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PROPHECY

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Take pride in your story, children of lore.

Learn from the path of your ancestors before.

Supernatural souls heed this cry:

Follow the Phoenix.

Never will he appear as foe.

The many faces of the bird,

Will not deter his nobleness.

Out of the darkness, our souls can rest.

If you choose to follow through,

The Greatness will be as promised.

Out of the dirt, we will shine.

And from the ashes, our King will rise.

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PROLOGUE

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EIGHT YEARS AGO

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A young boy squeezed his eyes shut and thought of a wish. I wish... I wish I was special, like my family. I wish I could be a wolf too. Please. He blew out the number eleven candle sticking out of the blue birthday cake.

The family that surrounded the boy at the table, cheered and clapped for him. His two elder sisters engulfed him in a hug and the three of them laughed as the chair he was sitting on almost toppled backward.

"Happy birthday, Tony!" Luna, his second oldest sister yelled in his ear, followed by a squeal.

He accepted the hug with a smile. However, inside he was disappointed.

"Just wait, Tony." Luna crouched to whisper in his ear. "You just have to be patient. It'll happen one day."

But her words didn't ease his dismay.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered and walked off in order to find a quiet place away from his loud family that didn't share his gift of being incredibly normal. Every single one of them was special. Everyone but him.

A week after his birthday, Tony was still waiting for his wish. He had wished for abilities, like the ones his family possessed, but he still fell short of extraordinary.

The small boy watched as his older brother transformed. Fangs grew from his teeth, and claws protruded from his fingernails.

Tony frowned. His brother was a werewolf, but all he got to be is nothing.

A man much taller than the other two stood in front of him and crouched down into a fighting stance. Claws grew from his fingernails as well.

Both of their eyes changed to bright yellow, masking the true brown color of their irises.

The two older males looked just like the younger boy. It was almost as if the oldest man had been cloned twice, only a few years apart. They shared the same dark chocolate-colored eyes, bronzed skin, and almost black, curly brown hair.

"Bene, Alessandro" good, the father said to his oldest son.

The father and son began to spar, throwing light punches and kicks.

Irritated and bored, Tony got up from his spot in the grass and marched over to them, a scowl etched across his soft features.

"I want a turn." He crossed his arms over his small chest.

His father and brother stopped and turned to the little Italian boy as he stomped his foot on the grass.

"Okay," his father's accent thickened as he drew out the word, unsure it was the correct thing to say.

The older boy whipped around and turned to face his father. "What, papà?"

Their father held up his hand, silencing him.

"If Tony wants to try, Alessandro, let him try," He scolded him. The boys' father turned back to his youngest son. "Who do you want to take on? Me or Alec?"

Tony pondered the thought before choosing. "Alec." He narrowed his eyes up at his older brother. The disdain held in his eyes was not for his brother, but for the jealousy that he felt for not being like him.

Alec rolled his eyes at Tony but got into a fighting stance anyway.

Tony watched him carefully and mimicked his movements.

He wasn't ready when Alec hit him in his side.

"Ow!" Tony yelped and jumped back at the sudden contact. His hands clung to his ribs where he had hit him.

"Come on! That was nothing!" Alec threw his hands up.

Tony looked up at his brother, tears forming in his eyes, making them shine in the harsh sunlight.

"If you want to fight, you have to at least be ready," Alec scolded him, his tone clipped and bored.

Tony's jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists.

"So, whatcha gonna do?" Alec taunted him.

Tony glared at his brother and let out a yell of frustration. Then, a blazing fire erupted from his hands, lighting the dry grass around him in a ring of orange.

Alec and his father scrambled back as the fire grew bigger and brighter around Tony. It began to create a barrier around him, completely blocking him on all sides.

"Tony!" his father cried out. Tony squinted through the roaring fire. His eyes found the outline of his father, but could barely see him through the burning yellow and orange hues.

"Papà!" He yelled out frantically. Fear coursed through Tony and he suddenly wished that he hadn't gotten so worked up about getting abilities. He wanted to take it all back.

"Tony! You have to calm down!" His father shouted as loud as he could.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He thought of the lullaby his mother would sing to him when he couldn't fall asleep.

Tu se la mia stella nel cielo. You are my star in the sky.

Sei il sole sulla mia luna. You are the sun to my moon.

Non ti preoccupare figlio mio, ci arriverai presto. Do not worry my son, you will get there soon.

When he opened his eyes again, his father and brother were standing in front of him.

"Am I a werewolf too, Papà?" He asked his father, panting between every couple of words. Tony's father kneeled down in front of him, brushing his curls away from his forehead. He sighed in relief when he found that his son was okay and without a scratch.

"No, Tony, you're not. You're something else. Tu sei un fenice," He told him, awe in his voice.

"A... a fenice? Papà, cos'è un fenice?" He asked his father. His eyebrows drew together. Tony had thought people were either human or a werewolf, like his family, never had he heard of anything else.

"A fenice, or Pheonix, is a magnificent bird. They are very rare. Very special. There is only one in an entire lifetime," he said softly.

Alec scoffed, "An understatement, he is expected to be the-"

"Alessandro!" His father warned him with a glare.

Alec scoffed once more before stomping away.

He looked back to Tony and his eyes softened. "Don't worry about it piccolo (little one), you needn't worry about it right now. All will be explained when you're older."

"Like grown-up stuff?" Tony asked with a pout.

His father chuckled and patted his cheek gently. "Sì."

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FOUR YEARS AGO

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"Did you have any dreams this week?" A Latina woman sat cross-legged in her pink, cushy chair. A soft expression shined in her eyes as she gazed across the room at a boy whose skin had become so pale that his freckles were almost invisible.

"Every. Single. Night," he replied with a groan. His fingers tugged through his messy black hair, making it stick up in crazy directions.

"Why are you frustrated?" She asked him, folding her hands in her lap. She pursed her full red lips and watched him patiently.

He shook his head and looked up at the therapist. His ocean-blue eyes lacked all luster. "I'm tired." He glanced at her briefly before shifting his gaze back to his lap. He fiddled with his thumbs, his anxiety growing by the second.

"Have you been losing sleep?" The petite woman brushed a hand across her cheek.

He shook his head again. "No. I'm just—I'm tired of this. I just want it to go away."

The woman stayed silent and she studied the boy for a second before replying. "Jensen." She waited for his attention.

He looked up at her with too many wrinkles now residing in his fair skin. His angled jaw is clenched tightly, causing it to tick at the sides.

She sighed before continuing. "I know your parents are sending you here because they want you to receive help. They believe that these dreams you are having are a bad thing. But let me ask you—do you think these dreams are a bad thing?"

Jensen stayed silent as he thought about her question. He had never thought about it before, not needing to because his parents convinced him that they were abnormal. That he was abnormal.

"I—No." He sucked in a breath. "I don't think they're bad. Even when I dreamt of my sister breaking her arm, and it coincidentally came true. I think—I think whatever psychological..." He moved his hands around in circles near his head. "Weirdness or whatever is going on, I just think it's trying to help me, so I can help someone... Does that make sense?"

"I think it does, yes." She nodded her head thoughtfully. "Usually dreams from a Lynx—I mean," A panicked look crossed her soft features for the first time since Jensen started seeing her.

"Wh-what did you just say?" He stuttered at the mention of the odd words she had just said.

She laughed uncertainly. "Nothing, I just meant—"

"No, you said Lynx." Jensen was at the edge of his seat now. "What's a Lynx? Are there other people like me that are like see-ers or something?" He continued to throw questions at her.

"Jensen," she said sternly, causing him to stop talking. "Forget what I said, I've been up late watching too many science fiction and paranormal movies. It's not anything, okay?"

There was no way in Hell that Jensen believed her, but he moved on anyway, knowing later that night he would definitely be Googling this Lynx thing.

After they talked more about his dreams, Jensen walked home with a brand new perspective. What if I'm not having a psychological breakdown? What if something else is going on? What if I'm a Lynx? These questions played through his head all night on repeat. Instead of a constant weight coming with the thought of his dreams, he felt as if it had been lifted. He felt freer, in a sense.

That night, Jense did a ton of research on Lynxes and only came to find out it was merely a cat. He searched for any mention of legends or supernatural abilities, but any website containing that kind of information had about a million pop-up ads of highly inappropriate content.

In order to not get a virus on his laptop, Jensen exited out of yet another page that led him to nowhere. He sighed, frustrated. While the idea was completely ridiculous, for a split second, he theorized that someone was purposefully blocking any useful information. He quickly dismissed the idea, though, since that would be crazy, and he was refusing to one hundred percent believe that he had any sort of supernatural abilities.

So, after he came up with nothing, he eventually gave up. And, for the first time, in a long time, he went to bed not dreading the dreams to come.

At first, when he woke up the next morning, he thought he was dreaming still. He stared at his ceiling confused and glanced around his room. He soon came to the conclusion that he was awake, fully awake. For the first time in a year, he didn't dream. His first reaction was happiness but then he felt disappointed that nothing came after he made peace with it.

What if in order to have the dreams, I have to try to suppress them like I was before? He pondered this for a while before eventually getting out of his bed and making straight for the bathroom. But before he could make it into the hallway, a loud thump echoed throughout the partially lit room. The only light just barely peeked out from behind his dark curtains.

"Ow!" Jensen cried out and cradled his forehead in his hands. His eyes lifted to the doorway where there was nothing blocking him from being able to walk out into the hallway. Through the doorway, he could clearly see the opposite wall where a picture of his family hung.

He timidly held out his hand and waved it back and forth as he crept forward. Soon, his fingers felt cool, hard material.

Jensen's hands felt up and down his door. His invisible door.

Just then, his mother walked down the hallway, wiping her hands on her cherry-patterned apron. He could see that she had been baking from the flour smeared in her messy, black hair and across her neck. She came to stop directly in front of the wide-eyed boy.

Jensen watched as she looked over his head and raised her fist. As her pale, worn knuckles came in contact with the painted wood, the illusion instantly faded, and his mother was replaced with a solid, white door.

"Jensen, get up. Don't be late for school." His mother's loud voice came from the other side of the door. He heard her footsteps quickly retreating as he leaned on his shoulder against the wall.

Jensen rubbed his head which was still sore from walking directly into his disappearing door and sucked in a shaky breath. What. The. Heck, he thought to himself over and over.

After taking a couple of minutes to process, Jensen yanked his door open and sprinted over to the bathroom down the hall. He slammed the door shut and pulled the faucet handle to let out a stream of water. Sticking his head closer to the sink, he splashed water up, onto his face.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not—" he repeated to himself and his eyes flickered up to the mirror. He looked back down at the water, and then back up to the mirror again. His body straightened up and he slowly backed away from the sink. The sound of running water filled the room as he stood frozen in the bathroom, eyes trained and unwavering as he stared back at his reflection.

In the mirror, his once frosty blue eyes now glowed a vibrant, neon orange.

"I'm crazy," he finally concluded.