Dragons are solitary creatures by nature, fiercely protective of their treasures and rarely willing to share. Sparky, a young storm dragon, was especially reclusive; his kind gravitated toward borderlands where comfort and danger existed in precarious balance.

  He slept curled around the four coins Katherine had gifted him, nestled in his small cave—a snug haven saturated with gentle mana that soothed him. Though he still needed real food, which Katherine always made sure to provide, Sparky found deep comfort in the soft glow of magical energy that filled his den.

  Suddenly, a tingling sensation rippled across Sparky’s scales, prickling him with unease and pulling him from his cozy hoard. He sluggishly lifted one tired eyelid, his instincts and Katherine’s lessons urging caution. He chirped softly, hoping for reassurance, but the emptiness of the cave only made him feel smaller and more alone.

  The unsettling feeling intensified, leaving Sparky unable to rest. Driven by curiosity and the faint hope of discovering something new for his collection, he trilled for attention, but no one answered—the habitat remained silent. Spotting the open window, Sparky fluttered toward it, eager to see what lay beyond his familiar shelter and perhaps find something special for his hoard.

  When his stubby legs reached the edge of the building Katherine called home, Sparky paused to take in his surroundings. The nearby sky was calm, a gentle breeze ruffling his scales. But a disturbance far off caught his attention—a storm brewing on the horizon. Dark thunderheads gathered, and Sparky saw gusts of wind whipping wildly in the distance. The sharp scent of ozone tingled in his nostrils as thunder rumbled, sounding like a challenge to anyone brave enough to face it. Lightning fractured the sky, wild energy crackling with a sinister edge.

  Sparky usually liked storms. He remembered watching a few with Katherine as she sat on the porch, enjoying the steady drumming of rain until thunder shook the windows and sent her indoors.

  This storm, though, felt different—hostile and overwhelming in its power. Sparky sensed it was too dangerous for him to face. His wings were stronger now than when he’d first hatched, but the storm’s winds could easily sweep him away, and he feared he might never find his way back to the comfort of his cave and his precious coins.

  He backed away from the edge to get a running start and tried gliding back through the open window. He almost made it, but a sudden gust of wind knocked him off course. Sparky crashed snout-first into the wall above the window, missing his landing.

  He tried to grab the windowsill as he fell, but it was too far away for his tail or claws to reach. With nothing to hold on to, Sparky tumbled to the ground below, landing with a small thud. A shrill squeak escaped him as he hit the earth, pain shooting through one wing.

  Sparky quickly rolled away from the impact, scrambling to his feet. His neck curled so he could examine his wings. One folded neatly against his side, but the other hung at an odd angle and wouldn’t move. Its joint looked strange, and every attempt to fold it sent a sharp pain through his body.

  Fear prickled through him as he realized he couldn’t move his injured wing. He whimpered softly, eyes darting toward the door, hoping Katherine would hear him before the storm arrived. All he could do was plea for help, huddling close to the door as he tried to brace his wing and keep it still while the storm crept closer to Katherine’s home.

  ...

  Beasts were renowned for following their instincts to get what they wanted, but this time, Luna and Shade found themselves powerless—what they wanted most was slipping further out of reach.

  Luna desperately tried to pierce through Katherine’s illusion, aware that the relentless emotional torrent pouring through their soul bond threatened to break her spirit. Each wave of anguish and fear pressed at her mind, growing heavier and more suffocating by the moment. If she failed, she knew both she and Shade could be lost inside the illusion forever, their sense of self swallowed by Katherine’s pain and confusion.

  Shade cowered in a shadowed corner, his body curled tight against a stack of boxes as he tried to make himself as small as possible. He’d felt this overwhelming presence from Katherine before, but now the haunting echoes of soul damage left by the Lesser Forest Drake surfaced, raw and unresolved. Shade’s ears flattened against his head as he whimpered, each sound trembling with both dread and helplessness.

  Luna fought to keep Katherine within her gaze, even as the crushing emotions continued to flow into her, nearly buckling her resolve. Her whining stemmed not only from the overwhelming storm of feeling but also from the strain of stretching her magical abilities to their absolute limits. The mana that sustained both her magic and her will was rapidly dwindling, and with every passing moment, the warehouse around them faded—its walls and boxes dissolving into the shifting sands of a relentless desert.

  At last, Luna’s strength gave way. The magic she had fought so hard to support unraveled, and she collapsed, unable to resist as Katherine’s illusion engulfed her and Shade. The world blurred into a haze of heat and emptiness, leaving only the echo of their struggle and the chilling uncertainty of whether they would ever find themselves again.

  ...

  Katherine hesitated, uncertain about the panther shimmering before her—its silver and purple fur mesmerizing in the fractured light. The vivid colors drew her in, only for the creature to vanish suddenly, leaving nothing but emptiness where it had been.

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  “Where did you go?” she murmured, her voice smaller now, as if the absence of the beautiful animal had taken something from her.

  The chaos around her stilled. Everything—gunfire, movement, even the roar of explosions—froze in place. Bullets hung suspended midair; flames from shattered vehicles stopped flickering. Silence pressed in, broken only by the persistent hum ringing in her ears.

  Despite the unreality, Katherine felt a strange familiarity with the panther, as if it belonged to a forgotten part of herself.

  Then, through the clearing haze, she spotted a woman who didn’t fit with any memory of her deployment. As the world sharpened, hope flickered inside her. “Lira?” Katherine’s voice trembled, afraid this was another illusion within a dream.

  “I’m here,” Lira replied gently. She swept her hand across the barren landscape. “None of this is real, Katherine. It’s your memory—so vivid it almost feels true, but it’s still just a memory.”

  Katherine turned and saw Doc crouched beside Clark, who lay still and silent on the ground. Lira stepped up quietly, placing a gentle hand on Katherine’s back. The touch pressed through her armor—faint, but steady—reminding Katherine that she wasn’t completely alone.

  “Do you want to talk about them?” Lira asked, her voice soft and careful, as if not to startle a wounded animal.

  From the very first day, Lira had seen how Katherine guarded her emotions. Sometimes she overflowed, but much more often, she locked everything away behind heavy walls. Now, Katherine was a fortress—tough and silent, protecting the ache inside.

  “I’d rather not,” Katherine replied, her voice barely above a whisper. For the first time in ages, the illusion felt right—almost safe—and she wasn’t ready to let it go.

  In the Marine Corps, there’s a phrase that gets tossed around: “Misery loves company.” Marines come from all kinds of backgrounds, but pain and hardship have a way of binding people together. The bonds forged in dark times were always the strongest. The battlefield around her was painful to relive, but the people in it felt so close—more like family than anything else. Katherine would take a bullet for any of them; she had, more than once.

  “Lira, I know where you stand on the dead, but please let me do this,” Katherine said quietly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She needed a moment, and Lira understood.

  Katherine knelt beside Clark’s body, her movements slow and deliberate. She loosened his boots, then gently pulled them off, careful not to disturb him. The ritual felt both comforting and strange beneath the veil of illusion—her hands were steady, but her heart hammered in her chest. She moved just far enough away, not wanting to disrupt the stillness around her fallen brother.

  Next, Katherine unslung her rifle and drove it barrel-first into the sand. She placed Clark’s boots on either side, their worn leather familiar and heartbreaking. With a deep breath, she removed his kevlar helmet, setting it carefully atop the butt of her rifle. The pieces of the battlefield cross came together, a silent tribute between memory and reality.

  As she finished arranging Clark’s boots and helmet, Katherine paused, letting the weight of memory settle over her. The echoes of past laughter and loss washed through her, sharp and aching. Only then did she bow her head in silent prayer, her lips moving soundlessly with words meant for Clark alone. When she lifted her head, she raised her hand in a final salute—slow, trembling, full of meaning.

  The illusion began to fade, the images dissolving into the walls and boxes of the warehouse. A single tear traced a cold path down Katherine’s cheek as the silhouettes of her Nightblade prisoners, Abbie, and Roland grew clear, returning from the backdrop of her memory. She held her salute until the battlefield cross vanished completely—as if erased from existence. Only then did Katherine let her arm fall, her body collapsing to her knees as grief overwhelmed her. Sobs wracked her, harsh and unrestrained, the pain of losing her brother crashing over her all over again.

  Behind her, Luna lay on the floor—exhausted, unconscious. Shade huddled between a stack of boxes, his gaze flickering nervously toward Katherine. He could feel her emotions pulsing through their bond: raw, intense, and impossible to ignore.

  No one moved. The others waited in silence, giving Katherine the time and space she needed to mourn—her grief was hers alone, and they would not rush her.

  ...

  Arnold preferred directness when tending to patients. He felt most at ease when he could reach someone in need, heal them as thoroughly as possible, and see them return to their life and work swiftly. Yet, with Katherine—whose formidable reputation and uncanny resilience had spread through both guild and rumor—things were rarely so straightforward.

  Against his better judgment, Arnold had once accelerated Katherine’s recovery. She was intimidating when motivated, her resolve and power both awe-inspiring and unsettling. Since their first meeting, she had displayed a morbidly ethical curiosity and a tenacity that defied medical expectation. He still remembered the day she arrived with part of her lung missing—barely clinging to life, but somehow still conscious and determined.

  Katherine’s bond with the supernatural was equally unusual. It was widely accepted that most people could only handle one soul-bound familiar at a time; more was considered spiritually overwhelming. Yet, Katherine had three—and possibly a fourth, if rumors were true—defying both tradition and sense.

  Now, Arnold stood outside a warehouse that had been transformed into a surreal desert, the locus of a violent magical storm that had dissipated as mysteriously as it had appeared. His pulse quickened as he approached. The illusion’s remnants shimmered across the floor, making each step uncertain and surreal. The faint scent of ozone lingered in the air, muted but still noticeable. Raindrops tapped lightly against the roof, echoing the fading tension outside.

  Steeling himself, Arnold stepped inside, careful not to brush against the fading mirage. As his eyes adjusted, the scene before him set his nerves on edge. Two people—dressed in black like Lira, his employer’s daughter, wore on guild assignments—were restrained against support beams. Both were alert but clearly battered, their haunted expressions suggesting recent trauma. Arnold guessed they were members of Lira’s coven.

  Abbie, a fellow healer and specialist, looked especially unsettled, her face pale as she sat beside Roland, who had only ever interacted with Katherine in a professional capacity. Their eyes darted, disturbed by the eerie chorus of wails that echoed through the warehouse. The sound—a singular human voice, yet layered and animalistic—chilled Arnold’s blood, clawing at his nerves like the baying of wolves in the night.

  Amid the heavy silence, Lira—his employer’s daughter—sat with Katherine. Lira had formed a tentative, hard-won bond with her, often trying to coax Katherine out of her shell. Now, Lira held Katherine close, offering gentle, reassuring touches in an effort to soothe her as grief wracked her body. Arnold hesitated at the threshold, feeling the gravity of the moment and the weight of sorrow pressing in from all sides.