Talvory City was silent as the Adonai returned. The golden chariot was followed closely by a cage that none dared peer into. No civilian dared watch as the prisoners were transported to the Government Tower.
“Get them,” the Adonai barked as he stepped down from his chariot and pointed to the tower. “Bring them to me.”
Soldiers stepped into the cage.
“Let go of us!” Vylet raged when the troops grabbed her by her arms and dragged her from the vehicle.
“Don’t resist!” the soldier said back, his hand upon his blade. “I don’t want this to get ugly.”
Vylet scowled at the man and leaned forward, spitting in his face.
“Why you—!” he exclaimed, slamming her with his gun.
Vylet hit the ground with a thud, her light jacket tearing as she slid across the concrete. Upon the ground, she looked up as the large hand of the Adonai jolted her to her feet, ripping her coat entirely.
“Stand—” He suddenly stopped as he stared at her shoulder.
She...
Vylet quickly covered herself, but it was too late. Upon her shoulder, in small print, was the number 144, tattooed in blue ink.
Could she be...? he thought. Is it possible?
He shook his head. “Take her to a cell!”
“What about the other one?” one of them exclaimed, pointing to Astrid. “What do we do with her?”
The Adonai said nothing; instead, he passed his men to stand before Astrid himself.
“Why do you look at the ground?” he thundered, his large figure towering over her. “Are you already so defeated? Already so weakened and grim?”
“I just want the pain to stop...” Astrid mumbled in a soft, writhing whisper. “I want to stop hurting...”
Astrid felt a jolt as the Adonai’s big hands lifted her from the ground by her throat.
“Pain?!” he raged. “You know nothing of pain!” His voice was a deep, grating growl. “Tell me, girl,”—he pointed to the number 4 that was tattooed on his chest—“do you know what this mark on my chest means?”
Astrid gasped, her words gurgling as she tried to break for air.
“This,” he continued, “this is the mark of my bondage, the eternal reminder that I was once enslaved by Angels. The reminder that I was torn from my family, that my childhood was ripped from my grasp by the sting of a whip, that I lost my name. It is the reminder that I was no longer human, but instead a mere number on a record!”
Astrid felt her heart skip.
Lost...your name...? A cold shiver rode up her spine as the image of Philos shot through her mind. He was one too...
“So don’t speak to me of pain, wench,” the large man spat as he dropped her to the ground. “Take her to my quarters. I wish to keep an eye on her personally.”
The men nodded, then jolted Astrid to her feet.
Are you truly the one...? the Adonai thought as he watched her being carried away. Do you truly have it? Do you have the Birthright of Vespira? Are you the fabled Starborn?
He couldn’t shake this sensation. It was strange. He couldn’t help the feeling that he was being watched.
“Oooooo!” the Starbreather said into the air as he watched Astrid be dragged into the Government Tower in Talvory City.
His voice echoed, but no one could hear him. No, he was merely a phantom, an ethereal shadow with no power left in the real world.
Wind brisked the ground as the night slowly encroached, chasing away the light of the sun from its perch upon the top of the sky.
“You really have it wrong, Mr. Adonai,” the small god said, turning his face to the rising moon. He sighed and scratched his head, the tiny stars along his skin colliding and creating miniature supernovas. “But, you can’t hear me, so...”
The Starbreather stood, his body levitating in the air, and he began to rise into the sky.
“Why don’t you just get here already, Smith!?” he pouted. “I wanna talk to them, but I can’t if I don’t know where they are!”
He rose high above the Government Tower. From his spot just below the clouds, he could see the vastness that was the expanse of the Nameless World—the world that had been stripped of life, stripped from the truths of the Spirit World of Empyria, torn from the Starbreather and his Aeons.
Vespira... a crescent grin formed upon his face. “I wonder what your scions are like!”
The bar was quiet. Most of the villagers of Hazelnut had gone home or been kicked out, but Gilliam Murdock stayed. Several times, the barkeep thought about asking him to leave, but decided against it. For one, the man always paid for his whiskey, and two, this frosty man seemed to be friends with the Angel from earlier. The bartender knew quite vehemently that he didn’t want to involve himself in anything Angelic.
Gilliam had stayed in the bar for several weeks now, drinking, yet he never seemed to get inebriated. Instead, he seemed to stay at a rather easy buzz. The bartender definitely had questions, but ended up deciding to let the man’s business be his own. Several times, men and women would come and sit beside him. It was strange, mainly because none of these men and women were familiar faces. They would come, sit, and talk to the frosty knight. He would always order them a drink, and the two would exchange whispers. Then the other would leave just as mysteriously as they had arrived.
Tonight was that sort of night.
Gilliam sat at the bar, his frigid powers keeping the ice in his glass separated from the alcohol, keeping it deluded and from melting. He waited until midnight when the door opened. The barkeep looked up, but to his surprise, this visitor was rather different. It wasn’t the typical ruffian-type or strongman, the usual kind that visited his odd guest in the day. No, it’s a petite girl, young and bright-eyed, her irises a light yellow, as golden as her pigtails. As she approached, he could see that from her head grew two goat horns.
Beastfolk...
She said nothing, but gave him a nod and a cute smile as she took her seat.
“Lieutenant Krista Morgans,” Gilliam said, smiling as she sat beside him. “I’d buy you a drink, but you’re a bit young.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled. “I don’t like the taste anyway, Ice.”
“Don’t worry about code-names, Krista. We’re all friends here.” Gilliam raised his hand to the bartender. “One glass of milk, please. Extra cold.”
“I’ve got some really big news, Frosty!” she whispered in hushed excitement as the glass of milk was placed before her. “The girl with those weird eyes arrived at the Government Tower yesterday!”
“So my brother believes he found it, doesn’t he?” Gilliam smiled. “Poor fool. He may not have a Scion of Vespira in his grasp, but he is also unaware of the destruction that devil girl is capable of. Let us pray to One that he never realizes the power she possesses.”
“So it’s true then? That girl, she’s...”
“The Devil, yes. A being that was never meant to be.” He took a drink. “We’ll leave it at that for right now.”
“There’s also another girl. My intel says she’s got lavender hair and big brown eyes. She sounds so dreamy, not gonna lie!”
“Vylet Noire? Adoptive daughter to Pal Burns?”
“Yup!”
“Good. Do me a favor, will ya? Bring her to me. The Commander would like to see her.”
Krista stood and gave a nod and a smile. “Roger that, Frosty!”
“Well, well...” Gilliam said as he watched the effervescent young woman leave. “Oh, how things are falling into place.”
He took a sip of his whiskey and paid his tab.
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