Something was gnawing at me, a persistent itch at the back of my mind that I couldn't quite scratch. Or rather, it was that subconscious part of me that specialised in making a lot of noise without providing any clear explanation as to why. It felt like a relentless drumbeat, warning of some unseen peril. The part of me was swinging a fucking enormous red flag, but I didn't have the faintest idea what had it so rowdy.

Jeeves, the interface with my subconscious, was equally baffled. He knew something was bothering me, but he was having no more luck pinning down what it was than I was. It was as if we were both looking at a puzzle with too many missing pieces to see the full picture, and the box was missing. Each attempt to delve deeper was met with the same frustrating dead end. It wasn't like Jeeves to be stumped; he was usually the one with the keen insights and the succinct analyses. This wasn't making any sense.

We went through the usual protocols, scanning recent memories and current events, but everything seemed in order on the surface. My encounters, my tasks, my thoughts--they all seemed mundane, routine even. Well, as routine as things could get in my life. It was organised chaos at best, but there were no glaring holes in it. Yet, the uneasy feeling persisted, the issue lurking just out of sight, tauntingly close but perpetually out of reach. The dissonance was infuriating. If we didn't figure it out soon, it was going to drive me out of my goddamned mind.

I was forgetting something.

It was hard to put into words. It was like catching a fleeting movement out of the corner of your eye, something just at the edge of your vision that disappeared the moment you focused on it. Or like walking into a room with a purpose only to have the reason slip through your fingers like smoke. It was akin to driving to work with a persistent nagging feeling that you had forgotten something crucial yet not being able to recall what it was. Or suspecting that someone was lying to you but having no concrete evidence to back up your instincts.

There was something there, something just out of reach, whispering at the edges of my consciousness. I knew something was amiss; I could feel the void where a piece of vital information should be. But because I didn't know what it was, I had no idea what to look for, much less where to start searching. It was maddeningly elusive, a quiet gnaw at the back of my mind that refused to subside.

This lingering unease carried with it an irritating sense of urgency, a constant itch that I couldn't scratch. Every attempt to focus on it only seemed to make it slip further away. Each moment, it grew more insistent, like a faint, incessant noise you can't quite locate. The feeling that something was hidden from me, something important, gnawed at my sanity. Without context, without direction, it was like trying to navigate a maze blindfolded.

There was no way to undersell how disorienting and confusing this was. My entire sense of reality felt skewed, as if the ground beneath my feet had shifted imperceptibly yet irrevocably. The only other time I could remember feeling this profoundly lost was immediately after the crash, waking up with no memory of the accident or anything that had transpired during the eight weeks I had been unconscious. Those eight weeks were a black void in my memory, my new reality - my new life - had been born that night, everything I had become had started the night I got into that cab with Moe, and it was gone forever.

In fact, throughout my entire life, those eight weeks remained the only span of time that I could not recall: from the point of leaving the pub to the moment I regained consciousness in the hospital. It was as if that segment of my life had been surgically excised from my mind. The same unsettling clarity applied here. Whatever it was that I was missing now wasn't something so trivial as forgetting to lock a door or to call someone--a simple oversight easily rectified. This was different. This was a significant piece of my reality that had simply vanished, leaving my mind to grapple with its absence, its whole existence acknowledged only by the haunting awareness of it not being there..

My thoughts spiraled as I tried to latch on to some thread of understanding, but it was like grasping at smoke or catching a glimpse of a shadow of something that wasn't there to cast it. The loss felt like both a physical ache and an existential dread. It was as if my mind was continually trying to calibrate itself, continuously blinking errors flashing on an internal system I had no control over.

Would this missing piece ever return? Or was it gone forever, an irretrievable fragment of my past that would always leave a jagged scar on my psyche? The fear of lost potential, of forgotten dangers or missed opportunities, was almost paralyzing. Every neuron in my brain seemed to be on high alert, perpetually scanning itself for clues that might lead me back to whatever it was I had lost.

This was a different kind of horror, one that didn't come from external threats but from within. It was the fear of the unknown, the terror of a blank slate where there should be memories, where there should be certainty. The more I tried to push against the boundaries of this void, the more resilient it seemed. The empty space where that crucial memory should have resided was both a puzzle and a taunt, daring me to uncover its secrets while simultaneously hiding in the shadows of my mind.

The problem was that I had an almost photographic memory. There was practically nothing I couldn't remember. Details, faces, conversations--everything stayed imprinted in my mind with unfailing clarity. Forgetting to turn off the stove or losing track of why I had walked into a room were experiences foreign to me now. Such lapses simply didn't happen anymore. My memory was a fortress, impenetrable and ever-reliable.

Nor did I find myself second-guessing whether I was being lied to. My power-enhanced intuition, coupled with my ability to literally read human minds, made deception nearly impossible to slip past me.

And yet, despite this formidable mental acuity, there was that nagging, gnawing voice in my head that wouldn't shut the fuck up. It was relentless, persisting in the face of my otherwise impeccable recall and perception. No matter how much assurance my memory offered or how logically I dissected the situation, this disquieting sensation refused to leave me alone.

Something had slipped through the gaps of my memory that simply shouldn't exist.

I was missing something.

I was missing something important. Something my subconscious mind was trying to tell me, and for reasons I couldn't quite explain, it had something to do with Evie.

It wasn't a suspicion; Charlotte and I had run our tests on her, and she had passed with flying colors. Hell, that had been done a few days after New Year's in the cottage. Since then, I had trusted her implicitly, and she had given me no reason at all to change my mind. It wasn't Evie herself, but...

Something she reminded me of?

Something she had done that sparked something?

Something she had said?

When had this feeling started? The truth was, I had been so consumed with my self-pity and my relentless hunt for revenge that I hadn't even noticed its insidious onset until the last few weeks. My mind had been a battlefield, overrun with thoughts of retribution and wallowing in my own grievances, leaving little room for introspection.

The feeling wasn't intensifying, yet it refused to dissipate, clinging stubbornly to the corners of my mind. It was like an unwelcome guest that overstayed its visit, lingering long after its presence should have been forgotten. This persistence only served to irritate me further. Every time I tried to focus or lose myself in my goals, there it was, an ever-present thorn in my thoughts, demanding acknowledgment.

Its refusal to fuck the fuck off was driving me to the brink of madness. It was a low, constant hum, an unending drone of unease that undermined my every recent action and thought. No matter how fiercely I pursued my objectives, seeking solace in the rush of vindication or the depths of my self-justified war, the feeling persisted, gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

I began to wonder if it had always been there, a shadow lurking just out of sight, only now making its presence known as a cruel reminder of some unseen flaw or forgotten failure. Its constant irritation was like an itch I couldn't scratch, an unresolved tension that seemed determined to undermine my sanity.

Reflecting on it now, I realized that its stubborn permanence was becoming less about the feeling itself and more about what it represented--an unspoken question mark hanging over my every move, a riddle with no clear answer. As much as I yearned to shake it off and dismiss it as a mere annoyance, I couldn't ignore its potential significance. And so, with growing irritation and a begrudging sense of curiosity, I knew I had to uncover the cause of this insistent unease before this little problem turned into something serious.

But what the hell was I missing? How had I even missed it? How was it even possible for me to miss something?

I was sat on one end of the sofa in my bunker, and Jeeves was sitting on the other, both of us staring into space and devoting as much pure processing power as we could to get this niggling little mystery solved before it drove me fucking nuts! But nothing was working, nothing was coming loose, and there were no giant pieces of this vague puzzle dropping into my lap from the generous heavens. I had nothing. Just that stupid, infuriating little voice telling me that in my fury, in my anger, in my suspicion and confusion and grief, I had missed something important.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of thinking about it, I did what most people would have done.

I gave up and went to sleep.

The bed in the bunker was neither as large nor luxurious as the one in the apartment's bedroom, but it was mine, and I liked sleeping on it. So I did. The mystery would doubtlessly still be there the next day.

********

The morning unfurled itself in a wondrous symphony of bright light and melodious bird song, each tune harmonizing with the nascent glow of the dawn. For as long as I could remember, mornings and I had been bitter enemies; they seemed to be cleverly devised to assault my inherently sleep-weary senses with their intrusive brightness and the need to get up and do something. To call myself sleep-weary was, in truth, an optimistically bland assessment. I would struggle to remember a single morning prior to the advent of my powers when I could ever say I was well-rested, so they were more like sleep-deprived senses. Each and every dawn had been an adversary, with my body and mind begging for just a morsel more of the elusive slumber that had been so hard to attain the night before. Yet despite the craving, reality beckoned with more pressing calls - to get up for classes or just to take a leak - compelling those sleepy desires to be shelved in favor of necessity.

And it had sucked.

Since the acquisition of my powers, the nature of my rest had been revolutionized. Tucked within the confines of my bunker's bed, I discovered the ability to sink into the depths of restorative slumber at will, surrendering to peaceful darkness within moments - a marvel that was nothing less than transformative. Each awakening became a rejuvenation; I emerged not as the lethargic creature of bleary-eyed misery but as one brimming with vigor and energy and prepared to seize the day.

Nevertheless, every morning that I had roused to since claiming my powers had been colored by the backdrop of winter. My transformation had taken place in the cool embrace of a wet late August, and it was now the cusp of May. The British winter, unyielding in its dreariness, had been succeeded by a spring equally laden with misery and wetness, fashioning each awakening into an experience heavy with dampness, darkness, and a certain desolation that permeated the air. I mean, it was Britain, the home of the stiff upper lip and enough rain to solve the world's water shortages in an afternoon if you put enough buckets around.

Yet today was different. There was a different note to the air -- one of warmth and luminosity. A sunbeam, like a painter's brush, had touched every one of my senses with a golden hue, injecting life where shadow once held sway. A gentle and rejuvenating breeze meandered through an open window, originating from somewhere within the breadth of the apartment, almost like a whisper from the world, beseeching me to join and enjoy it. Outside, the canvas of the sky was awash with the pastel shades of dawn, promising the birth of a splendid day. It felt like an invitation from the universe itself, one that filled the very air with an electric anticipation for my awaited emergence. The contrast was stark; a soft stretch and a roll of my neck, the blankets of the luxuriously, ridiculously comfortable bed falling down to my midriff, a soft yawn, and I was ready for whatever the day could throw at me.

And all because of a little bit of sun.

God, I needed to emigrate somewhere warmer... permanently.

The three of us had retired to bed fairly early the night before, and - in something of a surprise, given the activities that had preceded our retirement - I ended up in bed alone. Not that I minded, I was perfectly used to sleeping on my own and had very much enjoyed the ability to stretch out on the enormous kingsized bed I would be using for this trip. The Evo need for sleep had taken a while to get used to. With time flowing approximately forty-five-times faster in my mind than in the real world, I rarely needed more than about twenty minutes of real-world downtime to be able to consider myself fully recharged, and usually - after doing that - I would spend some time in my city, but it was possible to stay asleep for as long as I wanted to whether I needed it or not and a brief glance at my phone told me that it was just approaching 6 am. Having gone to bed a little after midnight, that was an obscene amount of sleep, and I was positively buzzing with energy. From the quiet conversation and soft laughter coming from the living area, it would seem that I wasn't the only one.

I pulled myself out of bed, dragging a fresh pair of light cotton pants up my legs and, in the spirit of the warmer weather, went shirtless as I stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room.

Coffee is one of those things that are a contradiction in my life, namely because I rather like the smell of the stuff when it's being freshly brewed, but despite the enormous variety of different coffees available, I couldn't stand the taste of any of them. Even coffee-flavored chocolates or those frappuccino milkshake things. All of them were revolting. Some people like it, some people love it, and some people need it to get their hearts started in the mornings. I was none of those people. It was one of those things I could have made myself like; I could have edited myself to enjoy the taste as much as the next person, but I didn't see the point. Coffee only seemed to be good for a morning caffeine shot, and with the limitless amounts of power at my fingertips, that didn't apply. After that, it was just about habit.

The same went for tea. I didn't like tea either.

But stepping out of my room to find Charlotte, wearing just a vest top and a pair of panties, curled up on one of the single-seater armchairs. Fiona, wearing a pair of flannel shorts and a button-down shirt--which seemed an odd combination for bed--sitting cross-legged on the sofa, both of them smiling and talking quietly while they sipped their coffee, was not the worst way to start a day.

"Morning, sleepy head," Charlotte smiled as she saw me.

Fiona had been facing away from me but turned to look at me with her radiant smile. "Coffee is in the machine if you want one."

"He doesn't like coffee," Charlotte smirked.

"Oh," she paused, looking down at her own mug before turning back to me. "There's stuff for making tea, too."

Charlotte giggled. "He doesn't like tea either."

Fiona scrunched up her face as if that was the strangest thing she had ever heard about another person. "That's just weird."

Charlotte grinned and nodded. "There's some OJ there, though."

"That'll do nicely," I chuckled and headed over to the small kitchenette area. It wasn't a kitchenette; as I had noted the night before, the apartment didn't have one, this was just a small corner of the room that had a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a coffee machine piled onto a countertop. I pulled open the fridge to find the usual juices, milk, and creamers, grabbed some OJ, and filled one of the glasses that were resting beside it. I took a deep swallow of it, feeling the refreshing sweetness sliding down my throat, before heading over to join the ladies in the living area. "Any news on what's happening for breakfast? I'm not gonna lie, I could eat."

"It's still pretty early," Charlotte shrugged. "I imagine they'll come and get us or call us or something when we're supposed to go down."

I nodded and took another sip. "You two been up long?"

"Only about forty minutes for me," Fiona said, cradling her hot mug. "But she was up before me."

"I didn't need much sleep," Charlotte shrugged. "I've been up since about four."

I frowned at that. Charlotte was like me, an Evo, she never needed much sleep, so that was something of a deflection. "Everything okay?" I asked.

She opened her mouth to answer but paused, then sighed. "It's a lot to take in, you know?" she finally said. "I mean, look where we are. I know it's different for you, and I don't know how Fi feels about it all, but in the Sect, the whole ethos is to avoid trouble, to keep our heads down. It's how I was brought up. But look at where we are. We're in the belly of the beast. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be spending the night as the honored guest of one of the heads of the Inquisition. Assuming they would lop off my head on sight has been drummed into me for my entire life."

"But..."

"I know," she held her hands up. "It doesn't make any sense. I knew you had been talking to Isabelle. I have spent time with Bob, and obviously, I know logically that they're not the enemies I always thought they were, but... I don't know, it's like dealing with them at home, where it was safe..." she bounced her fingers in an air quote at that, "...was different. Now we are here, right in the thick of it. If shit goes sideways..."

"Yeah, I get that," Fiona nodded. "I suppose it's a little different for me--the suspicion, I mean. Working with Uri for all those years kinda taught me to be suspicious of everyone. This isn't all that different, but this time, we have him." She nodded her head at me.

"Me?"

"Yup," Fiona grinned. "They need you, and as long as they need you, they aren't going to be a threat to us. Besides, I think if they tried anything against us, you would drop this castle on their heads without as much as a blink. But more than that, Jerry has been here for a few weeks now. I haven't heard from him much, but enough to know that he is fine and comfortable here."

"Where is Jerry?" I asked. "Last I spoke to him, he said he was gonna meet us on the tarmac at the airfield."

Fiona shrugged. "He said the same to me. I dropped him a message last night to see if everything was okay and to ask what the plan was; he said everything was fine and that he would be over to see us in the morning. I can message him again, if you like, to tell him we're up."

I nodded absently. I had gotten to know Jerry fairly well over the time of my supposed capture by the Praetorians; we hadn't spoken about him much - he seemed very aware of his role as my link with the outside world and a sounding board, rather than a two-way conversation to keep me company - but I knew enough to know that if he said he was going to do something, it invariably got done. So, for him to change a plan at short notice like that had my radar up a little. Charlotte was right; we were in the belly of the beast; we were in the thick of it. You could tell from a simple glance that the walls had eyes and the shadows whispered secrets, even if the owners of said walls and shadows were friends, and a change of plan like that could mean absolutely nothing, or it could mean everything. It was a ripple in otherwise calm waters, or maybe it was nothing more than a fully explainable passing breeze... or maybe I was just thinking too much into it.

Charlotte caught my eye; she was looking at me. She could see that tension inside me, those nerves, that on-edge-ness that was still defined by my paranoia and my suspicion. It may have been lessened, but it was still there, and Charlotte's observation about where we were was no less valid because we were among friends. The contrast and the choice were stark; Uri had been right, and perhaps it was his influence inside my mind that was making me feel like this; trust really was a commodity that was hard to come by, especially recently, but I had to start somewhere, right? And neither Bob nor Isabelle had been anything but steadfast allies since the beginning. "Yeah, send him a message, if you don't mind," I smiled at Fi, bringing the glass of OJ up to my lips and taking a sip. "Hopefully, we can get a game plan together after we see where everyone stands and after we know Isablle's thoughts on this whole situation."

I sat down on the sofa, on the other side of it from Fiona, and sipped some more of my drink, enjoying the warmth of the morning as Fi sent her message off to Jerry and then returned to her conversation with Charlotte. I would love to be able to tell you what it was about, but the truth is that I wasn't listening. It wasn't that I was lost in my own thoughts, I wasn't considering potential events, I wasn't considering strategy, I wasn't mentally wandering the halls of the castle with my mind, looking for humans to tap for information, I wasn't sending Jeeves and the computer off to hunt for any treasons... for the first time in months, since the Party in late October, I felt that I was finally able to relax and just... be. Without thinking, without plotting, without worrying, but to just... be. For the first time in forever, I let my mind still and go silent, and I relaxed in the warm embrace of the morning sun.

I couldn't tell you how long I sat there with the girls, listening to them talk about nothing in particular as the heat of the morning grew with the vibrancy of the sun. The conversation flowed like a gentle stream, meandering through trivial topics and shared memories. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour, but for the first time in as long as I could remember--especially recently--I felt able to genuinely let myself relax.

Not complete peace, mind you, for the specter of what still needed to be done loomed persistently at the back of my thoughts. Yet, for that brief, golden window of time, I was able to set aside my burdens, to be present in the moment with my friends and supporters, and to let my mind unwind in a way I had not afforded it for far too long.

The realization that it had been an age since I last allowed myself to truly relax brought a bittersweet twinge to my heart. The memories came rushing back of the last time my mind had found such respite. That occasion had been a night with Olivia--a carefree karaoke night filled with laughter, smiles, alcohol, and music. It was one of the few times I could remember genuinely feeling as though I didn't have a care in the world.

Back then, Becky and Philippa were both alive and well, their presence a soothing constant of text messages, phone calls and unexpected bonds being formed. Faye was yet unknown to me, my friendship with Charlotte was still blossoming, and my camaraderie with Jimmy had reached unparalleled heights. Jimmy was, and still was, closer to me than any brother I could have imagined. He was my partner in crime, my right-hand man, the steadfast rock in the tumultuous sea of my life. He embodied everything I could ever ask for in a friend, and more.

As I sat there, the sunlight filtering gently through the windows, casting a warm, lazy glow over the relaxed German morning, I let my mind wander back to that night. It wasn't Olivia's flirty, joking friends at the table that drew my thoughts, nor was it Olivia herself and the potential joy of the night we were going to have. It was Jimmy. It was the simple, unadulterated joy of being in his company, the way he knew me for who I was and accepted me wholeheartedly.

Of course, the same could now be said for Charlotte, whose friendship had grown to a similarly cherished place in my life. But Jimmy was the first, and for the longest time, he was the only. The comfort of his presence, the reliability of his support, and the depth of our bond were unparalleled, forging an unbreakable connection that had carried me through the darkest of times.

In that serene moment, I allowed myself to bask in the warmth of these realizations, to soak in the gratitude for the bonds I had formed and the moments of respite that, although rare, reminded me of the beauty and value in companionship and genuine connection. It was a fleeting escape from reality, a temporary sanctuary where the weight of the world could momentarily rest on someone else's shoulders--even if just for a moment.

But all good things had to come to an end, and this particular moment was interrupted by a knock at the door, which wrestled the attention of all three of us away from what we were doing and back to the moment. I got up and headed over to it, unsnapped the beat bolt, and pulled the door open.

"Pete, it's good to see you, man!" Jerry beamed happily as I stepped aside with a smile and let him in. How're you doing? Hey ladies," he flashed a wave to Charlotte and Fi, who both called over their greetings from the sofa. Jerry didn't step all the way into the room, though--over the threshold, so to speak, but not far enough inside to let me close the door behind him.

"I'm good, thanks," I smiled back at him, still awkwardly holding the door. "It's been good to get some downtime. How about you?"

"I've been busy. I've got a little surprise for you all." He stepped aside and looked back out in the hallway. "C'mon bud," he said. "They won't bite. Well, Fiona might, but she's feisty like that."

Fiona giggled, both she and Charlotte standing and starting to wander closer to see what the fuss was about before I looked toward the open door, just in time to see the last person I had expected to see step around the corner. "Hi, Pete." He said.

It was the face of a man I hadn't seen since the party. That smug look that had seemed to be so permanently fixed on his features had - the last time I had laid eyes on him - been replaced by the twisted agony of grief as he cradled his dead bandmate in his arms, pleading for him to wake up after the devastating damage done to him by Praetorian bullets. I had paid him no mind at the time; I had been too lost in my own raging pain, my own burning fury, and, if I was being honest, I hadn't spared him a single thought since.

"Rhodri," I gasped. "Jesus, come in, both of you."

Rhodri smiled weakly and nodded, stepping in behind Jerry and letting me close the door behind him. I had no sooner clicked the door back into its portal when the blurred form of Fiona rushed past me and wrapped the startled but grateful-looking Rhodri up in a hug, the likes of which could only be reserved for long-time friends.

Rhodri had been my adversary during the duel at the party. He and his partner, Neil, had attempted to 'cheat' by secretly teaming up on me, with Neil staying invisible and trying to infiltrate my city while Rhodri distracted me. God, I had been so pissed when I discovered the ruse. It had been at a time when I was first coming to grips with the true scale of my power and that slight had enraged me to the point where I used my abilities to make an example of them in front of everyone. Considering everything that happened since then, their underhanded tactics were almost comically minor. It seemed so trivial now, almost funny; one of those things that annoyed you at the time but you can laugh about later.

Uri, Fiona, Jerry, and Marco had all been there to witness it. It may even have been that event that showed Marco that I was someone to take seriously as a potential ally or enemy.

But laughing about how inconsequential an exposition duel had been wasn't an option here. I didn't know at the time, but Neil and Rhodri had been bonded for years, much further along the process than I have been with Faye, but Neil had been slaughtered like so many others that night. The rage, the grief, the abject, utter agony I had felt at losing Faye, I somehow knew, paled in comparison to how Rhodri must have felt at watching Neil die before his very eyes. The last I had seen Rhodri that night before the red mist descended and I massacred almost every man who had attacked us; he was holding the body of his partner, his bond mate, his soul mate, begging him to wake up and Neil's blood soaked into his clothes. The look on his face had been... haunting.

At some point after that, during my rampage through the Praetorian ranks, Jerry or Uri, or someone else, must have dragged him to safety, and I hadn't seen him since. Judging by the ferocity of the hug he was now getting from Fiona, I guessed that she hadn't seen him since then, either.

"Jesus, ya' fucking lump," Fiona's voice came from Rhodri's shoulder, muffled beneath the strength with which she was holding him. "Where the hell've you been? I've been going out of my mind."

"I know," Rhodri whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out, I just..."

"I'm so sorry," Fi said softly. I could hear the anguish and the loss in her voice. I had made some pretty harsh assumptions about Rhodri and Neil in the aftermath of their conduct during the duel. It hadn't occurred to me that all of these people, all of the Evos who had been at that party, had been friends for as long as they had been awakened. Winning or losing duels - tactics or strategies used - none of that meant a damned thing, and they sure as shit didn't measure up to being important in the face of a loss like Rhodri's. I had dismissed him and his bond mate as assholes out of some sense of wounded ego. Even if I had been right, that in no way justified what had happened to them; nobody can be that much of an asshole to deserve that sort of pain, but it was yet another spotlight on what a complete and utter prick I had been before. Childishly, petulantly so. I labeled the two men as assholes, I had watched one of them die, watched the other one fall apart, and I had barely given either of them a second thought in all the months since then.

Fiona clearly had, and apparently, so had Jerry... but they weren't pricks. It was becoming increasingly obvious that I... maybe was not one now, but I sure as shit used to be. Or at least blinded by my own self-centered motivations.

"I'm sorry about Neil," I croaked out after clearing my throat. "I... I don't have words."

Rhodri turned his head, still holding Fiona, and looked at me. "From what I understand, you may be the one person who doesn't need them. I heard about you and Faye, I know how deep the pain goes. I'm sorry, too."

Part of me felt an oh-so-noble urge to mention that I'd been sharing my mind with Faye until very recently, that she had - in a manner of speaking - survived the party, unlike Neil, as if pointing out that he had it worse might somehow offer comfort. In reality, it would have only added salt to the wound.

Rhodri smiled down at his friend and nodded, pushing Fiona away a little and standing himself up straight. "Word of what you guys have been up to are being whispered around the Conclave. I need to get justice for Neil, or at least a little pay back, so I reached out to Jerry. Pete, I think you need to check me."

"Check you?"

"Jerry told me about Marco's influence. I can't find anything in my city, but I don't know what I'm looking for. I think it's best for everyone if we get that part over with, I would like you to check me and, if you find anything, get rid of it." He finished. I nodded, stepping forward and offering the man my hand. With a deep breath, he let go of Fiona and took it.

He was infected. Of course, he was infected. I was starting to think that anyone who had crossed paths with Marco in the past several decades would be infected. With a sigh, I ripped that shadow of corruption out of its hiding place and crushed it into nothingness in my grasp.

"Oh wow," Rhodri gasped. "Yeah, I felt that. So I missed it. That is... disappointing."

"We all missed it," Jerry nodded.

"You were all...?" He looked around the room.

All of us nodded. "Charlotte here had it the worst." Fiona answered with a glance to the strawberry blonde, "We think that he infected her with something different, like an earlier attempt, or maybe something more powerful to get into the Sect. Pete had to literally tear it out of her by force."

"That sounds... unpleasant," Rhodri looked over to Charlotte. "The Sect, huh?"

"Born and raised," she answered. "And no, it wasn't nice, but we've all suffered because of this."

"Well, it's good to meet you. Did you... Know anyone at the party?"

Charlotte parted her lips to answer but then closed them again before nodding. "And a few of our friends have been attacked and killed since then, humans." She finally said, giving me a sorrowful look. She could have been talking about either Faye, Becky or Philippa, and the look would still have been as relevant.

Rhodri shook his head with another sigh. "I can't believe that bastard was right there all along. I would never have believed it before I spoke to Jerry."

"I think that was the point," Jerry answered, resting a hand on Rhodri's shoulder and gilding the whole group away from the doorway and into the main living area. "Look, I think we all need to talk about what's going on here."

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked as she settled back into the armchair while Fiona, Jery, and Rhodri took the sofa. I leaned up against the kitchenette counter and folded my arms across my chest.

"Look, there's no point mincing words," he said after a pointed look at every member of our group. "The people in this room, maybe Isabelle, Bob, and a few others, this is it. We are the only ones who really know what is going on, and there are a hell of a lot of very powerful people who would love to see us silenced." He turned to face me. "Pete, you are so far beyond powerful, it's terrifying, but not even you can do this on your own. We need to come up with a game plan."

"That's why we're here, Jerry," I said. "We're here to discuss next steps with our only real ally."

"Is she an ally?" Rhodri asked. "From what Jerry has said, she's more interested in her own people than helping us."

"Of course she is," I squinted at him. "Up until a few weeks ago, she thought that her people were the problem, that this whole war was being fought by some rogue branch of the Inquisition; she was dealing with the prospect of having a mass conspiracy on her hands. Alright, what we actually found isn't a whole amount better, and some of her people - yours too - are playing for the other team, but nobody, not even Uri, has been a more steadfast ally in what we are trying to do?"

"But that's the question, isn't it," Jerry responded. "What are we trying to do?"

"We find the traitors and clear out the rot," Fiona answered, seeming as confused at this line of questioning as I was.

"Then what?" Jerry quickly asked. There was a pause. I had to admit, I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Listen," he said with a sigh, "We have to at least consider the possibility that the Conclave and the Inquisition are beyond saving. Because if this runs as deep as we think it does, then they very well could be. We destroy the Praetorians, we scour the Conclave of every person who betrayed us, we... fuck, I don't even know how we would do the equivalent with the Inquisition. By the time we have finished, it could be the case that the whole orders come falling down around us. It will be like the Dark Ages again, everyone for themselves. We need a better way."

"I think you may be getting a little melodramatic there, Jer," I chuckled. "We don't have the first idea how deep..."

"He's right," Fiona sighed, pulling my gaze to her. Charlotte was nodding in agreement with her. "We know it goes deep, Pete. It has to. That's the only way any of this makes sense. We still, for example, have no idea who has been manipulating the Conclave communication channels."

"I thought that was Marco."

Fiona shook her head. "He may have been responsible for passing information to the Praetorians, but we know he isn't the one false flagging communications between the Conclave and the Inquisition. Someone, probably a large group of someones, has been passing on false information to the Conclave about the supposed Inquisition attacks and manning the communication channels with them for centuries, long before Marco was in a position to do that. We know Montreaux faked his death to join the Praetorians decades ago. We know about those two Evos in Paris - the ones whose memories you got from Spenser - who had found out information about a plot within the Conclave over a hundred years ago and were killed for it; Marco was barely awakened back then. There are other people involved. Important people, and for a plot to have lasted that long, it has to run deep. Jerry might be right; I don't know about the Inquisition, but we have to consider the possibility that the Conclave is too corrupt to function anymore."

"But... why?" I asked. "That's the part I don't understand. If only a few people were trying to undermine the Conclave and the Inquisition for the benefit of the Praetorians, then their infiltration and conversion tactics would make sense. But if there are so many that they could practically combine forces without so much as causing a ripple... why don't they? Their goal is to unite all Evos and Inquisitors anyway, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but not all of them," Charlotte answered this time.

"What do you mean?"

"What did they do to people who wouldn't be converted?"

"They killed them."

"What if they couldn't kill them?" she posited. "What if there were too many of them? Marco said there were thousands of Praetorians, right? Well, I know there are more Evos than that just in the Sect; there has to be a hundred times that number in the Conclave and god knows how many Inquisitors. If a large enough portion of them refused to join, they'd be faced with a war. One that they would be massively outnumbered in."

"So you think they are manufacturing this war between the Conclave and Inquisition to thin the herd? To reduce the numbers? Attacking and picking off small groups of Evos who they know wouldn't join - under the guise of Inquisition attacks - and they aren't just taking over because they aren't strong enough yet? "

"It certainly fits," Jerry nodded.

"Alright, so..." I paused and let the cogs turn a little more, "let's assume Charlotte's theory is right. What do we do about it? What does that mean for us? I don't mean that to sound like a "not my problem" kinda statement, but short of carrying on with the plan to rip the corruption out of the Conclave and help Isabelle do the same in the Inquisition, what are your suggestions?"

A long pause settled over the room.

"We give them an alternative," Rhodri finally said quietly.

"Who?"

"The people," he shrugged. "The innocent bystanders being caught up in the middle of this. Think about it: before all of this came to light, their choice was between the Conclave - or the Sect, depending on which order they were part of - and taking their chances with the Inquisition, who were attacking lone Evos at will."

"But it was never the Inquisitors."

"It doesn't matter."

"What? Of course, it matters!"

"No, Pete," Rhodri said calmly. "The Praetorians were attacking and killing our people, seemingly at random - which I no longer buy, by the way - it doesn't matter if people thought it was the Inquisition or if it was anybody else; the danger was real. The only protection average Jo Evo had against the attacks was sticking with their order, no matter how imperfect they were. I think if we gave them an alternative, that a lot of them would choose that over staying where they are or going it alone."

"So you just want to start our own order..." I blinked. "Like starting a chess club in high school. Talk to the administrator, book a room, and see who shows up. Do you have any idea how to do that?"

"None whatsoever." he slumped back into his chair.

"But Agatha would," Charlotte said slowly.

"Who?" Jerry and Rhodri asked at the same time.

"She was one of the founding members of the Sect. If the Sect decides to disband after the recent issues, which is far from guaranteed but possible, she would be someone who would know how to do it."

"Wait wait wait." Fiona stood from her chair, her hands up beside her head, almost in a surrender gesture. "Are we seriously considering revolting from the Conclave?"

"Fi," Jerry looked at her, "What do you think we have been doing all this time? You know the Archon didn't sign off on any of this, don't you?"

"What?? No! I didn't know that!"

"Uri didn't trust him, so he didn't tell him. In fact, as far as I know, we were explicitly ordered to stand down."

"Why the fuck would the Archon order us to stand down with everything going on?" she almost shrieked. "He couldn't possibly ignore what's been going on! The party was attacked right under our noses; sixty-three people were killed in one night! Dealing with this sort of thing is literally the whole point of the Black Knights!! Why would he want to stop us looking into it?"

Jerry gave her a pointed look.

"Oh god," the color drained from Fiona's face. "Uri thought he was involved, didn't he?"

I already knew the answer to that, what with Uri currently residing in my head and paying very close attention to the conversation, but I left it to Jerry to answer. He nodded.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck!" She exclaimed, starting to pace around the room. "Why the hell didn't anybody tell me?"

"I thought Uri did."

"Oh, that asshole!" she growled. "I bet I didn't need to fucking know!"

"Unless he didn't tell you so you could have plausible deniability. You could have told the Conclave that Uri gave you an order, and you had no reason to doubt it." Jerry shrugged.

That stopped Fiona in her tracks. It was a theory that I knew to be correct. Uri's logic went that the less other people knew, the less danger they would be in. "I'm not a child!" she huffed as she dropped back onto the sofa, with Rhodri chuckling and hooking an arm playfully around her as she settled.

"Of course you're not, princess," he teased her. "You're a big girl."

"Fuck off," Fi snorted out a laugh before she turned to me. "You'd better not start with that shit."

"What shit?"

"Not telling people things because you think it's above their pay grade or in some idiotic attempt to keep them safe. There is no safe anymore, so if we are all in this, then we all need to know everything!"

"Oh, trust me," I said with one inward eye glancing at a chagrinned looking Uri. "That 'need to know' bullshit pissed me off more than I can say. I absolutely won't be doing that. I'm afraid you're stuck with knowing what I know, which is often confusing, self-contradicting, and usually only ever half the picture. Good luck with that."

That got a chuckle out of everyone.

"Okay, so what do we do?" Fiona finally asked when everyone had settled down again.

"Stick to what we know," Jerry shrugged. "And build from there."

"So what do we know?"

"Essentially, there is a secret organization called the Praetorians whose ultimate goal is to reunite the Evos and Inquisitors under a single banner, like they used to be in Roman times, provided everyone who joins is cool with their ethos of us first, humans last, and world domination at any price in between," I said with a small shrug of my own. "There are traitors in both the Conclave and the Inquisition who work for them and we need to purge the Conclave to root them out. The Inquisition is not responsible for practically any of the attacks that have been carried out on Evos for the past two hundred years, and the whole war had just been a ploy by the Praetorians to keep us distracted, keep themselves hidden, and to whittle down the numbers of Evos who could cause a problem to their plans. So, you know, grand, super-villain conspiracy kinda stuff."

"Oh, is that all," Rhodri scoffed. "Anything else?"

"Marco," I answered quickly.

"The Archon," Fiona added.

"The idea about starting a new order," Jerry chimed in as well.

"The Judge," I added again.

"Evie," Charlotte said.

"Evie?" I squinted at her, that itch sparking at the back of my mind again.

"Yeah, we have no idea what she is, but there was something about her that stopped Toussant and his buddies from killing her when they were perfectly happy to kill Becky."

Nope, that's not it.

"Hmm, yeah, good point."

"Then there's the whole Philippa/Faye thing," Fiona said again.

"And all of that is after we have to decide how we take on the entire Conclave on our own." Jerry huffed.

"Don't forget about the prisoners from Ukraine and that whole Dynast thing. Not to mention your new tattoo," she looked at me.

"My what?"

"You have a tattoo on your back Pete, haven't you noticed?"

"Err, no. No, I hadn't. What are you talking about?"

"I think you need to whip your top off and find a mirror."

My eye twitched a little, and I pulled myself off the counter and walked toward the full-length mirror attached to the wall between two of the bedroom doors, peeling my top off as I went, then turned around to look at the reflection on my back.

"Holy shit, when the fuck did that happen?"

Sprawled across my back, in breathtakingly intricate detail, was a dragon unlike any other. It was a colossal masterpiece of ink and artistry, its vast form a testament to both the skill of the non-existent and mysterious tattoo artist and the ferocity of the mythical creature it depicted. The dragon's massive wings unfurled with dramatic flair, extending out to touch the backs of my shoulders, their membrane-like texture drawn with such precision that it seemed they might ripple with a gust of wind.

The dragon's head, both menacing and majestic, rested atop my shoulder blades, its fierce eyes seeming to watch with an unyielding vigilance. Each scale on its body was rendered with meticulous care, black and shimmering with an almost lifelike quality as if the creature's skin could gleam under the light. The eyes, piercing and full of ancient wisdom, captured a sense of danger and untamed power but also seemed to follow you no matter which angel you looked at it from.

From its gaping maw, tendrils of smoke curled and twisted, adding a dynamic sense of motion to the artwork. The smoke seemed to wisp and wind its way up my neck as though the dragon were ever on the verge of unleashing a fiery breath. Its jaws, filled with razor-sharp teeth, looked ready to snap shut with violent, deadly precision at any moment.

Every detail, from the ridges along the dragon's spine to the talons clenching invisible prey, was crafted to perfection. The dragon's body coiled and twisted across my back, wrapping around my spine like a guardian ready to spring into action, muscles rippling in a perpetual state of readiness. The tail wound its way down toward my lower back, ending in a flourish that conveyed both grace and lethal intent.

This magnificent creature wasn't just a tattoo; it was a living, breathing part of me, a constant reminder of strength, power, and the lurking danger that could be unleashed. It was as though the dragon itself had chosen me as its human canvas, marking me as its own with its eternal, unyielding presence. It held a story, a promise, and a threat all in one, etched permanently into my skin for all the world to see.

Well, all the world except me, it would seem.

It looked remarkably similar to the one now etched onto the outer walls of my city.

"Uri, I think we are going to need to talk about this," I muttered to him.

"You've assumed the mantle." He answered simply.

"Yeah, now isn't the time for your cryptic bullshit. What the hell is this? You said you recognized the Dragon on my walls."

"You're going to be disappointed with the answer."

"What's new! Tell me anyway."

"I don't know. I woke up with it one day. It wasn't long after we found Dimitri's body, and I started looking into the attacks against us properly."

"Who?"

"Dimitri, Olena's brother" It took a moment for me to put a face to the name. Olena had been our contact in Ukraine; she had been with me when Uri had died and was now somewhere in this castle after Bob and his team pulled her out when I let myself be captured. "I told you her family was ambushed, and she was the only survivor. Dimitri was tortured, and his body was dumped in the Dnipro. When we found him, I made it my personal mission to keep our people safe. A few days later, the mantle appeared."

"Why do you keep calling it the mantle?"

"Because it's a mark. I don't know where it comes from or how it chooses, but it's called the mantle of responsibility."

"I'm sorry, what? It chooses?"

"I told you you wouldn't like the answer."

"How do you know what it calls itself?"

"It told me."

"Dude! Seriously! Enough with the half answers!"

"I don't know what to tell you; it became part of me. I can't really explain it. I don't know how it happened or why, it just did... I'm sure, in time, it will do the same with you."

"Awesome! Another voice in my head. It's starting to get crowded in here!"

I huffed and pulled my shirt back on before turning back to the group. "Well, that's another fucking mystery for the list!" I huffed. "Any other marks on me I should know about?"

"You have a nice beauty spot on your bum," Fiona smirked.

"Oh yeah, that's cute. I like that," Charlotte grinned.

"Alright, har fucking har." I rolled my eyes but chuckled. "Not bothered about the fact that Dragons are randomly drawing themselves onto me, then?"

"Pete, at this point, when it comes to you, nothing surprises me anymore," Charlotte flashed a cheeky smile at me.

I shook my head with a laugh; the girl had a point.

"Okay, so what do we do next?" Jerry asked the room after a ripple of chuckles washed through it.

"I need to meet with Isabell and Bob today, help debrief the prisoners maybe? I don't know, but she's invited us here to meet, so that's what I'll do."

"Okay, fair enough," Jerry nodded. "I know they have already started debriefing the Inquisitors you rescued from Ukraine already, but I don't know how they're doing with that. The ones you took captive, the actual praetorians, they haven't touched those yet."

I nodded. "Okay, well, that's something that needs to be brought up with her and a decision made... What next?"

Fiona sighed and looked over. "As much as I hate to say it, whatever we are planning to do about the Conclave needs to happen sooner rather than later. The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to think of a reason to get them all into one place."

"Actually, that's not entirely true," Jerry said slowly.

"What? Which part?" she squinted at him.

"I never actually reported Uri's death. We were busy, and with you being captured and not available to kick any ass, I didn't want to report it early, and then have the service before you got free of the Praetorians. Also, I thought that the only people who would know he was gone were the people who helped get him killed. So news about him dying that I hadn't given could be traced back to a source."

"Nice. I like the ingenuity," I smiled.

"It would have been better if it worked," he shrugged. "There hasn't been a peep about it. Which means," he turned to Fiona, "that we can report his death now and make sure we are there for any gathering."

"I love it when you go all evil genius," she chuckled.

"Okay, Jerry, it might be time to report it in," I said after a moment's thought and consultation with Uri. "It's time to get the ball rolling."

"And if they ask about you?"

"Did they know I was captured?"

"I... actually, I have no idea. Nobody has mentioned you, at least not to me."

"Okay, if they ask, just say you don't know; tell them that Uri was dealing with all of that, and you haven't seen me since Uri's op. They've got no reason to doubt you and I'm certain they won't be able to tell you are lying over the phone."

"The phone?" Jerry tilted his head at me, "You don't want me to report in person?"

"Too risky; they may know something is up. Just tell them you are tracking some Inquisitors, and you don't want to give your position away by using your powers. If they don't know about Uri, they won't know anything about Inquisitors not being able to do that yet."

"Oh, good idea!" Jerry nodded eagerly. "I know Uri would never want to be remembered as a hero, but... making it clear that he died like one will give the Archon all the push he needs to make this a must-attend formal event as well."

"Perfect," I smiled.

"What about the other stuff on the to-do list?" Fiona asked.

"Marco is in the wind at the moment, but we will be catching up with him eventually."

"Then what?" Rhodri asked

"Then he dies," I held his eyes. "He's responsible for all of it, the party, Faye, Neil, Uri, he is at the heart of all of it. I agree he probably doesn't hold a position of any real power within the Praetorians, but I bet he knows who does. Once he has been dealt with, we start on the rest of them."

Rhodri seemed satisfied with that answer and just nodded.

"The Judge is the only one I'm unsure about," I sighed, readjusting my shirt and perching myself back against the kitchenette countertop. "There was a certain logic behind what he said during Becky's wake, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to his story that we don't know yet and that he isn't the harmless entity he made himself out to be."

"Not to mention the fact he was the one who took Evie and killed your parents," Charlotte added, Fiona nodded in agreement.

Sean... that name... who was Sean? There were so many fucking questions.

"Sounds like more investigation is needed there, then," Jerry nodded. "What about Evie? Don't get me wrong, I like Evie, but there is no arguing that she is a bit of a mystery at the moment."

Charlotte and I shared a glance. We were, perhaps, the only two people who had really seen Evies mind properly and, therefore, were the people who really knew the full extent of the mystery that was her. I just shook my head and shrugged, not wanting to divulge the true measure of her uniqueness quite yet. It wasn't that I didn't trust Jerry or the others with the details; it was more akin to passing out private information, like medical records or something. It just felt wrong to talk about it without that person - Evie in this case - being present. Not that it mattered; anything and everything would be pure speculation at this point anyway, and as I had always believed, Speculation was an unwinnable sport. "Evie's a mystery," I finally said after all eyes turned to me. "Who knows, maybe Isabelle may know something; I sure as shit don't trust anyone in the Conclave to look at her, and Agatha in the Sect was as stumped as we were. Short of that, I don't even know where to start."

There were a few nods around the group, but for now, at least, everyone seemed satisfied with the answers or maybe satisfied with the comprehensive list of unanswered questions. Of course, the list wasn't comprehensive, they didn't know about Sean, and none of them were feeling that nagging conundrum drumming against the back of my skull every time I thought about Evie. Most of them didn't know that Toussant, or the shell of him, was still alive. It had only been about a week since my dramatic break-out from the Praetorian compound, and he was still there, still pretending to be unconscious after apparently taking a glancing bullet to the head. If nobody came to reclaim him in another day or two, I would have him do something more proactive, but for now, he could wait.

There were probably other things the group didn't know, but to be honest, I was sick of letting those unanswered and only partially asked questions bounce around my head. I just wanted a break from it. Charlotte, knowing me as she did, immediately picked up on the look on my face and sighed. "There isn't much more we can talk about at the moment, but we'll have more ideas after Pete meets with Isabelle. Shall we all get ready for breakfast?"

Jerry checked his watch and nodded, "Yeah, they will be ready for us downstairs soon."

"Perfect. Shall we all do our thing and meet back here in about thirty minutes?" she asked the group. With no objections, everyone started heading off to do their own thing. I flashed a grateful smile to my strawberry-blonde friend and pushed myself off the kitchenette counter. I was already good to go, so I headed into the conservatory to look outside at the beauty of the morning, all while listening to the pleasant background noise of my friends getting ready.

The greenery was almost enchanting, casting a spell of natural splendor that drew me in deeper with every glance. The conservatory, sprawling and glass-encased, resembled a grand greenhouse more than anything else - despite it being on the uppermost floor of this former fortress - with its vast collection of botanical treasures. Inside, plants and fragrant flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors flourished in glorious bloom, creating a kaleidoscope of life and color that seemed to defy the seasons. Summer wasn't yet upon us, but for that brief moment, I could be forgiven for thinking that maybe it had arrived early in this small corner of the world.

Vines trailed gracefully from suspended pots, their verdant tendrils weaving intricate patterns in the air. Exotic orchids in hues ranging from soft pastels to vibrant jewel tones stood proudly alongside towering ferns with fronds that unfurled like nature's lacework. The air was redolent with the sweet, intoxicating scent of jasmine, mingling with the subtle spice of blooming gardenias and the soothing aroma of lavender. Dahlias, peonies, Cannas, and climbing honeysuckle filled the room with color.

Despite the onset of summer having not yet arrived, the conservatory was a sanctuary of perpetual spring. The flowers here did not merely grow; they thrived, their petals whispering secrets of timeless beauty and resilience. Each plant seemed to possess a personality of its own, contributing to the harmonious symphony of colors and fragrances that played out within this glass-bound paradise.

The sunlight streamed through the window panes - each one starting at about knee height and rising to cover the entire structure, including its roof - casting dappled shadows on the stone pathways that meandered through this verdant wonderland. It was a haven of tranquility, where time appeared to stand still, and nature's wonders could be appreciated in their purest form.

Beyond the window was just as glorious.

I gazed out over the pristinely manicured gardens, savoring the tranquility that the scene bestowed upon me. The sprawling landscape stretched out like a verdant tapestry for what seemed to be miles in every direction, each blade of grass perfectly trimmed to a uniform height. The vibrant flowerbeds were meticulously arranged in a burst of colors that seemed almost too perfect to be real, their hues painting a picture of unparalleled beauty.

Symmetrical flowerbeds, bursting with a kaleidoscope of blossoms, punctuated the lush greenery, their geometric precision a marvel of horticultural artistry. Sculpted evergreen trees stood proudly, their shapes reminiscent of living creatures. A tiger crouched against the end of one hedgerow, a wolf staked against the other. There were a pair of giraffes off to my right and a matriarchal elephant with her two calves following behind over to my left. In the distance were sculpted deer and swooping, majestic birds of prey, all of them snipped in meticulous detail from the canvas of the trees. Between these verdant marvels, bubbling fountains added a touch of serene vitality, their gentle murmurs whispering secrets of peaceful solitude and isolation as if those waters alone held the secret to the peace I wanted for myself. Pathways of pure white gravel snaked gracefully between the flowerbeds and trees, inviting leisurely strolls, quiet contemplation, and the promise of simply getting lost in the quiet of nature.

This haven of natural artistry extended in every direction, a testament to the patience, care, and skill of clearly very dedicated and numerous groundskeepers. The landscape was a labor of love, an embodiment of devotion to the craft of gardening, where every element was carefully curated to create a harmonious sanctuary. Before that moment, I had never seen the appeal of gardening, but the scene before me was rapidly changing my mind. I could see myself getting lost in the simple pleasure of it for hours, maybe even longer.

However, the manicured beauty of the gardens did not hold my attention alone--at least, not for long.

In the middle distance, off to the right of my view, stood a small, squat, square-looking building that, in a bygone era, may have served as a stable or barn of sorts. Its robust structure hinted at a utilitarian past, but it had clearly been transformed since the castle's original construction. Now, with its expansive windows, elegant patio doors, and chic outdoor dining furniture, it more closely resembled a standalone luxury apartment.

This charming abode, separate from the main castle yet still nestled within the protective embrace of its ancient walls, exuded a quiet elegance. Roses and jasmine climbed gracefully up one of the outer walls, their blooms a riot of color and fragrance that added to the bucolic charm. The scent of jasmine - more than likely coming from within the greenhouse than beyond it, yet added to the scene nonetheless - mingled with the crisp morning air, creating an intoxicatingly sweet aroma that floated gently on the breeze.

Outside the apartment, on the stone patio, a small fountain bubbled tranquilly, its waters casting delicate ripples that caught the sunlight. The gentle sound of the water provided a soothing soundtrack to the picturesque scene, enhancing the sense of serene seclusion that permeated the area.

But it was not the building or the flourishing flora that truly captured my attention; it was the person on the patio who became the undeniable focal point of my gaze. She stood out like the central figure in a masterpiece painting, her presence commanding my curiosity and attention. Even from the distance that separated us, her beauty was unmistakably evident. However, it was not just her physical allure that drew me in, but the graceful way she moved.

On a purple foam exercise mat, she effortlessly transitioned through one perfectly held yoga pose after another. Her body moved, stretched, and bent with an elegance that was mesmerizing. Each movement seemed to embody a fluidity and control that I found utterly captivating. There was a rhythm to her practice, a seamless flow that spoke of both strength and serenity.

I couldn't help but watch, entranced by the way she seemed to defy physical limitations. Her balance was flawless, her focus unwavering. Every stretch and bend looked natural and effortless, executed with a precision that suggested years of dedication to the practice. It was as though she and the mat beneath her were engaged in a silent, harmonious dance, each pose a testament to her discipline and grace.

Jimmy had once suggested that I try yoga with him, a not-so-subtle ploy for him to pick up women. Always up for a laugh, I had given it a go once. The simple truth of the matter was that my body seemed unwilling--or perhaps stubbornly unable--to be that bendy. While I struggled to maintain even the most basic positions, my limbs awkward and uncooperative, this woman seemed to have no such difficulties. Her movements exuded a kind of effortless expertise that highlighted my own lack of flexibility in stark contrast.

Even from afar, it was clear that yoga for her was more than just a physical exercise; it was a meditation in motion, a way to center herself amid the chaos of the world. The morning sun bathed her in a gentle, golden light, accentuating the sinewy lines of her body as she moved from one pose to the next. In this serene moment, she appeared almost otherworldly, a beacon of tranquility and focus amidst the lush, vibrant backdrop of the garden.

As I watched her, I felt a sense of admiration and a touch of envy. Here was someone who had mastered the art of being present, of finding balance and peace in the ebb and flow of life's demands. Her practice was a reminder of the beauty of mindfulness, a living testament to the power of the human body and spirit when fully aligned. It was a sentiment that my mind, still trying to process everything that had happened to it over the past few months, found deeply appealing

Imagining the possibility of embodying even a fraction of that grace and control, I felt a renewed interest in the idea of yoga--this time, not as a means to an end, but as a potential path to a deeper sense of peace and physical harmony. Yet, at this moment, I was content just to observe, to let her serenity wash over me and to be momentarily transported by the quiet beauty of her practice.

But there was more to her than simply the way she moved. I had spent time in my previous life watching pianists and painters - some in bands, others just setting up in the university grounds to practise their craft - and I had always awed by the meticulous control they exercised over their art. Each stroke of the brush or press of a key seemed imbued with a lifetime of dedication. While I possessed the ability to grant myself a similar level of control over my actions, there was something profoundly different about those who had earned their talent through relentless hard work, discipline, and sacrifice--like this woman.

Her presence exuded a quiet strength, a mastery that spoke of countless hours spent honing her craft. There was an undeniable grace in the way she moved, each transition between poses seamless and fluid. It was a form of artistry all its own, one that required not only physical prowess but also mental fortitude and an unwavering commitment to self-improvement. I couldn't help but admire that.

More than that, there was an uncanny harmony between her and her surroundings. Her long, flowing, brilliant blonde hair caught the sunlight, creating a shimmering cascade that seemed to merge with the golden hue of the late morning. It was as though she was part of the landscape itself, perfectly attuned to the natural beauty that framed her practice.

The gentle curves and contours of her body mirrored the soft, rolling slopes of the hills in the background. Each stretch and bend she executed seemed to echo the landscape's natural elegance. Her movements, deliberate and measured, matched the softness of the early spring breeze that whispered through the trees and rustled the leaves.

Every aspect of her practice resonated with the setting. The delicate balance she maintained echoed the stillness of the serene garden, while her transitions from one pose to another mirrored the gentle, unhurried flow of nature around her. There was a poetry in her movement, a silent symphony that played in perfect synchrony with the world she inhabited.

In that moment, she wasn't just performing yoga; she was communing with the very essence of the place. Her physical form and the backdrop seemed to exist in a state of mutual recognition and appreciation. It was as if the garden had been designed specifically to complement her, and she, in turn, had adapted to enhance the beauty of the surroundings.

Watching her, I felt a profound sense of connection to the scene. It was a reminder of the delicate balance between effort and ease, discipline and serenity. Her dedication and natural grace served as an inspiration, a testament to the heights one could achieve through unwavering commitment and harmonious living.

For a moment, as strange as it sounded, there seemed to be only the two of us in the entire world. One blissfully ignorant of the other, and one finding a small sense of peace and calmness just by watching.

Suddenly, she stopped, looking around with a soft, curious expression on her face as she ran her hand through her hair. I frowned at that; had she felt it, too? She wasn't an Evo unless she was an extremely powerful one and was blocking me, nor was she human, but she didn't possess the void that marked her as an Inquisitor either. I just couldn't read her.

I opened my mouth, tempted to call Jerry into the greenhouse. He had been here for a week now; maybe he knew who she was, but - thinking better of it - I closed my mouth again and just watched as she resumed her morning exercise.

"Pete?" a voice sounded from behind me.

"Hmm?"

"I've called you three times," Fiona stepped into the greenhouse. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, I was miles away," I smiled contritely, pulling my eyes away from the vision on the distant lawn and back toward the raven-haired Evo. "Is everyone ready?"

"Just waiting on you," she smiled back at me.

"Then let's go. I'm famished," I chuckled. I stepped away from the window with one more glance out at the strange, ethereal beauty in the distance, then linked my arm with Fi's and let her guide me toward the others.

********

Two hours later, I found myself seated in the stark, dimly lit interrogation room. In a massive break with recent tradition, I was the one asking the questions rather than the one being interrogated. It was a refreshing yet daunting change of roles, and the weight of responsibility settled heavily on my shoulders. Across the table from me, sullen and shackled, were the men I had captured during my daring escape from the Praetorian camp.

In front of me sat a group of captives, their expressions a mix of stoicism and fear. The vast majority of the people we had brought back from the camp were former Inquisitors, once loyal to their cause but captured in Donetsk and subsequently turned against Isabelle and the rest of the Inquisition. The transformation from comrades to enemies was a bitter pill to swallow, and the scars of their conversion were visible, etched not just on their bodies but in the haunted look in their eyes.

For obvious and very understandable reasons, Isabelle and Bob had insisted on dealing with this particular group personally. The bond of past loyalty, coupled with the hope of redemption, drove their determination to bring these shattered souls back into the fold. I didn't argue. It wasn't solely out of respect for their desire to mend what had been broken but also because, pragmatically, I knew that the former Inquisitors, having been with the Praetorians for only a few harrowing months, were unlikely to possess any critical intelligence. The overwhelming majority of their time had been consumed by the brutal process of breaking their spirits and turning them against their own.

In contrast, the men before me now were different. They wore the stench of the Praetorian camp deeply ingrained in their very essence. My eyes swept over them, trying to gauge what secrets might be concealed beneath their hardened exteriors. Every detail mattered--their shifty glances, the tremor in their hands, the clenching of their jaws.

I took a deep breath, letting the quiet tension in the room settle. It was time to extract whatever value could be found in their testimony.

First, there was Julius. An Evo, and the one tasked with leading the attack against my city. He sat there, his dark eyes avoiding mine, a silent testament to the weight of his failure. It was unlikely that someone of his rank held knowledge that extended far beyond the tactical details of the assault. However, uncertainty gnawed at me--there was always the possibility that I was wrong, that he could possess some piece of information, some overlooked detail that could change everything. He had surrendered willingly, giving me his parole, but the defiance and nerves in his eyes were still there despite the utter devastation I had wrought upon his attempt at killing me.

Seated next to him was Nathan. Another Evo, he had led the infiltration team that had brazenly breached my city's defenses. He bore the marks of that ill-fated mission, where he and his men had encountered the unrestrained fury of Faye's nightmarish wrath. The memory of that encounter seemed to flicker in his eyes, his haunted gaze unable to escape the specters of his past actions, and nervous twitches flicked through every movement of his eyes and every gesture of his body. He had been almost cooperative in the immediate aftermath of the battle, reverent even, but now the shock of the losses inflicted upon men he had doubtlessly known for lifetimes - not to mention the manner of them - seemed to have settled onto him with a bone-crushing weight.

Nathan was also the man who had first used the one word that had me so thoroughly perplexed. In the heat of conflict and chaos, he had called me the Dynast. That single utterance had reverberated through my mind, taunting me with its mystery. The term was unfamiliar, yet it carried a significant weight that I couldn't dismiss. It felt ancient and powerful as if it held the key to an identity or destiny I had yet to fully comprehend.

Extracting information from these two could go one of two ways: either it could go well, building on the apparent cooperation that had been prevalent during the waning hours of the battle, or they could have refound their backbones, in which case they would need to be broken again. I would rather the former, but the latter would hardly be much of an effort.

The room's oppressive silence pressed down around us, the air thick with unspoken tension. As I prepared to delve into this intricate web of intrigue and deception, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever I uncovered here would set the stage for the next chapter of this conflict.

The rest of the captives were a disparate mix of men and women--survivors of a brutal battle waged both in the tangible world and the treacherous expanse of the mindscape. Some had chosen to surrender, realizing the futility of further resistance as I slaughtered their friends around them, while others had been forcibly captured during the subsequent struggle to seize control of the compound. Among them were the human members of the Praetorians, the very ones I had manipulated and controlled from my cell.

These captives, corralled like errant cattle, had been rounded up by those once under my influence, swept up in the chaos of our rebellion's decisive victory. Now, they were held in another wing of the castle, securely locked away. Interrogating them was unnecessary; their minds had already been open books during their brief stint under my control. Their knowledge was scant and inconsequential--trivial fragments that offered little strategic value.

A more pressing dilemma loomed over their fates. They were part of a nefarious organization entrenched in acts of violence and malfeasance. Their alignment with the Praetorians tainted them with collective guilt, much like members of a terrorist cell who are culpable by association if not direct action. While their individual crimes might not be as overt, their complicity was unquestionable.

Personally, I harbored no reservations about their deserving the ultimate punishment. If Isabelle decreed their execution, I wouldn't have uttered a word of protest. Many would argue that they had earned such a fate through their association with the Praetorians' heinous acts. However, the legal and moral waters were murky; no established laws or precedents governed such a unique and unprecedented situation. The ambiguity only added to the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air.

For now, their fate remained undecided, each passing moment a testament to the precariousness of their existence. The responsibility of making that decision did not rest with me--at least, not yet. I couldn't deny the possibility that Isabelle would seek my counsel on the matter. Her leadership was firm but fair - at least as far as I had seen - and my insight into the captives' ordeal might prove invaluable.

All I knew for sure was that the captives' hands were stained with the blood and the sins of the Praetorians as a whole. Their guilt ran through the same dark veins that fed the organization's corruption and violence. Their futures, balancing on the edge of judgment, would soon be decided, but for now, they remained in limbo, their lives precariously tethered to the unfolding decisions of those in power.

I'm not going to lie. My ability to summon up even the slightest modicum of mercy was not something I could guarantee.

I took a deep breath and looked over each of them. Julius looked composed, albeit apprehensive about seeing me again after his thorough trouncing on the outskirts of my city. Nathan, on the other hand, looked utterly defeated. He had been all too cooperative after the battle, taking me to the room holding the former inquisitors, but now he just looked haunted; his face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes looked like they were sunken into his skull. I couldn't tell if it was the horrors inflicted on him by Faye's nightmare or if it was the reality of losing friends around him. I had seen the look on his face, via Faye, when the men around him had poofed out of existence with the destruction of their cities. The shock, the pain, the realization, all of it flashing over his face in waves - it looked like it had reappeared after the initial shock - but my ability to feel sympathy was less than non-existent.

"I trust you are being treated well," I started, making a point to not put much sincerity in my voice. Both men nodded silently, neither of them looking me in the eyes, but not making a conscious effort to look away either. "Good. So, I am here because I want..."

"You are the Dynast," Nathan suddenly blurted out. I frowned at him, my eyes flicking quickly to a suddenly interested-looking Julius. The older of the two men had looked intrigued when this statement had been made back in Russia, but whatever nerves or misgivings he seemed to be having when I entered the room looked to be immediately overshadowed by his curiosity.

No shit, mine too.

"Well, yes," I sighed. "I was about to say that I wanted information, but that is one of the things I wanted to know about. What, exactly, is the Dynast?"

"The Dynast is the moral authority of our people," Julius answered as Nathan stumbled for words for his explanation. "If the Emperor of Rome was once our political leader, The Dynast was our spiritual one."

"Like a religious figure," I offered.

"No," Julius shook his head, then looked to Nathan as if silently asking for help. "It's more like a Judge, maybe? Someone who decides and then enforces the law of our people. Not a leader, but someone who sets down the ethical guidelines of how we should act and how our society should function."

I thought about that for a second. That, in a very vague sense, tied in to what Uri had called "the mantle of responsibility." I'm not sure what it was that made me think of that, but I did seem to have a pretty intrinsic idea of how Evo and Inquisitor societies should act, and I had spent the last few months inflicting my own measure of branded justice out on those who I felt dishonored that. More than that, I was fully intending on continuing my meting out punishment going forward, too. "So why did Tiberius talk about the Dynast being in Rome? He called it heresy the first time you said that word."

"Because he is in Rome."

I squinted at him, but didn't say anything.

"He isn't the Dynast," Nathan spat. "The man in Rome is a charlatan and liar."

"How do you know?" Julius asked, saving me the hassle of asking the question myself.

"I... saw it," Nathan said carefully, as if not quite believing the words himself, or at least not trusting himself to say it. "I saw the mantle, I saw the mark, I had the vision, and when I did, I just... knew. The words came to me: the sense of awe and respect. I feel it now. Don't you?"

Julius frowned, then turned his attention back to me. "I... do."

"Do you?" I asked, somewhat surprised. The reactions of the two men were very different, Julius looking a lot more skeptical than the awe-struck Nathan, but maybe that was his sense of logic and his life experience overruling the emotion that Nathan was certainly feeling. Or maybe Nathan was just a more emotional kind of guy.

"There is certainly something about you," Julius nodded. "I haven't had the vision, but to his credit, Nathan was inside your city. He was exposed to your... core essence... to a much greater degree than I was."

"I'm guessing that matters."

"I don't know," Julius shrugged. "It may explain why he saw what he saw, and I didn't. It would be interesting to see if any of the other men who entered your city have the same reaction."

Nathan turned around, looking at some of the other faces in the small crowd behind them. Two men nodded, their eyes almost alarmingly wide as they looked at me.

"Then tell me what you are thinking; how this is making you feel?" I asked slowly. "You all went from enemies doing anything you could to kill me to... well... this. I want to understand why."

Nathan opened his mouth but frowned and paused. "It's like you are a parent, and I am a small child," he started slowly. "And I've done something I know you disapprove of, that I have disappointed you. I have this marrow-deep urge to respect and honor the rules you dictate, and I feel like I have let you and myself down by finding myself on the other side of the battlefield to you. For you to have ever considered me an enemy is the lowest moment of my life. I feel like the man who has inadvertently committed treason against his homeland."

"Treason, yes," Julus murmured with a nod. "That is how it is for me, too. I was lied to, I was betrayed, and that led me to the wrong side of your judgment. It is a disconcerting experience to realize that every decision I have made has been wrong."

"And you believe they were all wrong because..." I prompted.

"Because they put me in opposition to you, to your rules."

"I think 'Don't massacre other Evos and innocent humans to further your agenda' would have been a pretty obvious one."

"But the other Dynast has decreed that any means are justified providing they contribute to the supremacy of the Praetorians."

"Charlatan," Nathan spat again. "A puppet, a lie, a fallacy designed to excuse atrocities so that the almighty Praetorians can rule undisputedly. No wonder Tiberius had a fit over it; he was guilty of more crimes than any of us, and if he was wrong..." He left that hanging in the air for a moment, Julius and a few of the others nodding in agreement.

"People will believe the beautiful lie rather than confront the ugly truth." the older man said.

We seemed to be getting off-topic, and I was eager to start making some progress. "So that is why you wanted to surrender yourself to my judgment and only mine," I said to Julius. He nodded. What about the rest of you?" I looked around the room, first at Nathan and then at the others, each of them offering a nod to my gaze.

"If you tell us that what we did demands our deaths as punishment, then it is a verdict all of us will accept," Nathan clarified. "We have no defense other than we did not know your law, we did not know your mind on our actions, and had we known that they would have brought down your wrath, we would never have undertaken them. We all know who you are, and now we know your thoughts on the Praetorians; none of us will follow them again; we will follow you if you are... in a forgiving mood. All I can say is that we were misled, you may not agree with that being a valid excuse, but we didn't know any different. More than that, we were told that our actions were your will. They are using your name to justify their activities, Dynast."

Shit, I hadn't thought of that, and it was a fucking good point.

I took a deep breath and nodded. There had been enough death, and as fucked up as the whole situation was, these were people who had lived for - in some cases - centuries under the belief that what they were doing was not only right but endorsed by the highest moral authority of our people. That justification wasn't just thin, it was fucking anorexic, but it was a justification, nonetheless, and - to my mind - it was enough to spare their lives. This wasn't a mercy; this wasn't a pardon; they would have to earn the trust required to let them walk free.

"Okay, I am going to hand you over to the Inquisition," I started, holding up my hand to silence the sudden ripple of gasps and protests that started to ripple around the room. "My judgment is that you were misled, and although that doesn't forgive your crimes, it does explain them. You are not free; you will be expected to cooperate fully with the inquisition investigation, but your lives will be spared, and you will be given ample opportunity to earn the trust it will take for you to go free and return to your lives. Let me be clear here," I went on after a short pause, looking around to confirm that every soul in the room was hanging off my every word. "You are associated with an institution whose crimes are beyond count; you are, each of you, guilty simply by association - murder, kidnapping, torture, attempted genocide, to name a few - and you will have to atone for those crimes. But you will be given the chance to do that without fearing for your lives."

It was odd. I could feel the weight of authority and conviction in my voice, in every word that parted my lips. It was like the voice of God was speaking to them. Even though each and every former Praetorian before me had every reason to believe the Inquisition could take matters into their own hands and execute them anyway, none of them believed that would happen simply because I told them it wouldn't.

"The Dynast has spoken," A murmured ripple of sound came from every set of lips in the room bar mine. I blinked at it. That was a sound that came dangerously close to sounding like a cult, and I honestly didn't have the patience, the inclination or the crayons to deal with people treating me like some sort of messiah. Besides, the existence of cults was what had gotten us into this trouble in the first place.

Fucking cults.

Talking of cults.

"What do you know about Marco or the Praetorian infiltration of the Conclave?"

The group of captives all glanced amongst themselves for a few moments. I didn't need anyone to answer to get the response from their body language. They didn't have a fucking clue.

"We don't know, sorry, Dynast," Julius replied for everyone, maintaining his apparently senior position among the group. "That was quite a ways above our pay grade. All we would know about is the cell in which we operated, and you... kinda broke that."

Called it. Guess I'm gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way... brute force and ignorance. Seemed about standard these days.

I nodded with a sigh, "Worth a go," I mumbled as I pulled myself to my feet. To be honest, I had expected the interrogation to go a lot worse than that, and also last a lot longer, but the simple fact was that there was nothing left to say, and I had other places I needed to be. These people may have now seen me as some sort of moral authority, but I still saw them as the fuck muppets who had challenged me and lost, the idiots who had got themselves drawn into the Praetorian's madness, and - in a roundabout way - were part of the organization responsible for the deaths of my parents, of Neil, or all the people in the party, and, most importantly, of Becky, Faye, and Phillipa. They may have no ties to those actions at all, but they were tied to the people who did. I wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries.

With a nod and an "I will check in on you all soon," I turned and left the room. Beyond the door, Bob was waiting with a handful of guards whose responsibility it was to transport the men back to their holding cells. I gave my old friend a smile as he pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, and we fell into step with each other as we started towards Isabelle's office. "How goes everything?" I asked semi-casually.

"All things considered," Bob smiled back, "I'd rather be on a beach somewhere with a Mai Tai."

"Your taste in drinks appalls me," I chuckled. "What's wrong with just keeping things simple?"

"When you get to my age," Bob laughed, "You become very particular about what goes in your mouth."

"Does your wife know about this?" I smirked

"She has no complaints."

"Wait, you're married?"

"Yup," he beamed, "Seventeen years now."

"I was just joking. How did I not know this?"

"I would imagine it would be because I never told you." Bob slapped me on the back playfully. "And your puny powers have no effect on me." He finished with a grin.

"Fucking Inquisitors and your... skulls," I pretended to grumble, still smiling. "Do I need to get my drill?"

Bob laughed loudly. "How about you just ask?"

I pretended to think about it for a second. "Nope, that seems like too much effort. The Drill is faster."

"It just makes a mess of the carpets."

"And that, my dude, is why man invented tarpaulin."

Bob laughed again and shook his head. "I should be worried that you would be so casual about putting a hole in my skull."

"Not just yours, Bob." I grinned playfully at him. "But you're right, next time I will be less casual."

"I'd appreciate that. I want at least a little ceremony before you start operating on me."

"Consider it done. I will put up banners or something."

"That's all I ask."

We both laughed again. "How have you been after Ukraine?" I asked after things settled down.

"Busy, thankfully," he smiled. "Olena has been given a new identity and a new life. She's out in Brazil now, living it up on a beach, I imagine."

"Probably with your Mai Tai," I chuckled.

"Probably," Bob snorted. "But with the war and everything going on, not to mention her cover being blown by Marco, there was no way she could go home." I nodded in agreement. "After that," he went on, "There was the issue of moving Henry to a facility closer to here and re-tasking the rest of his team."

"How is he doing?"

"Better," Bob smiled. "I won't pretend to understand what you and Jerry did that night, but it saved his life. The doctors think that he will make a full recovery, he'll have a hell of a scar, and his voice will never be quite as strong, but it's far, far better than the alternative."

"I'm glad to hear that," I smiled. It was true; I had grown to deeply respect the men of that team during my time with them. I would be lying if I said I was an expert, but looking back, it seemed to be a stroke of enormous luck that every one of us had made it out of there alive, and as much as I would like to take credit for that, I knew that simply wasn't true. Henry and his team were a major factor in the relative success of my mission, not to mention Bob's task of finding his lost people. "What is his team being tasked with?"

"Same shit, different day," he shrugged. "We need to find out if the Praetorians are actually behind, or even just backing Russia's invasion of Ukraine, or if they are two separate issues, and one is just taking advantage of the other."

"That... sounds like a hard thing to find out," I frowned. "Especially considering we didn't even know the Praetorians existed a few months ago. How the hell are they gonna pull that off?"

Bob gave a weak, impotent shrug. "I honestly don't have the first idea. Unfortunately, operational details are beyond my purview when it comes to our ground assets," he answered as he gestured his hand randomly in the air. This was a man who didn't like not knowing something, despite the fact that our frustrations with the lack of information about the Praetorians was proof positive of the effectiveness of that strategy.

I nodded thoughtfully, "So what's next?"

"Next, I escort you to the Princess, then, after that, I'm guessing you will want to make your move on the Conclave."

"Isabelle got any surprises for me?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Would you tell me if she did?" I smirked at him.

"Nope," he grinned back.

"Good man, Bob," I laughed. "Good man." We headed back toward the main part of the castle and the waiting Isabelle, but Bob was right; my mind was already on the next big task of the war.

The Conclave.

********

I would like you, if you will, to take a moment to think about money.

Having it is cool; having a metric fuck ton of it is, arguably, cooler. But it's very easy to burn through hundreds of millions of dollars if you spend it stupidly. There is a line in the movie Independence Day where they are talking about the budget for Area 51 in which a devilishly astute Judd Hirsh posits the very apt question: "What? You don't really think they spend $20,000 on a hammer, do you? $30,000 on a toilet seat?" Spending money effectively and efficiently is just as important when dealing with huge sums of money as budgeting for having none.

The same applies to Evo's power.

I felt it as soon as I materialized in the Conclave Cathedral. With the exception of the battle outside my city, and the eviction of Marco's corruption from Charlotte - on both occasions, I could legitimately said to have been very busy - this was the first time I had been in the mindscape for quite some time, certainly since I had acquired what Uri called 'The Mantle.'

I had seen it, or at least a reference to it, painted in haunting, terrifying detail on the enormous walls of my city during the battle, and I have been vaguely aware of it outside Charlotte's mind, but on both instances, the Dragon had remained silent, stoic and watchful. It hadn't interfered, it hadn't aided me, nor had it given me any sort of advantage; it had just simply been there. When Charlotte had pointed out the fact that the same dragon was marked indelibly on my skin, I was more confused than anything else, and the awe with which both Uri and the Praetorians spoke about it seemed, at least to my naive mind, to be adding a sense of mystery to an apparently innocuous piece of artwork in a world already choked full of symbols and ridiculously over emphasized meanings.

I was wrong.

Holy fucking fuckballs, I was so wrong.

It was as immediate as it was terrifying, or at least, it would have been to the people mulling around the cathedral if I wasn't the only one who could feel it. It was... an awakening, of sorts. Not like the one I had gone through in the hospital all that time ago, the one that had first unlocked my bunker and the powers my mind now held; this was different. It was older, it was wiser, and it was infinitely more profound.

I was a wave of... maybe not knowledge. That would be the wrong word, it was more like I had been infused with hundreds, maybe thousands of lifetimes worth of highly attuned instinct. Things which I had never even really considered before - like how this cathedral had been built, isolated from the mindscape and yet still part of it, while also being accessible to only those it was designed for, for example - I now just... knew. I understood it; I could see the strands of power and the nuances of intent that made up each mental brick in every pillar and in every wall. I could feel the meaning behind the light that streamed in through the stained glass windows. I could see how every mind subtly interacted with not just the cathedral as a whole but with every other mind present within its walls.

I had generally understood that my cleansing of the Conclave, much like the one in the Sect, would not be a grand battle of massive armies, that it would be smaller, much more intimate, but now I understood why. My mind was already connected to every other mind here, in a similar, albeit deeper way as it would be if we were to face off outside our city walls. But the boundaries of the cathedral itself, bolstered by a power far older and much 'purer' than the innate thoughts of the Evos around us, limited the way a single mind could interact with the mindscape itself.

I couldn't even begin to comprehend what that power was, just that the Dragon, this 'Mantle' had been part of it, and at that moment, it was practically purring with vengeful anger.

It was then that it hit me, with a force akin to a tidal wave crashing against the shore. The realization dawned on me like the drapes being pulled back from the windows on a bright, sunny morning, allowing the radiant light of knowledge to flood in and illuminate the darkness of my ignorance. It had never been a part of me pacing back and forth behind my mental walls. It had never been my own rage that I was struggling to keep contained within the fortress of my mind--it had been the Dragon all along.

The revelation was both startling and liberating. I had mistaken the Dragon's presence for my own seething wrath, attributing the burning fury and the relentless pacing to my personal vendetta, my own sense of being wronged, and my own cry for justice. The feelings of betrayal by my kind--both human and Evo--had melded seamlessly with the Dragon's ancient and potent emotions. Our angers had intertwined, forming a complex tapestry of indignation and resentment that had simmered beneath my consciousness.

I now understood that the Dragon's spirit had been the source of much of this intensity. The potent mixture of my personal grievances and the Dragon's ancient sense of justice had forged a unique bond between us. It was my own feelings of betrayal, my thirst for retribution, and the keen sense of injustice that had harmonized so perfectly with the Dragon's essence.

What truly struck me, what made the revelation all the more profound, was understanding why the Dragon had chosen me. Out of all possible hosts, it had seen something in me that made it bind itself so irrevocably to my soul. It was the fact that, despite the seething turmoil, despite the myriad wrongs I had endured, I had managed to contain it all. I had kept the Dragon's formidable rage in check, right up until the moment when the face of my enemy was revealed to me.

This self-control, this ability to hold back an inferno of righteous fury until the time and target were right, was what had drawn the Dragon to me. It respected my ability to restrain the tempest within, to maintain composure and channel that powerful energy toward a focused goal. The Dragon hadn't just chosen me because I was angry or because I sought justice. It had chosen me because it saw in me the potential to wield its power not as a weapon of chaos, but as a force for decisive and meaningful action against those who deserved it.

The deeper implications were staggering. With this new understanding, I saw the Dragon not merely as a fearsome entity within me but as an integral part of my journey. It was a mentor of sorts, a wellspring of ancient wisdom and unparalleled strength. Our union was not one of dominance and submission, but of mutual respect and shared purpose.

We were not warriors on the road to endless war and destruction, we had a purpose, one that I could truly get behind, we were the righters of wrongs, the arbiters of judgment and justice, we were the force that balanced the scales, and, together, we were more powerful than anything I could comprehend. Not because the Dragon gave me more power than I already had, but because - just like Judd Hirsh's timeless wisdom - it showed me the most efficient and effective way to use it. Whereas before, I was a brute force instrument, battering down and batting away obstacles with the sheer strength of will, now I was a finely tuned machine; I was the silent, well-placed blade to the rampaging horde, I was the quiet whisper to the screaming yell, I was the single jenga block that could either stabilize or fundamentally cripple the faltering tower.

I was everything.

This realization empowered me. I was not alone in my struggles, not a solitary figure fighting against overwhelming odds. The Dragon was my ally, my guide, the embodiment of my highest ideals and the raw expression of my deepest emotions. Together, we shared a destiny that transcended individual grievances and personal vendettas. We were united in the pursuit of a greater justice, a profound equilibrium that spoke to the very core of our existence.

In that moment of clarity, the path ahead became clearer. I had been chosen not for my capacity for rage, but for my ability to master and channel it. With the Mantle's knowledge and my own unwavering resolve, I felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead--together, as one.

Uri had never passed on the mantle to me in the moment of his death, it had not been drawn into me as a shadow of his being that I had downloaded into mine, it was more than that. The Dragon, the Mantle, it was an entity that both transcended and embodied what it meant to be sentient. It had its own free will, yet served only to enhance mine. It had knowledge, it had wisdom, it had a purpose that, while monumental in its power, needed an anchor in me. It had made its choice, it had watched silently as I waited through the time of my incarceration, it had observed the full measure of my anger and hunt for justice when I had obliterated the Praetorian armies that had attacked me, it had quietly monitored the care and the love I had shown to Charlotte, an innocent, and it had watched the fairness with which I had dealt with the Sect... and now, in a place it knew it could make the most difference, it was ready to cement our bond and make its presence known.

My eyes darkened as the weight of that mind merged seamlessly with my own. A predatory, almost venomous smile pulled at the corner of my lips, and my mind locked onto every single one of the thousands in attendance for Uri's funeral.

Not every mind in the cathedral was guilty of the crimes I would be leveling at them...

But some of them were.

And I was there for them. Their day of judgment had arrived.

God may have mercy on their souls, but I would have none.