The door of the journalism center shuddered as I rushed inside. I’m so stupid. How could I have let the werewolves control me like that? I had to fix everything I’d messed up. Back in the library, I had reread the articles I’d written over the past week or so.

They were horrible. Pure werewolf propaganda. How did anyone let me write this?

The computer screen flickered to life and a blank document sat before me. I sighed. How do I even start explaining myself? Sincere and straight-to-the-point was probably best.

An Apology

I, Elijah Dunair, would like to sincerely apologize for my previous articles regarding the werewolves. I was not myself when I wrote them. The werewolves used a magic ring to control my mind against my will and force me to write things that were untrue. To be clear, the werewolves are not my allies. They are not harmless and misunderstood, nor are they nice. They are manipulative. The werewolves are planning to attack our town on the next full moon, which is tonight. Do not underestimate them. As the Prince’s son, I urge you to remain indoors and to keep all unicorns out of sight. They will destroy anyone that stands in their way. Please, do not engage them. The Palace and I are working to keep everyone safe and out of harm’s way. Once again, I apologize for any article of mine that tried to sway you otherwise. Stay safe.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but time was running out. I needed time to spread the message to everyone in the Middle Ground. After sending my apology to the intern, I headed over to his desk.

“Hey, I need that article distributed as fast as possible. It’s really important.”

“No problem,” he said. Blinking once, he started to talk, stopped, then muttered something to himself. “Er, now Ryder, I am not accusing you of anything, but – did you happen to take my clothes when you came back?”

Oh. So that’s where all my dressy clothes came from. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I’ll get them back to you soon.”

“No rush, no rush.” The intern adjusted his glasses and went back to typing. For the meanwhile, I headed to the archives. There was something I wanted to research…

The archives were hidden underground at the journalism center. It’s not that we wanted to shield the Impavid from their history; rather, if all went to hell, we wanted to ensure our knowledge had a chance of surviving.

The room was dimly lit, golden candlelight bouncing off the endless shelves of books. Some were newer, bound in hardback covers with vibrant colors painting their fronts. Others were faded and tattered, each page on the verge of crumbling into dust. The latter were the books I needed.

Long ago, Samantha had said that violet eyes were found throughout history. I needed to know what they meant. Ever since I had taken the ring off, my eyes were more vibrant than ever. But why?

I reached for the oldest history book in the archives. The leather cover felt sturdy enough, though the gold embroidery was a bit dull. Flipping it open, I ran my finger down the index to the V section: violence… violent… violet! There was a section for violet eyes on page 35.

The first thing I noticed was the author of the section. Kalen Dunair. In a small black and white photo taped in the book, he looked around sixty. How could he have known? And not told me?

My mind in a whirl, I set out reading the chapter. It detailed something my grandpa called the “Plane Theory” – in which Earth was the Physical Plane, the Plane of Illumination was the dream/dead world, and Svartur was one of multiple Planes of Imagination. According to the book, there were infinite Planes of Imagination. Everything and anything you could imagine happens in one of the planes.

Weird, but it made sense in a way…

I kept reading. And reading. And reading.

There were several pages dedicated to explaining every plane and world inhabited by them, but I didn’t have time to read it all. I skimmed the rest of the chapter, waiting for a certain word to pop out.

And there it was.

So… apparently… violet eyes meant you had been blessed by a unicorn. And the color would fade over time. Was that all?!

That couldn’t be it. An explanation that simple, that mundane, was just… That couldn’t be all there was. As far as I knew, I hadn’t been blessed by a unicorn. So that couldn’t be the answer. It couldn’t.

I read every page after, went back and read the whole chapter again, but there were no other mentions of violet eyes. “Noooo,” I wailed. How could that be the answer? I slammed the book to the floor, letting it flutter open to whatever random page it wanted. Stupid. So stupid.

It was then I became aware of a scuffling noise from above in the journalism center. Seconds later the archive door burst open and feet came pounding down the stairs.

“Ryder!” The intern scurried into the room, all out of breath. “Werewolves are attacking the city! They- they’ll kill us.”

“They can’t,” I sighed. “They need me to let them in. Which I won’t do.”

“B-But Ryder, they didn’t need you at all!” He ran a shaking hand through his wild hair. “They used Ms. Jones. She is one of them!”

I spun around to face him, horror seeping in my veins. “Felecia Jones? My boss?”

“That’s the one…”

Groaning, I sank back in my seat and buried my head in my arms. So the werewolves didn’t need me after all. Having me would have just delivered a bigger blow to the Middle Ground. But they could still destroy it without me. Everything was hopeless.

“‘There is also a connection between violet eyes and the Plane Theory: the eye color can occur in individuals who have existed in one way or another on all three planes,'” the intern quoted. “Ryder, what is this?”

“Where did you read that from?” I asked. In return, he pointed at the page the history book had fallen open to. The afterthoughts.

That connection made more sense, although I had never been to Earth. Obviously I lived on Svartur and I had dreams in the other plane, but – suddenly, a thought forced its way into my head. An old, wrinkled hand extending towards me. A woman’s voice asking, ‘Want to come see my old house?’ A portal.

My grandmother had taken me to Earth. I remembered now. I had only been one year old or so, but the memory was faintly there. I had been on all three planes. Violet eyes, it all made sense now.

“Does the book say anything else?” I asked the intern.

He glanced back down at the page, then hesitantly said, “I think we should be worrying about the attack…”

“Just tell me. This is important.”

“Oh, alright. Lets see, well it says, ‘Though not thoroughly researched, people with violet eyes can transcend the boundaries of the planes and move throughout space with seemingly no passage of time; in essence, teleport.'”

“Teleport?” I thought of the way Matt had to walk across the dream world, whether in darkness or the landscape. He didn’t have violet eyes. But I did. So that meant… “Thank you, thank you! I can fix this.”

“Uh, Ryder? What are you-”

My eyes closed and I focused in on the outskirts of town. Werewolves. Had to locate the werewolves. There was a slight tug as I put that thought in the front of my mind, then a gust of wind.

When I opened my eyes, Felecia Jones was standing before me.

“Well, I never expected to see you here,” she rasped. “Too bad you aren’t on our side.”

“I’ll never be on the werewolves’ side. Not after how they controlled me against my will,” I spat back. Her amber eyes shifted away from me for a second, and I took the moment to seize a large rock. My fingers curled tightly around it.

My former boss smirked as she turned back around. “The Prince is defending the town, but he can’t hold us off for much longer. In the end, we will win. And you could share in the glory if you simply joined us.”

“Never. I’ll never let you win.” And with that, I brought the rock down, bashing in her skull before she could even raise a claw. Standing, I thought about teleporting to help my dad, but there was something else nagging me.

“Hang in there, dad,” I whispered. “There’s someone I need to see first.”