The Blood Wolves | Vol.3, The Eldenarian Artifacts ✓

2.

Had Makaela possessed a real passport, it would've been full of stamps already; six to be exact. The first would've been France, her homeland. She'd been born in a small, Eldair suburb just outside Paris. The second and third would've been Canada—where she grew up with her uncle and cousin—and the United States—the place where her life would change forever.

The fourth was Romania, the location of Thorian's castle. The fifth would've been Gibraltar, the small island which held the world's portal spire.

Her sixth, and most recent, was set to be Brazil. Specifically, the Amazon rainforest.

Nyghtmir had been built deep in the Brazilian jungles sometime around the Portuguese inquisition. The prison was meant to hold all enemies of the Eldenarian Council and general dangers to both magician and Ordinaire communities. Remy, her cousin, once told her it was the scariest place on earth.

She was starting to believe him.

Makaela couldn't help but feel nervous for the entire duration of the plane ride from Europe to South America. The fact that it was her first time on a plane before wasn't helping either.

Following Thorian's meeting in Castle Braexus, Makaela, Amora, and Emile had been sent into one of the hidden villages to seek out a woman who specialized in forging passports, IDs, and any other kind of Ordinaire documentation.

The woman fashioned false documents for all three of them using a combination of traditional means and deception charms. While watching her work, Makaela wondered if Remy knew how to complete the process. Disregarding his immense knowledge of most facets of magic, the boy was a master at deception spells and charms.

If learning forgery was in any guidebook, there was a high chance he knew how to do it.

Once the trio of Shades received their fake passports, they made their way to the main Ordinaire airport in Bucharest. They made it through security without a problem. Their paperwork looked legit enough and the three of them managed to pass for French tourists.

With Amora and Emile's traditional French accents and Makaela's own accent falling somewhere in between Canadian and Parisian, no one suspected a thing.

Makaela was sandwiched in between Emile and Amora, who were posing as her father and adopted sister, respectively. The latter had the aisle seat and was making eyes at a pretty brunette sitting in the row to their right. Emile had the window seat and was staring longingly at the clouds outside.

He had changed since their battle in Thania. They all had.

Emile had always been a quiet somber man. Despite not being able to see people's auras anymore, she could see the sorrow emanating from his body. It was contagious. A sickness. She shifted her position in her seat and looked away from him.

She wasn't sure what had caused his shift in mood over the past few weeks, but she didn't question it. He probably wouldn't have given her a straight answer anyway. She couldn't blame him, though; it wasn't like she wanted to discuss her own feelings either.

"We'll be experiencing some slight turbulence," the flight attendant's airy voice said over the plane's intercom. "Please, remain in your seats and lift your tray tables. Thank you."

Makaela blanched. Her eyes wide, she frantically looked around at everyone in her vicinity. No one was panicking. Why wasn't anyone panicking? Turbulence meant danger. Danger meant death. There was no way she was dying on her first plane ride.

She gripped her armrest, her fingernails digging into the leather. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself for what was to come.

The plane rocked and shuddered as if it had been thrown into a massive dryer. Her breath hitched as her entire body shook in her seat. Her heart threatened to jump out from her ribcage and into her lap.