What had become of them?

What would happen next?

Fear was thick around him, and he struggled against the chains of it, looking helplessly on at the sight of those around him coming to grips with the shift in the land. Kingdoms gone. Powers bled from them. He had no such gifts; he had left the kingdom in what he had deemed not only unfit but dangerous hands. So, in essence, he had nothing to lose in this shift. So why did he feel as if he had lost it all?

The loss of the Gates was a heavy blow to his heart, and he found that he struggled around it. So many memories had been created there. Standing under the trees with Joelle, the shadows dappling their back. The sleepy mornings with their children frolicking around them. Even the darker memories, but his own nonetheless. The fights with Spyglass. The moment he had thrown his crown at Joelle’s feet and left. The more recent storms to strike the kingdom when his rage had come to a head and he had struck out at Zeik.

The loss of the jungle was somehow worse. Somewhere, beneath the soil, was the bones of his mother. Lost in a flood that had struck the kingdom years and years ago. She had rested there at one point with his father, their skeletons tied together—that is, until, the kingdom had called him back. (She always called him back.) The thought struck him that without the Chamber, and his heart beating steadily beneath the soil, that his father may have gone back to the depths of the ocean. He had no way of knowing either way.

Moving from beneath the shade, Magnus began to make his way around the meadow—one of the only places that felt familiar anymore. There had to be Gates residents around here somewhere, or anyone who was feeling lost. If he could help bring them comfort or help look after them when the reality around them was still shaking with change, then he felt obligated to do so. Perhaps he could even find a corner of the meadow to gather and keep them safe. It wasn’t much, but it would be a start for them.

Purpose struck his heart and he lifted his head, the wind picking up the inky tangles of his forelock and pushing them to the side. Perhaps there was something that he could do here.

Perhaps there was a way for him to right all of the wrongs he had done in the past.

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When Magnus had crawled from the ocean, spitting up saltwater and brine from his lungs, the idea of family had felt like a dream. It had been years (decades) since he had wandered the earth with Joelle by his side; he was grateful to be alive, but he had not harbored dreams that he would be welcomed back by familiar arms, let alone familial ones. Those first days had been an exercise in angst and loneliness, the dark gold stallion wandering lands that had once been as familiar as the curve of a lover. He had to relearn the way time had worn their edges, the new shapes—the new faces that now populated them.

But then—oh, then!—he had seen Fiero. His dark, beautiful, wonderful son with torment in his eyes. And he had learned that a small piece of Joelle had lived on in him, and that, even better, there was extended family. There was children and grand children and even great-grand children. It was an odd feeling to know that your bloodline had extended so far when you had not passed as many years; in many ways, his own son was older than him, having lived out the length of time fully while he slumbered beneath the sea.

So his heart thrums with hope as he wanders the meadow that he will find Fiero and his family of wild things. He does not recognize her when she walks up to him, has no way of knowing for sure, but he feels a pang in his chest when he turns to look toward her, his dark eyes thoughtful as he considers her and the emotion on her beautiful young face. “Yes?” he responds instinctively, his voice whiskey and smoke. He takes a step forward and presses the velvet of his muzzle to her cheek, making low sounds. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his body curving protectively around her. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

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Although it had been but a day since Beqanna had cracked in half, it felt like a lifetime. Magnus could feel the very weight of it pressing down onto his shoulders—the loss and confusion and hurt surrounding them. It came in waves. In some seconds, it was all-encompassing, as suffocating as smoke. In others, it was a light that pierced through the heavens, scattering constellations to make his purpose crystal clear.

Now was one of those moments. As they arrived, one after the other, he felt his heart pound. He had to do something to help them. He had to help forge their way to a new home; fight for it if necessary.

The first to come, after his granddaughter, is Sahm, with another male wrapped intimately by his side. “Sahm!” Magnus proclaimed, although he didn’t leave Longear. “I am so glad to know that you are safe.” It had been months since they had fought for the Gates together, equal partners in their desire to see her rise again, willing to bear the yoke together. But then their world had imploded and Magnus had left in a blind rage. He regret not having more time to hunt down Sahm and ensure his well-being. “I am sorry that I left so quickly,” he added, his voice quiet, full of remorse. “I should have stayed to check on you.”

He didn’t, however, want the reunion to be one rooted in sadness, so he did his best to perk up, swinging his head toward the other stallion who had been quiet so far. “Hello, there!” his smile was crooked. “My name is Magnus,” a useless pleasantry he felt compelled to follow anyway. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His attention was diverted when the mare approached the group, and he look quizzically at her before understanding struck him. He had never known Jason, but Sahm had spoken highly of him. Magnus had to wonder if Sahm bore the resemblance of his father. For a second, he contemplated correcting her before he thought better of it; he would leave that to Sahm’s judgement. Instead, he just gave a kind smile. “Hello to you,” he cocked a back leg. “My name is Magnus.” A greeting he seemed to say often the last few days.

As Camelia joined the group, coming up along his other side, concern etched firmly onto his features. “Camelia!” his voice was laced with worry as he noted her limp, the blood caking on her leg. “Are you okay?” He wished there were the Falls to take her for her to wash her wounds or healers who could work their magic on her, but there was no such magic at their disposal anymore. Just time and pain. He extended his neck to bump his nose against hers and offered his side to her for support. His face fell at her question, scarred mouth pulling into a frown. “I am so sorry.” He swallowed hard. “The Gates—it, it is gone, Camelia. Beqanna took it back.” It still felt like a knife in his chest to admit it. “I am so sorry.”

When Longear spoke again, Magnus twisted his head to his other side, flanked by the two women. “Fang?” he questioned, face puzzled before understanding dawned on it. “Fang. Wait—that means that you’re Fiero’s daughter?” His eyes light with hope, and then worry for his dark-eyed son. The one who carried the world on his shoulders; the one who had lived more years than he. “I haven’t seen them. I don’t know.” He glanced around, fear clawing at his chest. “But we’ll find them. Of course we will.”

He did not move from between Longear and Camelia, but he glanced up, gold-flecked eyes smoldering and fierce as he considered all of them, moving from face to face. “I think we need to find a home,” he started cautiously, and then firmly, the words taking root. “And I think I know how we can do it.”

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