“Help,” Kenan said. Hesitation from the simple word propelled a feeling of surprise. It had been too long since he last heard his voice. It was deeper, felt stronger, and foreign. His mind begged to question but refused on the basis of short time.

Sharp, cold wind squashed pits of fire. Noctis took pockets of devouring flame, and with the precision of mana, smothered them. They worked fast to minimize the aftereffects of his supercharged attack.

Minutes of work went by in silence. Each of the two, Noctis and the bard, let the task become a maneuver for the body to handle while the mind flowed to other prospects “I told you. We weren't done talking.” Jorun said. He too felt the same perplexion. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in months.

Kenan grunted as a large swath of Soulfire dissolved. ‘You could’ve just said hi, Kossuth’s fire. Jorun, I could’ve killed you.”

“And that's why I couldn’t. I’m different now Ken'.” The wind whistled and heat smeared into nothing. “You… Dammit. I don't know. I am going to follow you. Maybe only down this road, or until we take care of the orcs for good. If I hadn’t shown you who I am, you wouldn’t get down from that stupid high horse and let me fight by your side.”

“You leave Jefned out of this.” He mumbled. “What about Hernie? You tell her your decision?”

“First thing Doco had me do.”

“Uncle? He had a hand in this?”

“You mean did he train me? Only a little. Enough to find my stance. Just enough.” With a starkness, Jorun realized his friend had stopped his movement. He looked back to see Kenan still, breath caught and muscles frozen. Whistles of alarms in sharp whisks of wind blared. A gust flew out of the bard and it jostled everything it could touch.

Noctis turned towards the bard and smiled. Information already filled his brain as mentally he fought back the force of joy. A hole had been filled, a need met. Any greeting would come second. A request traveled the lines of an intertwined, metaphysical bond. Affirmation was sent in response.

“What's happening?!” Jorun asked, his dull white bow formed in his hands. He felt a sense of danger that kept pricking at his sixth sense. His mana-powered radar wave picked up nothing besides vegetation and Kenan.

Kenan shrugged. His smile wavered, and his breath caught. The connection went taunt with shared power. His teeth were pushed on, and his fingernails grew at a visible rate. “Picked the wrong packmate,” Noctis grunted out.

The wind screeched, It spiraled and flowed every witch way. Jorun turned frantic with the ferocity of an unyielding storm. He didn’t move but twitched and his sight did not land but continued to redirect. Sense betrayed each other, his eyes told him nothing was there while instincts yelled differently.

He checked on his friend, and a few more moments passed before doing so again. “Kenan!” Parts of Noctis fell, like sliced off with a blade. Once the severed flesh hit the ground it disappeared. That wasn’t right. it dissolved into an inky black puddle that slivered into the forest. One step was taken in the direction that he thought better, and then his hearing told him better.

Growls. Tens, no thousands, no.. air mana swept away an encroaching dark power away from the base of his neck. Jorun turned. Six large wolves bloomed out of the forest. That was a mislead. The shadows of the brush emerged. Jet black coats and looked like they had the consistency of slag. “Pavana's air.” Jorun cursed. “Of course.”

A sharp snap of air sent five of the shadow-born dissipating in the flow. Their substance cracked back to their forms once the wind was snuffed. The second of the left didn’t waver under the gale.

Quick movement sent an arrow penetrating the second wolf. It did not dodge the attack, and its pace left unhindered. The en-shadowed creature parted itself as if liquid. Instincts roared and adrenaline spiked his skin for altered awareness. His hand shifted towards the middle of the bow, its limbs expanded to touch on each side. Jorun turned, in the micro-seconds of chemically enhanced perception, he saw the attack in time and brought his wind shield around to stop it.

From his own shadow, which did not move with him. Protruded half of a wolf that bit down on the edge of his mana-made aegis. Pain exploded on his back. His head turned to see the other six wolves had latched onto himself.

“Winds.” Jorun cursed. The deception was in the perception. Caused in part by his own assumptions and the wolf's trickery.

His dantian inside emptied as the power was rushed to puncture points that covered the bard's back. For a moment blood turned into a gaseous spray as wind erupted. The wolves' jaws were upheaved from his flesh and they were sent away. Mana dulled the pain and started the process of repair.

The bard and the shadowed wolf that ensnared his mana construction shared a look. Comprehension and curiosity. No sense of hostility hid in the black eyes of Jorun’s foe. He felt a slight freeze of hesitation before it was cast off with the understanding of survival. An object that moved so fast it made a crack of air. The previously misused ammunition had circled under the bard's will. The arrow punctured the half-made creature and forced dissipation.

He twisted, and in reaction caught another wolf on his shield. A step and a duck let the dark animal launch away. Another started to pounce before the thin edge of his aegis thudded against its forehead. A spin let the jaws of a third narrowly miss his legs. The wind carried Jorun upward as another two jumped and caught nothing with their claws.

In the air, the shield was launched from the ground to his hand by the force of his nature. Quickly, Jorun placed his mana contraption below his feet. As he reached the zenith of his fall, the wind platform caught him and he stayed afloat.

Jorun stopped and calmed himself. He didn't let his thoughts take back the forefront of his mind but kept the dissociating control of instinct. Soon the shadow-wolves gathered themselves too. They paced below, the snarled and whinnied. Their communication was underlined with a sense of patient hunger. The bard's personal power had been used from both his spar with Kenan and when he began this fight. Now all that was left was sparks left in his weapon and the so far untapped reserves of his affinity.

Control condensed. His conscience expanded as he brought the flows of wind and converged them to a point below. Joruns head-pounded in the threats of mana deprivation and strain. But he continued to guide gales in the direction of convergence. Soon the power was enough to stagger the en-shadowed below.

The concentration was a lot, but he had enough to continue. Jorun crouched, handles on the sides of the platform formed as he reached to grab them. “Kethnya” The bard whispered. He let gravity take hold and fell with its strength. Wind was used to heighten his speed and form a large spike on the bottom.

The wolves saw the attack. But they didn't have the time to prepare or the forethought to understand the mechanisms behind it. Much less predict the absolute cacophonic explosion that the strike entailed.

Sight was dulled, sound hazed, and scent off. Jorun’s magick made dust and dirt fly into the air, causing a homogeneous detritus-filled smog. While the speed of the wind turned its whistle to a constant whirling. Each moment made one line of smell change to another or shift to a different direction. In the combination, it made the en-shadowed bestial senses useless.

Wind moved unpredictably. Strength and direction differentiated from the last gale. Just as an en-shadowed wolf closed in, it was flung away as a fist-sized mana-powered wind gust punched it in the underbelly. It was a hurricane trapped in the confines of a whirlwind. It was deadly. It was powerful, but its true strength was deception.

The bard relished in the sudden mental release. He threw the brief relief away and got to work. He had limited time. From his internal estimation, he had thirty seconds before the power would peter out. It would have been longer if he hadn’t exhausted his dantian reserves in his first bout with Kenan.

As he moved, the wind parted from him and then buffeted his movement from behind. His steps were pressed against hasty mana contraptions. When they were not in use anymore, they would dissipate and join the storm once more.

The first of the wolves got penned in. Each time the bounds were tested, it was punished with a blade of air. As it dodged, it would cross another border, with a similar consequence that waited. Jorun did not know how long the wolf could last in the dance, but he wasn’t willing to find out.

As soon as he closed in, the wolf pivoted and continued the movement from its latest narrow miss. It launched and pounced. Jorun swerved, and a staff formed in his hands as he spun it. Connection sent the en-shadowed flying, it was punched back by a translucent copy of the bard. Jorun held out his staff and thrust. Instead of the creature being bludgeoned back, it was impaled by a freshly made pike head.

Before the body hit the ground, The bard was already off striking down another wolf. By the time Kethnya had reached its last vestiges, Jorun had dispatched all but one of his foes. Halfway through getting to the final target, the wind's nomadic way took over once more and left the area. It caused the bard to stumble with the sudden resistance.

Synapses fired as he brought the staff to bear just in time to catch a snapping wolf's jaw. He could feel it, the formality, and solidness. For the moment, it was the one and only, power consolidated. The shadow that trailed it flickered. It too was at the last of its power.

The bard brought one hand in the direct opposite of his foe's mouth while the other sought its neck. He began to squeeze with the little energy he had left. Then he brought his knee up. “That!” Jorun drove his patella straight into the wolf's side. “Is!” Once more. Something cracked, and he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t his own bones. “Enough!” With a final drive, Jorun pushed his foe away. “Dion! Enough.”