Shattered Bonds and a Brother's Plea

The December air bit through my jacket as I trudged across the muddy field, carrying a backpack full of supplies. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the ground treacherously slick. My boots sank into the muck with each step, making the journey twice as difficult.

But that was nothing compared to what Jaxon was doing.

I spotted him in the distance, standing in the center of the field with his arms outstretched. Two other Greys flanked him, their postures rigid with concentration. The air around them shimmered and warped, evidence of their attempt to maintain the void opening.

Even from here, I could see Jaxon was running on fumes. His normally imposing figure looked unsteady, swaying slightly as he poured his power into the void. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his tattoos stood out starkly against his too-pale skin.

"Fuck this," I muttered, quickening my pace.