Page 43 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 42

Frankie

Recovery comes in stages.

The first week after transforming the barriers, I mostly sleep—wrapped in the protective circle of my pack, my twin’s light pulsing steady reassurance nearby, my father’s restored presence guarding us all. My wolves drift in and out of manifestation as my power slowly replenishes, their forms flickering like stars at dawn.

The pack takes shifts watching over me. Bishop handles the Council’s endless questions while maintaining wards around our home, his Guardian marks pulsing stronger now with chosen purpose rather than enforced duty. Matteo’s predator nature keeps unwanted visitors at bay—though he’s gentler about it now, his new fangs flashing warning rather than threat. Leo makes sure everyone actually eats, his sunshine nature somehow brighter since the void. Dorian catalogues everything that happened, his frost patterns tracking the changes in reality itself while pretending not to hover protectively.

And Finn... Finn learns what family really means.

I wake sometimes to find him and Tori curled together on the window seat, her shadows dancing with his foxes while they read Jane Austen—her favorite, Pride and Prejudice, for the third time this week. Or catch him in the kitchen with Leo, learning the art of stress-baking (though after the Great Cookie Incident, we’ve banned them from unsupervised oven use). Matteo teaches him self-defense while Bishop explains shadow theory, and even Dorian unbends enough to share his precious first editions, though he still insists on wearing gloves.

Our father drifts between his beast and human forms, equally comfortable in both now that corruption no longer forces him to choose. He spends long hours with the transformed shadow beasts and restored light shifters, helping them remember their original purposes. Sometimes I watch him from the pack house windows, this being who was supposed to be a monster showing ancient creatures how to be gentle again.

“The Council wants to establish new protocols,” Bishop tells me one evening as we all sprawl across the pack house living room. He’s more relaxed now, his formal Guardian posture softening as Matteo absently plays with his hair. “For managing the changed barriers.”

“Let me guess,” I murmur from my position curled against his chest, Leo’s head in my lap while Matteo and Dorian bracket us protectively. “More rules. More control.”

“Actually,” my father says from where he sits with Finn, looking younger somehow despite his ancient eyes, “they’re talking about partnership. About learning from what you showed them.”

Through our various bonds, I feel the truth of how much has changed:

The Guardians adapting to protect balance rather than enforce it—their traditional black uniforms now threaded with both shadow and light. Commander Stone herself leads training sessions on willing partnership.

Shadow beasts remembering how to nurture rather than hunt, their transformed forms flowing through campus like living night. Some have even started helping younger shifters learn control.

Light shifters choosing to support rather than sacrifice, their power freely given to maintain the barriers they once were forced to hold. My grandmother leads their council now, her violet eyes bright with purpose as she helps forge new connections.

Reality itself flowing rather than fracturing, the very air around Shadow Locke humming with possibility instead of strain.

“You did that,” Finn tells me softly, his light pulsing with pride. A pair of his foxes play with my wolves near the fireplace, light and shadow merging in playful patterns. “You showed them all a better way.”

“We did that,” I correct, reaching for his hand. “All of us. Together.”

They want to rebuild Shadow Locke, turning the damaged campus into something entirely new. Not just repair the physical destruction from the void, but transform it into a place where shadow and light can learn together, where balance comes from choice rather than force. The library—Dorian’s domain—will house both ancient texts and new discoveries, documenting how willing partnership changes everything it touches.

“And they want us to teach,” Bishop tells me, his fingers trailing patterns on my arm. His Guardian marks pulse with renewed purpose at the idea. “All of us. To show others what willing partnership looks like.”

Leo perks up at that, nearly dislodging my hand from his hair. “Does this mean I get to make PowerPoints too?”

“Absolutely not,” Dorian and Bishop say in perfect unison, making everyone laugh. Through our pack bonds, I feel their shared horror at the thought of Leo’s infamous presentation style unleashed on students.

Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s quiet joy at these moments—the casual affection, the easy teasing, the sense of belonging he was denied for so long. Tori’s shadows reach for his light automatically now, their own bond growing stronger each day. She’s been helping him adapt to modern life, though I suspect their Jane Austen sessions are more about cuddling than literature.

My father watches us all with ancient eyes that carry new warmth. In his human form, I can see where Finn and I get our features—the same sharp cheekbones, the same determined set to our jaw. But it’s his smile that feels most familiar, most like home.

“Your mother would be proud,” he tells us softly. “Of all of this. Of who you’ve become.”

The restored light shifters have begun teaching us about our heritage—the songs our mother sang, the patterns she wove, the love that made her brave enough to choose a different path. Our grandmother visits often, her violet eyes shining as she watches her family whole at last. She’s taken to bringing ancient texts for Dorian while teaching Finn and me the shadow-songs of our ancestors.

“The prophecy,” Matteo muses, his fangs flashing as he accepts a cookie from Leo—his third, we all pretend not to notice his sweet tooth—” was never about sacrifice at all, was it?”

“No,” I agree, watching my wolves play with Finn’s foxes while Dorian pretends not to be taking notes on their behavior. Through our bonds, I feel everyone’s contentment—this moment of quiet joy more powerful than any prophecy. “It was about choice. About being brave enough to try something new.”

“About family,” Leo adds, his shadows curling contentedly around us all. “Chosen family.”

Recovery brings changes for everyone.

Matteo and his mother open a clinic for shadow beasts who need help remembering their original forms. I visit sometimes, watching his fangs flash gentle reassurance as he helps ancient beings heal. His predator nature has found its true purpose—not hunting, but protecting those who need it most. Leo assists often, his natural warmth making even the most corrupted creatures feel safe enough to transform.

Bishop revolutionizes Guardian training, teaching them how to protect balance through partnership rather than force. His new oath marks blaze with pride every time another Guardian chooses to adapt, to understand, to grow. Commander Stone has become his strongest ally, her own shadows learning to nurture rather than intimidate.

Dorian catalogues everything, of course. His frost-covered texts will guide future generations in understanding what willing sacrifice can accomplish. Though he still insists his meticulous documentation is “purely for academic purposes,” we all pretend not to notice how he smiles when young shifters come to him for guidance.

Finn and Tori grow closer each day, their powers merging in ways that remind me of our parents’ love story. The first shadow shifter and light shifter to choose partnership over division in their generation. Her shadows dance with his foxes while they rebuild the archive together, creating something new from ancient knowledge. Sometimes I catch them practicing shadow-songs in the garden, their voices carrying hope for future generations.

My father splits his time between forms—sometimes the magnificent beast of legend teaching transformed creatures their true purpose, sometimes the man making up for lost time with his children. Both versions equally real, equally loved. He’s taken to having weekly dinners with us all, learning modern customs while sharing ancient stories.

“You know,” Leo says one evening as we all lounge in the pack house living room, his shadows creating playful patterns on the ceiling, “we never did figure out who’s the best kisser.”

“Still not answering that,” I tell him, feeling Bishop’s quiet amusement, Matteo’s playful growl, and Dorian’s feigned indifference through our bonds.

“Probably for the best,” Finn adds from where he’s curled with Tori. “Some mysteries should remain unsolved.”

“Says the one who blushes every time Tori looks at him,” I tease, earning a flicker of embarrassed light from my twin.

Through all our various bonds—pack, twin, family, love—I feel everything we’ve built:

Trust freely given.

Power willingly shared.

Balance properly chosen.

Home finally found.

Night falls over Shadow Locke, but darkness holds no fear anymore. My wolves patrol with their transformed kin while Finn’s foxes dance with starlight. Above us, the barriers pulse with willing strength—light and shadow in perfect partnership.

The pack house has expanded to accommodate everyone—extra rooms for Finn and Tori, space for my father in both his forms, quiet corners where light shifters and shadow beasts can rest. The walls practically hum with belonging, every room filled with evidence of our shared life: Leo’s baking disasters in the kitchen, Matteo’s training gear by the door, Bishop’s texts spread across every surface, Dorian’s careful notes on everything.

“Tell me again,” Finn says softly, his head resting on my shoulder as we watch the others bicker over movie choices. “About the first time you felt the pack bonds forming.”

I smile, remembering each moment: Bishop’s careful distance crumbling, Leo’s sunshine nature breaking through my walls, Matteo’s protective instincts recognizing something worth guarding, Dorian’s frost patterns learning to dance with my shadows.

“It felt like coming home,” I tell him, feeling their love pulse through our bonds at the memory. “Like finally finding all the pieces I didn’t know were missing.”

“Like family,” he says, understanding perfectly as always.

“Like family,” I agree, watching Leo try to convince everyone that horror movies are “educational experiences” while Matteo pretends not to be wrapped around his finger. Bishop maintains his dignity despite having clearly lost control of the situation ages ago, and Dorian catalogs everyone’s viewing preferences “for research purposes.”

My father watches us all from his armchair, ancient eyes soft with love. Through our various bonds, I feel every connection that makes us stronger:

The pack that chose me.

The twin who found me.

The father who protected me.

The home we built together.

Some prophecies aren’t about endings at all.

Some sacrifices transform everything they touch.

Some families remake reality itself.

Forever.

As we were always meant to be.

Together.

Not just surviving.

Not just enduring.

But living.

Loving.

Choosing.

Being exactly who we were meant to become.

Home.