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Chapter Text

Dragon Age Inquisition

Solas/Shapeshifter

Hunters had reported sightings of a white beast in the mountains. Some said it was a large wolf, others claimed it was a bear. Then there were some that said it was neither, but a large cat. The mages then came up with the theory that it was a spirit, one that haunted the mountains in the various forms of animals. The fearful and small minded called it a demon. Solas knew better.

He had seen it himself, many times over. Even in the fade, it’s presence is felt. He had the fortune of meeting such a mage only a few times in these past few ages. Their existence grows rarer with each passing decade. It was curious of the Inquisition inhabiting what must’ve been it’s mountain range for some time. The shapeshifter spied on it’s new neighbors, growing in boldness each week. At some point, it spied on Skyhold itself from the ramparts in the form of a barn owl. This garnered the attention of the residents. Some cowered and hid from its gaze, others glared and spat in it’s direction. Some studied it with ink and parchment in hand, others smiled and tried to coax it down for a treat.

It never came close to any negative residents, but it did cautiously take treats if left for it in a wide space. After a while, the shapeshifter felt comfortable enough to take other forms in the fortress. As a domestic cat, it hunted rats in the dungeons, though with difficulty as it struggled to sneak up with it’s white fur. As a raven, it asserted dominance over Leliana’s birds, effectively ruling the hierarchy. The last form it took only within the fortress was a stoat. Small and weasel-like, the mischief maker would squeeze through small gaps and crevices, effectively taking shortcuts only a small rodent could. 

Perhaps it became too comfortable with people, sleeping inside an empty tankard or roosting on Leliana’s desk as she worked. Yes, it was all too comfortable with the dangers of the Seeker or Commander catching it and discovering it’s true nature. Solas decided this when he found the small stoat sprawled on it’s back over his papers in the rotunda. 

It yawned and stretched, becoming seemingly and impossibly longer. Solas loomed over the desk, staring down thoughtfully at the little apostate. “You’ve made yourself quite at home.” He said aloud, crossing his arms comfortably. The stoat didn’t move, simply breathing as it lethargically pretended to nap. It wasn’t truly asleep, but ignoring Solas’ words. “Do you speak common?” The elf tried. No response. “You’re on my papers.” Nothing. He sighed and hummed, thinking Morrigan would perhaps have more luck. 

It was recent that she joined the Inquisition as another one of the Inquisitor’s advisors. He wondered if she had seen the white shapeshifter, making it clear that she had such gifts herself. 

He got his answer two weeks afterwards. Morrigan was nowhere to be found, but there was a mysterious new raven playing with the white one. He suspected that was her. The two dive bombed each other playfully… until it wasn’t playful. At some point, it had turned violent, clashing beaks and talons and cawing. White and black down feathers fell from their fight, leaving bystanders to stare up curiously and confused. The conflict only lasted a few minutes however, with Morrigan coming down to transform back into her human form, a smug grin upon her face. 

It was clear that Morrigan had won, though the white raven chased after and landed on the grass before them. It cawed and pecked it’s beak on the ground, bristling and hissing. “Don’t be a sore sport, you’re still plenty high enough in the hierarchy.” Morrigan taunted. The raven flapped its wings, voicing its distaste with a croak.

“You can communicate with it?” Solas hummed. “It talks to you?”

“Of course we can communicate.” Morrigan scoffed. “Though, he has decided to forsake any tongue of ours. So, we communicate as animals do.”

Solas stared down incredulously at the bird. “He has forgotten his original form then?”

“No.” Morrigan chuckled. “He chooses not to use it. That being said, just because he forsake the languages of mankind does not mean he cannot understand it.” She gave him a mischievous glance. “I suspect he knows the secrets of just about anyone in the fortress.” For a moment, the elf had a pale violent shock then steadied himself. The shapeshifter couldn’t know a thing of him (except perhaps his distaste of tea). He had no one to speak of it to anyhow. 

“You intend to squeeze them from him then?”

“Of course not. I’m not interested in such trivial matters.” She then kneeled down next to the raven, regarding it with curious eyes. “It might interest Leliana, though it won’t do her any good if he refuses to return to his own form.” The raven fluffed its feathers and settled on the ground, as though the conversation bored it. 

The Inner Circle was traveling to the Storm Coast, and the shapeshifter decided to follow. It traveled as a great elk with massive antlers. He kept at a distance from any of the hunters, lest they try to saddle him with heavy supplies. They gave up after the first few miles.

It was pouring in the Storm Coast, thus its name. The heavy downcast darkened the land, lit up only in the brief moments of lightning followed shortly by thunderclaps. Everyone was drenched and freezing, but they trudged on in the solace that they could find the camp under the shelter of a boulder bridge, dry off, and huddle around the fire. At some point, the elk changed into a stoat and found its way huddled inside Cole’s coat. 

The spirit cradled it in his chest, as though the shapeshifter was a precious pet. Solas briefly wondered if the shapeshifter knew of Cole’s true nature, or if he cared. It was a male, that much Morrigan divulged. Solas wondered how much the witch knew, what sort of information could be passed in the secret language of animals. She was as likely to give away such details as the shapeshifter himself would however. 

The rain came upon them harder, if possible. There were no delays between the flashes of light and bellowing thunder anymore. The storm was terrible, and the wind made it worse. They weren’t so much marching as they were wading, sometimes leaning against the foul wind at otherwise impossible angles. It was no longer a simple trip, but a dangerous trek as they traversed sloping cliffs slick with rushing, muddy water. There was a relief that washed over the party like a calm ocean tide when they found the camp, tucked away inside a dry cave in the cliffs. The stoat lept from Cole’s coat and bound to the campfire where it nestled into the cinders, ruining it’s wet white fur with a layer of soot and ash. Cole didn’t seem to mind getting his fingers covered in the black residue as he kneeled down to pet the stoat. 

The brief moment of calm didn’t last long however. Soon enough, the Inquisitor was pulled away from the group by Harding, who had a fierce expression of pure worry. It must’ve been bad, for even in places of undead and demons, Harding always had at least some sort of humorous smile. It was her way of pushing down stress.

Red Templars were amassing in caves further west, which were blocked off. But that alone wasn’t what had Harding on edge. The storm that rolled in swiftly cut off communication between her and her platoon of scouts. When this happens, the platoon is supposed to pull into a rendezvous point, which was the camp. They missed the meeting time, and the storm will make the growing night virtually impossible to navigate.

The search party included the Inquisitor, Iron Bull, Cole, and Solas. The shapeshifter tagged along, again curled up in the spirit’s coat. The plan was to circle around the set up perimeter, checking the areas where scouts were posted before the night grew late. Unfortunately, each area so far showed no signs of the scouts and the wind was growing harsher. There was a moment of breakthrough however when Cole heard the feelings of terror and worry from the scouts. The party followed him to the top of a cliff, where trees were ablaze despite the heavy onslaught of rain. Lightning had struck it, Solas guessed. 

The scouts were all together, however trapped inside a small cabin, which was also on fire. Bull bashed down the door, grumbling about the splinters in his forearms as he hoisted a couple unconscious scouts over his shoulders. They had asphyxiated from the smoke. Solas and the Inquisitor each helped a scout out of the cabin, coughing as smoke stung their eyes and lungs. Cole held up collapsed debris as they passed. 

There was a booming explosion, though it was not thunder. The shapeshifter changed to a raven and flew up a tall pine tree, most likely to see what the source was. Solas was about to call the avian down when piercing light flooded his gaze, momentarily blinding him. Solas did not remember hearing any thunder, but he must have because his ears rang terribly and his teeth vibrated with the force of the sound. Though lightning is brief, it’s proximity had dizzied the apostate. When he regained sight, he found himself on the ground staring up at the burning trees and black sky, rain filling his eyes and blinding him again. Wiping his face as he sat up, the elf squinted over to the tree where the shapeshifter had been. 

It was black, burnt beyond any resemblance to the mighty pine it once was. Smoldering branches fell and landed on the ground. There on the ground, haloed by long snow white hair was the shapeshifter. His skin was ghostly pale, clothes burnt and falling apart. Solas slowly rounded the man, viewing the unfamiliar face. He was elven, features angular yet with a stubborn ounce of baby fat and remarkably clear of any wretched vallaslin. The dread wolf leaned down to help the man up but paused seeing the other side of the man’s face. It was seared with a nasty burn, arching in branches across his cheek. The force of the rain was peeling at the skin, which would worsen the future scar. Quickly, Solas pulled off his coat to cover the albino elf in an effort to rescue his skin. He pulled the shapeshifter up and shouldered the weight, only to see Bull rushing back to check on Solas. He waved the Tal’Vashoth away. 

Reaching the camp, Solas carefully laid the man upon his bedroll within the tent, laying him prone to spare the burns splayed across the elf’s back, rising up his neck and ending on his cheek. The non-burnt cheek was settled on the pillow. Soon enough, the Inquisitor was in the tent too, staring at the shapeshifter in wonder.

“That’s the white beast then?” She breathed, awed. She was massive compared to both the elves, large and bronze muscular body taking up most of the tent. Solas entertained the idea of her spiraling horns piercing the top of the tent.

“It would seem so.” Solas replied carefully. “He is far more unique than we thought. He is like Morrigan, a shapeshifter. However… he is also albino.”

“Albino? You mean his white skin and hair?” The Inquisitor leaned down to grasp a snowy lock of hair, long enough to brush the albino’s thighs. “White hair is common with qunari but… I’ll admit I’ve never seen a non-qunari with white hair so young… with matching eyelashes. Or skin as pale.” The two froze as the albino let out an agonized moan within his sleep. She dropped the hair and frowned sorrowfully at the burns. “That looks awful… what happened?”

“He was struck by lightning from the tree he perched in.” Solas hummed, nodding solemnly. “He’ll make it, but he’ll have deep and large scars. I will try to do what I can to minimize them, and speed up the healing process.” As he said this, Solas reached out his hand over the skin and casted Heal, helping the skin knit together. “Please fetch me some linens to dress the wounds.” 

He still refused to speak. Even as he was wrapped in spare fur, carried upon the back of a spare draft horse, he was silent. Solas would study his face, which had linen wrapped over his cheek and eye. The shapeshifter seemed tired, with dark rings under his eyes. He also seemed pretty angry, brows furrowed and mouth curved in a sullen frown. 

Chapter Text

Something was terribly wrong. The Fade was buzzing with demonic and spiritual activity, much more than ever. It wasn’t just Nightmare’s demonic army, no this was something different. Demons had withdrawn from dreamers and mages, which alarmed the demon the most. Something like a beacon was calling them, and Nightmare was battling it. The apex demon struggled to keep its demons simply in line. It was a full blown demonic civil war now. 

 Then there were… the others. They weren’t demons or spirits, and they certainly weren’t dreamers. The most alarming bit was that they preyed on the demons. They came from the Black City, Nightmare had guessed. They amassed there and made it their fortress. Their sizes ranged from small dogs to as massive as Nightmare itself. At least that’s what it thought. True fear struck it when the largest one came, although seemingly docile. It dwarfed Nightmare and floated just above the Black City, spewing more of the creatures daily. 

 Most were mindless animals, unable to suffer any corruption the Nightmare might’ve tried. The few that were sentient were leaders with psionic abilities which allowed them to control their armies. Nightmare simply knew it was them that were undermining his control over the demonic forces. Nightmare needed to nip this in the bud before Corypheus grew angry. It was time to parlay.

 Only one of the creatures responded to its request for negotiation. A pale vile creature called Isha. She could’ve been mortal once, having a more humanoid face with humanoid arms. They were pseudo-arms however, her true appendages being long and ending with a single spike each. Nightmare did not see her full body, though it was the hint of being worm-like as she slithered out of the ground. That was another thing. The creatures’ buildings were alive and grew out of living ground. Nothing about them was not organic material.

“What are you?” Nightmare demanded. 

“We are the Zerg.” The creature said with a neutral expression, a thousand different voices hinted under her own honeyed one. “I am Isha, I currently act as the Swarm’s prime leader.” 

“But you were not meant to be it.” Nightmare guessed.

“No.”

“Who is supposed to be your leader?”

“The Overmind was the Zerg’s original leader, with the separate broods commanded by Cerebrates. This changed when the Overmind and Cerebrates were killed and the Swarm was overtaken by the Queen of Blades. She is here now, though she is preoccupied.” Isha gestured to the fortress with a spiked appendage. “She heard your call and sent me in her stead.”

“Your Queen’s psionic emanations are disturbing my armies. I demand that I have full control over my armies once more.”

Isha tilted her head, expressionless and dull. Nightmare could not guess if she was truly emotionless or if she had mastered control of emotions. “What would you give us in return?”

Nightmare’s pride throbbed. “Nothing! If you don’t surrender control of my demons then-”

“You have no power over us. Your demons will not fight us. You can do nothing but offer us something. An eye for an eye.”

The apex demon bristled. “Fine. Give me my armies, and the knowledge I hold of this realm and the next, of the mortal plane on this planet, is yours. I offer my loyalties, which until now were serving the Elder One.”

Isha paused, then nodded. “This is agreeable. We would know more of this Elder One and what we can expect of the denizens from both this realm and the mortal plane. For now however, you may recoup your armies.” With this, the living ground enveloped her, queuing her leave. 

Something new was coming from the rifts. At first, they thought it was a demon. When it died however, it didn’t disintegrate or go back to the Fade. Its corpse remained, dead and bloody. Bloody. Red, mortal blood. It deeply disturbed Solas. The circle mages rushed to autopsy the specimen and Solas stole it away to his rotunda to study it in peace. It was a mabari sized bug. Bug would be an understatement however. The creature was a nasty piece of work, with a small head (the mouth of which was a fang-filled maw that took up 60% of it’s face) between two large mandibles. It’s body was hunched over for sprinting on all fours. The front two appendages were singular hooked claws, the knuckles for distributing the weight of the creature. The back two appendages jutted out from haunches, looking similar to the legs of a mantis. It had wings, though the use of which was most likely for extra spring in its jump and nothing more. It had a long spiked tail. The most disconcerting and prominent feature however were the two prong-like appendages jutting from it’s back and towering over it’s body. They were ended with three huge barbs, very efficient for tearing flesh and even metal apart.

Chapter Text

Callum stared down at his gauntlet, flexing and fisting his hand. The silvery metal talons reflected the fluorescent lights. The masked man was settled on the ledge of a building, slowly swinging one leg in the open air with the other heel propped up on the ledge. He was waiting, patiently. After years of tracking down his target, he finally found the place where he would finally face the man behind it all. 

Across the street on the opposite roof, shadowed figures spoke with one another. Callum raised his head, hooded and disguised just in case he was seen. It was time. One of them was the man. Callum nocked his bow. Tonight was just about observing, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. Most of them were about the same height, however one in particular was extremely tall. He was also clearly a mutant, judging by the animal-like silhouette. The rest were simply shrouded in hoods and slim clothing. 

Callum fixed his attention on the mutant. A cat by the looks of it. There was the sudden sounds of whooping and the figures swiveled their heads in alarm. The masked man also scanned the surrounding rooftops for where the sounds came from. Large shelled creatures ambushed the group and Callum rose to his feet, shocked. The vigilantes? Here? Now? When Callum first arrived in the city, he noticed the decline of crime and numerous thwarted crime scenes. However, he didn’t expect to ever come across the sources themselves. 

One mutant vigilante honed in on the cat mutant. Startled, Callum quickly drew his arrow and shot into the darkness. The arrow clashed into the vigilante’s sword, which was aimed to disarm the cat. Both mutants turned towards Callum, dumbstruck. The cat noticeably recovered quicker and attacked the vigilante. Callum lowered his bow. He wasn’t on the Foot Clan’s side, but he wasn’t about to let anyone interfere with his plans… whatever they are. 

The Foot soldiers and the cat mutant retreated, however the man known as Takeshi gave one last withering yet curious glance at Callum before disappearing. The vigilantes made brief celebratory whoops before turning towards Callum’s still figure. The masked man fled their eyesight and into the pitch black of the night. 

The morning sun blasted through the windows as the sound of blinds rattled violently. Cal groaned and cracked open his dark circled eyes to peer up at his foster mother. “Rise and shine, child!” She said rather sarcastically. Cal let out a sound of grumbling protest as he let his head hit the pillow again. “Up!” She prodded him. “You’re going to be late!” 

Once she left the room, Callum slowly sat up, his dark hair askew. The thick blankets were mangled and his various pillows were scattered around the bed. It could be assumed he had yet another rough night, but that was just how he slept… when he actually did. The rest of the room was equally messy. His square bed, which could be more accurately described as a nest of some kind, was crammed in the small end of his “L” shaped bedroom. The closet across from it was wide open, displaying his hanging clothes and crammed various odds and ends. Around the corner was his workbench, of which every space was filled with some kind of crafting project. In the corner next to his door was his dance bag, filled with dancing shoes of many kinds. The floor was littered with crumpled scrap paper, art supplies, dirty laundry, and lots and lots of plants. His window was situated just next to his bed, yet close enough to the foot of it that his mother could yank the blinds open and effectively rouse Callum from death-like sleep. 

He scooted to the edge of his bed and stretched, the bones in his body going off like firecrackers. That often annoyed his family, the popping. The boy wandered his room like a zombie, drained of all energy as he slid on baggy sweatpants and a loose shirt. He pulled his biggest sweater from the closet and wore that as well. Grabbing his backpack loaded with brand new supplies and his dance bag, Callum exited his room.

The smell of american breakfast permeated from the kitchen. Children rushed to and fro. The life of a foster child was a wild one. His mother, yes he considered Quinn his mother, was struggling to ready many of them. She huffed in frustration as another cackling child slipped from her grasp. “Cal, your breakfast is on the table.” He nodded and sat, alone, in the small round table. The plate had a pancake with Callum’s favorite fruit syrup slathered all over it. After it was eaten, Callum prepared to leave. Quinn called from the kitchen, “Have a good first day!”

He hesitated before grunting in return and leaving the large apartment. The school was awfully quiet. There were a few kids here and there, but it was way too early for the main majority of the students to appear. Cal walked swiftly down the halls, the sound of his pants scuffing echoing. By some miracle, his first classroom was unlocked and the teacher was inside. She sat behind her computer, working and not giving so much as a glance at the newcomer to her class. Another student, a girl, seemed to be working silently on some paper. 

Callum approached the teacher’s desk, silent. She looked up and smiled. “You must be Mr. Valentine.” She hummed pleasantly, using Callum’s last name. The lightly tanned teenager nodded, keeping his mouth shut. Callum rarely spoke but when he did, the words were soft and brief. “I’m Mrs. Koren.” She elegantly reached out a slender hand to shake with Callum. Uncertain, he hesitantly took it into his rough calloused hand and firmly gave it a small squeeze before retreating back into his pocket. “You’ll be sitting next to Miss O’Neil.” She gestured to the girl who seemed to have paused working to get a better look at Callum. Her redish orange hair was pulled into a low ponytail, medium cut bangs brushing just above her eyebrows. Her eyes were wide and bright in an optimistic manner, freckles splayed across her fair nose and cheeks. She smiled genuinely at Cal. 

Anxiously, he took a seat to her left seeing as her desk was pushed up against a window to her right. Mrs. Koren returned to working. 

“I’m April.” The redheaded girl beamed. Callum nodded slowly. “What’s your name?”

“Callum….” He muttered quietly, his deeper voice rumbling in his throat.

April smiled again. She pointed up at the whiteboard and began explaining their daily routine in that particular math class. She was kinder than Callum expected and it made him ashamed to think that he previously assumed no one would so much as bat an eye at his presence. Afterall, it was the middle of the school year. All other students, even the new ones, had already found their social circles. Cal’s eyes dropped to his lap. Just because April was nice to him during class didn’t mean she wanted to be his friend…. That was okay. It was better that way in his case. 

“Hey!” She waved a hand in front of his face. Cal snapped out of his thoughts and returned his attention to April. “Want to sit with me and my friends during lunch?” Cal simply shrugged. It really depended on her friends. Too many new people made him nervous. 

At his next class, they were both surprised to find they had the same science class as well. He was placed on the far end of the classroom from her that time. April didn’t appear in his spanish class, not that he was expecting or hoping for it. Nor did she appear in his history class.

At lunch Callum turned away from the lunch line, a platter filled with more food than anyone else in the cafeteria. He gazed upon the room. There were a couple empty tables and the rest were stuffed to the brim with students. He chose an empty table far from everyone else, in the corner under a window. It could be safely assumed that the table was the hottest spot in the cafeteria during the summer and coldest during the winter, making it unpopular. It was summer and heat radiated off the metal table like a furnace. Callum was rather happy about that. Born and raised in California, he loved warmth and hated the cold. He sat down and basked in the warmth that the window and table gave him. 

April and a boy promptly sat across from him at the same table. April grinned. “Callum, this is Casey.” The boy gave a crooked and wide smile. He had a few teeth missing under his pale lips and his coal black hair was kept back by a black bandanna. He carried a large sports bag along with his backpack. Callum gave Casey a nod before staring down at his food raising an eyebrow. Casey had even more food than Cal did, an almost impossible feat. They both began devouring their food. April scoffed. “You guys eat like starved wolves.” Both boys smiled cheekily and continued to scarf down their food. Cal somehow acquired both their numbers.

 Callum ended up in April’s english class and her digital art class. He went to his last class of the day, Dance for PE credit. He was almost relieved to find she wasn’t on the roster. If she did end up his friend, which was far more likely now that they knew they shared four classes, he didn’t really want her to know he was a dancer. 

On his way home from school, April and Casey caught up to him. “Callum, we’re going to Murakami’s for some food. Want to come with?” 

“What’s… Murakami’s?” Callum rumbled softly. 

“Dude, your voice is so deep! How’d you do that?” Casey said excitedly. Callum’s face flushed and he shrugged as he turned his face towards the ground.

“Murakami is the owner of a Japanese cuisine joint.” April explained, ignoring Casey’s enthusiasm. Cal’s expression brightened. He loved Japanese food, especially since it was a part of his culture and heritage. He was mostly European, but he did have a good portion of Japanese. 

“Okay.…” He replied gently. 

April entered the Lair with Casey after Callum went home. She was whistling merrily and generally in a good mood. Casey seemed to be pretty happy too. 

“Something good happened today?” Donnie asked from the couch. The purple masked turtle appeared curious about the two students’ mood. 

“New guy at school today. He’s mega cool!” Casey explained, smiling really wide. 

“Really?” Leo hummed.

“Yeah. He’s really tall and nice. He’s super quiet, so he’s like a gentle giant. Pretty good at his classes from what I can tell.” April shrugged. Donnie perked up upon hearing that.

“He’s super mysterious and has the body of an athlete! Like a superhero in disguise.” Casey looks at Mikey excitedly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was!” Mikey grinned as April snorted. Raph turned his head, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Well I would be. I don’t think he’s a hero in disguise. I think he’s just shy.” She chuckled at Casey’s ridiculous assumptions. “He doesn’t talk much and he seems to get anxious around too many people.”

“I assume you helped him get settled in?” Leo asked. April nodded. 

“What classes do you have with him?” Donnie queries. 

“Math, science, english, and digital art." 

"He's artistic?" Mikey asked, more enthusiastic. 

"How good is he at math and science?" Donnie asked nervously.

"Is he a writer?" Leo tilted his head.

"Nevermind any of that, did you see him talking to any sport coaches?" Raph huffed. Casey nodded in agreement with that last question. 

April laughed anxiously. "He's crazy good at drawing, he's a math wizard, he struggles with science, he's more into creative writing than academic writing so he struggles in that class, and no I didn't see him seek out any coaches." The turtles paused thoughtfully. 

"Well, we have news too." Raph grunted. April furrowed her eyebrows. "There's a new Foot Soldier of some kind."

"I still don't think they're Foot Clan…." Leo grumbled. 

"Really? They nearly shot your hand off!" Donnie scoffed. 

"Well they didn't shoot my hand, they shot my katana." Leo argued. "Besides, Tigerclaw looked just as surprised to see them!" 

"Probably because he was surprised they missed and didn't kill you." Raph growled.

"Banewolf…, Wolfbane…, Wolfshot…, Baneshot…, Shotba- no that's stupid." Mikey muttered to himself. 

"What?" April crossed her arms, concerned. 

"A couple nights ago, we thwarted a Foot Clan meeting. They were planning on robbing the store below which was a front for Kraang mutagen production. Tigerclaw was there. Leo was about to disarm Tigerclaw but an arrow shot his katana and distracted him. We saw a cloaked figure on the opposite roof wearing a wolf mask and wielding a nasty looking bow." Raph explained. 

"It was a real work of craftsmanship." Donnie sighed. 

"Bane sounds like he hates wolves…" Mikey continued to talk to himself. "Ah! Look out guys! It's Wolfshot!" He whispered, feigning a tone of surprise. Then he smiled. "Yeah, that works." 

“Tigerclaw didn’t seem to recognize him.” Leo insisted. “We shouldn’t make any assumptions.” Donnie and Raph exchanged skeptical glances. 

“Well… maybe you guys should do some research on them.” April shrugged. “Maybe try to figure out their identity. If you find their identity, it may shed some light on the situation.”

“April’s right.” Donnie hummed. “If I can get my hands on this guy’s records, we can figure out what kind of person they are, what they are doing here, and if they are an ally or enemy even if they aren’t Foot Clan.” The group silently considered their options.

“From now on, I will dub them as Wolfshot!” Mikey blurted, clearly not listening to whatever conversation that was going on. Casey snickers and April makes a small smile.

Callum woke up with the sensation of falling. He jerked from his slumber and realized he was still safe in bed. His blinds were open, letting in soft streams of moonlight. Groaning, Callum crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. He lifted the blanket to reveal the platform the bed was set upon. Digging his fingernails into the panel, he yanked it off. A sleek bow with a quiver of arrows lay neatly upon a black cloak. On the bow rested a wolf mask carved from wood and painted black with red markings. 

He pulled the equipment from the dark hole and replaced the panel. He secured a thick bulletproof vest around his torso, pulling a dark shirt over it. He pulled on slim leather gauntlets with metal claws built into the fingertips. He buckled his black boots after slipping on dark leggings. Then he obscured himself in the cloak and strapped the mask around his head. Finally, he buckled the quiver around his waist and slid on the bow around his torso. 

Callum silently slipped out the window and onto the fire escape. He climbed up the stairs and onto the roof. Another exhausting night. 

He didn’t have any specific plans. Takeshi was always a present thought upon his mind, but Callum just hoped to relax tonight. He lay on his back, the mask at his side so that he could see the moon better. Callum missed the country. He missed the smell of fresh air and dirt roads. He missed the vast fields of grass. All he smelled here was the stench of metal and gases. All he felt was the cold concrete and asphalt. At least he was… okay. He was starving for that in the country. To be somewhat okay. He starved for attention, for a good home. For a magical cure to his jagged and twisted mind. Modern medicine seemed to be the cure… maybe. He didn’t travel across the country and into the Big Apple just to feel “okay” though. He wanted a slice of what everyone else seemed to have. He wanted to be happy for once. 

Callum still saw no future of that happening. He couldn’t plan too far ahead, that only hurt him. So he did only what he could do: take the next step. Right now, that was finding a way to get Takeshi alone. He didn’t know what he would do after that, but that was for him to decide when he was ready to take that next step. 

Takeshi. The man behind it all. Callum doesn’t remember his childhood, only fire and the ocean. Lots of ocean. And a man. A cat man. A mutant, Callum now knew. He only had small irregular pieces of the puzzle that snagged and nicked when he tried to put them together. Takeshi has the answers. He just knew it.

The moon disappeared behind clouds and Cal sighed in disappointment. He strapped the mask back on and sat up. 

April watched Donnie type away at his computers. He had explained he was accessing the city’s surveillance cameras to see if he could get anything on Wolfshot. It was taking a while. April had pulled up a chair and grabbed some juice in the meantime. She sipped her orange juice leisurely. “There!” Donnie suddenly exclaims, pointing excitedly at the monitors. Leo leans forward, placing a hand on the desk for support as he squinted at the pixels. Donnie zoomed into the frozen image and turned up the exposure. There, in the shadows, was a hooded man in an elegantly carved wolf mask. He wielded an equally beautiful bow. The image had him mid sprint. “That’s from the same night as the ambush.” Donnie hummed. “I can use this example image to pull up more shots as far back as when he first started appearing on surv- oh.” Thousands upon thousands of images of Wolfshot filled up the monitors.

“Donnie?” Leo mumbled, a look of concern upon his face. 

“This guy….” Donnie scoffed. “He’s more active than we and the Foot Clan combined are, if that’s even possible.”

“So it is a ‘he’?” April hummed. Leo shook his head. 

“How so, Donnie?”

“Well….” Numbers flashed on the screens and Donnie pointed at them. “He’s been caught on surveillance consistently every night for the past three months.” The images returned. “He’s been captured on camera every night at least once in between the times 10 pm and 4 am, never earlier nor later than that time frame. It can be safe to assume he’s out during that entire time too.” Leo’s jaw tightened. “Based on the images, he is a human, six feet and eleven inches tall, 221 pounds heavy, male.”

“That tall…?” April muttered in disbelief. An odd thought struck her.

“He’s… busy.” Leo grumbled. “Does it show him doing anything in the feed?”

“Stalking the Foot Clan or prowling the roofs mostly.” Donnie did some more typing and a feed popped up of Wolfshot standing on a building ledge, looking down at the empty street. Mikey approached the desk and let out a sound of awe. Wolfshot’s cloak was billowing as he seemed to concentrate on the wet asphalt on the ground.

“Donnie?” Leo said. 

“This… is live….” Donnie mumbled, dumbstruck. 

Raph seemed to have showed up at some point. “What’s he doing?” He asked curiously.

“I have no idea.” Donnie replied. “He’s a little too close to the edge for my comfort.”

“Where is that?” Leo asked. Upon receiving his answer, Leo swiftly left. The turtles rushed after him, leaving April to her odd thoughts.

Callum was, in fact, spacing out. It had started to rain a little and it got him thinking. What if he learned everything? What then? He didn’t know. He didn’t know his future. He couldn’t see clearly. Before he even realized it, he was in a very familiar situation. Cal’s toes hung off the edge and the height made him dizzy and gave his stomach butterflies. Don’t look down. He brought his head up. The moon had come out again, almost beckoning him. His heart pounded in his chest and he could almost count the beating as a ticking clock. A clock running down. Tick tick tick tick tick tick! It was a very surreal experience. The ringing in his ears, the pounding in his chest, the adrenaline in his blood. He just felt so alive. One foot in the air, arms raising. It was real, it was here. The pain would end. He only had to teeter just a little farther forward. 

“Don’t.” Like a gunshot, the voice shattered his trance and Callum swiveled to face the source. His foot slipped and the air was forced out of his lungs in shock as he was falling. Wait! His arms reached out in desperation, his own voice failing him as he continued to just fall. There was a sudden jerk of his arm and Callum shouted in pain. Looking up, he saw his savior through the holes in his mask. It was one of the vigilantes! The blue masked mutant turtle strained as he gripped Callum by the wrist. The masked man swung up his other arm to grab onto the turtle. More hands grabbed at Callum and pulled him up to safety. 

The masked man sprawled on the roof, gasping for air as he had been holding it. “I’m so sorry!” The blue masked mutant said. “I’m so sorry, I startled you and-” One of the other mutants stopped the blue masked one. He nodded. “Right… are you okay?”

Callum was helped to his feet and he nodded softly. 

“Who are you?” A red masked turtle demanded. “Why are you here? Are you Foot Clan? Why did you shoot my brother?”

“Raph! Shut up!” The purple masked one scoffed. 

Callum could feel his chest tighten in anxiety. His mouth remained shut and he avoided eye contact. “I’m sorry for my brother.” The blue masked one sighed. “We just want to know about you.” He placed a reassuring hand on Callum’s arm. He tensed. Noticing, the mutant retracted his hand. “What do we call you?”

“His name is Wolfshot!” The shortest one piped up.

“Buzz off Mikey!” Raph barked.

“Raph, be nice to Mikey.” The blue masked one sighed.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Leo!” Raph snapped back.

“Guys, come one we really should-”

“Nobody asked you, Donnie!”

The turtles erupted into a fourway argument. Taking advantage of the distraction, Callum slipped away and hurried home. 

April, as always, was early to class. She wasn’t completing assignments as usual however. Instead, she tapped her pencil impatiently against the desk. Then Callum entered the classroom. She slid a curious glance at the boy. He was extraordinarily tall, taller than anyone she ever came across. Even when he was slouching, he towered over everyone. 

His expression was one of death. He seemed so exhausted the entire time she saw him. His eyes were dull and usually half closed. Callum seemed to struggle to focus in his classes. His hair wasn’t brushed in the slightest, just left to stick out at odd ends. April felt dread in her grow as dots connected themselves the longer she thought about Callum. 

During lunch, April paused eating. “Callum? When did you move here?”

The boy shrugged, refusing to use his voice. He didn’t even look up from his plate. Frustrated, April went back to eating. After school, she went straight to the lair. Her suspicions grew and she marched straight to Donnie. “Did you guys find out anything about Wolfshot?” 

“We ran into him last night, but he disappeared before he could answer any questions.” Donnie shrugged. April huffed and exited the lab. She collapsed on the couch and sighed. 

“You seem to have a lot on your mind.” Leo muttered from behind his comic book. 

“You could say that again.” April groaned. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Leo lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Hm.” He hummed in thought before returning to reading.  

The next day, April was surprised to find that Callum was earlier to class than she was. He was sleeping on his desk, the dark lines of exhaustion etched into his face. She took her seat next to him, studying his sleeping features. He had his eyebrows furrowed, like he was thinking unpleasant thoughts. His lips were also pouty. April found herself amused by his childish expression. Relaxing herself, she got to work on her assignments. Maybe she was being silly…. 

She was only interrupted when he jerked and sat up, looking around with wide eyes. He met April’s eyes with his own brown ones. “Not enough sleep?” April smiled, trying to edge off her silly suspicions. 

“Insomnia.” He muttered briefly, turning his eyes to stare dejectedly at his desk. It occurred to April just how melancholy Callum seemed to be throughout the day, even on his first day. 

“That sucks.” She sympathized. See? Just a new student who happens to be an insomniac… and really tall. “Hey, where did you move from and why?”

Cal moved his hands to stuff them in his sweater pockets. It was near the end of spring, he must be hot. “California. I’m a foster kid, I go where foster homes think they want me before regretting it.” He bowed his head, brown hair obscuring the top half of his face. 

April felt her chest tighten. A foster kid? She was silent for a moment. How could she have known? “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but… what happened to your parents…?” 

Callum didn’t immediately answer. He stared up at the chalkboard, as if the answer he was searching to say was somehow up there. “I don’t know.”

It was during digital art that an office aide came into the classroom and tried (and failed) to discreetly pass a Call Slip to the teacher. The teacher instantly honed in his eyes on Callum, making eye contact with the boy. April watched as a nonverbal conversation using only looks took place, resulting in Callum to shakily stand from his desk and grab his things. It was as if Callum knew why he was being called… and that he wasn't coming back to class. 

The teacher called for a break and April gravitated to Callum’s desk. He left his class issued drawing tablet on. Upon the screen April tried to make sense of what looked to be soft grey and black shapes with three clusters of red eyes. When she looked closer, her eyes began to connect shapes and form a bigger picture. It was an emaciated wolf made of shadows. The eyes were clustered around its face, it’s neck, and shoulders. They weren’t just red… they were bloody. The reason she couldn’t make it out at first was because the lines were blurred, as if the intent was for the wolf to blend in with it’s background. And yet, the eyes were glaringly obvious against the monotone grey and black. It was like they were piercing through her, judging and assessing. Why? What for?

Disturbed, April saved Callum’s work in both the tablet and her phone, then turned off the tablet. Her suspicions did not feel so silly now. 

April walked to the Lair, wondering if Callum made it to the last class of the day. She entered the Lair, feeling unsettled still. She felt haunted by those red eyes, their image seared in her brain… and the gallery on her phone. She found herself once again staring at them on her phone, sitting dead still on the couch.

“Nice art.” Leo says, peering over her shoulder. “You should really sign it.”

“Oh.” April looked up at him, surprised. “It’s not mine.” She admitted, finally shutting off her phone. “It’s Cal’s.”

“Who?”

“The new guy at school.” She amended, remembering she never actually said his name before. She looked back down at her lap, furrowing her eyebrows. “I think… he’s Wolfshot.” 

“Wait, really?”

“He’s about the same height, comes to school exhausted saying it’s insomnia, i still know barely anything about him since he’s so discreet, and now this.” She sighed. “I know it’s not a lot to go on, but he’s new and Wolfshot started appearing around the same time. I think it might really be him.”

“You're right, it’s not a lot to go on but he sounds like a lead.” Leo hummed. “I’ll let the guys know.”

Cal ate meagerly today, though that was normal too. His appetite fluctuated often, most likely to make up for his ravenous appetite on other days. Today, it was different however. He felt hot all over, skin burning yet he felt freezing. He was bundled under two sweaters in the middle of June and yet he still wasn’t warm enough. Cal was sick, he knew it from the aches and pains, his congested sinus, and the way his throat rasped which made his voice impossibly deeper.

Nonetheless, he forced himself to stomach the soup the school served for lunch. Once he went without sleep for a week and his stomach refused to become hungry. This resulted in it beginning to consume itself, or so he was told. Now he eats to make sure that doesn’t happen. Whether it’s possible or not, the very idea freaks him out. Besides, he loves food too much to starve. 

The teachers questioned the medical face mask he wore. He explained he had a cough but claimed he felt fine. The teachers clearly knew better based on his pale and sweaty face, but didn’t send him to get his temperature checked at his insistence.

“Cal, can we go to your place?”

Callum nearly choked on his soup. “M-my place?” He stuttered.

“Yeah.” Casey grinned. “You got video games or something?”

“I-I don’t know, I have a lot of people there and….”

“Well it’s fine if we chill in your room, right?”

April smacked Casey’s arm, who yelped. “Casey! You can’t just intrude on someone else’s home like that. Besides, he’s sick.”

“N-no, it’s o-okay.” Callum shuddered, pulling his sweaters tight. “We can do it a-another day. I suppose it’ll b-be okay on Saturday.” 

“Sweet!” Casey fist bumped. 

Callum got up, shuddering and shivering from the fever. He slowly made his way to the trash can, dumping his leftovers. “That’s it.” April huffed and hooked her arm through Callum’s. “Let’s go to the nurse.” Callum was about to moan in protest but gave in to a fit of wheezing. April helped him walk through the halls to the nurse’s office. 

Chapter Text

Dragons. They are the epitome of the primal aspect of nature. They are the raw embodiment of power and chaos. But as with most creatures, they nurture their young until late adolescence.

The Highland Ravager, who prowled the icy and mountainous terrain of Emprise Du Lion, had been heavily pregnant for some time now. It was quite a rare sight, to see a dragon ready to lay a clutch let alone any dragon at all. She had settled in the deep ruins of a colosseum, called Leontines Ring, where she could nest and care for her offspring with no interference. She’d lay eight eggs, as large as small boars, oval and leathery. 

The eggs would sit for weeks, and she’d hunt for elk and steal sheep from villagers in the ruins of buildings at the base of the valley. She returned one day however to find one egg was beginning to rot. She was intelligent enough to notice the early signs of a bad egg, and could smell the rot from within when she inspected it. It unsettled her, but she knew she had to dispose of it, lest the other eggs suffer. She clutched it in one talon and flew far from her nest, as she didn’t care to smell it once it rotted fully. 

Soon the eggs would hatch. This too was proof of her intelligence, as she could tell by the way she grew more anxious the longer she was away from her lair, beginning to brood. She would have to dispose of the bad egg quickly. 

She found a patch of farmland, soil cold and hard. It was a pitiful strip of land with little to no hope of crop yield. Yes, she thought herself very intelligent for knowing the ways of the strange two-legged creatures in their fake fur and hides. She knew that instead of foraging, they grew food and how very strange and stupid they must’ve been. Then again, they must be at least a little clever to think of something so ridiculous. She supposed they lacked the claws and superior eyesight to dig for winter roots. She also credited them with how swiftly they hunted animals bigger than themselves, how proud they must be except to only realize that they drove their game into her hunting grounds. 

She clawed the icy ground and buried the egg, done with it. She turned to take off, but paused at the shrill wail of some creature. She recognized it as the cries of an infant calling for its mother. Any other time, she'd ignore it or use it as bait for the mother. Too small to grant any real sustenance to her. However, the distinct call of a child to its mother tugged at her and forced her to scour for the source. 

There were a few dilapidated buildings, long since abandoned due to the poor land. One in particular was a wooden shack locked tight, the lock beginning to freeze over. The crying came from inside, so the Ravager clawed open the door. Inside, dead hay was piled messily and the crying infant shrieked from where it was nestled into a makeshift nest. The babe was one of the two-legged creatures with a small round head and a patch of thick brown hair atop. It’s pale little face was red and swollen with the cold and tears. It was bundled up in the thick furs of some wolf, but it was clearly freezing still. 

She could only fit her nose through the door so she lifted the hut entirely, ripping it away and tossing it aside. The Ravager stared at the shrieking infant, waiting to come upon a decision. While she deliberated, she blew hot air over it, flames wreathing her teeth. Warmer, the infant calmed as the tears dried off it’s cheeks in the heat. There was no time to deliberate any further, so the High Dragon gathered it in her mouth tenderly, where it would be warm. She took off to take it to her lair, intending to replace the egg she had lost. 

“She is crazy, I tell you!” The chevalier complained.

It was damn cold. The conclave was in three months, and the apostate had to travel through Emprise Du Lion to reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But it was so damn cold. He had expected this brief pitstop to be one of respite, but it has been anything but quick and relaxing. What little comfort he gained was through the ridiculous tales the villagers had about suspicious templars and multiple dragons in the area. 

“She stole our crops back in the autumn, our corn and fruit!” The chevalier continued, eager to tell this to anyone who hasn’t heard it. “What dragon has any use for crops? They eat meat! Meat, I say!”

“You saw this yourself?” 

“Not the crops, no, I heard it from Geron, the farmer.” Sensing the apostate's skepticism, he continued. “But I saw her sweep down and make off with our sheep! Two in each talon!”

“She can’t get plenty of elk from the mountains?”

“She must have young.”

“There are still plenty in the mountains, for her and the young.”

“Perhaps she needs the sheep specifically?”

“Whatever for?” The apostate scoffed incredulously.

“Variety in diet? Wool for warming the nest? Those are my best bets.”

The apostate paused. As far as guesses go, they weren’t bad. He’s heard much worse. “Possibly the other dragons are invading her territory.”

“Hm. We’ll never know, I suppose. Unless some madman is willing to peek in her nest, we’ll be left speculating.”

“Do you need to know?”

“Perhaps not, but maybe then we’d come up with solutions, hm? Can’t solve a problem if you don’t know what’s causing it.”

“True enough.”

“I might just be mad enough.”

“You aren’t serious?”

“I just might be. I’ve lived here for a few years now. We’re starving. Anything to stop the ache in my belly, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t possibly go alone.”

“Is that an offer?”

The apostate looked upon the chevalier seriously for the first time. He was a young man, face on the thinner side. He had fur stuffed in every crevice in his shining armor, face pink and shivering. He seemed serious - no, mad enough. Bright blue eyes crazed in starved fervor, black hair grown long to keep his neck warm. ‘Twould be a shame to let him go on a suicide mission. Wouldn’t be so suicide if he had a sensible mage to back him up….

The apostate sighed. “I suppose it is. You’ll definitely die alone, and then what would you tell your mother?”

“Nothing I imagine, I’d be dead.” The chevalier replied humorously, smiling as much as his shivering allowed.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there were two realms. The realm of sentient humans and the realm of primal monsters. The two realms coexisted in the same plane, with humans and monsters interacting daily. Some monsters were used for companionship or work, but most were too dangerous to tame. Monsters often attacked humans over food or territory. Humans had to develop specialized skills to hunt monsters and use their materials to create even stronger weapons and armor. 

A deity of the monster realm was displeased with the unbalance as humans continued to hunt and expand while monsters dwindled. The deity, attempting to make peace between both sides, erected a planar barrier between the two realms. Monsters and humans would no longer exist on the same plane as each other, and were free to live in their own ways. 

After thousands of years, the humans developed society and kingdoms while the monsters remained animalistic and set in their primal ways. In one such Kingdom, a beautiful prince would skirt along the edges of societal "norms", discontent with the human ways of law and expectation. He longed for freedom and to be closer to nature. 

The monster deity sympathized with the prince, and felt honored by such passion and earnest desire from the human prince. It blessed the prince with magic, so that the prince may summon and command the monsters of the other realm. The King, having long despised his own son for refusing to conform to society, saw the blessing as a threat and sent the prince away to an isolated tower. 

After some years, a witch came upon the prince's tower and listened to his plight. She loathed the King for his strict laws and harsh policies, and held pity for the prince. In an attempt to help the prince, she cast a spell so that the prince himself would transform into his summoned monster, so that he may taste freedom and nature in any form he wished, which in turn gave him immortality.

Threatened by the power and nature of magic the prince held, the human realm's deity cursed the tower the prince lived in. He was bound to it forever, doomed to never be free again. Only a knight of great honor, valor, compassion, and wisdom would be able to break the curse. The prince did not believe such a person existed and fell into despair, populating the grounds of his tower with monsters to protect him and keep him company. 

The witch, however, kept a watchful eye on the world as it evolved and changed around them. She changed the tower to keep up with modern architecture and moved it so it was always deep in the wilds, no matter how big settlements grew. She kept vigil, waiting for the prophesied knight to emerge. 

Renet came to the Lair on one of the hottest days of summer. The heat was sweltering, though the underground provided some relief from the rays of the sun. Still, the extra fans they had collected over the years were all out and running. The boys lurked in the large cooling pool within one of the rooms of the Lair, miserable in their inability to sweat. Renet found them as such; floating in the water with sour expressions. “Hey!” She grinned. Renet was dressed in her usual time apprentice uniform, her face round and bright.

Mikey immediately perked up, as though Renet’s very presence was refreshing. “Renet!” He swam to the edge of the pool, but remained mostly submerged. “It’s been a while! What’s up?” He smiled up at her widely.

Renet kneeled at the pool’s edge to meet Mikey closer to his level. The other turtles swam up to the edge as well. “I thought you guys would be up for an adventure.” The time apprentice cheekily suggested.

“Adventure?” Raph’s snout wrinkled at the thought of exerting himself in this heat.

“An adventure…” Leo doubtfully repeated. “This isn’t something you’re in trouble with again, is it?”

“No…!” Renet pouted. “I didn’t do anything wrong! This is actually just a little personal project I’ve been working on when I’m not apprenticing.”

“What sort of project?” Mikey oohed and aahed.

“I like to study legends in my free time, heroes of the past and things like that. I was looking into one of my favorite more obscure ones when I discovered it actually had quite a bit of merit and evidence.” Renet’s expression then turned coy. “I was wondering if you boys were interested in finding an immortal sorcerer.”

“Is this a ‘Loch Ness’ situation?” Donnie mused lightheartedly.

“Or an Indiana Jones thing?” Leo snickered. Renet stared at him blankly. “Er,” Leo cleared his throat. “It’s a media reference.”

“Oh, well, this is an utterly unique adventure, I’m positive.” Renet grinned and crossed her arms confidently. She stood and twiddled with her time scepter. “So, obviously, you don’t have to, but…” She squirmed anxiously. “I’d be pretty down if you guys didn’t come!”

Mikey scrambled from the pool, splashing water around and causing his brothers to holler at him. “I’m in!” He cheered as he jumped to his feet triumphantly, water pooling at his feet.

It didn't take very long for Mikey to rope the others into this quest. If it was a quest to find some legendary sorcerer or to win Renet's affections; That wasn't as clear. 

They exited the portal into a field of wheat. Renet had an ancient map of some kind, turning it as she tried to discern the etchings on it. Raphael turned to study the landscape. Hills of farmland stretched beyond them, white capped mountains in the far horizon. He twisted and hummed, seeing walls of stone a few fields away, the tips of brick roofs peeking over the top of the walls. 

"So… do we get disguises, cloaks, or what?" Raph returned his gaze back to Renet and the others. 

Chapter Text

"What?!" Raph squawked after processing what he just heard. His face burned in both indignance and mortification. 

"What my brother means to say," Leo quickly covered, giving Raph a sympathetic side eye. "Is that we are already grateful for the gift of helping your people and that no… offerings… need to be made." Leo tried to keep a schooled face, but Raph recognized the subtle scrunch in Leo's nose as disgust and cringe.

The alien monarch sat high above them, regally lounging in his throne. His race was a peculiar one, they almost resembled elves in Earth's fantasy genre. They all had white hair and bioluminescent markings on their skin, like tattoos. Their eyes were vibrant shades of gold, red, green, and various other bright colors. Stranger still, they were a unisex race with subsexes. They were all male. So when the King felt obliged to reward the turtles for aiding his people with a "wife", Raph almost sputtered. Not only was this "wife" a man, but it was also an offering, like a sacrifice! Raph wanted to berate the King for treating a person like currency, but knew that would get them all killed. So he reluctantly relented to clenching his fists tightly and seething next to his brothers and Fugitoid.

"Ah-" Fugitoid turned and started whispering to Leo. Leo's face turned incredulous then defeated. Fugitoid leaned away and addressed the King. "Your majesty, we will accept only one offering if you insist."

The King's expression, which was bordering on stormy when Leo was declining, then relaxed to a bored contentment upon hearing Fugitoid. "Very well, a compromise." The King waved his hand to motion for one of the noble aliens to pay attention. "Fetch Prince Aedithas." 

Prince Aedithas, as it turned out, was one of the younger sons of the King. He emerged into the grand court dressed in a draping black tunic embellished in silver. His moonlit hair was thick and abundant, the volume of which rested in a layered cut just above his neck, tucked behind his long pointed ears which hung with silver chain earrings. His face was tranquil, soft and edged in blue markings that were sharp in contrast. Upon the King explaining the situation, the prince’s expression turned unreadable as he glanced at the turtles. 

As soon as the King excused the court, Aedithas swiftly turned on his heel and marched back down the hall he came through. The King followed closely. Amidst the banquet forming as servants carried in platters of food, Raph slipped from the court and his brothers to follow the royals, hoping to dissuade the King. Leo certainly didn’t give much of an effort, due to whatever Fugitoid had said. Raphael passed paintings of the royal family, many serene faces and plaques of dated gold separated by cobalt curtains that draped lavishly. He slowed upon seeing a cracked door, warm light glowing and voices arguing from within. Raph peeked in the door. Inside, Aedithas was stuffing clothes into a large floating case with silver edges. The King stood behind the prince, arms crossed. 

“I can’t believe you’ve sold me to those aliens.” Aedithas seethed, slamming the case closed and turning towards the King with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I gifted you to heroes.” The King asserted. “Besides, you’ve been itching to get off this planet for years.”

“This isn’t how I imagined it!” Aedithas protested, fists clenching. “They may be heroes, but you don’t know who they really are! They could be completely different people out there!”

“Aedithas,” The King placed his hands on the prince’s shoulders. “I picked you because you always dreamed of adventure. I picked you because you know how to take care of yourself. If they do turn out to be troublesome, I know you’ll handle it. In any case, they do not find this agreeable either. I believe they won’t treat you like the ‘wife’ I presented you to be, more like… a liaison or guest.” Aedithas seemed to relax at his father’s words, hands becoming loose. “Although,” The King scratched his chin scruff thoughtfully. “Your decided ‘husband’ would have the duty to oblige you should you feel the need-”

“FATHER!” Aedithas’ face flushed a pale glow as he knocked the King’s other hand off his shoulder and began pushing him towards the door. “Get out!”

Raph ducked behind a curtain just as the door burst open and the King was unceremoniously dumped into the hall. The door slammed shut with a loud bang. After a moment, the King’s footsteps receded down the hall back towards the court being transformed back into a banquet hall. Raph stepped out of the curtain once he assured he was alone and paused. He could understand the desire for a life beyond what someone has, but the uncertainty that comes with it was intimidating. Someone like that might not be so bad to have around. Raph left the hall, rejoining his brothers in the banquet.

Fugitoid settled into the pilot seat of the Ulixes. He peered over the console to look down at the turtles sitting in their own stations. “Role call! Leonardo?” Fugitoid began calling their names. Leo, Donnie, Raph, Mikey, April, and Casey were all accounted for. “Alright! Finally, our new addition, Prince Aedithas!” They looked around but the royal alien was nowhere to be seen. “Your highness?” Fugitoid called, pressing the button for the ship’s comms. 

“One moment.” Aedithas’ voice patched through the speakers. After a minute, the doors to the main bridge opened with a hiss and the prince walked in. He was dressed in a slimming white bodysuit, white hair tied in a messy half ponytail. His skin seemed to glow in the atmosphere. “Present, sirs…,” He paused and glanced at April. “And miss?” He said the word slowly, like it was foreign. “Did I say that right? Sorry, the universal translators don’t have a word for that in my people’s language.”

“You said it just fine, although you can just call me April.” April assured Aedithas with a warm smile.

“Right then! How about a little icebreaker?” Fugitoid cheerily suggested.

Aedithas’ brows quirked in amusement. “Very well. You all may simply call me Aedith or Addie, as my lineage holds no value here. I was… given to you all as a ‘wife,’ which you may decide amongst yourselves to whom. Should none of you claim me as such, I have other services I can provide. I’ve been a reliable ambassador to my people for some time due to my skills in diplomacy. I may also serve in combat, counseling, medicine, engineering and mechanics, or if you so wish it, your silent guide.”

“Can you cook?” Casey asked aloud.

Aedithas’ lip twitched. “Yes… I can… cook.” He smiled optimistically then. “I also know over a billion different poisonous herbs and can locate them throughout the universe.” His smile turned teasingly mischievous. “Not that it has anything to do with cooking.”

“Casey!” April chastised. “Sorry Addie, you don’t have to cook.” She apologized.

“You missed your chance. It’s ‘Mikey Surprise’ here on out.” Casey clicked his tongue. 

“Hey, what does it mean that you’re our wife? Aren’t you a guy? And don’t you want to get to know someone before marrying them?” Mikey asked, genuinely confused. He didn’t want the prince to feel like he’s forced to be with any of them.

“S-sorry, Mikey wasn’t really paying attention to the culture lessons Professor Honeycutt gave us.” Donnie stuttered to excuse his brother’s faux pas. 

Aedithas’ expression remained unbothered, appraising Mikey with a subtle smile. The smile gave Mikey some lightheaded dizziness. “I’m considered a ‘wife’ due to my subsex being the closest thing to a female, and your language doesn’t have a translation for what I am called as a married person. Additionally, it is normal for members of nobility to have arranged marriages for the sake of wealth, power, and status, especially so for the royal family. Luckily, my elder siblings have already procured such things for my family via their own efforts, so I am afforded the luxury to use marriage as an excuse to do what I really want: explore the Universe and unlock its secrets. Who my supposed spouse turns out to be is of no concern to me, I see it as a title and nothing more. Unless one of you is set on courting me, which I doubt considering we’ve hardly had time to get to know each other. That being said, I won’t neglect my spouse should they desire me.” 

Mikey laughed, not quite sure he understood all of Aedithas’ explanation but getting the gist. “So if we decided I was your husband and I wanted a kiss, would you kiss me?” He joked, but the idea brought a little tingling in his stomach. It was strange, he usually didn’t have a problem with jokes.

“Would you like a kiss, Michelangelo?” Aedith smirked gleamingly, challenging the turtle.

“No thanks!” Mikey squeaked and swiveled in his seat to face the bow of Ulixes. 

Satisfied, Aedithas crossed his arms and nodded to Fugitoid. “That icebreaker good enough for you?”

“I believe you’ll be a great asset to our crew, Aedithas.” Fugitoid agreed and turned to the bow. 

Leonardo watched Aedithas in the holodeck, facing off against holographic enemies. Aedithas’ people were steeped in arcane magic and used sorcery regularly. It reminded him of Shinigami, but Aedithas’ magic lacked a certain sinister air that was prevalent in Shinigami. His magic was glimmering and light, airy and left a sweet smell behind. Aedithas was swift, drawing sigils in the air and casting spells like second nature. He kept a distance from the holograms, slowing and trapping ones that got close. He would cast spells that targeted the holograms, the concentrated magic beelining for them and blasting them into pretend smithereens. 

Leonardo wasn’t sure what about Aedithas intrigued him, but the prince seemed to hold a deep spiritual appreciation. That part of the prince was refreshing. Between current events and current company, it was hard to get the time and patience to meditate. Aedithas had a special place he programmed into the holodeck. It was an underground river with a waterfall, illuminated by bioluminescent mushrooms and algae in the water. There were even glowing crystals in the ceiling that looked like a nova of stars. Aedithas gave Leo permission to use the program as an aid to help him meditate. Aedithas didn’t meditate much, rather using the space to sleep when he’s struggling or to calm down if he gets upset. But the prince didn’t mind trying meditating, allowing Leo to guide their sessions.

Aedithas ended the sparring program and faced Leonardo. “Ah, Captain. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting to use the holodeck.” He admitted and gestured for Leo to go ahead and change the program.

“No no, I was just seeing how your sparring was going.” Leo shook his head bashfully. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Well, it was going okay. I think I need a break though.” The prince smiled and pressed some buttons in the holodeck panel. The environment changed to the underground river, the path before them outlined by soft moss. “Care to join me?” Aedithas’ markings were enhanced by the glow around them, making him appear ethereal. His hair looked ghostly. Leo felt his chest tighten.

“Maybe later.” Leo declined. “It’s late, so I’ll be heading to bed.”

Aedithas gave him a blank stare before checking the smartwatch on his wrist. “It’s midday?”

“Er, late in Earth hours!” Leo excused, almost panicking. 

“Ah….” Aedith’s face fell somber. “Right, my mistake. I’ll leave you to your rest then.” The prince began walking down the path towards the river. Leo hesitated, feeling reluctant to leave. Did… Aedith look disappointed just then? Leonardo shook his head clear of his thoughts and left the holodeck.

Chapter Text

Inigo watched as his friend stared drearily into an empty tankard. The mask on the Dragonborn's face was ornate, with embellishing gold vines and leaves. As long as Inigo knew him, Sylannel wore the mask, though for reasons Inigo couldn't imagine. In the beginning, when they reunited, Inigo recognized the mask but asked Sylannel to remove it so he was sure that it was his friend he was about to beg for death. He almost hadn't recognized him. Sylannel's wispy black hair had grown to his shoulder blades, braided out of the way. The breton's pale round and dirty face was scarred where Inigo had shot him, emerald eyes dully staring the khajiit down. 

Many things about Sylannel were different since their days of mercenary work together. They used to drink themselves into a stupor at local taverns, ragaling the patrons with their exploits. Now Sylannel was a much more serious man, rarely smiling save for when he heard a particularly tickling joke or he was cracking a sarcastic remark. The largest change was the indifference to gore and tragedy. By gods, the man was once squeamish around bugs!

Inigo first blamed himself. In a moment of weak judgement and utter betrayal, he had fired the arrow into Sylannel's head. It went through one cheek and out the opposite ear. It didn't kill Sylannel, but the man lost half his hearing and tastebuds. Perhaps he knicked the brain, impacting his friend's mental state. It certainly explained why Sylannel hadn't remembered Inigo and despite Inigo's confession, allowed him to journey with the Dragonborn as a friend once more. Through their travels however, Inigo learned that Sylannel was overall a very sympathetic and merciful man. Sylannel had also developed a very complicated life in their time apart. 

Sylannel became Thane in most holds in Skyrim. Through various trials and service to the people, he had earned the trust of many Jarls. In every hold, he owned a home for the two of them to regain respite, some built by the capable hands of the breton. Sylannel became a vampire, then was cured, both conducted by the ancient vampire Serana. He become something called the "Listener" for the Dark Brotherhood, allowing an insane jester to join their adventures once in a while. Sylannel was a werewolf for some time, which he seemed to enjoy, until curing himself and becoming Harbinger of the Companions. He rose the ranks of the Thieve's Guild, serving as both Guildmaster and a Nightingale. As the personal friend to many a Daedra and Aedra, Sylannel pledged his afterlife to each. The promotion of Archmage of the Winterhold College was simply another notch in his belt. Of course, the title that truly made all others pale in comparison was being the Dragonborn, earned by absorbing the soul of a slain dragon and performing a Shout. Inigo had luckily been there to calm the breton screaming his head off.

"I should end the war." Sylannel muttered into his ale.

Inigo returned his attention to their current place, ears twitching. "Surely, you don't speak of the Civil War?"

Sylannel's eyes slid over to peer at Inigo. "Is there another war I was unaware of?"

"My friend," Inigo began, pleading the breton. "You have already done so much! Have you no time for relaxation? Perhaps just the small excursion into a crypt would be satisfactory, yes?"

"I'm not doing it to prove something." Sylannel tsked, smiling in amusement however. "We need to have a united Skyrim to go after Alduin."

Starstruck, Inigo fell into baffled silence. He had made an oath to Sylannel to die by his side, no matter what. Inigo couldn't decide, however, if it was better to die in a crypt fighting the undead... or against the son of the Divine Akatosh in a blaze of glory, albeit far more agonizing.  Sylannel was a wonder to behold though, and surely one of those myriad of pacts would aid them. Inigo put all his faith in his friend. Faith was important.

"Perhaps we should pick a side then? I personally prefer the Empire, lesser of two evils and all that." Inigo hummed, sipping his Argonian Bloodwine leisurely. Sylannel kept expensive taste, so who was he to refuse indulgence?

"Then we'll talk to General Tulius in Solitude." Sylannel downed the rest of his ale and stood, walking away to retire for the night.

Along their journies, Inigo discovered Sylannel was a hopeless romantic as well as a self-sacrificer. Sylannel had a type: dangerous. Serana was a prime example, being a vampire with a grey moral compass. Brynjolf had become a Nightingale along side Sylannel. Cicero was... well, Inigo couldn't comprehend the allure of a murderous and nutty jester. Though Sylannel wore an amulet of Mara, he never got the proposals he wished for. Inigo once asked why Sylannel didn't settle with someone nice, like Brelyna or Balimund. 

"I have a target on my back as an assassin, thief, Harbinger, Archmage, and Dragonborn. Who would defend my spouse and children while I'm away for weeks at a time?" Sylannel had replied. "I trust only the most capable to ensure I don't suffer the heart break and guilt of losing the ones I love, and gods dammit, none of them even remotely like me in that way!"

Sylannel also keeps journals. He had explained that he didn't want his life to be left to speculation. Entire epics bound in leather would be dedicated to their more spectacular adventures. Sometimes, Sylannel let Inigo read them. They were filled with dated entries consisting of logs and reports, ending in notes of Sylannel's opinions and feelings. Ones that Inigo liked read were the fancies his friend had of adopting unfortunate orphans like Sophie of Windhelm.