Nikolai jostled in his seat for the hundredth time so hard the only thing kept him from falling out of it were a pair of hefty straps clasped over his shoulders. His glare rolled above a wan expression, challenging the soldier nearby to keep his quiet. Another ”apologies for the turbulence, Ascendancy” and he might obliterate the man, but only after vomiting on him first. Seizing the power now would be torture.

As obliteration of anyone was an unwise decision given his life was cradled in the hands of the Custody navy, he let his gaze roll to the rivets behind. The flight was unbearable. Two hours later, Nikolai would have thanked the deities, dead or alive, to touch solid ground again. Travel by navy transport was not a frequent activity for him, thankfully, used only for the most covert of needs. His personal jet was recognizable immediately. Today called for stealth.

In the cold war, the base in which he found himself was the most formidable of the Russian Northern fleet. Today, custody armament was far more sophisticated than the nearby, watery graveyards that sunken submarines suggested. Antiquity was one reason for his presence, but as the first prickle of icy air tingled his cheeks, he pulled the hood of his jacket high and eagerly crossed the tarmac to approach the second. Extensive construction surrounded them. Newly recommissioned bunkers, auxiliary buildings, and shipyard infrastructure stretched the horizon, but the majority of construction was not apparent. Most of the actual reinforcement was underground.

A high-ranking commander met him just inside the command center. Wearing a stately uniform, the man was a grizzly bear of formidable size with a handle-bar moustache as thick as his leaden accent.
“Welcome, Ascendancy,” Andrei Bulgarkov dipped his head. The others around the room saluted respectfully. Nik’s study slid unflinchingly along them all, falling finally to a figure all in black: Michael Vellas.

The infuriating man barely looked up.

A few minutes off the plane, and Nikolai was already wreathed within the masks of his own steely exterior. He ignored Vellas in favor of Commander Bulgarkov.

Most of what the naval officer described next were related to construction updates and decisions about logistical details that Nikolai neither cared to hear nor understood anyway. Work was progressing. Their goal approached. That was all that mattered. Money was guzzled, but Nik expected as much given the task. He clasped his hands behind his back and listened until posing a simple question.

“And the weapon?”
Commander Bulgarkov turned to Vellas. It was clear who was in charge of their tests.

“Failure.” He stated with brutal honesty.
Tight jaws and square shoulders were the only reaction. The Ascendancy nodded quietly: such was the reason for his presence today.
“Then let’s get to work.”

Olivia was born to Igor and Katerina Sokolov in the fall of 2023. Her parents worked hard to provide a safe home for her and her younger brother Andrei. 

Katerina was an AI analyst, responsible for evaluating and treating the various AIs created and used in the tech field. Being exposed to the vastness of the the internet (and its users), AIs could be (rather easily) influenced to adopt racist, bigoted, homophobic or even violent idealogies. Protections and ethical guidelines had to be programmed in and their "mental" health monitored.

Even so, being an emergent intelligence of complexity, a gestalt of massive stacks of programming, learning algorithms, and hardware layers, their evaluation and maintenance came under the care of what could essentially be seen as AI therapists using holistic probing methodologies. That was what Katerina did. 

Igor, by contrast, owned a florist shop, delighting in creating artistic renditions with living plants.

Together, professions night and day, they created a home of warmth and love and peace for Liv and Andrei, a place where they could pursue their dreams and be secure in discovering who they were.

Olivia's first crush was a girl named Ling. She was 11. She was shy about telling her Mother. At the same time, she had never been afraid to share her feelings with her before before. Mother, though, noticed she wasn't herself and asked her to walk with her to the market. Along the way they stopped at a coffeeshop and sat down, away from the icy cold. The warmth was inviting and mother so kind and gentle. She confessed to her about her feelings.

And that was that. No drama. No speeches. Just content acceptance. Mother must have told father, but if so Olivia never knew when. Father never treated her any differently.

So when she'd worked up the courage to ask a girl to be her date to a dance a year or two later, no one batted an eyelash.

Liv loved working with her father in his shop. The flowers and plants were so beautiful, especially when arranged so wonderfully under his eye.

She was drawn to beauty. By the end of school, she was determined to be an artist. She painted on canvas, sketched using charcoal on paper, and scultped with clay. Each medium seemed to have its own temperment and feel. And she loved discovering what that uniqueness was. And she took piano and guitar lessons just because.

She was generally happy. Mostly. The one dark memory being Alana. Her best friend since childhood. She was 17 when she realized her feelings for Alana had changed. They had grown. Her heart ached when they were apart. And when together she was in a different kind of hell, as she wondered and hoped and prayed  for her feelings to be returned. Every word, every playful laugh or joke was now looked at through desperate lenses.

An attempted kiss ended it for them. Alana tried, she did. But it was just too weird after that. They could never get back to normal. And Liv couldnt just make herself stop feeling that way.

Her first year as an art major at university should have been a time for fun and exploration. But the loss of Alana- her best friend and first love- crippled her. It was so easy to get lost in school and just be an introvert.

Laila changed that. Fiery. Exciting. Free. She was everything Liv imagined. They moved fast, eventually living together. And for the first year or two it was good. Mostly.

Toxic relationships are not so clear when a person is in them, she realized later.

In the end though, she was broken, wanting to die. Now doing general studies, wrist in a cast, she couldnt go home. She was too ashamed. She couldn't explain to anyone. She was no longer an art major. And she was always hiding. She couldn't face them.

Wandering Krutitsy Monestary near the Kremlin, trying to find God somewhere among the trees and buildings, she instead found herself under a stone stairway. On her knees sobbing, she finally opened her heart, pouring our her soul to God. Her last rites. She was done.

But God, in his infinite kindness sent his angel, her wings quiet and warm, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. As if in vision, the world lit up. Like God was showing her the true beauty of life as he saw things.

And she grasped, clinging to that.The peace and strength of God enfolded her. And it was enough.

Days later, in her childhood bed, God finally let go. But it had been enough. She had found the courage to leave. She fell ill for days, but father and mother never left her side.

And after she got better, eventually she was out again. Soon she started her classes- in Microbiology now. And after that, took a job at a coffee shop. Her family, her school, her job. That was her world.

And it was enough. Occasionally, she feels God's angel near her. Usually after she pours her heart out in prayer. She smiles when that happens. She knows she is not alone.

There hadn't been much more to go over with Viktor Lih.  He told the pale man to meet in back at Domovoi in the morning.  They'd go over all the details then.  Hopefully the lad would get a good nights sleep.  He seemed very on edge.

Nox had gone to see Yun Kao.  His part of that was done for the moment - until the next favor anyway.  Dorian had made an early appointment with the captain.  It went as well as could be expected.  It had been a two fold inquiry, one on behalf of requesting Lih and Sarkozy.  But it had been mostly to press the Atharim issue.  Specifically working with his ex-Atharim informant who had been working the case almost exclusively until Dorian had transcripted him into his cause - protecting his family.

Dorian laid out everything first.  How the boy had tracked monsters, how he killed them, how he'd found evidence of foul play.  And his extensive maps of the tunnels.  His technological advances in mapping as well as specialized software that made their lives all easier.  The latter thankfully was all Sage and Aurora, so not even Atharim tech.  That was great for Dorian.

It wasn't until the cap was nodding happily that he dropped the boys name.  "Nox Durante."  had come out of his mouth and the captains face soured.  The name was news in Domovoi - confessed to murder and completely unscathed afterwards.  No word what really happened.  Dorian promised to keep the boy on a tight leash.  And to never leave him alone with sensitive information.  And a plethora of other restrictions.  Not that Nox would actually be a hindrance, he'd never step food inside the precinct if he could help it.  Dorian either, but at least permission was granted and Nox could work unfettered in the investigation.

Now Dorian only had to wait for Lih and/or Ivan to show up.  Didn't matter which one was first.  There was tasks for each of them.  And some of them combined.  Vaia Plus was involved in monsters and monsters were Domovoi business now and with a few ex-Atharim they might actually do some good in this on the books even.

Armande was silent the entire way to the truck, purposefully ignoring any conversation that might have occured between Valeriya and the girl. He had no interest in following their budding sisterhood.

And inside the cab it was a tight fit. Thankfully, it was Valeriya's hip and leg touching his. Still, he had to breath slowly and carefully so as to keep from retching, sharing the air with a godling in such a cloistered space.

"The war, not the battle," he had to repeat to himself.

For a second they passed under a streetlight and he caught part of Vale's face in his peripheral vision. Even then, it was swallowed in shadow.

And his heart clenched. He felt as if he were losing her. It had only been a few months...but he had come to depend on her. A confidant. A friend. A counselor. A support.

They were bound by destiny and purpose.

And he loved her.

And yet he felt as if he were losing her. Losing her to this dark goddess.

Rage flickered at the edges of his soul. He craved a secure connection. The message had gone out. How long for the Khylsty to assemble he did not know.

The breaks squeeled as he pulled up to the house. The surrounding vacant lot, empty buildings and fenced spaces were dead. He palmed the door and bid them wait.

He did not expect Matvei to attack but caution was his nature. Reassured, he called them in. "Make preparations. Call me if you have need, " he said to Valeriya. She could play host if she wanted to. The thought turned his stomach. A godling in his home.

Finally, in front of a secure terminal, he felt control return.

It had taken a few days, and a mishap at Dorian's estate before he had set up an appointment to meet his pet channeler.  His little informant of the Atharim.  His traitor.  Not that the detective wasn't his own traitor of all sorts.  But he'd been true to his word.  Not surprising after the death of Abt.  The investigation into Vega had ceased after a few words from the right mouths.  And with that settled the Detective had sent details.

The boy wanted to meet in a public place.  He wanted coffee.  All doable, and since Yun wasn't concerned Slav was the only man she brought with her.  He sat at a table with in eye shot, but he was not with in hearing distance, that that it mattered he had a listening device planted on Yun.  Blackmail was ever so useful.

Dorian had given him a name - Nox Durante.  The file associated with the boy were non-existent.  He was a ghost.  His birth certificate, gun licenses from the US, his CCD identity.  All very clean, not even a parking ticket.  The only mars on his record were the two CCD registries - the channeler and the Atharim.  A man of both worlds.  He'd come here to Moscow, gotten into an accident and here he stayed.  Why or how that was even possible was not lost on Yun.  These Atharim must have powers beyond even her.  He was nothing but a boy.

Yun was dressed in a warm parka in an business suit dress.  Not uniform. This wasn't about being a cop informant it was purely business related.  And she wasn't on the clock.  That was later that night.  Where her talents were more often needed.  Her gun was tucked under the parka in it's leather holster it was a familiar weight, and brought her comfort.  The cold hard steel pressed against her ribs.  

The waitress came again with her coffee.  "Can I get your guest anything?"

Yun looked up at the girl with a soft smile.  "I'm early, it will be cold by the time he arrives."  Yup picked up her own Chai latte and sipped at it while she got the lay of the land.  This was the boy's choice.  Why?  It was what she was here to figure out an hour early.

Parting at that moment in her life had been the hardest things he'd ever done.  She'd never had a friend before, much less someone like Elyse who was more than a friend.  And a pack - she had a pack.  But this was important, Sierra couldn't live off of her pack.  That wasn't her, even if she was nothing really.  Her education was nothing compared to theirs, she could barely help Marta at all.  But that was the life of a doomsdayer.  Sierra didn't regret her upbringing.

She felt more at home in the wilderness anyway.  National Geographic didn't pull out any stops with her flight, or her accommodations.  And they had been over zealous in equipment, but Sierra only took the bare essentials.  Though she did take the solar powered battery with her.  Being able to charge her battery while out in the field would be such a treat.  

Never was missing his friends, but he was excited even after he nearly lost it on the airplane.  Silly pup running in circles on her lap.  He'd been so excited and then so afraid.


And now Sierra was spending her last night in the middle of humanity before she was off into the wilderness alone with never and nature.

The door was open.

There was a moment’s pause, then the man strolled in. Walking, slow and steady, a silver tassel slung casually over his shoulder. His face was set and hard. The new desk plate, displaying the golden cursive of Meera’s name, was bright and fresh.

He looked around, felt the electric expectation in the air. He saw the office: the small window with bars; the stained, paper-covered desk; the single potted fern in the corner; the sickly, fluorescent bulb… all the rest.

Eiji shook his head to himself as he sat in the wooden chair. They’d spent a couple of days in the relative stark administrative offices of the Guardian, orientating Eiji, but it had felt much longer to Eiji. The hospital administer had insisted on conducting extensive interviews first, reviewing his medical and military history with the Belgian doctor, and Eiji had become a little bored with either sitting in as a silent observer or waiting around. He had expected some hard interrogations, but the doctors so far had been very low-key and relaxed.

Eiji had been looking forward to beginning actual treatment at the Guardian, but there seemed to be no particular direction to what they were doing. The belgian doctor moved with a purpose, but he didn’t share it with Eiji. Eiji wasn’t really sure what they were looking for, but when he pressed for answers, the doctors had a habit of replying in riddles. 

Eyes wide. Waiting. Waiting.

Then Meera appeared before him.

A slow smile dug its way across Eiji Lynx’s face. He’d seen some badasses in his time, and many of the best were in the air force’s ranks. 

But he’d never seen such a casual display of utter cool. He liked his new doctor already. This stern office, the cool stride, light damn it, she’d won him before they had ever started.

“Eiji Lynx. Glad to meet you.”

Eiji Lynx

Her feet trailed in the water, pooling ripples where she floated them through the surface. Decapitated flowers crowded her lap and the grass hollow of the tree she nestled against, deft fingers weaving them into a crown. The dress still hung damp against her skin, its discomfort unnoticed through will. Wild hair frizzed a halo, leaking droplets down her bare arms, while bright grey eyes fell to the work; idle work, its origin unknown, now that she thought about it. The unexpected crest of some ancient recollection perhaps. It happened from time to time, and Nimeda was content to let it.

Her eyes half lidded to the faint wave of a memory; of fingers ruffling through her hair, the peaceful sensation of someone tugging it into coiling braids. And a song. It faded quickly, leaving only the remnant of a tune; one she began to sing beneath her breath as she threaded the flowers. Her voice was not beautiful, but charming in its earnest simplicity, murmuring over the words forgotten like the river rushed over stones.

A presence sat at the opposite bank eventually captured her attention. Nimeda knew no fear in this world, at least not yet. The reach of her senses was blithely unwary, the shift of her focus slow, but once snared her curiosity burned bright, and contrary to the very old thing that she was, much tugged at her interest. This visitor was not new; he haunted her banks from time to time, gaze cast down to the waters like he might pierce their murk to the things she had hidden there for him. A gesture of friendship that never quite reflected back in his mirthless expression -- but therein lie the kernel of curiosity tugging at her time and again.

One day she would learn the secret to easing the line grooved between his eyes.

Most times Nimeda was content to leave him to his thoughts. Today she slipped beneath the surface, leaving only the bob of petals fallen from her lap, and reared out in front of him. Water slicked the planes of her face and the lines of her body, drowning the sleek fall of her hair darker. A smile lit her expression, unafraid and playful despite the notable pinch of his lips as she folded her arms against the bank by his folded knee.

“You cannot sing,” he said.

“The Grimnir does not like my singing. I am wounded.” She laughed. The insult slid like the water against her skin, pooling unnoticed on the grass beneath her arms. “So what would please you?”

He sighed, short and sharp, like the unwelcome question punctured the sanctity of his thoughts. But he knew well enough how to manipulate the dream; he chose to remain, despite bristles sharp as a pufferfish. Head canted, she perceived him like driftwood stuck in her currents; a problem to untangle and soothe, to nudge on its gentle way.

“Enough pieces of the puzzle to discern an answer,” he said eventually.

“Games should be pleasurable, Grim.” One hand lifted to cup her chin. Her brows rose in a tease. “I can think of a better one.”

The slate of his gaze finally arrowed down, eyes a colour that suggested warmth he did not emanate. His fists eased out, palms pooling over his knees. For a moment the resonance of him, of sky and earth and secrets, dislodged the weight of her thoughts. She floundered in the darkness of too many memories to count, speeding past like bubbles of air escaped a drowning breath. Until a voice pinned like a harpoon.

“What do you know of sea monsters?”

“A strange question.” She let go of the bank. Warm waters rushed against her shoulders, her hair fanned dark against its surface. The distance soothed. Little Bird Little Bird. Jon Little Bird. The calming mantra reeled her in.

My name is Nimeda.

“A strange question for a strange creature,” he agreed.

“I suppose I am.” She laughed again; let herself float further into the river’s embrace. “And today I know naught of sea monsters.” Her gaze bounced upwards, caught on the whim of one dark cloud, like an inky smudge against a cloth of blue. Or a stubborn stone against a rush of water. Her lip caught between her teeth, but the memory -- and the intent -- fountained up too slow. A favour! She had a favour to ask.

But when her gaze snapped down, lips parted to speak, the bank was empty; he had gone.

“Ask me tomorrow!” Her voice leapt high with the wind. She did not know if he heard.

An uneasy feeling seemed to settle permanently in her gut, the kind that told her she was up against a brick wall with no way to see to the other side. Laurie hated this feeling. Frustration drove her to discovery even as a kid. From puzzles in preschool to finding out who started a rumor in high school, she'd dig and dig until the brick wall was full of holes. Typically, it was her own fists that punched through if only by sheer determination. 

DC honed her abilities to dig without drawing too much attention. Until one unlucky night, she was pretty damned good at it until the story broke on her site, of course. Moscow was exponentially more dangerous, though. Between a limitless government, channelers around every corner, and a terrorist group populating cells all over the place, Laurie's steps were careful. 

Until recently, that was. Patience wasn't one of her virtues. She was walking the streets of Old Nikolskyaya, otherwise known as the Place of Enlightenment, with a plan. A bell dinged when she entered a bookshop and ascended some creaky old wood steps to the main shop level, stomping the moisture from her boots as she did. It'd been raining in the night, and this morning the streets were rather soggy. The warmth was welcome on her cheeks, and she smiled at the sole worker organizing a stack of books at the counter.

"Hi," she said far more enthusiastically than was received.

The boat drifted on an aimless path at the centre of the lake.

Closer to shore people swam in the shallows or laid out on the summer grass. Thick forest surrounded Meshcherskaya, an oasis in western Moscow; blotting out the skyscrapers of the city and the belching of traffic. She thought Aylin might appreciate the idyll, though admittedly of the two of them it was Thalia who had always been the one more inclined to outdoor pursuits.

Still, it got them both out of the stuffy apartment, and more importantly away from the scratchy memories of caged nightmares clawing through peaceful sleep. They shared a bed most nights now, curled like kittens in the maw of the dark, and in those small hours when her sister woke sweat-soaked and wailing, she was there. For though it was Calvin who guided her through the bleakest time of her life, it was for Aylin she found a reason.

Dappled light spotted her page. Sketches of glittering scales filled the page, though today they were nothing but whimsy. The crash of fierce and foaming waves around the scythe of fins adorned another. Then the still glass of a pond broken by the ripples of a lazy hand. She sang a tuneless accompaniment as she drew, a song she could not quite place a finger to. Perhaps because the snippets of words she remembered didn’t seem to be English.

Aylin sat opposite, old sketchbooks splayed across her lap. The crescents beneath her eyes seemed lighter these past few days, and already she was murmuring about returning to her work at the Guardian. A little loneliness hovered at the edges of that eventuality, though Thalia was accustomed to her often solitary existence. Strange hours and stranger work necessitated a certain absence from the world. It wasn’t like she minded.

Every now and then she glanced up from her pencil to peer curiously at the page capturing Aylin’s attention. Not so long ago she would have blanched at the idea of allowing her sister free reign to paw through her sketchbooks; it was rather like allowing someone to rummage amongst the contents of her mind, including the kind of recessess sisters really ought not share. Especially when said sister was a psychologist.

But life changed, and Thalia changed with it. Locked up secrets shared willingly now with the key of an open smile. Trust came easy to her. And as to life’s other odd blips, the ijiraq had not yet returned. Her concern had mostly evaporated; not because the threat had faded (she was optimistic, not naive), but because she had a knack for existing in the moment. Normality had a way of realigning her expectations, so that even if it was a skewed reality to everyone else, Thalia was perfectly content. And today the sun shone and her sister smiled.

“--Thal.”

She flicked a coil of hair from the edge of her page, bent low for detail. Made a vague murmur of acknowledgement as she swept up with the distraction. The world’s volume turned low.

“Thal, I said have you been to my work?”

“Geez, not since. Well, you know. Why would I?” Her gaze blinked up, brows low at that strange note of accusation. Aylin’s hands grazed her face, brushed back against the short cap of her hair. A muscle twitched in her cheek, eyes cast down. An uncomfortable beat tremored in Thalia’s chest, and the boat rocked as she abandoned her work to inch forwards. Oh, something was wrong. But Aylin held the image up. It was a portrait of a girl’s face; blank faced, hair running like spilled ink down the sides of her face.

Nothing stirred. No intent, no memory of blood spilled to force the picture from her hand. It was just a drawing.

But Aylin was white-faced.

“This is one of my patients.”

Thalia blinked surprise.

Oh.

It was happening again.