"So, they're not dangerous, Killian?"

  "Not to us. But you wouldn't want to be a small rodent or a bird near one. They're natural hunters, pretty good at it too. And they're solitary, so this little guy is probably just doing his own thing, exploring, hunting."

  She nodded. "Perhaps this one is a forest guardian or something."

  "Indeed, we are the intruders here, Ivy. These animals are native to this land. This, along with everything else we've seen, makes me believe we have traveled back in time to the ancient Celtic world."

  Ivy's gaze followed the pine marten as it disappeared into the foliage. "But why? What connection does this time have to us, and to Ciaran?"

  Killian looked at her. "There is only one way to find out - we must keep moving."

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a rustling in the bushes nearby. Ivy and Killian instinctively braced themselves, ready for whatever might emerge.

  But instead of a threat, out came a small dog, its eyes bright and intelligent.

  It stopped in its tracks, looking at Ivy and Killian with a curious tilt of its head.

  The dog was medium-sized, with a thick, shaggy coat of a deep russet color that seemed to shimmer with hints of gold in the twilight. Its eyes were a piercing green, exuding an almost mystical quality. The dog's build was sturdy, and it carried itself with a dignified air, its tail curled over its back.

  "That's a Celtic Hound," Killian noted, his voice tinged with awe. "They were revered in Celtic mythology, known for their loyalty and seen as guardians between worlds."

  The dog regarded them with an intelligent gaze, then gave a soft bark as if to confirm Killian's words. It trotted a few steps forward, then paused, looking back at them expectantly.

  Ivy reached out tentatively, her hand hovering just above the dog's fur. "It's like it's guiding us. Do you think it knows something about why we're here?"

  Killian watched the dog closely. "Celtic Hounds were said to have a connection to the spiritual world. It's possible this one is here to lead us to something important."

  The dog began to walk, and the cat Samba followed as if they had been friends for years. "You're a traitor!" muttered Ivy, hurrying after them.

  Killian walked by her side, ready to pounce if the animals veered off course. Ivy sighed. Killian tended to forget that she was hired as his bodyguard when they first met.

  As they walked, the forest seemed to come alive around them, the air thick with ancient whispers and the scent of untamed nature.

  The path wound deeper into the forest, the standing stones they passed now bathed in a soft, otherworldly glow.

  It was as if they were walking through a story from a long-forgotten time.

  As they continued, the landscape began to change, the forest giving way to a clearing where the moonlight illuminated an old stone structure that seemed to pulse with an ancient power.

  "We're definitely not in our world anymore," Ivy murmured, her gaze fixed on the structure ahead.

  The Celtic Hound led them confidently towards the structure, its tail wagging gently. As they approached, the sense of stepping into another era became overwhelming, the whispers of the past echoing around them.

  ***

  "I have an idea," Killian said, coming to a stop.

  "I can't recall any good results whenever you say that in dire situations, Killian."

  He pulled out his cell phone.

  "Are you trying to call Ciaran's cell phone while we're stuck in ancient Celtic world, Killian?"

  Killian shook his head. "I know we can't. But Ciaran and I were testing a new application on our private communication network. It's not fully completed yet. We can't make calls, but the tracking function should still work. I hope." He furiously tapped at his phone.

  "It works," he muttered triumphantly.

  "So, can it tell us if Ciaran is okay? Does he know we're tracking him? Can he respond?"

  "One question at a time, Ivy," Killian replied, his eyes glued to the pulsing orange dot on his phone screen.

  Meanwhile, Ivy noticed a small stone at her feet begin to glow with warmth. She reached down and picked it up, feeling its energy radiating through her body. It was as if the stone was trying to communicate with her in some way.

  She slid it into her pocket, feeling the warmth slowly dissipate.

  "Wait!" Killian's hand shot up, urging her to look at the screen. The dot was turning green.

  "It's tracking. No images, no voice, but the signal is live."

  Ivy wasn't sure if he was talking to her or himself. "What about text?" she asked.

  "Of course, we can try text." He whispered as if speaking louder would make the signal disappear. He typed into a small window on the screen.

  Your location Ciaran?

  We were pulled through a portal.

  Ivy and Killian in ancient Celtic.

  Nina and Damien's location unknown.

  The dot blinked blue and then dimmed.

  "What does that mean?" Ivy questioned.

  Killian let out a sigh. "The message was sent. Now we just have to hope it reaches the right person."

  Just then, the Celtic Hound let out a soft noise, drawing their attention. It stood patiently, its eyes fixed on the path ahead, as if urging them to continue their journey.

  Ivy glanced at the dog, then back at Killian. "Let's keep following our guide here. It seems to know where it's going."

  As they resumed their trek, the cat, Samba, trotted alongside the Celtic Hound, an unusual sight given the cat's typical distrust of strangers, let alone dogs.

  Ivy couldn't help but chuckle at the scene. "Look at Samba, acting like they've been friends for years. That cat usually wouldn't give the time of day to a dog."

  Killian glanced at the unlikely pair, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  ***

  The journey through the dense Celtic forest came to an abrupt halt as a rustling sound emerged from the underbrush.

  From the shadows, a man with a rugged appearance stepped out, his presence causing Ivy to startle.

  In a reflexive response, her demon appearance briefly surfaced, her eyes glowing a fiery red, a menacing aura emanating from her.

  The man, tall and with an air of wildness about him, was taken aback by Ivy's transformation but quickly regained his composure. He was clad in a cloak that melded with the night, his hair long and tangled, and his eyes sharp and assessing.

  The man's gaze was fixed on the Celtic Hound. "Fionn," he called out, his voice stern. "What have you brought to our doorstep?"

  The dog, Fionn, wagged its tail but remained close to Ivy and Killian, as if protective of them.

  Ivy hunched down in a defensive stance, her razor-sharp claws at the ready. Killian mirrored her movements, his muscles tense and poised for attack. Before them stood a man radiating an aura of danger and formidable strength.

  "We come in peace," Killian's voice rang out, though he couldn't shake off the unease that settled in his gut. This stranger seemed to emanate a deep-seated darkness and malice.

  The man's eyes narrowed, scanning Ivy and Killian up and down. "You're not from this land. I can sense the otherworldly magic radiating off of you."

  Feeling the tension rise, Ivy let her demonic form take over, her skin glowing with an ethereal light. The man took a step back in surprise, but quickly regained his composure.

  "A demon here, in the Celtic lands? And you," he turned to Killian, "have the scent of a wolf. What strange companions you make."

  Killian moved closer to Ivy, his body positioned defensively in front of hers. "We mean no harm. We are simply searching for a friend."

  "Watch yourself," the man warned, holding up his hands at Ivy's piercing stare. "I am not your enemy. My name is Malcolm."

  Ivy's demonic glow faded as she regained control, but she remained on edge. She could feel the dark energy emanating from this Malcolm character, and she knew they were still in danger.

  Killian kept a wary eye on Malcolm as well, ready to protect himself and Ivy at any moment.

  "And who might you two be?" Malcolm asked, his gaze shifting between Ivy and Killian.

  Killian hesitated. Ivy knew he wouldn't want to reveal their identities, so she made a grunting sound from her throat to distract Malcom.

  "We're just travelers looking for our friend. We don't belong to this world," Killian said.

  Malcolm observed them keenly. "You're not the first travelers from another world I've encountered. Come to my cottage. I might be able to help you."

  Every fiber of Ivy's being screamed at her to run away from this man. But as he turned to walk, his dog following obediently, Samba fell into step beside them in a trance-like state.

  When Ivy shifted back into her human form, she couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "You're such a sucker, Samba. I bet they don't even have cat food."

  Killian eyed the strange man and his animal companion warily, tugging impatiently at the mall on Ivy's back. She knew his gut instincts told him they needed to follow the cat, no matter the risk. And she agreed with him.

  Finally reaching the clearing where Malcolm's cottage stood, they were met with a quaint stone structure that exuded ancient charm and warmth.

  Standing at the threshold, Malcolm paused and turned to face them with a knowing look in his eyes.

  "So, you're one of the LeBlancs," he said in a tone laced with equal parts curiosity and caution. "What can we do to get rid of you?"

  The question hung heavily in the air, sending chills down their spines as they realized just how much danger they were in.

  Chapter

  Five

  In the quarters provided to him by the High Court of the Gods, Ciaran LeBlanc paced back and forth, his mind racing with strategies. The threat of involving his parents in this divine interrogation weighed heavily on him, and he needed to find a way out – fast.

  The room was elegantly simple, adorned with ancient tapestries and furnished with a bed that looked like it belonged in a museum.

  Ciaran examined the window, a small, ornate opening high up on the wall, and considered his options.

  He grabbed a chair, positioned it under the window, and began to climb.

  Just as he was about to reach the window, the door swung open, and a guard stepped in. The guard was tall and stern, clad in armor that seemed to radiate celestial energy.

  Ciaran, caught in the act, flashed a charming smile. "Just admiring the exquisite craftsmanship of this window. They sure don't make them like this anymore."

  The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the excuse. "You are not permitted to leave these quarters. The High Court has granted you a break, not an escape."

  Ciaran hopped down from the chair, keeping demeanor casual. "Of course, of course. I was merely stretching my legs. You know how these court sessions can be."

  The guard's expression softened slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Please remain here until you are called again. The High Court does not take kindly to... leg stretches."

  Ciaran nodded. "Understood. I'll confine my exercises to less... vertical endeavors."

  As the guard exited, Ciaran sighed, the gravity of his situation sinking in.

  He couldn't risk further attempts to escape; it would only complicate matters. For now, he needed to play along and bide his time.

  Sitting on the edge of the ancient bed, Ciaran leaned back, his mind whirring with thoughts and plans.

  He needed to be ready for the next round of questioning, ready to protect his family and uncover the truth behind his mysterious powers.

  As he lay there, contemplating his next move, the room seemed to echo with the weight of centuries of history, a reminder of the ancient and powerful forces at play in his current predicament.

  ***

  Ciaran rummaged through his pockets, fingers brushing against the smooth, cool surface of the runestone Eolande had given him.

  He pulled it out, its deep midnight blue hue shimmering faintly in the dim light of his quarters. He examined the intricate runes carved on its surface, recalling Eolande's instructions for discreet communication.

  "All right, let's see if this little gem can work some magic," he mused, running his thumb over the runes.

  They glowed softly, responding to his touch.

  Ciaran closed his eyes and let his mind focus on the smooth, cool surface of the runestone in his hands. He could feel the faint thrum of magic emanating from it, like a pulse waiting to be activated. With a deep breath, he concentrated, trying to establish a connection with Eolande.

  The sensation was strange – it was almost like dialing a number, but instead of pushing buttons, it required a mental effort that felt almost physical. After a few attempts, he sensed the stone responding, its glow intensifying until it seemed to fill the entire room. And then, just as he was about to give up hope, a faint, ethereal whisper filled the air around him, carrying the voice of Eolande herself.

  "Mr. LeBlanc," Eolande's voice resonated from the runestone, clear yet otherworldly. "I'm here. Speak softly."

  Ciaran held the stone closer, lowering his voice. "Eolande, I need help. The High Court's threatening to drag my parents into this."

  The door creaked open slightly, and Ciaran glanced up to see the guard peeking in. "Mr. LeBlanc, the court will summon you shortly. Be prepared," the guard intoned before closing the door.

  Ciaran returned his attention to the runestone, speaking in a hushed tone. "They're watching me. Can you get me out of here?"

  Eolande's voice held a note of concern. "Escaping the High Court is no small feat. I can offer guidance, but you must be cautious. Your actions here will have far-reaching consequences."

  Ciaran's grip on the stone tightened. "I understand the risks, but I can't let them involve my family," he stated firmly. "There has to be a way. You seemed knowledgeable about the place. Do you know of a way out?"

  "I do know that quarters well. It's not difficult to get out, but it can be dangerous," Eolande replied.

  "I told you, Eolande, I accept the risks. You offered your help, and I'm reaching out to take it."

  "Listen carefully," Eolande began, her voice taking on a serious tone. "There is a hidden passage in your quarters, behind the tapestry on the eastern wall. It leads to a lesser-known corridor of the court. But you must be swift and silent. If you're caught, I won't be able to intervene."

  Ciaran's eyes darted to the tapestry she mentioned. "Got it. And then?"

  "Make your way to the Hall of Echoes. There, you will find a portal that can transport you to a safer location within the divine realms. I will guide you further once you're there," Eolande instructed.

  Ciaran nodded, even though Eolande couldn't see him. "Thank you, Eolande. I owe you one."

  "Be safe, Mr. LeBlanc. And remember, the gods have eyes everywhere," she warned before the connection faded, leaving Ciaran with the resonating silence of his quarters.

  He stood up.

  It was time to make a move.

  Ciaran approached the tapestry, feeling along its edges for the hidden passage Eolande had described. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the high stakes of his daring escape plan.

  ***

  Ciaran's fingers traced the contours of the ancient tapestry, feeling for any sign of a passage. His heart raced as he discovered a slight indentation, a hidden lever concealed within the intricate weave. With a gentle push, a section of the wall silently swung open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor.

  Glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being watched, Ciaran slipped through the opening, the tapestry falling back into place with a soft rustle. The corridor was cool and eerily silent, the only sound his own measured breaths and the soft padding of his footsteps.

  As he moved swiftly, Ciaran's mind was a whirlwind of strategy and anticipation. He knew the risks of his actions were immense, but the thought of his family being dragged into this divine inquisition propelled him forward.

  The Hall of Echoes wasn't far, Eolande had said, but in this labyrinthine court, each corner looked the same as the last. The walls were lined with fading murals depicting scenes of celestial glory and divine wrath, a stark reminder of where he was.

  Suddenly, he heard the echo of armored footsteps from behind. The guard had discovered his escape. Ciaran quickened his pace, his breaths becoming shallow. He rounded a corner and found himself facing a dead end. He cursed under his breath. Had he taken a wrong turn?

  In a split-second decision, Ciaran retraced his steps, the clanking of the guard's armor growing louder. He ducked into a small alcove, pressing himself against the cool stone. The guard rushed past, not noticing the barely perceptible gap in the wall where Ciaran hid.

  Ciaran waited for a few heartbeats before emerging. He had to reach the Hall of Echoes before the guard realized his mistake. Turning left at the next intersection, he finally saw the entrance to the hall, an archway adorned with symbols that hummed with ancient power.

  As he stepped into the Hall of Echoes, the room lived up to its name. His footsteps echoed in the vast, domed chamber, filled with mirrors and reflective surfaces that distorted and multiplied his image.

  In the center of the hall stood a dais with a swirling portal, shimmering with otherworldly light.

  Ciaran approached the portal, but as he was about to step through, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He spun around to face the guard, his eyes flashing with defiance.

  Before they could exchange words, Eolande appeared beside them. With a flick of her wrist, she sent out a burst of sparkling particles that engulfed the guard. He crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, revealing Eolande's determination and power.

  "Quickly," she urged Ciaran, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards a hidden passage. In the darkness, their footsteps echoed loudly as they hurried towards their unknown destination.

  ***

  Eolande led Ciaran through a series of winding paths, each turn taking them further away from the grandeur and opulence of the divine court. The air grew fresher, the celestial glow giving way to natural sunlight as they approached the edge of a dense forest.

 

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