Chapter 558 Golden Retrievers Of The Apocalypse
Gavriel’s eyes went back to normal a second later.
“I would like it on record that I did not consent to be the speaker for the ancestors,” he announced to the cavern.
Silence.
The silence was the ancestors’ response and they were not interested in Gavriel Sterling’s feelings about workplace boundaries.
Tiberon went next.
The King of Drakenfell sliced his palm without ceremony. Ceremony was for people with time. Tiberon had a cave full of mysteries, a Gamma who was channeling dead kings, and a daughter-in-law whose lungs sounded like a percussion instrument. He did not have time.
His blood hit the flame and the gold flared again, the same intensity, the same recognition. Dragon King descendant.
Gavriel went next. He dragged the blade across his palm. His blood fell.
The flame flared gold, then emerald.
Two colors for Gavriel Sterling and the green was the brightest.
Fae fire. Threading through the gold and emerald in spiraling ribbons, the colors chasing each other in a helix that climbed the height of the flame and cast emerald shadows across the volcanic walls.
The gold was expected. Every member of the Brotherhood of the Hidden Flame carried Dragon King lineage, and the fire’s recognition of that was protocol, unremarkable, accounted for.
The green was a different conversation entirely.
Tiberon’s eyes shifted to Gavriel and held. He said nothing. His silence had volume settings, and this one was at full capacity.
Serena stared at the flame too. Her head tilted, the involuntary gesture she made when she found something fascinating and wanted to ask questions but was holding back.
“The fire turned green for you,” she blurted.
“It did.”
“You have thoughts on that?”
“It matches my eyes?”
Fin registered the color change the way he registered weather. It happened. More of the standard shit. The fire was green. Gavriel had green magic. It wasn’t complicated.
His wolf was silent for the first time in hours. The silence was suspicious, but Fin was too busy being a seatbelt to give a fuck about that either.
Serena reached for the third dagger.
“No.” Fin’s voice was quiet. His arm tightened around her waist by a fraction. He was still behind her, still holding, and the dagger was already in his other hand before she finished reaching.
“I can do it, Fin.”
“I know you can. I’m doing it.”
Seven words. Zero room for negotiation. The sentence was a closed door with a deadbolt and a sign that read DECISION FINAL.
His arms were on either side of her. Her hand rested in one of his, palm up, her fingers shaking with the fine tremor of a body running on fumes and stubbornness and very little else. The dagger rested in his other hand.
He barely pricked her finger.
The cut was so shallow it was a suggestion. A polite request directed at her bloodstream rather than a demand. The absolute minimum viable wound.
“Did you just… was that a cut?” Gavriel asked.
“Yes,” Fin replied.
“I’ve had worse paper cuts.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Serena smiled internally.
It was adorable. She would never say the word out loud. Fin would rather swallow the dagger than be called adorable in front of Tiberon and Gavriel, and she loved him enough to keep the observation internal.
A single drop of gold blood welled on her fingertip.
Fin guided her hand over the basin. The drop fell.
WHOOSH.
The basin detonated.
Gold flame with pink swirls erupted in a column that hit the constellation ceiling with a roar so massive the cavern walls vibrated. The force of it blew Gavriel’s hair back and sent volcanic dust cascading from above them.
Tiberon’s eyes landed on Finnick Shadowclaw.
The look was immediate. Calculating. Carrying the accumulated weight of a king who had now witnessed this phenomenon a handful of times. Twice with Dexmon and Serena. Once with Dexmon, Serena, and Finnick together. And now, here, without Dexmon present, the column of gold fire hitting the ceiling with the same force, the same scale, the same ancient recognition.
Dexmon was hundreds of miles away. Recovering. Nowhere near this basin, this island, this continent. And the fire responded to Finnick and Serena with the identical intensity it had shown when Dexmon was standing beside her.
Tiberon had suspected it but this confirmed it. The matebond between Serena and Finnick spanned across lifetimes, which the ancestors had already told him, but also was the rarest kind. An anomaly that the Moon Goddess permitted under extreme circumstances. One that should not be separated and held just as much right as Dexmon’s.
Fin stared at the flame like it was expected, standard shit for Serena, not understanding the significance in the slightest, similar to how Dexmon had been the times he saw it. Meanwhile, Gavriel was looking at it like it was just birthday candles on a cake. No biggie.
The list of reasons Tiberon wanted to bonk all three of their heads together was growing at an alarming rate.
This was the rarest anomaly in recorded history, and all three men were treating it like golden retrievers watching a magic show. Tails wagging. No comprehension. Maximum confidence. Pretty fire. Moving on.
Tiberon’s left eye twitched.
But then the column of gold fire did something else. Still roaring, the emerald joined the party.
It threaded through the gold column of flame in ribbons, twisting around the gold the way ivy twists around a pillar.
Both swirling. Both burning. Neither yielding to the other.
Tiberon’s eyes moved from the flame to Gavriel Sterling.
“Oh look. Mine’s joining,” Gavriel said, watching the emerald spiral through the gold like it was a street performer he’d rate a six out of ten.
Serena tilted her head. “That’s new.”
“Is it?” Fin asked, genuinely uninterested.
“I think so,” she replied. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Mhm. Love it,” Fin said, in the exact tone of a man who had been asked if a throw pillow looked nice and wanted the conversation to end.
Tiberon’s jaw moved one millimeter to the left, which was the royal equivalent of flipping a table. He would debrief Hyran as soon as he returned, and Hyran would properly roast all three.