Falling Skies

Fourty Six

Thunder rings through the morning air, the crash of rolling storms and racket of lightning striking towards the Earth. The sound carries through the bedroom where the two boys lay, December sitting up with a start as the thunder cracks once more.

"Wren..." His voice is caked with sleep, tired yawn escaping thick lips as he shakes the small boy awake.

He seems so at peace, the way his eyes dance beneath his closed lids, the soft rise and fall of his chest and the gentle snores that escape him. It almost seems a crime to wake him, to disturb the smallest slice of happiness he's seemed to be able to grasp these past few days.

December shakes the boy again, pulling away his red quilts as another crack of thunder slices through the air. It only takes one more shake until the fae is awake, eyes wide as he stares into December knelt over him. He doesn't speak, eyes squinting at the light of the morning before sitting up, fingers digging into the quilts beside him. There's something in his features, December notes, that screams of unease. The way his nose scrunches and fingers dig into the bed as if focusing on the thunder, on the strikes of lightning that crash just outside the colossal windows.

December let's out a small chuckle, placing a hand on Wren's shoulder to still his nerves. "It's just thunder, it's alright." He reassures him yet the expression never fades, Wren standing from the bed and throwing on his robes in one swift move.

"December, get dressed." The demand is harsh, unforgiving as he throws the clothing in December's arms. "Now!"

Wren's demeanor has shifted, every muscle in his body tense, eyes wild and lips a hard line. There's a stress that radiates off him, his fingers drawing to his lips just as Sasha does, body jumping at an oncoming roar of thunder.

"It's just thunder I don't-"

"This isn't thunder!" The crack of his fist slamming onto his dresser forces December to still, a slight fear washing over him with Wren's newfound strength. "This is not thunder, December, there is no scent of rain, no pressure in the air and the flowers are still open. This is an attack on my kingdom."

Haven is here...

There's no time for overthinking, for over analyzing the situation to figure out what he should do. Rather December pulls the shirt over him with a newfound quickness, body flying from the bed and following Wren down a spiraling stone staircase.

Bodies rush by, black veils and suits morphing into shadows as he rushes down the staircase and into the grand room. It's wrecked with havoc, furniture overturned and workers scrambling from room to room with every crack of thunder, of gunpowder, that whips through the air. The sound looms over them, ominous and unforgiving with each crack of the whip, each pull of a trigger that taunts them with its presence.

"Wren!"

The voice cuts through the crowd, silver hair swimming through a sea of black as Sasha finds his way to the stone staircase. His face is flustered, hair tussled with sleep and clothes in disarray as he block the staircase with his body. He's clearly out of breath as he gasps for air, a pain in his eyes he can't form into words as he pulls Wren into his embrace.

"Please do not do anything stupid." The man begs, hands wildly petting down white curls before drawing the boy away until he's square ahead of him. His eyes soften if only for a moment, thin hands cupping Wren's face as he delivers a kiss to his forehead with a broken smile. "I will see you on the other side of this."

Wren holds his hand against his uncle's cupped around his cheek, head tilting into his embrace as he shuts his eyes against the chaos surrounding them. "I promise to you that you will." With a heavy sigh he removes their intertwined hands, eyes burdened with unspoken agony as he pulls from his touch.