Fractured Minds & Shadelings
The next night, in Marco's private chamber, it was quiet, deliberately so. No one could see, no one could hear. Tiffany moved across the polished floor, her senses stretched toward the chaotic aura radiating from the Alpha before her. She stopped just inside the room, calling softly, "Alpha, may we speak?"
She had come here tonight because she had sensed an enlarging break within him. A division between his heart's desires, his soul's goals, and his werewolves intent. The right was getting more intense and it was pulling her Alpha, and the man she considered a brother, a part.
Marco remained seated, dark power swirling around him like smoke. The Sacred Walls had left their mark; and it was still affecting him, it had marked his soul and poisoned his mind.
Tiffany did not flinch. She had seen power before, yes, but this… this was turmoil, raw and dangerous.
She sensed the Sacred walls and their intent and the clash it was bringing to her Alpha's being.
"You're fighting yourself," she said, voice calm but insistent. "And your mind… your spirit. You cannot keep manipulating yourself this way. You will break. I can see it now, what happens when both Dale and Cabel can see it too?"
Marco's lips tightened. He rose, shoulders broadening, chest puffing as the wolf within threatened to surge. Slowly, deliberately, he let it. His face shifted, snout elongating, fangs glinting, eyes glowing gold. He stepped toward Tiffany, his control strained, his thoughts more instinct than coherent things.
Tiffany held her ground. She did not fear him, he was her brother first, but he was also her strong Alpha. If she was not strong for him when he needed it what type of sister could she really say she was? "Are you willing to confront this in front of others, Alpha?" she asked. "Because this is not strength. This… is insanity."
The words hit him like ice. His wolf lunged instinctively, even as his mind paused. His hands closed around Tiffany's throat. She did not resist. She could have, easily, but she understood. She felt the struggle, the rending of human and wolf, the fractures in his psyche, the tearing of his soul. Her eyes met his, unwavering. "Is this control?" she whispered, unrestrained, unhindered.
For a long heartbeat, the chamber held only tension and breath, Tiffany's feet dangled high above the polished stone. Their eyes locked, saliva slid down his canine and splattered to the floor and still neither of them yielded.
Then, as silently as he had struck, Marco released her, she landed to the stones with a quiet tap, and slight bend to the knees, but other then that she seemed unfazed. Marco took a full step back, their eyes still locked. Without a word, he returned to his seat, his aura still dark, still unstable, but restrained.
Tiffany let her own breath out slowly. The fractures she had seen were deep, but she could work with them. She did not probe, did not push. She began the subtle mending, her hands hovering over the shifting currents of his mind, stabilizing each fragile section as carefully as a healer would tend a broken limb.
Every section she fixed, however, rippled. New cracks appeared elsewhere, and through them, she glimpsed MOAS, fragmented, struggling to hold cohesion as well. Tiffany noted it silently: perhaps I can reach him…
Marco's attention drifted as she worked. He did not speak, did not resist, but his inner turmoil was palpable, ebbing and flowing with the subtle adjustments Tiffany made.
But he sensed a returning wholeness and this calmed him. He relaxed deeper into his seat and allowed her to work.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Tell me about the Shadelings," he said, deflecting from his own torment.
Tiffany paused, reading him, then nodded. "Stien and Cros have been sent to scout," she said carefully. "We are searching for potential recruits. They must show intelligence, free thought, independence… and some affinity for magic. Ariel is training others. We now have two new Shadelings who can lead like Stien and Cros."
She continu3d her work I silence. She repaired much of his mind and moved to his torn and tattered soul. This was the part she had been waiting for. Through here she had a chance to connect with Moas. The work was delicate. Think satiny thread of soul moved before her mental grip slipping and then obeying.
Then a small whisper. 'He fights a losing battle.'
She answered quietly, never pausing her work. 'And why don't you help him. It is your duty.'
'Your loyalty is too deep little one.'
Another satiny sliver of soul wove into place and then another, her concentration never wavering.
'He is my Alpha. I have to be loyal.'
'He is wrong.'
Moas' fury and power slammed against her but Tiffany was powerful and experienced, it did not even cause a drop of sweat to fall from her brow.
More slivers of soul wove in and Tiffany pulled back as she felt Marco regain control.
Marco, never sensing the interaction, felt his mental control settle back into his grasp like a puzzle piece slotting into the perfect spot.
A voice, faint and ethereal, brushed the edges of his consciousness. MOAS spoke, barely more than a soft brush of breath on the skin:
> "It all unravels and begins to slip through your fingers. How will you continue to hold this sand so tight?"
Marco's lips tightened, a flicker of unease passing over him. He looked at Tiffany, saw her steady hand, her calm control, and understood just how much he needed this little one.
Fury bubbled up within him and Tiffany's eyes flicked to his as she continued her work.
He would always trust her, but he felt the resentment rise as he Bagan to hate his dependency.