Cerys stood in the middle of the cracked and shattered road of the motorway, cars piled up with a commotion of sirens and screams all around her. She panted heavily, swallowing her guilt for the harm her impact had caused the innocents caught in the blast, and kept a sharp eye out for any pursuers. As intended, the wave of her magic knocked the Mythics back and bought what she hoped would be enough time for River to get further away from danger.

Before anyone could take notice of her, she spun on her heel and envisioned the end of a cul-de-sac; the mailbox post with silver numbering and the short greystone driveway of a single story, white brick house. A golden light sparked in the middle of the air before her and soon bursted into a glowing distortion, the very home she pictured now rippling within.

She disappeared inside, leaving the chaos of destruction behind.

An eerie quietness welcomed Cerys when she appeared at the edge of the driveway, a stark difference from the noise she left behind. It was almost deafening, her ears ringing to fill in the absence of sound. River’s home had remained exactly as she last saw it, a little over five years ago. The gardens were ever impressive with an assortment of rose bushes and perfectly trimmed hedges, the lawn impossibly green and manicured. No danger lurked nearby, nor a stir from within, the wards unchallenged from any risk Cerys had tensely anticipated.

River had yet to arrive but she knew he wasn’t too far away, especially with the speed of her charmed motorcycle. Part of her clawed anxiously for him, a protective instinct urging her to go to him, but she shook it off. She needed to ensure River’s home was safe. If they found him at his workplace, they had to know where he lived too.

A Protection Ward encased River’s home, lining the very foundation of the house in a barrier to keep any and all danger out. Mythics would struggle to step forth on the land, let alone use their own magic to break through, and a volatile Mundane stood no chance either. The windows, walls, doors—even the roof—were reinforced by the magic of the wards to be impenetrable, ensuring no harm came to the building or its inhabitants.

River was untouchable inside his home and the only Mythic with the ability to enter was Cerys, the creator and power source of the intricately woven Protection Wards. Not even the most powerful Mythic could venture in. Cerys made sure of that.

Yet the biggest fault of a warded house was its immovability. The Everlasting Servants would know where River lived and without a doubt, they’d do anything in their power to capture him before he crossed the threshold. It was precisely why Cerys arrived before River—to ensure no ambush laid in wait for him.

She shifted her dark green eyes from the warded home, safely accounted for, to the neighbouring houses. She anticipated a creeping Mythic or two, lurking in the shadows, and dropped to her knees to press her hand to the ground, sending a silencing spell across the perimeter. One could never be too careful. The last thing she needed was Mundanes rushing out of their homes to bear witness to death and magic, all beyond their closed little minds.

A flash suddenly snapped behind her and in a sharp turn, her blonde hair flicking with the motion, she shot herself up to face what had arrived.

A trio of Mythics stood side by side in the middle of the dead-end road, black cloaks dragged over their faces. The anonymity they all wore grew irksome, Cerys wanting to know which of Morana's servants she would get to destroy. She’d forgive none for their assault on her brother.

Crimson electricity sparked up the trio’s arms in perfect unison and Cerys’ eyes widened, her mouth parting and her muscles twitching into action.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

Lightning struck her from their hands and she seized in agony, teeth gritted and oxygen expelled from her lungs. It knocked her down, electricity surging through her body and paralysing her to the ground. She fought herself to react and willed her magic to take her away, vanishing from the onslaught of lightning. She emerged from a swirl of black fog in the neighbour’s front yard and clutched herself as golden light burst forth from her hands, embracing her in a warm, healing relief.

Quickly, she rolled over and flung herself upwards. Lightning struck once again but failed to reach her, colliding instead with an invisible force shielding Cerys. Her arms were held up before her head in a cross formation, fists clenched tightly with a white glow shining through the fractured cracks in her hands and arms.

Her opponents stepped forth together, all arms extended towards Cerys with red lightning pouring from their crooked fingertips. Cracks splayed across the open palms of the centred Mythic, lightning in the fractured gaps. Weak, Cerys bitterly deducted, and sharply inhaled through her bared teeth. She envisioned a gale, strong enough to uproot trees and destroy houses, and then narrowed her sights on the Mythic in the middle.

Air rushed from Cerys and knocked them all back, ceasing the lightning. It picked up faster, a tornado encasing the middle one and tunnelling them up into the air. The other two scampered to get up and run away but the current caught hold of them and dragged them into the eye of the storm. Wind whipped around the cul-de-sac, trees leaning with a wild rustle of leaves, lawn chairs moving, garden dirt kicking up and small items rolling over and flying.

Yet despite the force of the storm around her, Cerys remained untouched, not a hair out of place; a perfect statue. She watched as the gale carried her assailants high into the sky, taking the winds with it and bringing a peace back to the neighbourhood. The storm above continued until abruptly it stopped. She watched the Mythics fall from their great heights, anticipating their splattered end, until they each vanished into swirls of black.

One by one, they rolled out from puffs of smoke and collapsed on the road before Cerys. She stepped off the kerbside, her heavy footsteps loud in quiet stillness. Only one scampered up to their feet, her hood knocked back to reveal a bald head with bloody tears down her hollowed cheeks.

“Her Excellency summons you!” Spittle flew from the Mythic’s mouth, her mouth snarled up and nostrils flared. She flung her arms out to her sides, hands open with frost forming and lightning sparking from the cracks centred in her palms, eyes wide on Cerys. “And I will deliver you and your wretched brother—”

Cerys clapped her hands together and a burst of magic sent the woman onto her back. She rolled over, fumbling to get up but the road beneath her began to sink, hard concrete turning in soft, wet sand. She snapped her wild dark eyes to Cerys calmly approaching her, stuck like a fly in a trap.

“And how do you plan to do that, hmm? Morana can’t even catch me herself, and you have what…” Cerys used her foot to kick the Mythic’s hand open and stepped on her fingers with the tip of her boot, pushing them into the sinking road. She eyed the scarred marks, light pulsing in the charred, parted flesh. “Really, my ‘wretched’ brother has devoured more magic than you,” Cerys bitterly remarked and then stepped back, hands pocketed into her leather jacket as she set to witness her magic bring her will into reality.

“Stop this!” The Mythic cried out, struggling to pry her submerging hands out from the wet road. Her bloodied eyes remained large and wide, but rage was long gone and replaced with pure fear. “Her Excellency will have you pay!”

Cerys scoffed a laugh and shook her head, very much doubtful of Morana giving the slightest care for the lives of her mindless servants. “Why did she have to send such weak…” Realisation dawned on Cerys, eyes darting to the other two slumped Mythics, unconscious and half-submerged into the quicksand road, and then set her gaze on the only fighter in the trio—stronger, but still so pathetically weak. “Oh, you poor fools. You weren’t meant to capture me, but to send a message, to remind me of who I was, who I’d be without her…”

The bald Mythic wailed, the ground swallowing most of her except for her face. She took her last desperate gasps, not anywhere powerful enough to escape from Cerys’ will. Cerys watched unblinkingly. The other two were swallowed by the road already, gone and trapped beneath the concrete, but the woman remained, slowly descending, terror choking her with the pressure of the road hardening over her body.

She gave a final, desperate cry, “Long live the Immortal Queen!”

Cerys grimaced at the statement with bile rising in her throat. She sharply inhaled as she gathered all her strength and power, her desire a command for her magic, and snapped her fist shut outright before her. With one last gasp, that woman too was swallowed by the ground.

Silence fell upon the neighbourhood once more and the road smoothed out, not even the faintest crack to reveal what Cerys buried beneath it. Her magic lifted and the road returned to its hard, unmalleable asphalt.

She swallowed dryly and then exhaled a breath of relief, closing eyes as she readied herself to feel what she preferred to stuff into the deepest part of her mind, away from the day of light or acknowledgement. Guilt. It laced through her, hot like molten liquid through her limbs.

Yet she regretted nothing, only despised the person within herself who craved the torture and death of those who threatened her and the people she cared for. It rotted deep inside and seeped out the very cracks in her hands and arms, an endless urge for power, one she once indulged in. It was too easy for her to give in and chase the feeling  to wherever it would take her, especially when it resulted in fewer dangers against her family, but…

She opened her eyes to the sound of her motorbike, the cruiser grumbling down the street towards her, presenting its passenger safe and sound, albeit scared shitless.

…But would her brother still love her if he knew of the blood on her hands and the power she obtained from it?