Thunder rings through the morning air, the crash of rolling storms and racket of lightning striking towards the Earth. The sound carries through the bedroom where the two boys lay, December sitting up with a start as the thunder cracks once more.

"Wren..." His voice is caked with sleep, tired yawn escaping thick lips as he shakes the small boy awake.

He seems so at peace, the way his eyes dance beneath his closed lids, the soft rise and fall of his chest and the gentle snores that escape him. It almost seems a crime to wake him, to disturb the smallest slice of happiness he's seemed to be able to grasp these past few days.

December shakes the boy again, pulling away his red quilts as another crack of thunder slices through the air. It only takes one more shake until the fae is awake, eyes wide as he stares into December knelt over him. He doesn't speak, eyes squinting at the light of the morning before sitting up, fingers digging into the quilts beside him. There's something in his features, December notes, that screams of unease. The way his nose scrunches and fingers dig into the bed as if focusing on the thunder, on the strikes of lightning that crash just outside the colossal windows.

December let's out a small chuckle, placing a hand on Wren's shoulder to still his nerves. "It's just thunder, it's alright." He reassures him yet the expression never fades, Wren standing from the bed and throwing on his robes in one swift move.

"December, get dressed." The demand is harsh, unforgiving as he throws the clothing in December's arms. "Now!"

Wren's demeanor has shifted, every muscle in his body tense, eyes wild and lips a hard line. There's a stress that radiates off him, his fingers drawing to his lips just as Sasha does, body jumping at an oncoming roar of thunder.

"It's just thunder I don't-"

"This isn't thunder!" The crack of his fist slamming onto his dresser forces December to still, a slight fear washing over him with Wren's newfound strength. "This is not thunder, December, there is no scent of rain, no pressure in the air and the flowers are still open. This is an attack on my kingdom."

Haven is here...

There's no time for overthinking, for over analyzing the situation to figure out what he should do. Rather December pulls the shirt over him with a newfound quickness, body flying from the bed and following Wren down a spiraling stone staircase.

Bodies rush by, black veils and suits morphing into shadows as he rushes down the staircase and into the grand room. It's wrecked with havoc, furniture overturned and workers scrambling from room to room with every crack of thunder, of gunpowder, that whips through the air. The sound looms over them, ominous and unforgiving with each crack of the whip, each pull of a trigger that taunts them with its presence.

"Wren!"

The voice cuts through the crowd, silver hair swimming through a sea of black as Sasha finds his way to the stone staircase. His face is flustered, hair tussled with sleep and clothes in disarray as he block the staircase with his body. He's clearly out of breath as he gasps for air, a pain in his eyes he can't form into words as he pulls Wren into his embrace.

"Please do not do anything stupid." The man begs, hands wildly petting down white curls before drawing the boy away until he's square ahead of him. His eyes soften if only for a moment, thin hands cupping Wren's face as he delivers a kiss to his forehead with a broken smile. "I will see you on the other side of this."

Wren holds his hand against his uncle's cupped around his cheek, head tilting into his embrace as he shuts his eyes against the chaos surrounding them. "I promise to you that you will." With a heavy sigh he removes their intertwined hands, eyes burdened with unspoken agony as he pulls from his touch.

There's no words, no closing embrace or half hearted smiles. The two merely turn from one another as Wren continues his journey through the madness. His body slips between servants as he forces his way towards the front, towards the mop of black he can point out through a crowd, a beacon he can find anywhere.

"Ryder! Ryder!" He calls out through the crowd, pushing his way through a sea of black until a single boy comes into view.

It only takes a moment for Ryder to notice the two approaching, arms falling around Wren the moment he's close enough. "What is happening? I woke up and everyone is going insane."

He smells of warmth, of comfort, of home as Wren clings tighter to his grasp, face burying into Ryder's chest with a heaving breath. "The kingdom, it's under attack. Ryder," he pulls away, face upturned to stare into brown eyes filled with too much worry. "I need you and Jax to gather my people. You know where to take them but I have to get everyone out before Haven reaches the border."

Ryder gifts a short nod, brows furrowing slightly before pulling Wren into a kiss. "I love you, don't forget that."

Wren brushes away his tears before they even have the chance to fall, soft smile gracing his lips as he kisses the back of Ryder's hand intertwined in his own. "I love you too."

Ryder's gaze falls to December, a stare that burrows into the chest and nestles itself within the soul. "Watch over Wren, okay? Keep him safe... please."

There's too many unspoken words, too many thoughts left unsaid as he falls into the crowd of servants, disappearing into a sea of black until only Wren and December remain. Wren doesn't hesitate as he exists the security of the castle, his robes gripped tightly in his fists as he runs through his village.

Stones pierce at his barefoot feet yet he can't stop, he can only ignore the pain that rings through each step. The burning in his lungs and the ever growing smoke that threatens to consume them. The Earth is blanketed in a coat of grey, the bitter stench of gunpowder filling the earth with every roar of thunder that crosses the hazy blue sky muddled by smoke.

Somehow Wren thought this day would never come, that Haven could learn to be satisfied without its subjects and its heirs. That the devil could learn to settle, to be happy and let it's sins be put to rest, long buried and long hidden. To be naive enough to truly believe happiness was an option, that peace was an option-

"Hey! Hey,"

A hand finds itself wrapped around his starved wrists, gripping the bone too tightly as he whips his body to the sight of a wide eyed December. There's fear in his expression, in his eyes and the way he holds on too tight, terrified of what will happen if he were to release his grip.

"December, I don't have time-"

"Your arm is black just like it was when you burned the soul blooms." His voice is hard, unforgiving as his grip tightens on the outstretched limb. "I promised my cousin I would keep you safe and I intend to make well on that promise."

Though Wren yanks his arm the grip remains, the black lines that snake their way from his wrists on full display. Lines of power, of the overwhelming strength that runs through his veins until it nearly poisons each one. Until his blood runs black, stained by the lives he's taken to have made it this far.

"December, if you do not let me go I swear to you I will smash that vial of blood in your pocket and slaughter you alongside your people." He bites, yanking his poisoned arm from the brunettes grasp as he outstretches his arm. "I am a king, I protect you not the other way around."

The air around them begins to ripple slightly as if a rip in time itself has appeared before them. It's the same ripple that encased Wren in his cage and wavered between the twin trees at the entrance of the Magie. It's too hard for the eye to detect alone, just a slight refraction of light giving away that everything is not as it seems.

As the ripple grows larger, the black veins begin to migrate. Each line crawling their way upwards until they encase his shoulder, wrapping around his crescent scar and suffocating the few healthy veins that remain.

"That's enough." December states but Wren doesn't listen, eyes shutting to the sound of his voice as he focuses on the task at hand.

"It isn't enough until I can get my people out of this Magie and into a different one." Yet his voice falters, eyes squinting tightly as his teeth drag across his bottom lip in pain.

He's clearly struggling, the energy needed to open a portal too much to bear. Though his arm shakes he continues his efforts, black veins overtaking him until there's nothing left. His body devoured by the poison of power, of blood magic, that courses through him.

December knows better than to speak up, lips pressed tight even as Wren wavers from exhaustion. Even as blood begins to drip from his nose, black tinted and too thick to be healthy. The ichor dripping like molasses from his nostrils and pooling on his Cupid's bow before trailing his lips bit back in pain.

December hadn't even noticed the fae that had joined them, his attention fully focused on Wren before him. Their bodies appear and disappear too quickly to take notice of. The way they slip through the ripple before vanishing without a trace, a kingdom full of subjects seeking refuge at the hand of their king.

He's pushing too hard... The way his skin has began to pale, cheeks void of the blood that chooses to stream from his nose instead.

Ryder emerges from the smoke, breaking December's gaze from the dark blood steadily staining the grass beneath them. "That's the last of-"

Footsteps.

The familiar beat of a beetle's march, the black coated guards with their exoskeletons of armored gear. The three still at the sound, a collective chill running the course of their spines as the sound draws nearer. It's source is concealed by the heavy smoke of gunpowder, the three boys eclipsed by its depths though the sound continues to drum on, to surround them as it carries on from all sides.

"Did I not tell you that this would happen?"

Bile rushes up December's throat at the sound, stomach turning at the familiar voice of Jenn, of his mother. Though the smoke shields them from one another he can sense her presence nearby, a mix of love and hatred crashing within him at the sensation. At seeing his mother again, the woman he loved, the woman he looked up to his entire life.

The woman who betrayed him.

"Did I not tell you that cousin of yours would be the end of you? The end of Haven? The end of humanity?" She calls out through the smoke, the bass of armored steps carrying her words. "I once told you that he was Judas, one kiss away from throwing us on the cross."

Ryder tenses slightly beside him, body rigid as Jenn continues her speech. Continues the ringing of gunshots, the gathering of smoke and parade of footsteps that trap the three boys in a deadly circle.

"I was wrong, December. That cousin of yours ended of being worse than Judas, he ended up being Satan himself. He burnt Haven into some devil filled Gahenna and yet you run off with him."

Before Ryder can move December has him in his grasp, hand clasped over his cousin's mouth before holding a finger to his own lips, beckoning him not to give their location away. The smoke is a trap they fell clean into, circled on all sides by an enemy they can't see. An enemy that prowls through the fog, a hound bloodthirsty on the hunt.

"I have no doubt you did away with Abrahm, the only saint among all of you betraying heathens." The voice calls, saturated with venom as it circles the smoke, nearing closer with every taunt that slips through disgraced lips. "You're just like your father, the both of you, risking your lives, everyone's lives, for these devils. Perhaps you'll all greet each other in hell when this is through."

The boom of gunshots erupts once more, the first hint of metal making its way through the smoke as a bullet falls at their feet, rolling against the trampled grass still humming from the force of its blow.

Wren stands before them, face smeared with blood as he wipes his nose with his hand. The liquid runs darker, nearly black as it stain his icy skin. Black drawn against pale white as another bullet rings and falls, Wren grabbing onto the two boys for support. His head falls slightly, eyes fluttering as if begging him to sleep, to surrender to the exhaustion clearly overtaking him.

The footsteps grow louder, the thunder becoming overwhelming as metal flies and falls. The smoke becomes overwhelming as they mix with his mother's taunts and Haven's ominous presence. A force of death that presses ever closer, hurdling its way towards the center of the smoke with every bullet that screams out.

It isn't long before Wren is falling to his knees, chest heaving as he collapses into the pile of bullets around them. By now he's overrun with blackened veins, obsidian blood pouring from his nose and staining the grass beneath him a sickly muddled green. It streams from his ears, the ichor dying his nails and staining each hand as he hastily wipes away the flood that refuses to cease. Gingerly, he rocks his body forward, planting both hands into the earth before shutting his eyes against the smoke and metal surrounding them.

"Wren, stop it." Ryder whispers as he falls to the ground beside the fae with December in tow, hands falling upon Wren as he attempts to force his grip from the dirt. "Stop it, now."

Yet Wren doesn't listen, fingers digging into the hardened ground until blood breaks from his fingernails, eyes shutting from a mixture of pain and concentration. Every breath wavers, shoulder trembling as he pushes the weight of his fragile body into his blood-drenched hands coated in black.

Slowly, his eyes open against the smoke, body sitting up until he rests on his knees between Ryder and December. Brown and blue, earth and oceans, fire and ice that stare into one another with a deep cut pain only they can share. The pain of watching someone they love exhausted and half dead, covered in blood and body trembling from overwork.

"I need you to give me your hands." Wren whispers between heaving breaths he struggles to silence, soiled hand coming up to wipe blood his lips before explaining. "From the Celestial Union..." Every breath is pained, drawn out and slow as he struggles to get the words out. "I should.... be able... to siphon your energy," he turns to December with tired eyes, chin tucked into his chest as his shoulders begin to slump forward. "and your magic." His head begins to lull towards Ryder but stops halfway, unable to make the brief journey from one boy to the other. "Please..."

However reluctant, the two boys place their hands in Wren's, his skin chill to the touch and wet with blood as the dimmest of glows begins to radiate from his grasp. It feels of nothing, no warmth or vapor-like sensation emitting from the light that seeps into their skin. There's only the sensation of being drained, December's body slacking in the slightest as the light continues. His vision blurring if only for a moment as he blinks himself awake against the lullaby of footsteps and blanket of gun smoke.

Wren's hand draws away, the dim light extinguishing as he plants his hands into the earth once more. There's a newfound strength to him, the color returning to his flesh and pink beginning to pool into his cheeks. Even the blackened veins begin to discard their claim on his small body, the lines reverting back to red as they flow from his skin to the earth. Black lines snaking their way through the soil like inchworms streaming from his fingers.

December can't do anything but watch, watch as the smoke grows heavier, watch as Wren grows paler by the second, and watch as the earth rots to black beneath his grip. He can only listen to his mother's call, that once familiar voice now drifting from a stranger, an enemy. Listen to the footsteps that grow ever closer.

Every armored step encasing them.

Every Devil's curse and Lord's Prayer flowing from ravenous lips.

Every gunshot, every thunder and strike of lightening that roars and rumbles, riding into war on the summer air.

Every bullet that flies by until silence. A world shattering, eerie silence that settles into the clearing. An absence of footsteps, of armored beetles and the sound of his mother's voice. There's no robin chirps or cricket symphonies or the sound of the breeze whipping through the heated air.

There's only silence as the smoke begins to clear and December's able to scan the field it left behind. An empty clearing void of bodies and blood, only the frozen bullets remaining as they roll at December's feet. It's as if no one were ever here, as if they had woken up to a normal day as they always do, the visions of smoke and fire only a nightmare that felt all too real.

Yet it is real, the reality of the situation coming back with a dull thump as December breaks from his analysis at the sound. The sound of Wren's body falling to the earth with Ryder at his side, pale and bloodied and collapsed from exhaustion. December can already feel the fear that creeps into his throat, that crawls within his chest and paralyzes each limb as he falls to the ground beside them. As his hands grace too cold skin, still and ice riddled as he shakes the bodies before him, panic rushing through him with every push.

"Ryder, Wren, get up." There's no response. No movement or breath. Just a stillness beneath his fevered grasp that leaves bruises against pale flesh. "Ryder!" Every word is a scream, every rock and cradle a prayer as December's hand pushes at black hair and whitened curls until tears fall from blue eyes, dull with pain as he cries out again. As he begs, as he pleads each name that crosses from his hiccuping lips, body trembling with every scream as his body hovers over their own, vigorously shaking each boy.

"December? December what happened?"

He can't focus on that too far voice, hazy and distant and too many realms away. The silver hair that falls beside him, the red eyes that brim with tears and the cool embrace that smells of overwhelming mint. He can't focus on the hands that wraps around his numb body, that bury his head into its dizzying fragrance. The hands that per down his hair and whispers words he can't understand, words he can't process.

His mind can only replay that sound, that feeling of stiff bodies, the sensation of hardened ice too foreign to his warm-blooded touch. Everything slips into a blur. The blonde braids that fall beside him, the sound of thick accents and gentle cries. The feel of Sasha's shirt, the way the soft cotton sticks to December's tear riddled cheeks. The sounds of his own gasping breaths though they seem unknown, as if they stem from a ghost somewhere far off rather than from deep within him.

Deep within his soul that fractures from pain, that cracks with every scream, every cry that slips through trembling lips wild with grief. Wild with loss of the two boys he loved most in this world, the two boys he crossed fire for, plunged himself into hell for. The two boys now together in death and yet he remains here, abandoned and alone.

A singular star in the sky.