39. Atticus

39

ATTICUS

I sat alone in my room, trying to come up with a way to keep Aria safe. My father’s powers, a puzzle I couldn’t piece together, only added to the fog in my mind.

A light flickered. Not the harsh glare of the midday sun, but something softer, almost living. It grew, spreading through the room, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. The shadows under my control remained still, not reacting to the intrusion.

“Mom?” I could barely get the word out.

There she was, glowing, just as beautiful as the last time I’d seen her so many years ago. Her soothing presence pushed against the ache in my chest, but it tore open old wounds.

“Atticus,” she said, her voice a melody I’d thought I would never hear again.

I stood motionless as love, sorrow, and loss all crashed together, threatening to drag me under.

“I see the burdens you carry, my son.”

I blinked hard against the flood of emotions. Her words were a soft caress to my troubled spirit.

“The road ahead is full of danger,” she continued, “but your heart is strong, a mighty shield. I am so proud of you.”

A lone tear escaped, trailing down my cheek. “Mom, I miss you,” I whispered.

Her eyes shimmered, reflecting an ocean of love and pain. “My dear boy, I miss you more than words can tell. Remember, a piece of me is always with you.”

The air felt heavy with things unsaid and years lost. She looked at me, pride in her gaze. “You’ve become a wonderful man, despite everything, despite him .”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the mention of my father casting dark waves. “It wasn’t your fault. You did what you could.”

“Regret weighs on me. If only I could’ve protected you?—”

“Mom, you did the best you could. I know that.”

Her gaze held mine, unwavering. “Atticus, listen to me. You know the way forward.”

I nodded, my mind racing with the possibilities of where my heart might lead.

“Trust in that,” she said firmly. “Your path... it’s the right one when it safeguards the vulnerable and those you love. That’s the compass you follow.”

“Protecting them is all I want to do.”

“Good.” A soft smile spread on her lips. “Don’t complicate things. Keep it simple. Your heart won’t steer you wrong.”

I absorbed her words. “I won’t forget.”

Just like that, the light that was my mother faded, plunging the room into shadows. She was gone, leaving me with a clear purpose and a heart full of her enduring presence.

I knew the moment Aria stepped into the den and left my room to meet her. Her silver eyes caught mine, and she walked into my open arms.

“I saw my mother,” I whispered against her hair.

“I sensed it,” she said softly. “Your surprise, sadness... longing. Atticus, what can I do?”

“Nothing.” I hugged her tighter. “Just be here with me.”

She nodded but didn’t press further. Aria understood that simply being there for someone was sometimes more powerful than any action.

“Tea?” I asked, needing to do something, anything.

“Please,” she responded with a small smile.

While the water heated, she settled on the couch, the dim light catching her silver hair. Once the tea had steeped long enough, I poured it and handed her a cup. “How’s the manor? With most of the pack there?”

“It was all quiet when I left,” Aria said as she blew on the tea. “But I’m keeping away from the elders, of course.”

Those damn elders always thought they could control everything.

“They’re not happy with what happened. I’ve heard whispers and rumors from the people staying at the manor. I don’t have anything I can confront the elders with, but I’m sure they’re planning something. It makes me sick.”

I bit back a curse. The elders weren’t good news, and now they were making Aria uneasy. I wanted to tear into whoever had put that look on her face.

“Don’t worry about them,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“I know.” She sighed as she leaned her head on my shoulder.

The weight of her calmed me. We sat in silence, just existing together. Moments like these were so rare.

“I have an idea,” I said after a while. “Something to keep those creeps out of your head.”

Aria looked up at me, her face full of questions and a spark of interest. “What do you mean?”

“The mental shields I talked about before,” I explained. I needed to protect her, and when I couldn’t, I could help her protect herself.

She set down her tea, her posture straightening. “Show me.”

I twisted to face her, my mind shifting into instructor mode. “It’s about creating a barrier,” I said. “Not just to protect yourself from outside influences, but to give you space, a sanctuary within your own mind.”

“Like walls?” she asked, trying to grasp the concept.

“Exactly. Walls that no one else can breach without your permission.”

“How do I start?”

“First, you need to visualize your mind as a fortress. It’s yours and yours alone. You decide who gets in and who stays out.”

“Okay.” Aria nodded, determination written on her face.

“Good. Close your eyes,” I instructed. “Focus on the core of who you are, the part of you that’s untouchable.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breathing deepening. I watched her, admiring her strength, her willingness to fight back against whatever threatened her peace of mind.

“Imagine your thoughts, your memories. They’re precious treasures. You wouldn’t just let anyone handle them, would you?”

“No,” she murmured.

“Then don’t. Start building those walls.”

I could almost see her doing it, brick by brick, her inner sanctuary taking shape. She was a quick study. That sick feeling she had about the elders would be a thing of the past once she mastered this.

“Remember, this is your domain. No one else’s. Find our bond,” I told Aria, watching her face for any sign of strain or confusion. “Feel it and let it guide you to your core.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she concentrated, the muscles in her face relaxing as she sought that invisible thread between us. It was something raw and primal, a connection that defied explanation.

“Got it,” she whispered in surprise. I could sense her triumph through our bond.

“Good. Now start building. Create rooms in your mind. They’re for your thoughts, your memories. Keep them safe.”

She nodded, eyes still closed, and I knew she was envisioning her fortress, constructing it thought by thought. It wasn’t long before frustration creased her forehead.

“They keep falling,” she said, her voice laced with fatigue.

“Rebuild them,” I said. “Stronger this time. Use the emotions behind each memory to reinforce them.”

Minutes stretched on, marked by her occasional sighs and the tension in her shoulders. Finally, she leaned back, her face pale.

“Done.”

“Now, make them impenetrable. Imagine something strong, a material or force that nothing can break through.”

“Okay.” Her lips moved silently as she focused.

“Lock those rooms up tight,” I added. It was the most important step. “It’s about control, about asserting your will over your own mind.”

After a moment, she grinned. “There’s a door. A lock.”

“Great work,” I praised her. Praise meant little unless it was earned. Aria had definitely earned it.

“Organize your thoughts and memories. Don’t rush it. This is a lifelong process.”

“Like filing away papers,” she mused, a hint of humor returning to her voice despite the weariness.

“Exactly. Some files are more important than others. Prioritize them. Make sure you can reach them when you need to.”

“Will do,” she responded, opening her eyes. In them, I saw the beginnings of a warrior’s resolve, the kind that would see her through whatever the elders, or anyone else, tried to throw at her.

“Ready for me to try to break through?” I murmured as I reached out with my mind, gently brushing against the barriers Aria had erected.

She shivered slightly, stiffening as she felt the probing.

“Feel me there? In your head?” I asked, keeping my mental touch light, like the brush of a feather.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice small.

“Good. Now, push back. Keep me out.”

Her inner walls quivered under my touch, but she was trying, really trying. The first attempt was feeble, and I slipped through easily.

“Again,” I instructed kindly.

She gritted her teeth, her brow creasing as she concentrated. The second time, her mental walls were stronger, more substantial, but they wavered, faltering under my persistent pressure.

“Concentrate. You can do this,” I coaxed.

Her frustration was an unmistakable crackle of energy. She pushed harder, her mental barriers flexing, but again they buckled. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

“Once more,” I encouraged. “You’ve got this.”

She gathered herself, pulling at every ounce of strength she had left. This time, her resistance was formidable, a true testament to her willpower. Yet, it wasn’t enough. I nudged at her defenses, and they crumbled.

Aria’s shoulders slumped in defeat, her energy spent. The exhaustion rolled off her in waves, her body nearly at its limit. Without a word, I slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. I carried her toward my room, her head resting against my chest, her breathing shallow. She was out cold.

Gently, I laid her down on the bed and stretched out behind her, my body curving protectively around hers, an instinctive need to shield her from the world.

“Rest now,” I whispered, though she was already deep in slumber, oblivious to my words.

The rhythm of her breathing lulled me, the rise and fall of her chest a silent song that echoed the beating of my own heart. There, entwined with the only person who’d managed to breach the walls around my soul, I finally let sleep take me.

I blinked, and the world around me changed. The rugged reality of my rogue life gave way to a landscape soaked in twilight hues. I was dreaming again, the kind where the past clung to every sense, refusing to be forgotten.

“Again?” My word bounced back at me, hollow in the dream’s expanse.

The familiar contours of the pack lands I’d once roamed as a child stretched out before me. It felt distant, like a faded photograph. Shadows grew long and played at my feet, darting around as if they had a will of their own.

“Where are you leading me?” I asked them, half-expecting an answer.

Nothing. Just the soft rustle of leaves and the whisper of wind through the grass. I walked on, my boots crunching over the terrain of memories. Repressed images danced at the edge of my consciousness, teasing, always just out of reach.

“Come on, show me why I’m here,” I muttered, feeling the pull in my gut. An invisible thread, woven by some unseen hand of fate, tugged me forward. I didn’t understand it, but I followed it. I always followed.

“Something buried,” I said, remembering fragments from the waking world. “Something important.”

The glow around me softened, turning everything into shades of silver and blue. It was calm here, serene in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Danger often lurked behind the guise of tranquility.

“Is this what you wanted me to find?” I called out to the dream, to whoever might be listening. “Am I close?”

Only silence greeted me, but it wasn’t empty. It was expectant, filled with anticipation for something only dreams could understand. I pushed on, drawn irresistibly toward a purpose that eluded me.

The air shifted, turning colder. I wasn’t alone. A figure emerged from the shadows, her form hazy but familiar. My mother. She didn’t speak, just nodded. Together, we walked on.

“Where are we going?” I asked in a low murmur.

Instead of answering, she placed a hand on my back, warmth seeping into me. It was enough. I trusted her.

We came to a glen, the rest of the landscape fading as if it never existed. Magic sizzled in the air, vibrating against my skin, speaking in tones only my blood could understand.

“Here,” she said, her whisper echoing off the very leaves.

Here was an unremarkable stone, but the ground beneath it hummed with secrets. I crouched beside the stone, the chill of the ground seeping through my jeans. It was just a rock, mossy and unassuming, but I felt the pulse beneath it.

“Here lies the key.” Her voice was so clear it startled me. “Buried beneath this stone is an artifact of great power, one that can turn the tide against the darkness.”

I glanced at my mother. She looked back with eyes full of stars and secrets.

“You were too young to remember,” she continued, “but we came here together, once. You, my curious little warrior, found it on a day much like this.”

Her words stirred something deep inside me, old memories fluttering like leaves in the wind. My hands moved of their own accord, tracing the contours of the stone.

“I was afraid of its power falling into the wrong hands, so I guided you to bury it here, where only you could find it again.”

I nodded, understanding dawning on me. The stone suddenly felt lighter as I moved it aside, revealing a patch of dark soil. A memory teased me—me as a child, dirt under my nails, giggling uncontrollably. There I was, younger, smaller, with wild hair and a bright-eyed innocence I barely recognized. My mother’s hands covered mine, guiding them to dig a small hole beneath the stone. I watched us work together, a ghost of a time long gone.

We placed a delicately carved artifact within the hole, a relic pulsing with a light that seems to hold the essence of the moon and stars themselves. Its glow intensified when I held it in my palm. It bathed our faces in a soft radiance, shadows dancing around us like silent spectators.

The artifact was simple yet enigmatic, a flat, disc-shaped talisman, carved from moonstone, adorned with symbols that resonated with power. The intricate runes were carved into the stone with such precision that they appeared to float above the surface of the disc. They hummed a melody that matched the thrumming in my blood, a language lost to time but known to my soul.

“Got it,” I murmured, both to my mother and the boy I once was. The dream held me in its grip, refusing to let go until the message was carved into my very bones. I needed to remember, to carry this knowledge back into the waking world.

My mother’s hands left mine, and I felt a pull backward, the dream tugging me away from the memory.

“Remember, my love,” she said, her voice growing weaker. “This artifact is bound to our blood.”

I nodded, trying to keep her words locked inside my head. The twilight dimmed, shadows reaching out to claim what remained of the glow. The glen started to dissolve, signaling the end of the dream.

“It will amplify your strength,” she continued, her figure now just an outline against the receding light. “Its true power lies in unity, in the bond between those who stand against the darkness.”

“Who?” I asked, desperate for more, but she was fading, becoming part of the air itself.

“Find them,” she whispered, her presence nearly gone. “Stand together.”

I reached out to take her hand, but there was nothing to hold on to. The last shred of twilight vanished, and I woke up.