Chapter 1
Harry fought for breath, lightheaded as he clawed at the hands wrapped around his throat. His professor above him grimaced as Harry’s nails dug furrows into the backs of his hands, but the man didn’t let go.
The pressure in Harry’s chest built and built, lungs burning as he struggled, stars beginning to dance in his vision. The pressure on his throat was bruising but it was nothing compared to the sharp feelings in his chest, like knives jamming between his ribs. Harry arched off the ground, crying out despite himself, the last bit of air in his lungs escaping on a cry of pain.
Quirrell loosened his grip in shock, enough for Harry to suck in another breath, breath enough to scream as his body twisted, the skin on his back ripping, and something bursting out, sore and raw. When Quirrell tried to bear down again, urged on by the furious voice on his head, Harry reared up, fighting back once more - but this time it wasn’t with dull human fingernails. Sharp claws tore into Quirrell, and it was the other man’s turn to scream as the small feral beast set upon him with a growl bursting from its throat.
When Harry came back to himself, he was panting, and gore covered his fingers.
He had enough mind to stumble a few steps away, dropping to his knees and vomiting up what little was in his stomach.
The weight on his back drew his attention and he glanced back to see wings stretching from his back; peach and silver scales shimmering beneath drying blood. A chirp of confusion bubbled up, and the reaction was foreign enough to have him panicking once more.
What was happening to him? What was he? He crawled further away from the body of his once professor, unsure of what had happened to the spirit it had been hosting.
His entire body ached; from the tips of his toes to the dropped peaks of his apparent wings. He’d only just reached the opposite corner when the sound of movement reached his ears, and he spun back, gasping in pain as his sensitive wings hit the wall. Dizziness hit him at the sight before him.
Quirrell’s body was moving.
Despite the fact that Harry knew Quirrell had to be dead; could remember in the haze of pain and panic when his professor’s own panic and fight had slipped away into stillness; somehow his professor was moving again.
Quirrell’s head lifted and the sound of distress that came from Harry’s throat wasn’t something he could control as he pressed himself back against the wall.
It was Voldemort’s face looking back at him, face twisted into a snarl. The corpse, because now Harry understood Quirrell was very much still dead, pushed up into a grotesque version of a crab walk, scuttling towards him, Voldemort’s gaze burning into his own.
The certainty that he was going to die shot through Harry so viscerally that for a moment his vision narrowed and all he could see was the creature he knew would kill him. The feeling bubbled up from his chest again; painful and cracking, and he hunched on instinct, trying to somehow ease the pain. But it wouldn’t ease, and the creature was bearing down on him. The pain pushed its way up to his throat, shards of glass scraping against his already raw throat.
Harry screamed.
>>>
Hadrian twisted to the side, shadows slicing up to cover his back. He launched into the air, flipping over his opponent, shadows following him like a wave. A spear of flames pierced the shadows, but Hadrian was quicker and gave a vicious grin as he threw a dagger through the hole the spear had created, and heard the curse as it landed.
The pain shot through him so suddenly, right from his core, that his eyes unfocused and he barely managed to land in a crouch as he braced on the ground.
It was only the absolute control of his opponent that had the whip of fire yank off course at the last moment, as Hadrian would’ve been hard pressed to block it.
“What’s going on?” The tone was urgent, and Hadrian accepted the help of hands that dragged him to his feet to face one of the few he would actually call a friend. The pain jabbed through his chest again; had Hadrian pressing a palm flat against it, and his companion's hands tighten, tone sure as they answered their own question; “Soulscream.”
Hadrian’s gaze shot up, met the orange of the flickering flames staring resolutely back.
“But I’ve got seals, Zan.” He grimaced at the panic in his own voice; because not only did it mean that the Submissive calling was extremely powerful, but the fact that he wasn't being dragged immediately to the other’s side was damning. Zandian’s grip tightened where he was gripping Hadrian’s shoulders.
“You’re fighting it. Don’t fight it.” Zandian ordered. Then he gasped as a pain lanced through his own chest. Burnished orange met black as Hadrian reached up to brace the same arm holding his shoulder. With his other hand, Hadrian summoned his sword. Whoever was calling was calling both of them, and while it was unexpected, at least Hadrian could be relieved that he would know one person he would be tied to for the rest of his life.
Then he stood straight, focusing on the pain in his chest. Eyes closing, he felt for the edges of that burn; of the pain; and realized the pain was because something was blocking it; the pain was the feeling of something trying to get his attention.
That’s when he heard it. The scream itself.
Eyes flashed open and in tune with each other, both Hadrian and Zandian shifted their stance, back to back and prepared for a fight. The flash of a portal dragged them both from the sparring grounds.
Hadrian tried not to think about what it meant for two Ace’s to be called.
>>>
Wikhn’s brows drew together in a frown as he watched Quinn reach up to rub at his chest for the second time in the last minute. It was nearly evening, and the Healer had been working non-stop since the sun had come up, as he had been doing for the past week - but even still, it was unusual for the other to show exhaustion so openly.
Wikhn had already started to cross the room when Quinn reached his hand up again, and this time Wikhn snagged his wrist out of the air.
Neither of them expected the literal sparks to crackle between them. Quinn flinched back, but Wikhn’s grip only tightened, eyes narrowing on Quinn.
“What is that?” His voice was low, dangerous, but Quinn knew Wikhn well enough to hear the worry.
“Wikhn! What are you-” That was Dahlia’s voice - and a snarl ripped its way from Wikhn’s throat as he shifted, putting himself fully between his training Ace and the healer. Dahlia cut off the moment he moved, even as Wikhn cursed at his own reaction, glaring harder at Quinn.
‘Soul magic.' Even in the letters that appeared in the air between them, Quinn’s panic was apparent, the letters far spikier than normal. Wikhn grunted, releasing Quinn’s wrist but turning so he was facing Dahlia, whole body loosening in a way that spoke of being ready for a fight. Dahlia’s hands immediately went up, a show that she wouldn’t approach, but Wikhn was watching the other Gheyo guards, watching as they edged closer. Wikhn tilted his head, so Quinn would know his words were directed at him, but didn’t take his gaze off his Ace. Or at least the one who had been his Ace.
“No matter what happens, stay behind me.”
He felt more than saw Quinn’s nod, and drew his sword. He directed his next words at Dahlia.
“Soulscream.”
Between one second and the next, he and Quinn disappeared in a flash of light. Wikhn wondered what the chances were of the two Air Gheyo he’d seen grab at their own chests across the hall ending up at the same scream as he did.
>>>
Idan narrowed pale silver eyes at the scene starting across the Healing Hall from where he and Minh had settled. They’d been assigned to the healing hall partially as punishment, when Minh had talked back to the wrong Gheyo at the gate, but Idan didn’t mind working in Healing Halls overly much. As long as the Healers kept to themselves.
For most Gheyo, being assigned to a Healing Hall was an apt punishment, and Idan hadn’t been about to inform them how much Minh loved watching all the drama, especially if it resulted in getting to knock the more stubborn heads together after.
As it was, both Idan and Minh were hanging back as the current drama unfolded - Black Dahlia’s training king grabbing Quinn Kalzik, known not only for his specialty in soul magic, but also renouncing his rank as Alpha. It was Minh’s wince that grabbed Idan’s attention, seconds before he heard the King’s words: soulscream. Then he heard it too.
He and Minh were tugged away the moment after the King and Healer. Idan wondered what kind of Submissive would pull the four of them.
>>>
Charlie cursed as he dodged another spout of flames from the angry Welsh Green. He had no idea why she was angry; she’d been absolutely calm up until about 5 minutes earlier, when she’d suddenly honed in on him and tried to roast him alive.
He cursed again, pulling the broom around and spinning into a corkscrew to avoid the next blast.
He heard the shouts and curses from the ground and those in the air around him even as the shadow fell over him.
Pain lanced through his chest, and for a moment he expected to be yanked off his broom, skewered by claws.
Instead, he realized the pain was coming from inside his chest, not outside, moment before dragon flame surrounded him.
As the broom crumbled to ash beneath him, the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t burning. The second was, as he began to fall through the air and out of the flames, that the pain in his chest hadn’t disappeared, instead was spreading through his body.
The last thing he saw was the dragon, somehow managing to look smug, just before a flash of bright light surrounded him and he was pulled from the air.
>>>
Brishen was cursing even as he woke up for the first time in centuries.
It was also a few years too early.
He couldn’t focus on that; because he didn’t want to think about what it meant that his Submissive had inherited years earlier than he should have. That was something to worry about when he was by his side.
It only took a flick of his wrist for armour to appear in place, and an outstretched palm for a spear to slam into place.
When the scream finally reached him, he was ready.
>>>
Raspen wondered why there always had to be so much paperwork involved in everything. He wasn’t even particularly sure what the paperwork he was reading was about, other than that some noble family didn’t like what another noble family had said, but nowhere did it actually say what was said.
He was just standing from his desk, having decided he needed a break, when the pain hit. Like a blow to the chest, the suddenness of it had him pressing his palms flat to his desk to ground himself and stay on his feet.
One of his guard stepped forward, but he waved them off. He could guess what this was. The pain was the cry of a desperate and powerful Submissive, knocking soundly against his seals. The question was, would he answer?
Raspen didn’t even really have to consider.
Soul screams only happened when a Submissive was in danger - and this was his Submissive. The one handpicked for him by Fate herself. He would not deny them.
Standing straight, he answered the knock against his very soul, and heard the scream.
He stood tall and proud when the portal took him.
>>>
While Riven had no real interest in going back to Nevarah, he knew a summons when he received one. No matter how politely worded, ‘at your earliest convenience’ didn’t actually mean whenever you had time. It meant, ‘Now. Make it convenient’ and though Riven wasn’t one to usually pay much mind to such orders, he wouldn’t mind paying visit to the few on Nevarah he could actually stand. Though he could only easily think of 2 beings. But that was besides the point. What wasn’t beside the point was that he would, in fact, wait until it was convenient for him. After all, there weren’t many capable of what he was, and he wouldn’t put his work at risk for what would likely be a petty request. Or an impossible one.
Riven watched the electrical storm in front of him critically, ready at any moment to tame it once more if it so much as dared flicker a single tendril out of line. He didn’t think that would be the case, as he was certain this storm was winding itself down, but it didn’t hurt to keep watch.
When the scream came, there was no pain to accompany it, but there was a flurry of curses.
Maia Kadel may have warned him of the possibility, although not in so many words. Instead, she’d warned him of too many seals. As the only seal on his person that wasn’t necessary was against soul bonds - well. Let it be known that Riven could read between the lines.
Staff in hand, Riven called a portion of the storm to his fingertips.
One never knew when they’d need a little cover and chaos.
>>>
Neville didn’t think he was a particularly brave person. He didn’t think he was particularly much of anything really, but when he’d been petrified by Hermione, he was ashamed that he didn’t even know how to break the spell without simply waiting for someone to un-petrify him.
What he hadn’t expected was for the moment Hermione and Ron stepped out of the portrait, was for Harry to turn back and crouch by his side.
“Im so sorry about this, Neville.” Harry murmured, all big eyes and concern. Harry glanced back at the portrait before drawing his wand, and a moment later Neville could move again. “I know you think we’re being reckless,” Harry said, his tone so urgent Neville didn’t interrupt. “But we tried to tell a professor, and nobody listened. If we don’t go, nobody will stop him, so I have to try. But it’s going to be dangerous. Get help if you can.” Then Harry stood, giving him a smile. For the first time, Neville realized that Harry was just as scared as he was. It had him nodding.
“I’ll find someone.”
Harry gave a single nod before darting after his friends. Neville didn’t waste any time after that.
Harry was counting on him.
He thought briefly of going to get a professor, but if Harry said they hadn’t listened before, he doubted they’d listen to him. Instead, he headed for the stairs to the third year dorms.
If anyone could get the attention of professors, even if it wasn’t in the most conventional way, it was the twins. Plus, he’d noticed how much they protected Harry, noticed how one of the two was also giving the smaller boy snacks.
Considering Harry was the smallest in their year, he couldn’t blame them. He’d seen Hermione giving him snack bars and such throughout the day too, since Harry never ate enough at meal times.
Neville wouldn’t deny that he was nervous stepping into the third year dorms, especially when, despite the time, two ginger heads immediately swivelled in his direction when he did. He squeaked, nervous, before clearing his throat.
“Harry, Ron, and Hermione - they’ve gone to do something they shouldn’t. Harry said there was trouble and the professors wouldn’t listen.”
There was a moment where neither twin moved, staring at Neville with a look that had him wanting to retreat. Then - don’t blink or you’d miss it - a loaded look passed between the twins before one of them was on their feet, strolling towards Neville while the other rummaged in the desk for something.
“Good lad, Neville, knowing just who to come too.” This twin’s smile was too big and too bright, but Neville didn’t call him on it. Instead, when the gentle arm wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him into a firm but kind embrace, Neville found himself finally relaxing. “You did good, Nev.” The twin holding him said, and Neville nodded and ducked his head, more to hide the tears in his eyes than anything else. Nobody except professor Sprout ever told him he did well at anything.
In ducking his head, he missed the next exchange between the twins, a look that had Fred holding Neville more firmly, George’s gaze wary and concerned as he regarded the first year from the desk. They both nodded at the same time, resolved to make time for this problem later, because it was clearly a problem. But for now, they needed to help Ron, Harry and Hermione.
Neville jumped in surprise when a hand landed on his head, and blinked his tears away as he looked up to see the other twin standing in front of him.
“You did the right thing, Neville.” The second twin told him, and unlike his twin’s nearly manic grin, his smile was grim. “Do you trust us to take care of it?”
He wanted to nod immediately, but something about the way both twins were looking at him, something about how they were holding on to him had him actually pausing to think, because he could tell now that whatever he said would matter to them. When he finally voiced his thoughts, it was hesitant and choppy, but he didn’t stutter.
“I think - I think Harry trusts you. and Ron. I don’t - I don’t actually know what you can do, but I know you’ll do something even if it gets you in heaps of trouble.” The hand on his head ruffled his hair, and he noticed now there was a scar just inside the elbow of the twin who’s hand was in his hair. If he could get their names, he would be able to separate them from now on. After all, it shamed him a bit that they were practically the first he’d thought of to help, but that he couldn’t even tell them apart. He ducked his head, looking at his feet, and tried to gather more courage.
“Um, George?” He asked, hesitantly, and when the twin in front of him hummed he looked up again. So this was George. He wouldn’t forget. “What are you going to do?”
It was Fred’s arm squeezing his shoulders that got his attention, and he looked over at Fred.
“We’re going to make so much noise that nobody can stay in bed.” Fred informed him, and George nodded.
“Now you need to get back to bed. And no matter what, you stay there. When everything’s over, either Ron and Harry will be back in their dorm, or,”
“Or, we’ll come and get you.”
Neville started at the promise, glancing back and forth between them.
“But - but I - I’m fine!”
The manic edge came back to Fred’s grin, and George’s expression turned into a frown. After a moment that felt so long it had Neville fidgeting, George spoke.
“Are you?”
Neville’s throat went tight with tears and he looked down again, cheeks burning with embarrassment and eyes burning with tears.
“I - I-” He tried to say, but his hair was ruffled again, and he was guided towards the door.
“Go to bed for now. If the boys aren’t back in their bed after whatever’s going on, we’ll come and get you.” Fred informed him, tone brooking no argument.
“What if you don’t?” Neville blurted out, and then immediately pulled away from both of them, nervous and embarrassed. Side by side, there was something very intimidating about the twins as they regarded him, even though they were only 13.
“Someone will.” George said then. “Okay? Someone will come.”
Neville scrubbed a hand over his eyes before he nodded, because he believed them. Just like he’d believed Harry earlier.
When it was clear he wasn’t going to argue, the twins started off.
“Pack your things, Neville.”
>>>
They’d only just finished setting up their prank in the great hall when the pain hit them both, and when George staggered, Fred was immediately by his side.
“Looks like we’re out of time.” George grimaced, but Fred shook his head.
“Not a chance, Georgie.” With a flick of his wand, the fire was lit, and they watched the fire crackers begin to go off, the boom getting louder, and louder, and louder, until the whole hall shook with it.
When the doors to the great hall burst open, professors streaming in, they had time to give savage grins before the light took them away.
>>>
Ethan’s wings itched to be free, and Ethan shrugged his shoulders to try and alleviate the discomfort. Even though the study halls were wide enough here for wings, Ethan had still always found it a little confining, and had to keep his wings close to his body in order to feel like he wasn’t getting in anyone’s way.
He liked his wings, liked being able to have them out because they always felt tight and uncomfortable under his skin, but they were large, even for his rank.
He shifted again before sighing and starting to clean up, resigned that he wouldn’t get anymore work done today.
When the scream reached his ears his wings burst out despite himself, and he couldn’t even feel horror as scrolls dropped from his grip to the floor. Instead, he crouched low, and let the portal take him.
>>>
Devrim was in a portal between realms when the scream reached him. It was a blow to the chest and had him coughing on magic that tasted of panic, loneliness, and hopelessness. His own portal collapsed, and for a moment he wondered if he’d be lost in the void between realms; and then the portal for the scream dragged him out of the empty darkness.
>>>
Alec was standing in the courts, arms crossed over his chest, and bored out of his mind. These nobles would argue in circles, but none of them seemed to realize that Alcandor had never bent to their will before, and certainly wouldn’t start now. It made Alec wonder why Alcandor even let them go on like this at all. Despite having only recently become king, Alcandor ruled with a firm hand, and he certainly didn’t let anyone forget it.
When he looked up, he caught the very subject of his thoughts looking at him, amusement clear in the twist of his mouth and sparkle in his eyes. Alec barely resisted the urge to hiss.
Bastard. He was doing it on purpose to be annoying.
When Alcandor’s amused gaze turned to a frown, his gaze dropping to Alec’s chest, Alec’s gaze immediately followed it, and found his hand rubbing at his sternum. His gaze shot back to Alcandor’s, who nodded before standing.
“Meeting adjourned.” He announced, and ignored the sputtering around him. “Out.” The word was so sharp that nobody thought to argue - immediately clearing the room. The pain started to filter in now, as he resisted, though barely, and Alec grimaced.
“Soulscream?”
Alec nodded.
“Follow it.”
“But what if-”
“It doesn’t matter. Would you deny an immortal?”
“Do you want to potentially be tied to the fire courts through a circle?”
Alcandor grimaced, but shook his head.
“Go to your Submissive, Alec.”
The moment Alec stopped fighting it, the portal grabbed him. Alcandor immediately turned to his guard.
“I want at least 3 members of Crimson Tide following my little cousin. Now.”