They sat there for a few minutes while he regained his strength. He'd had a vision, she figured, and remembering it drained him. All she could do was urge him forward and let him lean against her.

"You should've gone with Phee," she panted. "Don't worry, we're almost there. They'll be worried, that's for sure."

"Yeah," Corban said numbly. He hadn't spoken much since his episode.

Thankfully, finally, they reached the threshold that guarded the Hall and Home from view. The stone wall rose twenty feet high, which was no problem for a Sayidat, but not so much the rest of the wingless Phenomenals that dwelled there.

Ebony gates of soulbane iron gave one little to peer at through the bars. The actual Hall and Home was still up a little ways from the gate, hidden by the vibrant gardens with plants of all kinds.

"Dvaar?" Ingrid left Corban to lean on the stone hedge as she pressed her face to the gate. Where was that boy?

"Dvaar," she called again. There was no sign of the kid.

She turned around then nearly jumped out of her skin when the short Indian boy appeared in front of her. The six year old child crossed his arms over his chest, and she knew all too well the nonsense about to follow.

Dvaar was the kind of person that enjoyed rules and embraced strict traditions. Then he tried to enforce this ideas into others even when he had zero authority. And the fact that he believed he was the king over everyone made dealing with Dvaar ten times worse.

Though it was sorta backwards for a six year old child to have a close relationship with rules, but if Ingrid did the math, he was really a couple hundred years old. Only, Meiren was technically a thousand years old, but still liked to act like a toddler.

When she'd told Corban time was much slower in arcs, she'd actually meant much, much, much slower.

"You are late," Dvaar said. His crimson and mustard robe was a size too big for his tiny body, and it trailed behind him on the forest floor.

"We are not," she scoffed. "Just do your job? Why do you have to make things ten times more difficult? We have to go in."

"Oh, Ingrid, my job is very important," the Indian boy said. She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, sure, but can you let us through?"

"I am the Gatekeeper," Dvaar began. "I make sure that no one gets into the Hall that shouldn't be there." He raised an eyebrow at her. "How can I trust you?"

"Um, maybe because I've lived here for a thousand years? Maybe because I've known you for nearly a thousand years?"

He tsked. "Not good enough."

Ingrid mentally skewered him with her staff.

"Hey," Dvaar took notice of Corban for the first time. "Who's this?"

"Corban," the boy smiled weakly. He leaned against the wall with an arm over his hurting chest.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dvaar, the Gatekeeper of the Council, an honored member of--"

"Thanks for the intro, but Lady Ophelia will kill me if this guy's not in there," she interrupted. Dvaar could go completely overkill at times, which reminded her why she flew to the Hall and didn't walk it. He was a royal pain in the ass.

"Why is this boy so important?" Dvaar still carried on. He shrugged. "He seems woefully unimpressive to me."

"What can't you get through your puny little head?" It was all Ingrid could do to not chuck him over his precious gate.

He blinked calmly at her. "Well, it seems to me you can't even get through this gate."

"You stupid, little--"

"Whoa, Ingrid," Corban pulled her back by the shoulders. "Try not to kill anyone," he breathed to her. "Lemme see if I can take care of this."

She watched in fury as the British boy kneeled to one knee so he was eye-level with the amused child.

"Hey, uh, man," he smiled and held an award hand out for Dvaar to shake. The Indian looked at it questioningly.

"I'm not a man," was all he said. Corban frowned. "I don't have time for this. Could you two leave me alone? I do not tolerate those that don't appreciate being on schedule."

"Hold up," Corban said before the Matu boy could turn away. "I must speak with the Council. Really, it's urgent."

Dvaar scoffed. "Alright. What is this so-called urgency all about?"

"Well," Corban shifted uncomfortably, "It's hard to say actually. But it's definitely some world-ending stuff."

Intrigued, Dvaar's coal-black eyes widened. "Yeah?"

On a roll, Corban gave him a solemn nod. "Stuff about the Underworld and stars. All these walls and gates completed destroyed. Everyone just goes where they please. There's no boundaries."

It looked to Ingrid like Dvaar's eyes might pop out of his sockets. She stifled a laugh.

"You're kidding," the boy whispered in shock.

"I'm afraid not," Corban stood and placed his hands on his hips. "Oh, well. I was going to help the Council stop this from happening, but..." he shrugged, "Guess the reign of walls and doors is over. It will be complete chaos."

Dvaar jumped to it not a second sooner. "Not if I can help," he said. He waved a chubby little arm at the threshold. The iron gate dissipated into black smoke like a hazy dream before them. Corban obnoxiously bowed to the little kid.

"Thank you, good sir," he told him. Dvaar returned the gesture.

"Save the gates!" he wailed to them as they entered into the heart of the isle.

Ingrid felt a goofy smile pull at her cheeks. "Wow," she breathed when Dvaar was out of earshot, "Way to play him."

"I didn't," Corban tried to act serious, but his eyes twinkled mischievously. "I do have to talk to the Council. What is Dvaar's Phenomena, anyway?"

"He makes the boundaries," Ingrid shrugged. She didn't really know how to explain his abilities. "He's always been the Gatekeeper here for as long as I can remember. Personally, I think it's a pointless job, besides the fact that it keeps the nut away."

Corban shrugged. "Fair enough."

Then they were overtaken by silence. Enchanted gardens and orchards greeted them long before they made it to the Hall. Aside from the flowers that were always in bloom, palm trees and bamboo grew like second walls around the stone ones. Every fruit imaginable hung from trees, and scarlet and ebony berries starkly contrasted against the emerald shades of their bushes.

Looking up, Ingrid could see the towers of the Hall rise over the vines that created a barrier separating the gardens from everything else. The ebony steeples stretched into white mist that enclosed the Isle in the arc, away from the rest of Time. Perpetual fog always lingered around the Isle as a form of concealment in case someone or something managed to make it through.

"Isn't it amazing?" she asked Corban who brushed his hands on draping palm leaves.

"Yeah," he said lowly. His eyes of jade flickered from sight to sight. She noticed he was putting more weight on his injured ankle.

They left the isolated flower beds and wall of vines and entered the courtyard. Unlike before in the garden, Sayidats and Phenomenals occupied the marble yard of architectural columns and obsidian fountains. Winged women of all ages busied themselves at stone tables, puzzling over maps and ancient scrolls, while the residing Matus were training with all types of weapons, learning to use their Phenomenas.

She waved to Oscar, a seasoned fighter and combat instructor. He nodded his head her way, his dark glasses resting on the bridge of his nose before drawing his attention back to his students.

"This is where you live?"

A bewildered Corban turned in a circle. His mouth gaped as he caught sight of the gothic castle she had grown up in.

Ingrid moved to stand beside Corban. The Hall was a sight to behold. Sable stone rose from the earth in the form of towers and entryways. When looking down from above, a glass dome rose in the center of the castle, which was where the Council held meetings.

A large columned porch held bustling Sayidats, and the grand doors that led into the castle constantly opened and closed as Ladies of Time shuffled in and out. Every Sayidat in existence reported here to the Hall for Council meetings and records of supernatural attacks. The Isle had never been still, for there was always visitors coming and going.

Only a few hundred Sayidats lived in the Hall, which included Ophelia and Lady Imogen. Most Sayidats lived in other arcs and oversaw the lives of Matus and Hiwans.

"My bedroom is somewhere over there," Ingrid pointed to the far right of the castle up several stories, up at the stained glass windows with iron shutters that allowed her to breathe fresh air on her stuffy summer nights.

"Where will I stay?" Corban asked. She shrugged.

"I dunno, probably with the other Matus," and she directed his attention to a separate building with the same style of the Hall, but it was smaller and had no glass domes or towers that scraped at the sky.

She eyed him. He was acting normal, which she couldn't say had been so when they were in the woods. "Do you remember your dream now?"

He shook his head. "It's gone."

Ingrid sucked in a breath as they maneuvered through the traffic of Sayidats and Phenomenals towards the Hall. Ophelia waited for them at the iron doors. She fidgeted with her shirt nervously. Ingrid could only wonder why.

"Took you long enough," she said with a tight-lipped smile. She ushered them inside, a hand behind Corban's back, guiding the boy like she thought he was as fragile as china. The dark foyer greeted them, lit only by antique lamps that hung on the ebony walls. It gave the place a medieval look, though Ingrid knew it was all for show. In reality, they had light bulbs snd AC systems and modern-day sinks and freezers and showers and bathtubs. Not to mention smart TVs guaranteed to make any binge-watcher jealous. They weren't savages, after all.

Open stair cases circled up above to the multiple levels of the castle. The foyer, like the dome that connected to it, had a glass ceiling that let in the rays of sunlight that broke through the island's enchanted mist.

Sayidats were not tethered to the stairs as the wingless Matus, and the silhouettes of the Ladies of Time hovered down to the floor. Some flew upward, others downward with no need of stairs. Ingrid received small acknowledgments from older, mature Sayidats, like a head nod or smile. Ophelia had a lot of influence in the Council as a high-ranking officer, and Ingrid being her trainee definitely made some heads turn.

Today, however, was different. Today, many eyes were on the boy that was being escorted into the center of the Hall. Maybe it was his tattered clothes and the multiple bandages that covered his body as he limped between Ingrid and Ophelia that made them glance his way.

Or maybe it was because they knew. Maybe they had been alerted that he was some prophesied figure.

Again, Phee's vagueness on the subject of the Prophecy made Ingrid's head churn with unending questions. She brushed the thoughts away as they entered the Dome, where Sayidats disappeared into every so often for periodic meetings. Meetings she wasn't permitted to attend.

But the Dome was empty now. The three-hundred-sixty degree room had an Ivy League college lecture hall type of set up with leveled chairs that rose to the Dome's glass ceiling and a single table in the middle. The wide and vacant room echoed at the sound of their shoes clicking on the tiled floor as they stalked towards an older man who hunched over some papers on the desk in the center of the Hall.

"Lady Ophelia," the man called after looking up from his work. He was tall and lean, and muscles tensioned under the lavender and black robe he wore as he stood to greet them. The crest of the Council was sewed in silver thread upon his left breast, over his heart المجلس.

'The Council' in Arabic.

Salt and pepper hair was neatly combed away from his face, and his beard had been cleanly shaven in the style he liked it. Grey eyes twinkled at the three of them, and the infinite wrinkles on his weathered face creased as he gave them a smile.

He seemed like a normal fifty year old man, exceptionally fit for that age, otherwise normal but Ingrid knew in reality he was at least a millennia old. She didn't know much about his past, for the topic was taboo in the minds of other Sayidats. Maybe one day she would know why, like maybe one day she would know everything there was to know about the Council and its secrets.

"Why, hello, Ingrid," and his calloused hands shook hers in a firm grip. She was surprised he knew her name. "The last time I saw you, why, you were yea high." He held his hand at the level of his waist and deeply chuckled. Ingrid politely smiled. It's been a while since the man had visited the Hall. Once again, she figured it was because of the Prophecy, or war, or the increase in disappearing Sayidats. It was not often he left his home hidden in the clouds.

"And this must be the one." The man put a fatherly hand on Corban's shoulder, whose expression was impassive at the moment. "Ophelia has said many things about you, my son."

Corban's eyes shifted to Ingrid knowingly, though she knew not why. She furrowed her brows at him in question, but was her look was too late as the boy turned away from her and back to the older man.