Page 62 of Property of Prophet

Vex nods once.

“They’re human, every one of them. Calix gathers them over decades... centuries, and binds them to himself through a ritual. They don’t lose who they are all at once. It happens slowly, piece by piece, until there’s almost nothing left except his will.”

Lily folds her arms. “So, they’re not possessed?”

“No.” Vex’s answer is immediate. “They choose him.” Nobody says anything for a moment. “At least in the beginning,” he continues. “By the time they understand what they’ve become, the choice has long since been taken away.”

“What has Calix become?” Blade asks.

“Nobody knows exactly what Calix has become. The oldest tests call his kind Reclaimants. They hunt power that’s been cut off from its source. Fallen grace, corrupted light, anything that used to belong to something holy.” His eyes settle on me. “Especially when it’s been broken.” The words land exactly where they’re intended.

“Things like me,” I say.

No one rushes to disagree, Vex least of all.

Instead, he holds my gaze for a long moment before giving the slightest nod. “I think that’s why he came.”

The admission sits heavily in the room.

“I didn’t think he was looking for Alaska,” I reply with a wry smile.

His voice remains calm, matter-of-fact. “I think he was looking for you.”

Flint, who has been silently turning pages throughout the conversation, finally looks up from the ancient text spread across Lily’s table.

“There are only three recorded accounts of a Reclaimant being successfully bound.”

His finger traces a line of faded script before he continues, “All three required the presence of a Living Seal.”

“Tessa or Vex?” Blade asks.

“Possibly.”

Flint turns another page.

“Or the bond itself. Vex and I spent weeks researching the ritual before we freed Tessa from the Khorvath. At the time, we dismissed these passages because they weren’t relevant to what we believed we were facing.” He glances down at the open book. “They appear considerably more relevant now.”

The room falls silent again, everyone absorbing the implications.

The briefing continues for another hour.

Rooster contributes almost nothing to the discussion, and I don’t expect him to. He remains by the window, watching the tree line with the same unwavering focus Scout gives the perimeter. Every so often, he shifts his weight, scans the ridge, then returns to listening without ever taking his eyes off the mountain.

Night comes quickly, the way it always does this deep into January. The last of the daylight doesn’t so much fade as it simply surrenders to the mountains, leaving the cabin surrounded by darkness that feels almost solid.

Blade doesn’t waste time.

The briefing is barely over before he begins issuing quiet instructions, assigning each man a position with the confidence of someone who has led us through more battles than I could count. There’s no discussion or second-guessing. He knows our strengths as well as we know them ourselves, and every assignment makes perfect sense the moment it leaves his mouth.

Scout takes the high ground, his wings giving him an unrivaled view of the clearing, the ridgeline, and every possible approach to the cabin. Ranger shifts back into his wolf before disappearing into the western tree line, where his senses will pick up anything that slips through unseen.

Flint moves east.

He doesn’t remain entirely human, allowing just enough of his dragon form to surface that his size alone becomes a deterrent. Steam rises from his body in slow curls, the snow around him hissing and melting before freezing again as the temperature struggles to decide which force is stronger, the Alaskan winter or the dragon standing in the middle of it.

Blade sends Fury south.

It’s the approach most likely to be used if Calix decides to test our perimeter, and Fury is the one brother capable of turning an entire section of forest into hostile ground. Even in his hellhound form, the heat rolling off him extends well beyond his body, distorting the air in shimmering waves that ripple through the darkness. Before Calix found them, the Devoted were human. Whatever rituals they’ve endured, whatever they have become, they’re still flesh and blood beneath it all.