthony said. "Kizzi, Vincent, and I were grouped together with Chloe as our team leader." He clenched his eyes. "Well, future team. I fear we have a lot to work on."

Carson was confused. "We're divided into teams?"

Anthony glanced sideways at him, raising a thick paw to knock on Kizzi's door. "I take it you do not know?"

The door swung open suddenly and Anthony's hand swiped through empty space. The dogs found Kizzi glaring up at them, paws on her hips, the monstrous hammer she always carried out of sight. Her red-haired head barely came up to either dog's chest, but the inextinguishable fire in her eyes made up for her short stature and gave no doubts to the fighting spirit she possessed.

"Know what, Fido 1 and 2?" She smirked, her tail snapping at her ankles. "That I'm gonna' give you both a beating like never before?"

Carson shuddered. Anthony stayed cool and collected.

"Good morning," he said to her. "And we shall see."

Kizzi sneered. "Yeah, yeah, big boy. Let's get this massacre started."

The kitten sauntered between the dogs, leaving her door open and heading right down the hall. Inside, the room was a mess of dirty clothes, soda cans, and food wrappers of all sorts. There were pock-marks on the ceiling above the bed. Carson realized they were cuts, as if a knife had been tossed into it again and again like a target. If Anthony saw the ceiling he didn't show it; he just sighed at the disaster area and closed the door. Carson let the Doberman get between him and Kizzi before they started walking again.

She didn't slow her pace for them, but Kizzi kept one of her ears trained back on the two dogs as she went. They were talking about the teams, and the shepherd guy seemed surprised that they'd been divided up. Seeing as she'd always gone it alone, Kizzi wasn't sure how she was going to handle having other people's backs to watch. Mickey (her little brother back at home with their mother) she considered a teammate of sorts, but he wasn't like her; he didn't have powers. The Doberman striding casually behind was going to be fighting alongside her eventually, and she sensed he was a strong guy. He looked the part, too. But Kizzi had a credo, a way of choosing who she could and couldn't trust, and the pointy-eared dog hadn't obliged to her methods. Until she'd fought the guy he was no team member of hers. And the wimpy fox-boy, Monty...Kizzi didn't want to even _think_about him. Fighting him would be pointless--she could tell he was dead-weight. What were the big heroes thinking?

You could just trust that your superiors know what they're doing, said her father, his smooth voice reverberating in her mind like it had sense he'd passed. You don't have to fight everyone, baby girl.

It's my test, papa, she thought. Besides, I learned it from you. People show their true self when they're fighting. You want me to trust people more, right?

Yes, he said.

So I fight.

Even though he was incorporeal, Kizzi still sensed that her father was shaking his head.Fighting only gets you so far and so much.

Well, she thought. So far it's worked pretty well for me.

He's a patient boy, this son of Dark Iron, her father said. I met his old man long ago--fought him, too. It'll take more than a brawl to discover this one's true mettle. Besides, why the interest in him?

He looks tough.

So does Atlas' boy, but I don't see you picking a fight with him. She heard the smile creep into her father's voice. _Got a crush, baby girl? I'm surprised! The little fox, Montgomery, is more your age anyway,_he chuckled.

Kizzi stopped walking; her cheeks blazed and she clenched her paws at her sides, tail puffing. "Shut up! That's not funny!"

"I am sorry?"

Striding up beside her, Anthony cocked an eyebrow at the girl, not aware of what he'd said to offend her. He'd just been conversing with Carson about Dante's plans to begin structured lessons soon led by the elder heroes--field tactics, survival skills, hand-to-hand combat training. Nothing offensive had left his lips, yet the kitten was in a rightful fit.

"You alright?" Carson asked, unable to hide his grin as Kizzi crossed her arms and blew out her cheeks in a sulk. For once the girl was behaving her age. It didn't last long.

Kizzi growled when she spied Carson trying not to laugh, her little paw a blur as she socked the shepherd in the stomach. He was doubled over by the punch, surprised when it rippled through his guts, midsection flaring in pain. It wasn't a horrible pain, but he hadn't expected to feel anything to begin with. Kizzi swirled and stalked away from the boys, and Carson grunted and rubbed his belly, pulling up his shirt and staring at the red blotch under his fur where the kitten's fist had made contact. Anthony's ears were perked, gray eyes wide.

"Well, she packs a wallop," Carson said, grinning sheepishly. "I think you were right saying I'm not used to fighting other supers. That actually...hurt. Maybe I should get some pads?"

The Doberman just chuckled. "Just be glad it was her fist and not her hammer."

Carson grunted in agreement.

They continued walking, the hallways winding toward the center of the complex, Kizzi still an unsociable distance ahead of the boys and mumbling to herself. The little spitfire knew where to go in the labyrinth of a building, leading the boys along. Carson hated to admit it, but he still hadn't gotten his bearings of the place. Everything looked the same--you've seen one hall you've seen them all--but the closer to the center of the building you got the more things stood out. And they were getting close.

The right wall became adorned with shatter-proof windows looking in on a laboratory of sorts, strange equipment sitting dormant on sanitized countertops, computer monitors idle with Vigil logo screensavers. No matter how put together it seemed, Carson had to remember that the facility was brand new--acquisitioned especially for the training of new hero recruits...and other things, he guessed. Leaving the laboratory behind, they now looked in on a polished work floor. The same shatter-proof glass divided the space from the rest of the facility, and inside were crates and boxes of all sizes, some pushed up against the walls and unopened and some split apart in the middle of the room, their contents scattered about and in the process of being pieced together by someone. A light shone from the ceiling, and Carson realized it was actually an enormous glass dome letting in the sun. There was a split down the center as if it could open up.

"I wonder what they're building," Anthony said, looking in with Carson. The Doberman pointed to one open box beside a toolkit, a rectangular, aluminum shell straddling a couple of milk crates. "That actually looks like an engine block."

"Maybe Chloe's into cars?" Carson suggested, grinning. "Or Bree. She's the tinker, I think."

There was a roar, suddenly, and it rumbled through the ceiling as if a train were passing close by. Kizzi had stopped up ahead and was against a window that looked outside, her eyes wide and roving, ears fluttering as the noise continued to escalate through the hallway. His heightened hearing allowed Carson to make out sheet-metal flapping amidst it all, things striking the building--tree limbs, maybe.

"Is it storming?" he asked, glancing at Anthony who was staring at the dome over the work floor.

Carson followed the Doberman's gaze just as metal screeched and glass shattered, one section of the dome peeling back from the roof. It flopped there, the gale which had torn it asunder then catching it further and ripping it clean off. Boxes overturned, and papers and cardboard were caught in the updraft pouring into the work floor, spiraling about the room and plastering against the glass before the boys and disappearing out of the gap in the roof. Through the broken dome, Carson saw white blurring past--the fog rising like a cylindrical wall...

"Holy shit," they heard Kizzi spit, the kitten backing away from the window. Grass, leaves, dirt--anything small--was striking the glass. Past the open yard around the facility, the trees were being whipped mercilessly back and forth, trunks looking on the verge of snapping. The fog was thickening and swirling upward. "What is this?" Kizzi whimpered, stomach turning at the fearful sight outside. She'd never seen a storm like this. It wasn't even raining or thundering or anything. She could even see the sky through gaps in the fog or when debris wasn't blocking her sight.

Then the boys and girl jumped, their ears flicking upward as a static crackle filled the halls. Bree's kind yet anxious voice filtered through speakers set in the ceilings somewhere.

"Uhm, attention folks, we have a..." her voice got lost in more static. "...situation here. Jerry and I are at the training field, and--Oh gosh..." She began speaking to someone, her words fading.

Kizzi was staring toward the boys. Anthony had tensed. Carson just waited to hear more.

When Bree spoke again, her words were dire. "I didn't expect to use this so soon, but--Code Bryce. I repeat, Code Bryce. We need an aerial at the field right away, please! Chloe? Carson? You hear me? Hurry! Oh gosh, don't leave the field, Jerry!" Her voice faded again, but she was shouting. "Rhykard! You need to stop!"

Rhy?

Carson ran. Carson flew, the hallways a blur, his ears filled by the roar of the vortex outside. He didn't know what Code Bryce meant, but--given the circumstances--he bet it wasn't good. Anthony and Kizzi began to follow after the shepherd, but someone called from behind.

"Hey! What's going on?" Max asked, jogging toward them, his shirtless and muscular upper body bouncing as he came to a stop.

The Rottweiler was still in his pajama bottoms, having slept in, eyes alert but glassy from sleep and Bree's rude awakening. Montgomery was close behind the dog, the little fox's tail puffed out. He was fully dressed in a black T-shirt, khakis, and sneakers, and he had a thick book clutched to his chest. He looked frightened, especially when he reached the window and saw what was going on outside. Max didn't look too delighted either.

"We do not know," Anthony said, his ears pinning back. "Bree was calling to Rhykard. I fear he may have stumbled upon a latent power and cannot control it."

"Do...do we need to help?" squeaked Monty, all but clutching the back of Max's bone printed night-pants.

The Rottweiler's floppy ears perked, his jowls downturned. "Do we?" he asked Anthony.

"No, you need not get involved in this situation." Everyone turned to find Dante approaching, no less elegant in his haste, his cane clutched in his left paw and popping softly against the floor. He didn't appear happy, but he wasn't upset by the events outside either. "Please, remain inside," he said, passing by them. "This will be over soon."

"But what is it?" Kizzi asked, making to follow after the black cat. "We can handle it!"

Max latched onto her shoulder, and the grey kitten nearly hissed and spat at him. "Don't, honey. Let's listen to him. I think he knows whether we can handle this or not."

The girl brushed the dog's massive paw away and sulked some more, crossing her arms and staring at the vortex ravaging the mountainside through the window. Montgomery did the same, holding tight to his book, hazel eyes wide as the trees shrieked and whipped about.

"It's scary," he said. "Powerful, too."

Max put his paw on the fox's shoulder. "It'll be alright, little man."

Kizzi withdrew into herself. "What is this, papa?"

Her old man sighed.The work of an elemental--something I hope you never have to face.

"Did you say something?" Montgomery asked, looking at the kitten.

"Huh?" she grunted.

The fox's tail swayed. "What's an elemental?"

Kizzi gaped at the boy, but she immediately turned away, her fur standing on end. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Monty just shrugged. "Oh."

"Did he HEAR you?" she asked her father.

Baby girl--I think he did.

* * * *

When he got to the doors leading to the practice field he landed and pushed, but the relentless wind had them fixed shut as if they were barred. He couldn't see further than a few feet ahead, both dust and fog comingling into thick, rushing shroud. Gritting his teeth, realizing he was going to have to break the doors to get out, Carson used his full strength. The frames creaked and bent as he shoved, the aluminum handles squeezing like putty in his hands, hinges snapping. Dense air hissed and whistled through the gaps and he choked on it. The doors opened. He stepped out.

He gasped as gale force winds plowed into him, nearly whipping him into the air with the doors before he let them go. His jacket and shirt flapped and snapped against his fur and flesh, eyes stinging, ears deafened as he fought to keep his feet on the ground. It was hard even for him, like fighting a riptide. The wind struck him on the right, then the left, died instantly then instantly returned to make him stumble forward into another onslaught. He didn't understand how anyone expected him to fly in this, but onward he pushed, his powerful legs heaving him forward, arms covering his face. Just when he thought the vortex was going to skin him alive he stepped...and met no resistance. He plummeted to the ground onto his stomach, fur and hair a wind-whipped mess.

A hand found his shoulder, and he blinked the dryness from his eyes to find a rat helping him to his feet. Carson knew this was Jerry, but he'd never spoken to him.

"Thank you," Carson said, brushing grass from his knees, hacking to clear his throat. "What's causing this? Where's Rhykard?" He plucked some leaves from his hair, looked around, looked up, and then he gaped. Jerry just nodded, his misshapen face contorted into a woeful smile.

Bree was parked a few feet away, in the dead-center of the vortex. "Welcome to the eye of the storm," she said. The red panda, her long auburn hair tousling in the eye's soft breeze, pointed up. "And Rhy's up there. He's doing this...somehow."

Carson craned his neck upward. Rhy was half-a-mile up in the air with his arms outstretched. He wasn't moving. His head was bowed.

"He needs to stop," Bree said, rolling toward the shepherd while keeping an eye on Rhykard high in the air. "I'm not sure if he's lost control or what, but if the winds keep increasing there could be some heavy damage to the facility and surrounding area. He's just been floating at that level." Her eyes were wide with concern as she looked to Carson. "Talk him down. Otherwise I'll have to sedate him, and that won't be pleasant. He could lash out...more."

"This isn't lashing out," Carson grunted. "Something's not right."

Leaping, Carson shot skyward. As he neared Rhy his fur began to stand on end, skin prickling more and more upon their proximity. He'd felt this before, when Rhy would practice casting his lightning and he'd been near. It was foreboding, and his common sense was telling him to stay away so he wouldn't end up crispy-fried, but he kept rising toward the wolf. He wasn't struck by a bolt of electricity and safely floated face to face with Rhy. Carson reached out to grasp his friend but thought better of it and stopped.

"He's unconscious," he yelled down, unsure if Bree could even hear. Even though the eye wasn't turbulent, the cyclone around them was still very loud. The red panda just kept watching, so he guessed his words hadn't carried. Rhy's head was limp against his chest, eyes squirming behind his lids. "Rhykard? Hey, you need to wake up!"

Carson made to lift the wolf's chin. An arc of blue static popped to his fingers, burning a bit and making the shepherd recoil and float away to a safe distance. Nothing else happened, though. Carson approached again, and that's when he heard the whistling. Quiet at first, it increased in pitch until he had to slap his paws over his ears. The vortex all around seemed to pick up even more speed. Fear bloomed in Carson's stomach as his fur stood out even more, a pressure weighing down and threatening to knock him from the air. But then his fur laid flat, the pressure lifted, and the whistling stopped. The cyclone kept spinning, but Carson felt something shift. He felt uneasy.

Then Rhykard's eyes opened, a white inner light spilling out like smoke, and his arms fell to his sides. The shepherd, his brow beetling, watched in alarm. He didn't know what to do or expect.

"Rhy?" he said tentatively.

Rhykard spoke, but the voice wasn't his. It was too high, too buoyant, and there was a playful and twisted inflection to each word that left Carson squirming on the inside. Also, it was female.

"I am afraid not," it said, a crooked grin spreading across Rhy's face. "I am Thaté. And you, dear boy..." Rhy's arm slowly raised out toward Carson, "...cannot interfere. The heir is to face this test alone."

"What?" Carson barked, hovering nearer. "What are you..."

Rhy's extended fingers spread, and his hand swept down. Carson felt nauseous, and then he screamed as his body fell, the air no longer supporting him. Below, Bree covered her mouth and Jerry slurred a gasp as the shepherd plummeted. He tried in vain to take flight again, but as the ground approached and he showed no sign of stopping he just accepted the inevitable. He pulled his arms and legs in close and clenched his jaw in anticipation of impact. He hit the ground and Bree screeched at the boy's gut-wrenching grunt; Jerry just gaped. His right side embedded nine inches in the turf, Carson took a shaky breath and thanked the gods for his invulnerability.

Jerry was at Carson's side in an instant when he realized the boy wasn't hurt. His right side was covered in dirt, jacket and shirt stained brown and green, but other than that and some disheveled hair he was fine. Bree wheeled up quickly as Carson staggered to his feet, tail limp, Jerry having offered a paw and tugged him up.

Through Rhykard's eyes high above, Thaté--enduring and mischievous spirit of the air--watched the three on the ground as they huddled around one another. She knew the handsome dog wouldn't be injured from the fall. His armor--impenetrable to most harm--was plainly visible on the spirit's plane and spectrum: a glistening coat of ethereal mail linked over his entire body like a second skin. It was a rare blessing for mortals, and the dog wore it well.

"Now," Thaté said, feeling the thunder child within wrestling to regain control of his body. "Where were we?"

"Why did you do that!?" Rhykard bellowed, his naked body floating in a space similar to Spirit's realm.

He hadn't realized it, but his earlier attempts at communicating with the spirits had been successful...when he'd entered the right state of mind purely by accident.

It had begun when he'd gotten lost in his senses and in the vastness of nature. He'd heard the whistling, he'd felt weightless, and he'd opened his eyes to find himself crossed into another Spirit dimension.

The thick fog all around him obscured the usual infinity that accompanied Spirit's world, so he knew this one was different. And he could feel it was different. It was blustery--sometimes warm and sometimes cold--and he felt lost. Even in Spirit's realm with its unending whiteness he'd never felt lost there, but here he was afraid to move. Not that he could, that is.

"If you wish to pass this test you mustn't remain idle," came the voice from all around, roguishness to its rising tone. "To reach your destination you must first take steps."

"There's no_ground!_" Rhykard growled, floundering about. "And you didn't answer me!"

Thaté cackled. She felt the fury building in Rhykard and fueling the cyclone outside. "The fires of wrath are stoked by discontented airs."

"Enough riddles! I thought you were supposed to help me? Why are you doing this?"

The fog around Rhy stopped churning and a patch opened up. Through it there were two windows, and through the windows Rhykard could make out a wall of swirling air and three figures huddling together on the ground. Then he heard the roaring wind, and carried on it was a voice raised in anger--his own.

"So you may discern the concept of control," said Thaté. "Prove to me that you are worthy of my aid, thunder child, and it will become clear."

"But how?" Rhykard begged.

"You are the channel, boy, and we are tied to you spiritually and emotionally. To succeed our ambitions must be as one, our relationship harmonious," said the spirit. "Time is running short."

And she was silent. Rhykard floated listlessly, restlessly, thinking.

He was the channel. Spirit had told him as much, saying that his otherworldly powers came from the aid of the spirits, not the other way around. Thaté had taken over his body--he'd been possessed and taken against his will, forced into the spirit's realm and made to watch the ensuing mayhem. I have no control, the wolf thought. So how do I get it back? I didn't think the spirits would be so forceful.

He sighed heavily. His breath billowed out. He was propelled backward. Blinking, he came to a stop. He looked around. The two windows were still there through the fog, a good distance away it seemed, but the scene had changed. It was as if he were seeing the world through a bird's perspective, swooping and whirling, the ground growing close then receding; the swirling air proved a barrier, the three figures from before now spread out nearer to it, their faces fearful. I need to get over there, Rhy thought. And now I have a way.

Twisting so the windows were at his back, Rhykard sucked in a large breath--lungs blazing--then blew it out with all of his might. He shot backward, the windows quickly drawing near. He blew once again, sounds becoming clearer the nearer he got, until he heard the shouts. Carson was yelling--yelling at him. Bree was screaming. Rhy looked over his shoulder as the windows were within arm's reach, and through them he saw a familiar, black-furred paw rise up and shove a rat into the cyclone at his back, Jerry's misshapen face stricken with terror before he was taken by the winds. A shape blurred past and Carson dove in after him.

The windows...they were his eyes. He was on the inside looking out. Rhykard roared as he passed through the portals in a flash of light, realizing at last that Thaté was doing more than testing him...she was running rampant in his body.

All of his senses returned after he passed through; he was back, but--despairingly--he still had no control. His body soared, laughter breaking from his open mouth, the roar of the wind and freedom of flight bewitching Thaté and driving her into a frenzy it seemed.

"At last," she said, ceasing her jubilance. "You've crossed the bridge. Welcome back, child."

"Stop this,"_Rhykard growled, an echo within his own mind. "_You've no right to harm these people!"

"But I am not harming them," Thaté said, bringing Rhy's body to a stop high above the ground. "You are." The wolf felt the smirk cross his lips and resented it. The spirit was toying with him, toying with his friends, and he didn't like that.

With all of the inner strength he could muster, Rhy tried to wrangle back control from the spirit. He forced his will upon the intruding force, trying to grasp her and shove her back into her realm, but it was like snatching at smoke. She was there, he could feel her, but yet there was no substance.

"Get...out! You aren't supposed to be this way!"

"Such a pity," he heard her say, his energy waning. Vertigo overtook him suddenly as Thaté took him even higher, the ground below blurring at the distance. "Your eyes remain closed. I expected more from you."

"As I expected more from you! You're unruly and harsh," said Rhykard, "Forcing me about with no regard! We're supposed to be allies! You try to teach me control without allowing me any!"

"It is simply my nature," Thaté said. "And control comes in many different ways. I am air, child; I am the wind. What on this earth controls me but me?"

Rhykard ceased his fighting. "Nothing."

Thaté only grew still. "We shall see."

And they were falling, Rhykard watching in terror, locked in his own head an unable to do anything as the ground miles below advanced at a sickening rate. His ears were flooded by air rushing past, eyes stinging as Thaté refused to close them. She wished for him to see his demise fast approaching. The spirit spread Rhykard's arms as if to embrace the earth, and the wolf (much like Carson had done) accepted the inevitable.

But, he suddenly thought, you don't want me to die, do you?

"To succeed our ambitions must be as one," he said to the spirit. "Our relationship harmonious, right? That's what you said."

Thaté said nothing. They were half a mile from the ground.

She is the wind. What controls the wind? Nothing. His thoughts came fast, faster than the earth below. I am the channel. I channel the spirits. I'm their bridge to this world. They aid me, cooperate with me, and I aid and cooperate with them in return.

Thaté smiled. She could smell the scent of the grass...

I do not control you!

"PLEASE, FORGIVE ME!" the boy yelled from within, finally understanding and ceasing his struggle. "Lend me your power, for the power is yours alone to control!"

He'd shut his eyes. His heart was hammering, arms burning, butt clenched beyond belief. His body was his again. His stomach felt hollow and he wondered if he'd thrown up, but--no--the spark of his lightning rekindled within. And there was something else...he felt light headed.

"Breathe, thunder child, and open your eyes. You have passed my test."

Rhykard did as he was bid to do, and found that the grassy ground was a mere six inches from his face...and the rest of his body. He was floating. He was flying.

Reaching down Rhy brushed his fingers across the earth, a strange sense of exultation and wonder spreading through him. "I cut that a bit too close, huh?"

"You understand--that is all that matters," Thaté said.

Rhykard lowered himself to his knees, his weight returning and legs quivering under it. "I'm sorry."

"Do not fret, young one; your predecessors before you faced similar trials and most came through in the end as you did."

Pushing himself to his feet, he noticed the cyclone had dissipated. The sky was clear, and the surrounding forest was worse for wear.

"Wait, most? Some shaman didn't pass?" he asked the air spirit. Uneasiness settled over him at the realization that he in fact could have met his end.

"_That is right,"_Thaté said.

A familiar voice chimed in, one that--Rhy now recalled--had had little to say during the air spirit's test.

"Some inheritors believed that a spirit's power was nothing but a tool," Spirit said, his deep, male baritone richly opposite to Thaté's feminine soprano. "A weapon to wield for selfish gains, in total disregard for the spirit's inhibitions."

"But you are not like that," Thaté chimed. "And, much like my power is mine to control, your body is yours. I will not invade you again without consent. You've shown me respect, and I shall do the same."

Rhykard nodded. "Thank you."

"And I gladly share my abilities with you, thunder child. I wish to see you prosper and accomplish much, as I am sure my brethren will as well when the time comes to face their tests."

"I hope you're right," the wolf sighed.

Then he jumped, feeling a hand clasp onto his shoulder. Turning, Rhykard thought maybe the sun was shining into his eyes, but no. Standing there, his translucent body glistening and refracting the light from the sky, was Spirit, and beside him stood a smaller, but similarly semitransparent, female figure. Rhy blinked, but the two stayed where they were. Like always, Rhy swore that Spirit held lupine characteristics, and they seemed more concrete now than in his dreams. Thaté appeared more avian, but what looked like a beak could have been a snout; the wings were unmistakable, though.

Rhykard had lost his voice. He just looked between the two spirits, unable to fathom how they suddenly appeared out of thin air.

Spirit seemed to smile, and he nodded his great head. "You did well, young one. Now see to your friends." He turned, his visage rippled, and then he was gone.

Thaté approached Rhykard, and the wolf swore that she winked. "Tell your handsome canine friend that I am sorry, and--likewise--tell the rat I am sorry, too. I wasn't going to let them come to harm."

"O...okay," Rhy said.

"And enjoy the sky, thunder child. Spirit and I are always near should you need us."

Then she was gone.

Exhausted, Rhykard let out a heavy breath and looked about. The facility didn't look too damaged besides the doors being ripped from their hinges. Bree was across the way and watching him cautiously. Carson was there, too. Jerry was seated on the ground. He hoped that they weren't too angry with him, and he couldn't stop his tail from tucking between his legs. His fears came to light when he noticed Bree's deep scowl, and poor Jerry was trembling. Rhykard began to slow, suddenly feeling as though he should use his newfound power and fly away, but then Carson smiled at him and his heart began to race. The German shepherd's tail wagged as he approached, his right side filthy but his lightheartedness shining through the mud and grass stains.

Except...it wasn't just the dog's happy nature. He was literally glowing. From head to toe he was coated in glimmering white energy woven together like chainmail. Rhykard glanced at Bree and found that she had a glow about her too, a thin band of green encircling her brow and similar, thicker bands woven across her hands. Even Jerry had a blue light tied about his right wrist, but at closer inspection Rhykard realized that it was his watch that glowed.

"Rhykard?" Carson muttered, fearing that the wolf was having a relapse or something. "Are you alright?"

"You're glowing. All of you."

The shepherd cocked his head to the side. "What?"

Rhykard didn't know what to do. The three before him didn't seem in pain, didn't seem to notice their ghostly accoutrements, but the lights were so bright!

"Do you not see_those?" he asked frantically, pointing at Bree, Jerry, and Carson in turn. "They're right _on you!"

Bree shifted uneasily in her wheelchair and reached down toward her legs. "That's it. He's out of it. I'm sedating him before he starts another _Twister_reenactment."

"That will not be necessary, Summer." All of them turned to find Dante in their midst, the cat's tail swaying lazily, his paws in front and clutched over his cane. His green eyes focused on Rhykard. "That will not happen again, will it Mr. Dean?"

The wolf could only shake his head and behold the ethereal majesty that was Dante Beryl. The cat was bathed by a golden light so pure that Rhykard bet the gates of Heaven may have been rivaled by it. Every inch and essence of Dante radiated unfathomable power, and Rhy grew weak at the knees witnessing it firsthand.

"What's wrong with him, sir?" asked Bree.

Dante smiled. "Nothing is wrong with him. His eyes have just been opened. He's gained what we in the arcane refer to as astral perception, the ability to see that which--to anyone but a spirit or powerful caster--cannot be seen. In layman's terms, my dear Bree..." He approached Rhy, the wolf's eyes expanding. "Powers, magic, spirits, and other-worldy things are no longer hidden to him."

"And," Rhykard muttered.

"And," Dante mimicked.

Rhy blinked, the glow from the cat too intense. When he opened his eyes the lights were gone, but he knew he could see them again whenever he wished. The wolf grinned, suddenly feeling as though he could accomplish anything.

" And I can fly."