Date not specified: The Pacific Isle

Eighty miles off the coast of Southern CA

Midday, exact time not specified

They arrived on the bone-white sand with a wall of pine trees with crimson bark and large branches of emerald needles that hung low to the ground at their front, cutting off the beach from the forest. From behind, sea green waves crashed on the shore. Mossy cliffs rose from the right, the tops hidden by mist. Ingrid inhaled the familiar aroma of the ocean mixed with sweet pine.

They were home.

She looked to Corban to see how he was taking in the painstakingly beautiful view. Only, he wasn't. The poor kid was crouched on his hands and knees in the sand, puking his guts out.

"See?" Meiren came down from where she was soaring high above them. "Like your insides are being shredded."

Ingrid waited for him to finish. "Are you good?" she asked him. Corban shakily brought himself to a standing position. Freckles stood out against his white skin, which grew to be even paler.

"Ugh..." was all he could muster. Ingrid took him by the arm and brought him to where waves lapped the alabaster shore. She eased him down so he could splash saltwater over his face.

"Thank you," Corban breathed heavily. He sat in the wet sand and let seawater soak into his jeans. "Lemme...lemme just sit here for a second."

She nodded, and turned to see Ophelia came their way. Her mentor gazed in concern at the boy.

"Is he alright?" she asked her.

Ingrid recalled how Phee reacted when she had told her Corban claimed a dream said he was 'the omen.' It had made her more careful about them watching the kid, as if he were some fountain of youth.

"Keep your eye on him, Ingrid," she'd told her outside the terminal, her ebony face etched with worry. "He could be a sign."

"A sign?"

"The prophecy speaks of an Omen," Phee had grabbed her shoulders, and bent her knees so she was eye to eye with Ingrid. "Don't let anything happen to him, okay? He's important. The Council will need to see him." Trusting amber eyes pleaded for Ingrid to obey.

"Of course," she'd reassured her predecessor.

Ophelia gave her the same look now. Ingrid lifted her face into a small smile. "He's a little sick."

"I...I'm feeling better now." Ingrid helped Corban back to his feet. A smug Meiren landed a few feet away. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at her, shaking her head. If the kid said another word about Corban's traveling nausea, she was so dead.

"Here," Ophelia held a single pill in her palm.

"What is this?" Corban asked and he inspected the medicine, still clutching onto ingrid for support. "Some sorta potion that can ease time-travel sickness?"

"No, it's just an aspirin."

Corban gratefully dry-swallowed the pill, and after awhile, said he could stand on his own.

"This the place?" he asked her. Ingrid shook her head.

"It's about a mile's walk to the Hall from here," Meiren told him. She held her hands around her eyes as make-shift binoculars. "Takes half a minute to get there from the sky."

He furrowed his eyes. "The Hall?"

"Where the Council meets," the younger girl explained. She hovered a few feet above the sand. "It's in the middle of this huge castle--"

"Let's have Corban see it for himself," Ophelia smiled at Meiren. She placed two motherly hands on the girl's shoulders and eased her to the ground. Then to Corban, "The path is flat, but I can carry you if you can't wa--"

"--I'll be alright," he assured her. "My ankle doesn't hurt too bad right now."

"I'll go with him," Ingrid butt in when she saw the panicked look Ophelia tried to hide. Whatever the prophecy meant about an Omen made her uneasy.

"Okay," she said lowly, "But be careful." She looked especially at Ingrid, who returned the gaze with a silent 'I'll keep him safe.'

"There's no shadows or walkers here, Phee," Meiren giggled at their teacher. She was oblivious as to what Ophelia referred to.

"Yes, of course," and the Sayidat's carefree smile soon returned. Meiren shot upward before yelling down at them.

"Race ya!"

They watched in amusement as charcoal grey wings lifted her far above the island and she disappeared over the treetops. Ophelia gave them a knowing glance.

"Guess I'd better catch up with her," the woman mumbled, and she furiously beat her dark wings as they lifted her into the air. Corban kept his head tilted up as he watched her black silhouette fade away.

"Amazing," she heard him murmur. His perpetual bewilderment with the Sayidats amused her.

"Shall we go?" Ingrid gestured at the forest that rose like a fortress and hid the heart of the isle from view.

He breathed and a strand of ginger hair fell into his face. "I guess we'd better get a move on if we want to beat Meiren," Corban joked. He gave her a warm smile, which she thought was pretty brave of him considering all the pain he was in.

They left the beach and ocean behind and entered the cool shade the canopy of pine trees granted them. Ingrid watched the British teenager smugly as he limped wide-eyed at the massive redwood oaks that were thicker than the two of them combined.

Nostalgia washed upon Ingrid as she helped Corban along the worn path of pine needles. She knew the forest like the back of her hand. She'd spent a thousand ageless years running under its branches and climbing up its red bark and learning to fly by jumping from tree to tree. Her best memories were of the island's natural beauty. Sometimes, she and Meiren and a few other Matus would spend the night under the stars on the ancient rocks that sat atop the cliffs to the west of the isle.

But those had been simpler times. Now she was lucky if they stayed at the Pacific Isle for a couple of months. Ophelia had them on the move ever since Underworldian attacks became more frequent and Sayidats began to disappear without a trace.

That was always something in the back of her mind; Ladies of Time began to not return from their voyages in history a couple hundred years ago. No one knew why, but it had put the Phenomenals into a panic, with journeys into the human world limited to a full mortal year. If a Sayidat didn't return in that time, the Council assumed they were dead.

They'd been away for six months, in Europe for two, South Africa for one, and Russia a whole whopping three. And the secrets and questions only rose steadier during that time.

While the Prophecy of the Fallen Star was a huge Council secrecy, so was the matter of war. Ingrid had collected from Ophelia's vague explanations that Chaos stirred in Downside. If it became too strong, undead creatures would make the earth churn with their power. The Phenomenals would be forced to go into a war for the existence of the mortal and undying worlds.

"Ingrid? Ingrid?"

Ingrid flinched as Corban waved a hand in front of her face. "You okay?" he asked.

"Just thinking," she said.

"I haven't gotten the chance to tell you about my entire dream."

She stiffened. His dream where'd he'd told her he was the omen. His dream that put Ophelia further over the edge than before. And that had been only one part of it. One word.

"Do I want to hear it?" Ingrid sighed.

"It comes and goes," he admitted. "It's like I can only remember it sometimes."

"And now's one of those times?"

He nodded.

"Okay. Shoot."

Corban ran a shaky hand through his hair. They ducked under a low hanging branch and the boy began his tale.

"I heard a voice," he said, "I dunno, like an old man or something. It sounded like a blend of people, but they had the same voice and spoke in perfect unison. And then there was these...images."

"Of what?"

"Uh..." he closed his eyes in thought. Deep lines etched his forehead. "There was a boy. A boy with black hair and blue eyes that had little specks of white in them. Kinda like stars against the sky. And pink lips, like a rose, and freckled skin. And he was our age, maybe younger. I dunno, his face was confusing."

That was an odd way to describe someone's face as 'confusing,' but she didn't question it. He went on.

"His arms and chest were covered in tattoos...black ink on one side and white ink on the other."

"What were they of?" she stopped him, intrigued.

"Um...I can't remember," and his eyes widened. "It's fading."

"Just, quick, describe the rest."

"There was burning. The whole world was burning. Bodies, smoky, black bodies..." he began to shake under her grip, experiencing some kind of panic attack.

She moved him to the side of the path and let him slouch against the base of a tree. Ingrid put a hand to his burning forehead, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His pulse quickened beneath his skin.

"Shh," she soothed, "calm down."

He breathed heavily for a few minutes, then rested his head against her shoulder. "The voice...it mentioned the Council, and a Harbinger, I think. Then it kept saying something about a Star, but I don't remember what.

"There was more, I know, much more. It's not good, Ingrid."

She didn't know what to say. Everything he'd said was beyond her understanding. "The Council will help you," she reassured him. I hope.