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Prologue – The All-Seeing Council
The corridor was unnervingly quiet as Watcher Castus Solomon approached the scanner by the hall’s grand doors. Tiny runes glowed along his brow and cheeks as beams of red light scanned over him, gathering his bio-readings and verifying his identity. The scanner whirred as it considered his entrance. He took a step back from the scanner and was answered by the hum of a soft green light, granting him the privilege to enter. He continued through one last vaulted arch, festooned with a swooping golden triangle bearing a singular, unblinking eye. After a moment, the iris in the centre of the triangular door glowed red and parted open. With a preparatory breath, he stepped into the briefing room. The room was a huge oval shape with massive glass view-screens sprawling around the curved walls to give a spanning view of outer space. Outside, battle class cruisers, larger than the one he stood on, hovered around what was soon to be a newly colonised planet.
A message of attendance blinked before his augmented right eye where he bore the sacred First Sight of the Watchers—a digital implant all those holding the title of Watcher were gifted with. Other runes flashed before him in green hues, scanning the internal database for the names and readings of the other people in the room. Following the invitation message’s instructions, he took his allocated seat at the grand table in the room. Seated around him were a handful of Watchers of all degrees, many of which he had never seen or had read in countless reports that were presumed dead. He chose not to question this, knowing all too well the veil of secrecy some Watchers preferred to have around them.
Castus stole a quick glance around the room. The room was dimly lit but for a few electro-candles whose programming fluttered and flickered in a stale imitation of a natural candle. It had been so long since he’d set foot on the Homelands and seen a real candle that it almost fooled him, until his First Sight began compiling readouts of their electrical components and energy consumption levels. Holographic candle wax dripped from their flickering artificial sconces before the pixels dissolved into thin air.
A sad homage to the Homelands, Castus reflected.
Since he had become a Watcher, his time was spent onboard spacecrafts, watching over the newly-colonised worlds—far away on the edges of the galaxy as humanity sought to push further into the unknown and conquer the stars.
Amidst the glow of the electro-candles, a chilly breeze filled the air. A sterile hum from the engines deep within the bowels of the ship echoed down the corridors—a cold ship powered by an even colder heart. All around the outskirts of the table were slaves who had been branded with the sacred symbol of His Eye—the holy symbol of The Great Tzar Feridun of the Homelands. The symbol was a golden triangle to represent the three Orders of the Watchers, with a single, red, unblinking mechanical eye in the centre. The slaves busied themselves with various tasks such as laying exotic food and drinks upon the grand table and attending to each of the Watchers’ needs. Each slave had belonged to a noble house of the Homelands, unified only by the fact not one of them was brave enough to meet the gaze of a Watcher. One of the slaves, with eyes cast firmly to the ground, reached out her trembling hand to offer Castus a glass of vintage golden liquor. Castus looked up at the slave who braved a quick glance in return. Her skin was sunken and wasted with a starved face to match. The bones and spider web lines of veins visible as they entangled and emerged into one underneath her sunken flesh. She weakly smiled as their eyes met for the faintest of moments as Castus took a glass from the tray. She bowed awkwardly before making an excuse to depart.
His attention was drawn away from the slave as heavy footsteps gathered towards him. As he turned, the doors parted and the indistinguishable figure of Watcher Ixion Tauron strode into the grand hall.
He moved with a heavy stride to his steps, the augmented legs underneath his heavy robes whirring as they powered him forward. Castus felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as he gazed upon him. The elderly Watcher resembled more machine than man—a proud accomplishment for any of those truly dedicated to His will, but to Castus he looked more like a ball of leathery flesh, leper spots, and wiring held together by honour and stubbornness. Yet still, the Watcher’s aura was awe-inspiring—something no amount of augmentations could ever hope to achieve. A single, unblinking light of his First Sight shone eerily from beneath a wide samite hood. Tauron turned towards Castus and then with an incline of his chin acknowledged his presence. Castus exchanged a nod of his own and then cast his gaze elsewhere as more Watchers entered the chamber. A rune flashed over his right eye as Watcher Boreas entered the room with another Watcher he did not recognise. Boreas’ slender frame was draped in an open-fronted robe of shining blue silk that seemed to hover behind him. His thin, angular face was half-hidden by a long sweep of dark hair, obscuring his First Sight that hid underneath.
“Watcher Castus,” he bowed in salute, his accent strong of the noble houses of the Homelands.
“Watcher Boreas,” Castus nodded.
The other Watcher shifted uneasily in his presence until a smile broke through her demeanour and her pale eyes caught his.
“Taga,” she extended her hand and he clasped it in return—a sign of equality amongst those born into slavery.
“It is nice to meet you, m’lady.”
“M’lady?” she smirked. “I believe that is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call me that.”
“I suppose today is a first for many things,” Boreas mused, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“It is nice to finally meet you, Castus,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only good things I assume?”
“Perhaps,” she answered. “Let’s just say I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
They moved in unison as they took their allocated seats beside him. From opposite him, Castus felt the staring eyes of Tauron boring into him. One by one, the table began to fill as two more Watchers entered and took their seats. A group of four senior Watchers entered together. Each was clad in a heavy red robe festooned with golden embellishments. They all had wide, drawn surplices, which left their faces hidden amongst deep shadows. A twin glimmer of red shone behind both eyes from the depths of their hoods.
Second Sight.
Those whose bodies were in the first realm, but their minds wandered the second realm: the realm of thoughts and dreams, where they could serve as guides in the Beyond, helping those worthy to find His kingdom. Such a gathering of Watchers was rare and little had been mentioned about the urgency of the All-Seeing Council. To see those of Second Sight in attendance made Castus all the more worried. Their hazed eyes barely registered the others as they cast their collective gaze across the room.
They were the council of the Watchers of the Beast, far away from the Tzardom of Feridun, The Homelands— they were the thirteen selected candles against the darkness of the galaxy.
Silence filled the void in the room as the doors slid open and the Grand Watcher made his entrance.
* * *
Grand Watcher Deioneus strode towards his seat at the head of the table, allowing his presence to wash over every Watcher in the room. His movements were like his appearance: caged and stalking, like a domesticated beast testing the slack of its master’s chain, expecting it to tighten at any moment. Castus’ chest swelled with pride. Having only recently been elevated to the status of Watcher, these meetings were things he had only read about. He was shaken, but he was good at hiding it.
Experiencing it was an entirely different thing.
Time froze as Deioneus brushed past him, regarding him with a passive glance. A golden cloak trimmed at the collar with thick, grey furs flowed behind him as though elevated by magical beings trailing along behind their master. His usually wild mane of thick, matted hair was held back in a tight knot at the nape of his neck. His long, braided beard hung like a rope down over the symbol of His Eye at his chest. The curved bulk of his combat armour looked swollen by the long, flowing robes inscribed with rites of purity and depictions of his finest accomplishments in the richest of colours and dyes. The brave men and women who formed the Watchers of the Beast had been through experiences that would have cost a lesser person their sanity and seen things that would distort an uninitiated mind, and yet Deioneus’ presence washed over every member of the council with such an air of authority and strength that they all felt weak and powerless in his presence.
Moments after, two warriors stepped forward from the shadows. The massive figures stooped down to enter, barely fitting their bulk through the doorframe. Glossy black armour encased each warrior, their immense frames easily filling the width of the room. Both towered over Grand Watcher Deioneus and Castus gasped at the sight. These were not ordinary men accompanying the Grand Watcher. These were two warriors of the Great Tzar’s kiborg guard.
“The Lopasti Tsarya—The Blades of the Tzar…” Castus shuddered. He had only seen them take to the battlefield once in his lifetime. The sheer brutality and the cold, calculated effectiveness of them had sent violent vibrations down his spine. They were men no more. The mortal husks housed inside their armour no longer capable of emotion.
The Lopasti were clad in midnight black armour that seemed to suck all the light out of the room and plunge it into the darkness of their suits. Both of them bore countless amounts of augmentations hidden underneath their armour—some more subtle than others. Their mortal selves long shed in eternal service to the Great Tzar Feridun of the Homelands. Their faces were still and lifeless, a cold white mask in the very image of the current Great Tzar, Feridun’s, noble features—to Castus it looked like a crude parody of their former lives. Mechanical vox-grilles dominated over the lower portion of their faces, serving only to exaggerate their coldness. Castus caught his reflection in their red, gemstone-like eyes as they locked eyes with him. A series of almost silent clicks echoed from inside their helms as they passed, indicating the two were speaking over a private channel. As they scanned the room, their oculars lit up in a hellish hue, turning their still faces into a horrifying visage.
They turned away from Castus as they followed Deioneus, exposing an ornate inlaid shoulder pad. Castus noticed the pattern at once—the battered symbol of the blade Beast Slayer that the first Great Tzar had gifted the Watchers of the Beast upon their founding. The Beast Slayer was a jagged two-handed blade with a horned hilt whose energy field cast it in a fiery glow. At the base of the symbol rested a mountain of skulls—all too disproportionate to be human—a stern reminder that the beast deserves nothing but a cruel and unforgiving death at the hands of those who bore the insignia.
Underneath, rested purity seals and honour oaths to the Watchers, hanging off their bulky armour like exotic tapestries.
It was no secret of the violent and bloody battles the Lopasti had fought against the bestial menaces and lost races of mankind, the cast out and forgotten races the All-Creator had disowned—especially those of the accursed Doomsmen of whom had been awakening ever closer to the southern colony worlds.
The rune of the Watchers flashed in an ambient golden light above Deioneus—a beacon against the enveloping darkness of the grand hall. His First Sight offered no information on the Grand Watcher or the two Lopasti other than restricted information. Only those elevated to High Watcher and gifted with Second Sight could access whatever secrets they held.
The lost races of the All-Creator had always fascinated him—especially the Urag, and he was already looking forward to getting a chance to further study their kind. Having secretly followed the teachings of Watcher Karewit, Castus saw the greatness of his work and how wars could be diverted, that peace amongst the All-Creators’ children might one day be realised. Watcher Karewit had long studied the Urag and deciphered much of their feral language, even going as far to hold councils with their warlords and hold peace treaties with them. He knew such methods had been long deemed radical by his fellow Watchers—punishable by death. So far, Karewit had managed to evade the ever-watchful eyes of the Homelands—being hailed as a hero by some, and a rebel by others.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve summoned you here,” Deioneus began, his voice silencing all thoughts racing through Castus’ mind.
Castus felt his gaze pulled towards the Grand Watcher as his augmented eyes fell upon him. In the crook of his arm, he held his helm, which he reverently placed on the table in front of him. Castus watched in muted fascination as the horizontal scar running across the Grand Watcher’s forehead began to open.
Third Sight.
Only a handful of Watchers across the galaxy had ever been gifted with such a blessing. To most, the gift of Third Sight was the most esteemed and revered augmentation a Watcher could receive, reserved for only the Grand Watchers of each order. The power to gaze into the Third Realm; such a blessing was not to be taken lightly. In the wrong hands or the uninitiated, it was as deadly as a hell curse from one of the feared Doom Priests themselves.
“As you are all aware, Urag infestations and attacks have grown far more common in the past few decades. The Urag are growing larger than ever before and invasions ever the more frequent—especially the further we push into the eastern colonies. The Homelands are already stretched thin and cannot react to every attack. The duty, as you are all aware, falls onto us.”
Deioneus paused and watched as some of the most hardened Watchers in all the galaxy squirmed in their chairs. With his Third Sight, he did not need to use his other inferior mortal senses. He could feel and touch the minds of all those in the grand hall. With but a fleeting effort, he could probe the inner thoughts of each Watcher and sway their voices with but a flicker of thought.
“Watchers Ixion Tauron and Castus Solomon.”
The two Watchers stiffened at the mention of their names.
“You two will travel out towards the planet Gorbek in the outermost eastern colonies and survey the Urag presence here. Levels of infestation have been on the rise again. I need you two to devise a new way to eliminate the bestial infestation here. In the past, we have tried purging, orbital bombardment, but the Urags are just too well dug in.”
“Grand Watcher Deioneus, if I may object,” interrupted Tauron.
Deioneus shot a cautious glance, his three eyes glaring, but Tauron was utterly oblivious to the dangerous waters he was walking into.
“No, you may not.”
“But, my lord—”
“Do you have a problem with my orders, Ixion Tauron?” Deioneus snapped. The words were snatched from his lips before Tauron could protest and invisible hands forced him back into his chair.
“Watchers Taga and Boreas.”
The two Watchers turned their heads in unison.
“You two will venture out towards the northern colony worlds and survey the newly-colonised planets marked on your databases. Observe its people and make sure there are no further bestial infestations. As for the rest of you, continue your watches in your designated sectors. I will speak with you personally in the coming days. Report all bestial resistance or lax in the following of His rule. We will bring light to the darkest corners of the galaxy once again, my sons and daughters. Now go forth in the name of the Great Tzar. Serve as His eyes and bring His light and swift justice to the Beast.”
* * *
The meeting was over as quickly as it had begun. For Castus, it felt like an eternity, the shock of real-time hitting him hard as he witnessed Deioneus leave the room, carrying the heavy air of responsibility with him. Free from his spell, the rest of the Watchers shot each other a sharp nod and then began to depart in silence.
Castus took a deep breath and just as he began to rise out of his high-arched chair, he sensed Tauron looming just behind him.
“Look, Tauron,” Castus said over his shoulder. “I’m no happier having to work alongside you either, but we both have our orders to follow so why don’t we just—”
“Don’t think I have forgotten about last time. I will follow Grand Watcher Deioneus’ orders, but you in turn, will follow mine. Otherwise, I’m sure you know what will happen.”
Castus shook his head in disbelief. “You still speak to me like I’m a traitor. You know we both fight for the same cause, right?”
Tauron did not respond, but kept his gaze locked on Castus, his cruel unforgiving eyes boring deep into his.
“I find that hard to believe.”
His fingers reached out, grasping the medallion hiding under Castus’ robes. Castus offered no resistance as Tauron drew the chain out and faintly caressed the faded symbol of Watcher Karewit—a head with two identical faces, Ghurzul and the All-Creator, the Creator and the Destroyer, carved in relief into a silver base. He ran his thumb over its features.
“Your beliefs made me do things, unthinkable things to my fellow man.”
Castus’ voice dropped to barely above a whisper, should any of the other Watchers overhear them.
“Millions died needlessly by your command and I was forced to follow no matter how heavily it weighed upon my conscience. You are no Watcher, Tauron. As long as the galaxy is in a state of war is all that matters to you because that is all you know. I need to find my own path.”
“Then damnation is all that will greet you. You were not ready to become a Watcher. I would have had you stripped of your title long ago if Deioneus had not taken such a shine to you.”
“Lucky for me then.”
Tauron released his grip on the medallion and let it drop against Castus’ chest. Castus tucked it back into the folds of his robes before anyone else could see. Tauron let out a derisive snort.
“This isn’t over, Castus. We will meet again at Gorbek.”
“As you wish,” Castus replied and watched the elderly Watcher turn on his heel and walk away.
Doubt began to rise up inside him. The galaxy was a cruel and unforgiving place. With the gift of First Sight, his eyes would always be strong. But his will, it was still that of his past life. Back when he was just a young noble in the Homelands. Back when he was still blind to the terrors beyond.
He would just need to be strong for a little while longer.
Strong in mind, and strong in faith.
* * *
As Watcher Tauron was about to leave, a voice whispered into his mind, urging him to wait. Frustrated, he watched as Castus crept past him and exited the main hall. Tauron turned to face the Grand Watcher and his two Lopasti bodyguards as they loomed over him.
Follow me.
Tauron fought to retain his composure as he made his way past the dispersing Watchers and slaves. Those who met his gaze looked away or bowed slightly as he followed the Grand Watcher’s agitated, pacing footsteps.
“What is this all about anyway?”
“Tauron, before you leave, there are some more things I need to ask you.”
“Such as?”
“Well, the matter of why you have not taken on any new initiates would be a good start.”
Tauron clenched his jaw at the mention of the word. He was a damn good Watcher. He did not need a new initiate—especially not after the last time.
“Why should I waste my time with a lowly initiate?”
Deioneus, however, was not in the mood to entertain him any further. Tauron could feel the psychic presence of the Grand Watcher probing at his brain with invisible fingers, whispering words inside his skull. Tauron fought against it the best he could, but the Grand Watcher forced his way through. Tauron staggered as he lost control of his body. He collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath as his body rebelled against the sudden intrusion. As easily as a breath of air, the Grand Watcher released his grip over the Watcher and closed his Third Sight.
“Still feel like challenging me, Watcher Tauron? We can do this all day if you like.”
Tauron blinked away the sensation, still trying to dislodge the horrible feeling from Deioneus’ Third Sight.
Deioneus slammed his fist against the door panel and it snapped open. He gestured to his left and a group of slaves were ushered forward from an adjacent room. Each of the slaves kept their eyes firmly on the ground, too afraid to meet the gaze of either Watcher.
“You want me to train a slave scum to join our ranks?” he scoffed.
“Pick one,” Deioneus insisted, his tone darkening. “That is all I ask of you.”
Tauron simply grunted his response and turned to address the small number of slaves filling out into the room. A flicker of annoyance spread throughout the Grand Watcher’s body as he watched Tauron’s lip curl in distaste at the mere sight of them.
Tauron walked between each slave, examining each one thoroughly with his First Sight as he circled around them.
“Name?” he demanded as his gaze met a short stocky man of sagging features.
“Os… Osmond, my lord.”
“Where are you from?”
“Arkona, House Rugen of the western colonies…”
“Why should I spare your life above these others?”
The man stammered uncontrollably. When he met Tauron’s gaze, his eyes were wet with tears.
“Well?”
“Please, Watcher, just let me return home…”
His hands brushed against Tauron’s robe as he begged. Too late did the man recognise the mistake he had just made. Tauron’s brow furrowed and in one crisp, fluent motion, he drew his auto-pistol from its holster. His mouth hung open in silent plea before Tauron pulled the trigger and blew the man’s brains out the back of his head.
The man hit the ground with a heavy wet thud.
“What in the Tzar’s name was that? “ Deioneus’ psychic presence grabbed Tauron and pulled him towards him.
Tauron did not struggle, but merely offered an unsympathetic smile.
“The colonies are ripe with those too weak to fight in His name. If I recruited him, he would turn his back and run at the first taste of battle. I’m surprised a Watcher of your all-knowing power did not see this one…”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the corpse on the floor before adding.
“He was not fit for service.”
Deioneus chose to ignore the remark and released him from his psychic grip. Tauron scanned the remaining slaves, the red ocular of his First Sight illuminating each in turn, yet they all remained as passive as they could, their eyes fixed on their feet—cast far away from the lifeless corpse in the centre of the room.
Tauron gestured to the man who was grinning to himself beside the corpse to step forward. A tall, broad man covered in tattoos, which wrapped around his arms and neck, took one step forward to stand before Tauron. The man raised his head to meet Tauron’s gaze with nothing but darkness in his eyes. Tauron smiled and welcomed him forward.
It had been too long since anyone had been brave enough to meet his eyes and look deep into his First Sight.
His long, midnight black hair was bound in a tight scalp lock and his hooded eyes were set in a face as fissured and scarred as a weather-beaten rock. He wore the same crimson robes each slave wore except that he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows to bare his pale, scarred arms. Tauron cocked his head to one side as he examined the blood red tattoos extending down his pale cheeks from his eyelids like bloody tears.
He knew the markings long before his First Sight offered a pop-up of information.
Marked for death.
A low smirk crept up his lips.
“This one intrigues me.”
“That hardly surprises me.”
Tauron twisted his head to look back at him but Deioneus’ steely gaze offered nothing further. Tauron scoffed before turning his attention back towards the slave.
“What is your name?”
“Why do you care, Watcher?”
Tauron grunted his response. His First Sight offered no further information other than his vital life signs. “Where are you from?”
“Novgorod. Liberated by Grand Watcher Deioneus as a matter of fact.”
“Is that right?” Tauron began to slowly circle the man. “Indulge me then. What noble household do you belong to? Which bio-city?”
The man let out a low chuckle.
“Bio-city, ‘Salvation,’ I believe is the flattering name your kind gave it.”
“Which noble house?”
“I’m what you call ‘in between’ noble houses right now.”
“He’s a drug lord,” Deioneus said, his eyes glaring at the grinning slave. “Arrested him just a little over four days ago. Gave him the choice of either serving on one of our ships or death. Now his life is in your hands.”
“Thank you for indulging me.” A haunting smile formed on his lips as he looked the slave up and down.
“So tell me then. Why should I spare you?”
The man stiffened his posture as though about to strike.
“Not like I have much of a choice. It’s either this or death. You do what you have to survive.”
A cruel grin played upon his thin lips.
“Is that what you want to hear, Watcher?”
Tauron took a step closer, his First Sight glowing like a raging inferno, testing his will even further yet the man didn’t so much as blink.
With a nod of approval, he gestured the slave to move closer. “Welcome, Initiate Aldebaran.”
“Tauron!” Deioneus snapped. “A word, please?”
He waved him away, his sight set on his new recruit.
“Well, Aldebaran. It would seem your life begins anew, starting from today—provided you can complete your first task.”
“And what is that exactly?”
Tauron looked at the rest of the slaves, distaste marking his expression. He drew a combat dagger from underneath his robes and pressed it into the man’s eager hands.
“Exterminate the rest of them.”
* * *
Without hesitation, Aldebaran drove the blade into the stomach of the first slave he saw. The rest of them screamed in shock at the sudden violence and rushed away from him, pushing others to the ground in their desperate flee. Aldebaran had never felt such a power before. His home, bio-city ‘Salvation’ had been one of great poverty; a joke amongst the drug lords and mercenaries that resided there and chosen to keep the name. It was a forgotten colony where the majority of noble houses had decided to up and leave, leaving the rest of the slaves and colonists to fend for themselves. Corruption and crime were an everyday occurrence and only the most ruthless survived. He had survived on a steady diet of it for a little over thirty years. The only Salvation anyone ever found there was at the bottom of a bottle or after their next hit of Afterthought.
The blade in Aldebaran’s hand was so perfect—so natural, like a missing piece of him come back at last. It was truly something he could have never dreamt of. Everything about it was so finely crafted.
Nothing like the crude blades he had used when fending for his life on the streets of Salvation.
He slashed out at another slave who was bashing at the room’s doors, pleading to be let free.
Oh, I’ll free you, all right, Aldebaran thought as he plunged the blade into the back of the man’s neck.
Another shriek filled the room. He spun around and smiled at the sight. A woman, no older than her early twenties, edged away from him, wide-eyed with terror. Another man tried to put himself between the two, but was cut down ruthlessly. Upon seeing the carnage unfold, two men launched an attempted attack on Aldebaran but he cut them down before they could land a single blow. Another slave begged Tauron to intervene, but he pushed the man away with an uncaring smirk just as Aldebaran punched the combat blade into the man’s spine.
Aldebaran stepped over the bleeding corpse, his sights set on the fleeing woman.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty lady?” he said. A dark hunger flickered in his hooded eyes.
She continued backing away from the killer, eyes overflowing with tears, until she tripped over the fallen body of another slave. Her head hit the floor as she fell. Blood leaked between her cupped fingers from her split scalp, turning her hair a deeper shade of red. Her vision swam. Her body cried out to just lay down and die like all the others had, but she pulled herself backwards until she came to rest at the far wall. Panic rose up in her chest as she realised there was nowhere left to run. She pressed herself up against the far wall, eyes desperately pleading the onlooking Watchers to intervene. The killer stalked forward, toying with the blade in his hands.
“Just stay still, pretty girl. I promise I’ll make this quick.”
She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath as the cold tip of the blade traced down her lips before pressing against her neck.
“What in the Great Tzar’s name is going on here?”
Watcher Castus Solomon barged into the room, pushing Tauron aside. Deioneus grabbed him, but Castus shrugged free. Aldebaran turned just in time to see him pull an auto-pistol at him.
“Stay your blade or your life is forfeit.”
The killer smiled, but did not so much as blink.
“Initiate Aldebaran,” Tauron said. “Watcher Castus just gave you an order. I would suggest you lower your weapon.”
Aldebaran did as he was asked and lowered the combat blade to the ground, hands held high in a mocking submissive gesture and a sadistic smile upon his lips.
“You,” Castus indicated to the last survivor in the room. She looked at him through tear-soaked eyes and then back down at the bloody knife on the floor. “Come. You are free from his madness.”
The red-haired woman flinched, moving away from his outstretched hand.
“It’s okay. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
The red-haired woman nodded and closed her eyes as he took her hand.
“I got you. It’s going to be okay. Just don’t look down,” he whispered as her fingers laced into his and he guided her past the bodies all around.
“Castus, this is not your say,” Tauron grumbled. “These slaves are mine to do with as I see fit.”
“What is your name?” Castus asked her, ignoring the elderly Watcher.
“Antares… Antares Gamayun,” she answered, opening her eyes and raising her weary head to meet his calming blue eyes. Castus rested a hand on her hunched shoulders.
“Tell me, Antares, do you want to protect your fellow man?”
From the corner of her eyes, she could still see the killer and the bodies. The shimmer of the blade so close. The stench of freshly-shed blood in the air stung her nostrils.
“Yes…” she answered, her eyes flashing away from the blade to his.
“Do you swear to watch over every man, woman, and child, to guard them against the beasts and the horrors beyond?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you swear to serve as His eyes, to watch over His realm until He calls you to the Beyond?”
“Yes. I wish to serve, my lord.”
Castus turned away to face the other Watchers in the room.
“You heard her yourself. You kill a member of the Watchers without just reason or trial and it is considered an act of treason punishable by death.”
Tauron regarded him with silent scorn. His initiate, Aldebaran, was difficult to read even with the enhanced senses his First Sight offered. Deioneus looked at him with a furrowed brow, but he could sense something else hid behind his stern expression.
“How could you let this happen?” Castus snapped at the Grand Watcher, unable to hold down the anger any longer. “We’re supposed to protect our fellow people, not butcher them for our own amusement!”
“I could not have intervened even if I wanted to, Castus. Some things are just meant to happen.”
Deioneus stone-grey eyes flickered as he stared at Castus, his expression still and unapologetic.
Castus shook his head and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to stem the boiling anger. When he opened them again, he saw Antares break into a sprint. He tried to grab her, but it was too late.
“Antares, no!”
She grabbed the combat blade from the floor and shrieked as she swung it at Aldebaran. He rose his hand up just in time. The blade just missed his face, stabbing into his open palm instead.
He howled in pain. Blood spurted from the missing digits. She ripped the blade free from the wound, she drove it at him again, this time lodging it deep into his shoulder. Castus grabbed her from behind and wrestled her away as she howled and kicked in his grip.
Aldebaran dropped to one knee, blade still sticking out of his chest. He howled in pain. Blood ran down his chest, dripping in a steady beat onto the metal flooring below.
“Let me go! Let me go!” she thrashed in his grip, but Castus held her firmly and pulled her towards the doors. Suddenly, everyone in the room felt a cold chill race through their bodies, numbing their arms and legs.
“Enough!” Deioneus said, his trio of eyes flicking open. Suddenly her limbs fell limp, as though she were a puppet pulling against her master’s tightening strings. Tauron’s uncaring gaze drifted from his wounded initiate back over to Castus. Antares, watched wide-eyed in absolute terror at the Grand Watcher as the pale open eye in the centre of his forehead unnaturally rolled in its socket towards her.
“Leave us at once, Castus,” Deioneus’ voice echoed throughout the room. “You have done enough here today.”
“I have done enough?” he snapped. “What about these two butchers over here? You’re just going to let them away with all of this?”
“You heard him, Castus,” Tauron smirked. “The Grand Watcher said you’ve done enough here today.”
“Castus. Leave.”
Castus shot one last look at Tauron before ushering his newly-appointed initiate to follow him.
Deioneus shook his head before turning to Tauron.
“You should get your new initiate to a doctor if you still want him to live.”
“He’ll be fine.”
Aldebaran winced in pain but fought it down the best he could. His eyes offered no forgiveness as he watched Castus place his arm over Antares and lead her out of the room. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, knowing this would not be the last time they met.
“This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about earlier, Tauron,” Deioneus said.
Tauron crossed his arms over his chest, brow creased in annoyance.
“You and Castus Solomon… this has got to stop.”
“It will stop when he is dead.”
“That is exactly how I fear it will end,” he sighed. “As you probably guessed, there is a further cause for you working with Castus again. As of late, I have sensed something, off about him, but the strands of fate can be, well, difficult and uncertain at the best of times. I want you to keep an eye on him. He was your initiate, surely you know him best if he were hiding something.”
“There’s something about him that he’s hiding. Of that, I‘m sure, and as the Great Tzar Feridun and the All-Creator as my witnesses, I will uncover the shadow in Castus’ soul.”
With that, Tauron bowed gently and let a gentle smirk creep across his craggy features.
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