Page 94 of Awakening

Trystan smiled.

“It’s been a good many years since I’ve been here, and the view has changed a little…”

“So, is this it then, Emrys?” Marc asked. “Is this what remains of Camelot?”

“Yes, Your Grace. If you look around, you’ll notice a few crumbling walls around the outer edges. They are from another castle, built after the fall of Camelot, later destroyed and left in ruins. Camelot, itself, is still under the protection of the spell cast on it many years ago. The only way to break the spell is to merge Excalibur with the keystone.”

Emrys walked toward the center of the plateau. He paused at a bronze, round medal embedded in the ground on which strange markings had been imprinted.

“Here,” Emrys said, gesturing toward the ground, “is where the stone will appear when the time is right.” He sighed. “I had hoped it would already be here.”

Trystan walked over to the marker in the grass that Emrys had pointed out, with Marc trailing him. Dropping down on one knee, Trystan ran his fingers over it.

His eyes flickered.

In his mind, he saw a beautiful stone castle shimmering in the light of the morning sun. Standing on a terrace, he saw himself and Marc. His vision jumped. Eerie, dark gray clouds swirled around a burnt and broken fortress. Morgaine stood on the terrace. Again, the images jumped. White lights dotted the stillness of the castle under the dusky sky. This time, he saw himself on the terrace with Emrys.

The images morphed. A battle ensued. Fires burned all around him, raining from the darkened sky. Swords clanked. Soldiers screamed. Arrows soared overhead. Dragons screeched. Demonic hounds tore at limbs. Death-ridden creatures swarmed. Blood everywhere. Humans and elves and shadow wolves dying. Marc. Where was Marc?

Trystan sucked in a sharp breath and blinked his eyes. Panic surged within as his breaths became shallow and fast. His heart hammered, pushing to escape its crushing cage.

“Trystan?” Marc fell down on one knee beside him, placing his hand on Trystan’s shoulder.

Eyes strained, tears threatening, Trystan lifted his gaze and looked at Marc.

He didn’t want this. It tore him apart inside not knowing what would happen. Not knowing what he needed to do. The images assaulted his mind until Trystan could not bear the pain any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut, and the tears broke free. Everything inside him shattered.

“Shh, my love. I’ve got you.” Marc wrapped his arms around Trystan and pulled him close. They sat on the hard ground, locked in a tight embrace. Marc looked up at Emrys. “What happened?”

“He had a vision. I caught pieces… a blood-soaked battlefield. Death everywhere. That’s all I know.”

“Past?”

“Future,” Emrys replied, his tone grim, matching the soulful depths of his green eyes.

“How? You said he couldn’t.”

“I don’t know.”

Emrys paced away, before he did something he might regret. It had taken every bit of his strength to do nothing and wait for Marc to gather Trystan into his arms. The moment the vision hit Trystan, Emrys had felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. Flickers of a battle wrought with agony and death had inflicted havoc in his mind.

Marc stared after Emrys, irritation unfurling in his gut. He was bothered, only he didn’t know with whom, if anyone, he should be furious. Emrys appeared as troubled as Marc, if not more so. Marc recalled the bond Trystan and Emrys shared, so different from the one he shared with Trystan. Emrys loved Trystan, and Trystan loved him in return. Marc wondered at the true depths of their connection.

He also wondered if that connection would ever evolve, and if Trystan might someday choose Emrys over him. Soul bond or not, Marc couldn’t help but worry that the bond between Emrys and Trystan could one day grow stronger.

Abruptly, Trystan pulled away from Marc and pushed off the ground. “Ísólfr.”

“What are you doing?” Marc asked, hopping to his feet and chasing after Trystan.

“I need to think. Alone.”

“Wait.” Marc ran to catch him, glancing around for Emrys. “Is this about your vision?”

“Yes.” Gripping its thick fur, Trystan led the shadow wolf toward a tree with leaved limbs favoring one side. Broken, barren limbs, slightly charred, balanced the other.

“Trystan, I can’t let you go alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but I need space, Marc.”