Kin: An Interview About the Tether

Four chairs arranged in the sunlit ravine. Oren sits with a clipboard, looking far too serious. Bran perches beside him, a small plate of biscuits and what appears to be a dusty Welsh cake balanced on his knee. Across from them, Nix sits cross-legged in his chair, ears swivelling. Tavik sprawls beside him, looking deeply suspicious.

Oren: Right then. We want to understand the tether. How it works, what you both experience. (He looks at Tavik) When did you first feel it?

Tavik: The cliffs. When Bran fell. I had my hand on Nix’s shoulder, anchoring him at the edge.

Nix (softly): That’s when my wings came. The first time.

Tavik: Felt everything. The magic surging through you like lightning. The pain when your wings tore through your shoulder blades. (He grimaces) Brilliant and terrible all at once.

Bran: So, it started the exact moment the wings emerged?

Tavik: The exact moment. One second, I was holding Nix steady, the next... (He gestures helplessly) It was like being struck. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Just felt the transformation ripping through him.

Oren (making notes): And you didn’t realize what had happened immediately?

Tavik: Too much chaos. Bran falling, Nix stopping time, then flying about like a drunken bird. Wasn’t until later I noticed something was different.

Nix: When did you know for certain?

Tavik: That night in the ravines, maybe? When your wound was hurting badly. I felt it in my chest, same spot. Thought I was going mad at first.

Bran: But you didn’t say anything.

Tavik: What was I supposed to say? “Excuse me, Nix, but I think I’m feeling your pain now” Sounded ridiculous.

Oren: Can you feel where Nix is? His location?

Tavik: Sometimes. It’s like knowing which direction to look. Not exact, but close enough. When he’s in danger, it gets louder.

Nix (ears drooping): I didn’t know. I didn’t realize I’d done this to you.

Oren: Neither of you chose it. (Consulting his notes) When Nix transformed on the ridge, when his wings came out again to protect us from Simi... you collapsed. Was that the tether?

Tavik: Magnified a thousandfold. The wings tearing through, the life force draining from his wound, the emotions... (He stops, jaw tight) His certainty that we were worth the cost. All of it crashed through me.

Bran: The transformation was bigger that time.

Tavik: Much bigger. And I felt all of it. Physical pain, yes, but the emotional torrent was worse.

Oren: And Nix, you felt nothing from Tavik?

Nix: Nothing. It only goes one way.

Tavik: Ruddy unfair, that.

Oren (still writing): Could you test something for me? Nix, would you mind touching the wound? Just briefly.

Nix hesitates, then his hand moves to his chest, fingers pressing lightly. His face remains calm, runes flickering weakly. He draws a slow breath. In, hold, out.

Tavik’s entire body goes rigid. His hand flies to his chest and he doubles forward with a strangled sound.

Tavik: Bloody hell, Nix.

Nix (pulling away quickly): Sorry.

Bran: You barely reacted and Tavik looked stabbed.

Tavik (breathing hard): Because it feels like being stabbed.

Nix: It’s not that bad.

Tavik: It absolutely is. You’ve just got ridiculous pain tolerance.

Oren: So, Nix has adapted to constant pain, but Tavik experiences it fresh each time.

Tavik: Cheers for that observation. Really comforting.

Bran (reaching for his plate): Here, Nix. You should eat something. (He offers a crumbly Welsh cake dusted liberally with icing sugar.)

Nix (taking it cautiously): What is it?

Bran: Just a Welsh cake. It’s good.

Nix takes a bite. A cloud of icing sugar puffs into the air. His nose twitches. Once. Twice. Then he sneezes violently, followed by another. And another. Sugar coats his face, his hair, everything.

Across from him, Tavik’s nose twitches in perfect synchronization. His eyes widen with horror just before he sneezes. Violently. Then again. Matching Nix’s rhythm exactly.

Tavik (between sneezes): What... the... bloody...

Nix continues sneezing, waving at the sugar cloud, making it worse. Tavik sneezes in perfect time, looking furious.

Bran (gasping with laughter): Oh my God. You’re both...

He doubles over, wheezing, tears streaming. The plate slides off his knee, scattering more sugar.

Oren (standing): Bran, don’t...

Tavik’s sneezing subsides. He stares at Bran, who’s still laughing, and something dangerous crosses his face.

Tavik: You think this is funny?

Bran (wiping his eyes): Hilarious. Your face...

Tavik lunges. Bran yelps, scrambling backward, but Tavik catches him. They go down in a tangle of limbs and overturned chairs. Tavik attempts to sit on Bran, who’s still laughing despite being pinned.

Oren: For heaven’s sake. Tavik, get off. Bran, stop laughing. The chairs!

A chair tips sideways with a crash. Tavik has Bran in a headlock now, though Bran doesn’t seem bothered, still giggling.

Bran: Worth it. Completely worth it.

Tavik: I’m going to make you eat that entire plate of sugar.

Oren (attempting to pull them apart): Can we maintain some professionalism?

Meanwhile, Nix has stopped sneezing. He brushes sugar off his tunic, takes another bite more carefully, and watches his cousins wrestle with mild interest. His ears perk forward, almost amused.

Nix (to no one in particular): The Welsh cake is quite good.

Tavik (from under Oren’s grip): I hate all of you.

Bran (still laughing): No, you don’t.

Oren finally hauls Tavik upright. Bran remains on the ground, grinning. The chairs are scattered. Sugar coats everything. The clipboard lies in the dirt.

Oren (sighing): I think we’re done here.

Tavik: Good. Terrible idea, this.

Nix (finishing his Welsh cake): I learned something.

Oren: What’s that?

Nix: Don’t eat powdery food near Tavik.

Tavik: Don’t eat anything Bran gives you. Ever.

Bran (sitting up): It was just a Welsh cake.

Tavik: It was biological warfare.

Oren helps Bran up, rights a chair, looks at his ruined notes. Somewhere in the chaos, they’d learned about the tether. Probably.

Oren: Same time next week?

Tavik: Absolutely not.

Nix (standing, brushing sugar): I’ll come.

Tavik: Of course you will. You got a Welsh cake out of it.

They disperse into the sunlit ravine, Bran chuckling, Tavik scowling, Oren clutching ruined notes, and Nix licking icing sugar off his fingers, looking more content than he has in days.