Chapter Text
0.
One hundred or some years after the death of Simon Snow
As the Veil thins, fourteen hooded humans gather on Earth with what little remains of magic they’ve found stored in a singular item: a book. Well, a play, actually. Ancient. Leatherbound, of course, and barely held together.
“Not much longer now,” one figure announces when the group reaches their destination.
“Assuming it works.”
“It will work.”
It has to, no one needs to say. After all, they have devoted their lives and a considerable fortune in pursuit of this cause. Increasing the power of magic has always come with a price. One sacrifice in particular hangs over the heads of those gathered.
It is this sacrifice they seek to correct.
One of them mixes blood, ash, dirt, milk and semen, then someone else uses the concoction to mark the ground.
Two hands lay out a blanket over the drawn symbols. Two bodies lie upon it, the book at their feet.
Twelve figures turn to give the two at their centre some privacy. A woman (the woman) giggles.
“You’re not supposed to laugh, Winifred.”
“It’s awkward, Lew! And I’m allowed a moment to consider the complete and utter oddity that is making a baby while your closest friends chant an old poem.”
“A Chosen One,” Lew corrects. “And you chose to consider him with laughter?”
“I’d like to think any son of mine would appreciate the humour. Besides, how else should I react?”
There’s a soft rustle of a body shifting on cotton fibres. “With reverence,” Lew speaks in a soft voice. Winnie sucks in a sharp breath.
Several of the figures in the circle exchange looks, raising eyebrows on flushing faces.
“With care,” Lew whispers.
“Oh.”
Someone clears their throat. “Shall we begin?”
A quick and enthusiastic agreement spreads among those gathered.
(Winnie and Lew continue to make soft pants and kissing sounds, so clearly they’re in favour of moving forward.)
Twelve voices chant words and hope that, with the book and love at the centre of them, their words will become imbued with magic.
Magic that might once again spread to the farthest reaches of their universe.
“ With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls ,” they recite. “ For stony limits cannot hold love out, / And what love can do, that dares love attempt. ”
They repeat their lines.
Winifred and Lew turn the words of love into action.
Again.
And again.
Clouds begin to form, grey and angry. Lightning flashes without travelling to the ground. Several chanters flinch when booms of thunder follow each bolt.
They have to shout to be heard now. Hairs rise over the smooth skin on their arms. There’s no chill at the approaching storm, no influx of moisture that might signal rain. The atmosphere sizzles with energy yet unspent with none of the hallmarks of a normal tempest.
What that energy might bring is anyone’s guess.
What they want it to bring, well…
That’s the gamble.
The sky lights up. Winnie gasps her release and Lew follows shortly. A snap of thunder marks the covenant formed.
Still, their friends chant; words rising above the two bodies still entwined, the bodies standing in protection around them.
The body, now forming inside Winifred, who is meant to carry this burden.
“Lew, I feel–”
But Winifred’s words are cut off by an even louder crack. The Earth’s tumultuous sky rips open; a dragon bursts through torn edges of the atmosphere, flames dripping off its red scales.
The voices cease their chanting.
The storm calms.
“Is that…”
“A sign?”
“It can’t be…”
“I thought dragons were extinct.”
Fourteen faces trace the journey of one glorious dragon, who circles around them three times before settling into the grass off their right. In the sudden absence of chaos, every breath can be heard.
The dragon huffs, stomping its feet on the ground, displeased in some way.
It’s Winifred who infers the reason. “Leave us,” she commands.
Twelve friends obey, crossing through the active wormhole.
Winifred and Lew dress, leaving off their hoods, then strike out towards the dragon.
“Hello, love,” Winifred greets the dragon, one hand outstretched, the other on her belly.
Lew walks beside her, a protective arm wrapped around Winnie’s waist.
The dragon allows Winifred to place her hand on a very old scar then two humans crawl onto the back of this, the last of her kind, and soar off into the rift, towards the unknown.
Towards Forever.