Page 13 of Twisted Souls (Twisted Souls #1)
Xavier
The morning fog hung heavy over the castle grounds as I made my way to my Uncle Flynn’s cabin. When I had finally come of age and taken the crown from him, he had insisted the castle was no longer his home. After many protests, I built him a cabin, far enough from the castle but still close enough that I could pretend he hadn’t left entirely. I think the castle reminded him too much of my father, and he had only stayed there to care for me and my brother until we came of age.
The morning dew dampened my mud-soaked boots as I walked through the tall grass, and my steps sunk into the wet earth. The sun was a pale glow just beginning to push through the fog, but the castle behind me was already swallowed in clouds. I hadn’t slept, not after last night—not after what happened. Instead, I spent hours walking the empty halls, my thoughts running in circles, plans forming and breaking as quickly as they came.
My uncle’s cabin emerged from the mist as I crested the hill, its thatched roof blending seamlessly with the gnarled trunks of the trees that stood sentinel behind it. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying the scent of burning wood with it. I exhaled in relief—at least I wouldn’t have to rouse him from sleep. But with every step closer, a knot tightened in my gut. The words I needed to say weighed heavy on my tongue.
I climbed the stone steps, their worn edges slick with dew, and knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Flynn standing in the frame. His black hair, streaked with silver, caught the morning light as it fell across his chiseled jaw. Though shorter than me, his presence filled the doorway. There was a stillness to him, an unspoken authority in how his deep brown eyes settled on mine. Those eyes held a world of untold stories buried beneath the weight of years and loss.
Flynn was already dressed, his thick cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His warm and familiar smile softened the edges of his chiseled face, deepening the creases around his eyes.
“I'm not catching you leaving, am I?” I asked, forcing a lightness into my voice as Flynn stepped aside, motioning me into the cabin.
“I was just heading into town to check on the vendors' permits,” he replied with a knowing smirk. “Someone’s got to keep things in order.”
I tried to smile back, but it fell short. “Yes, well… things have been chaotic lately.” I paused, my throat tightening. “That’s sort of why I’m here.”
Flynn’s smirk faded, replaced with a look that was all too familiar—quiet understanding. “Come in. Sit,” he said, nodding toward the table. “I’ll fetch us some tea.”
The cabin’s warmth enveloped me as I stepped inside. The scent of burning wood mingled with the smell of dried herbshanging from the rafters. A simple bed lay against the far wall, and the table, chipped and wobbly, sat beneath a single window, casting a dim light across the room. Scattered papers lay on a desk on the opposite wall, and a stone chimney sat in the center of the room, acting as astove and hearth.
Flynn moved to the stove, lifting the kettle that was already steaming, its soft hiss filling the silence. He carried it over to the table where I sat, fingers tapping absently against the wood. Placing two mugs in front of us, he poured the tea. Once the cups were full and Flynn had taken his seat, he looked at me expectantly.
“Something has happened, or rather, happened.” I looked down at my tea, unable to stop the shame washing over me. Four centuries, and I still felt like a boy when it came to him. “Jaxon did something.”
“Spit it out,” Flynn urged, but his voice remained calm.
“He ripped my magic from me,” I said, raising my eyes to meet his.
For a heartbeat, Flynn remained still, the calm breaking in the flicker of his expression. His hand stilled on the mug, his fingers tightening around the handle as if grounding himself.
“I've been trying to search for him these past months; that’s why I've been away.”
“He did what?” Flynn breathed, his voice deadly.
“It's worse,” I continued. “He has opened the human realm and gone there in search of the book.”
Flynn only closed his eyes at my words and took a deep breath. His jaw clenched so tightly I could hear the grind of his teeth.
“He wouldn’t let the rumors go and none of us thought he would endanger me or an entire realm on mere rumor, but we underestimated him. I underestimated him,” I said, not daring to look away from my uncle. I would not show weakness; he taught me that.
Flynn’s mug exploded in his grip, shards of ceramic flying across the table, trailing scalding water in their wake. His hand remained frozen, the tension in his knuckles stark white.
“We have to find him. We have to get him and find a way to close that door,” Flynn said, rising to his feet, his movements rigid, controlled. But I only shook my head at him.
“We can’t. I wanted to do the same once we figured it out, but it would only bring attention to it, and we can’t let anyone, especially the witches, know that it is open. We would only endanger the humans further.”
A rag appeared in my hand as I spoke, summoned without thought. I started wiping the table, dabbing at the scalding puddles still hissing against the wood. Flynn’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of surprise breaking through the storm of his expression.
“It’s not all gone,” I muttered, sensing his unspoken question. “I still have some basic magic. I can shadow, and the castle lets me use its magic. But my gifts? They’re gone. Completely.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue, bitter and final.
Flynn’s lips curled into a snarl, his hand gripping the back of his chair so tightly I heard the creak of wood beneath his fingers. “Stupid. Idiotic boy,” he growled.
“The attacks on villages are becoming increasingly worse. More Daka have appeared, and the witches appear to be sending a message.” I leaned back in the chair and ran my hand over my face. “Another war is starting, and my brother has…”
“Endangered two fucking realms,” Flynn finished for me. He stormed over to his desk, his boots echoing loudly in the room. He started rummaging through the papers, and I stood, leaving my untouched mug of tea on the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked, coming to stand next to him.
“We need to gather the others for a meeting,” Flynn said, his voice heavy.
“They are already on their way.”
Flynn paused his rummaging and turned to me. “Then I’ll go to the door—just me.” He hurried across the room to his dresser, pulling out items of clothing. “I’ll be there in case your brother resurfaces. Make sure no witches come sniffing around.”
“Uncle—” I began, but he cut me off.
“You can’t go; it would draw too much attention,” he countered firmly. “No one would think twice about me. I can guard the entrance, and if your brother returns, I’ll handle it.”
I nodded, not arguing because this was what I was coming to ask of him anyway. Flynn seemed to grasp all that was left unspoken.
“I’ll have Julian send updates on any new developments,” I said, observing as Flynn retrieved weapons beneath the floorboards. “I’ll also arrange for the kitchens to prepare provisions for your journey. You’ll need to be cautious. Ensure that no one suspects what you’re doing or where you’re going.”
Flynn nodded. “I must leave as soon as possible, so you are now on vendor duty,” he said, smirking over his shoulder at me.
He paused and walked toward me, his hand clutching a small pendant around his neck. Since I was a little boy, I have never seen him without it. I saw him take it off once. I think I was eight, and I had wanted to put it on. He had caught me as I was about to grab it and snatched it back up, putting it back around his neck. He then proceeded to yell at me for almost an hour about touching other people's belongings.
I smirked at the memory as my uncle approached, and Flynn put his hand on my shoulder. His eyeswere steely yet full of sorrow.
“It’s not your fault about your magic,” Flynn said softly, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of sympathy. “Your brother…” He trailed off, his gaze drifting momentarily before locking back onto mine. His face, usually so strong and composed, was now tinged with an unsettling pallor. “Your brother has much to answer for,” Flynn continued, his voice heavy with unspoken words. “But you need to stay focused on the bigger picture. You know what needs to be done. Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become.” He offered a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
He turned and started to walk back to his bed, which was now littered with piles of clothes. “But maybe next time, don’t wait so long to ask for my help,” he said dismissively.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I said, returning his smile. I paused at the door, taking one last look at Flynn before turning and leaving his cabin.
With the fog still heavy in the air, I walked back through the field. I made my way toward the village, walking toward the path I knew would lead down to the markets. They would open soon, vendors lining the streets with carts and people crowding the narrow walkways.
Blackrock was a small village, but it was home—my home. Stone and wooden structures of all sizes huddled together, their arched doorways standing open like quiet invitations. Everyone knew everyone, and there were no secrets here, though many tried to keep them.
Wooden bridges arched over the clear streams trickling from the river, connecting more homes and shops. Most buildings were draped in moss or pine needles, seamlessly blending into the surrounding nature. The cobbled streets were uneven and worn, but they didn’t bother me. They were as familiar as the rhythm of my own heartbeat.
I could still picture walking with my dad to the markets, his hand warm in mine, my mother’s soft laughter drifting beside us. The village was ever-changing, as everything is, but its heart—the people, the air, that cobbled road—remained the same.
I inhaled deeply, the cool, crisp air filling my lungs. The castle was still hidden in the fog, but I could feel it looming over me. I pushed my problems to the back of my mind and braced myself for another long, grueling day with zero rest.