Page 59 of Upon Shattered Bonds

The flame began to thrash against his own internal shields. Invasive, it’d gradually eat away at his own mind if it wasn’t directed into action. Instead of willing it to smolder and thereby squandering the energy therein, he dropped the personal boundaries between his mind and his clansmen. Immediately, the mental flames charged down every unique link tied to him.

When the intangible plasma touched a mind rooted firmly in the network, it had the opposite effect. Instead of burning, it energized. Like his own fate-given gift, it amplified.

As soon as the energy encountered the minds of his clansmen, they collectively jolted, spiking toward a boon incomparable to any other effect. His strength became theirs.

The fire, having spread through over four hundred unique links, evaporated within seconds.

Suddenly groggy, Zeke mentally shook himself. A colossal drain of energy, manifesting the fire required exponential amounts of psychic strength. Expelling it into his charges, though exceptionally beneficial for them, left him with a hemorrhaging psychic wound akin to a burst dam. Essentially leaking raw power, the faltering shields caused disorientation and extreme fatigue.

Returning to his physical form, his body began to collapse under the strain. Eyelids fluttering shut with a bone-deep weariness, he expected to plunge face-first into the earth. He never met the ground.

Hands caught him before he fell, cinching around his upper body to restrain him. Beside him, Hemin was already removing the bullets that’d lodged across his chest. As with any human weapon, the overall damage would be minimal.

Hands picked up his head from where it’d fallen, chin against his chest. A gentle shake from another, the grip on his shoulders tightening with worry. His lieutenants shared a spike of anxiety at his exhaustion, and Zeke cracked open his eyelids to mollify their fears.

Tzuriel’s eyes were the first thing he attempted to focus on. “What’d I tell you about making s’mores on that mental campfire of yours?”

Overwhelming, the urge to shut his eyes and surrender to sleep was nearly irresistible. Zeke managed to push it away, but only because his cousin slapped him pitilessly on the cheek. His resulting bark of laughter was weary but forgiving.

Zeke’s voice a bit slurred as he said, “Told me—not to burn the—marshmallows.”

His second offered him a smile, but the concern in his face overrode the small gesture. Glancing up at the rest of his cohorts, Tzuriel instructed, “I think we had better get our fearless leader inside.”

Two sets of arms dragged him to his feet while Zeke attempted to focus through the murk of his thoughts. The energy expended with psychic fire left him physically lethargic and psychically sluggish. Only distantly was he aware of his most trusted clansmen hauling him forward and into Tzuriel’s home, which happened to be the closest.

He was only nominally concerned that several voices were competing for his attention, but his concentration was shot. For a man who prided himself on diligence of spirit, the confusion following the dispersal of psychic fire was always distasteful.

Tzuriel moved in and out of his vision. “He’s still not all there. Shoot, I can’t even remember the last time we saw him use flames for a psychic assault.”

Hemin hummed in agreement. “And how could they launch an assault of that magnitude without being closer? I’m certain Zeke scanned the area before dropping the Blunt, and he wouldn’t have done so without confirming there were no hostile minds in the vicinity.”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” Tzuriel sneered.

Eyes glassy, Zeke attempted to concentrate on his cousin’s voice, to latch onto anything solid to pull himself from the stupor. But the world was awash with a blurry haze.

Hemin muttered something in the background, then crouched before Zeke. A hand gripped the back of his neck, and the familiar tang of the healer’s energy flowed into him. Faintly reminding him of sea salt and ocean waves, Hemin’s powerful knack for energy transfer was nearly identical to his own.

At the influx of energy, the murk of his own mind started retreating. Within a minute, his field of vision began to clarify and come into focus.

“Well,” A woman’s voice. Arya. “It certainly narrows down the field of suspects if Zeke had to use that much energy to get them to disengage.”

He heard his own voice say, “There were three.”

“Three?”

Disbelief in Hemin’s tone, a stutter in the healing transfer before it continued unabated. Surprise welled in the lieutenants’ bonds to him, but each emotion that beamed through the links felt like abrasive sandpaper against his already sore psyche.

Given his depleted mental state, he’d been unable to reinforce the shields he’d dropped. Now, every nuance of his clansmen’s emotional states came barreling into his mind unencumbered. Zeke quickly worked to build the barriers once more, scrapping the diminished well of his reservoir for the energy required. Hemin’s continued efforts were aiding the rebuilding process.

“Three unique psychic signatures.” His mind focused a bit as he spoke. “At least one was a sovereign.”

A pregnant pause before Zeke was able to take a deep breath and bring himself fully into the conversation. The last of the fog retreated, leaving him once more able to meet the eyes of his lieutenants.

“One of them was familiar, but I couldn’t place it,” Zeke grimaced. “Didn’t have enough time to dive in.”

“I wonder why.” A smirk flitted over Tzuriel’s lips before disappearing seconds later. “None of ours were hurt in their attack, thanks in large part to the quick response.”

Das nodded, adding, “Unfortunately, we didn’t get time to examine the bodies before they disappeared.”

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