Chapter 22 Ketheron
~Ketheron~
It was my day off.
I did not work at Haven Initiative this day.
Time away was rare because I enjoyed my work very much with the Celestial children.
However, Cassius had claimed that I needed to take a rejuvenating break every now and then.
And so here it was.
Under normal circumstances, as had become part of our routine, Cassius and I would take one of our exploratory adventure trips to see a new place in the supernatural world.
Alas, Blackline Protocol was still in effect so that was not feasible this day.
Cassius wasn’t at work either—at least not at Haven Initiative.
He was immersed in another sort of work.
Work that worried me immensely.
Work that was essentially this war with Puritas.
Velra had very kindly kept her promise to me, and she continued to inform me of all developments relating to this unfortunate burden upon the supernatural world—and this new family of mine personally.
It was how I knew that Lazriel had gone to meet with a unit of The Shadowed to make a drop, as he’d put it. Said drop was a vial of Sylas Morgrave’s blood for them to test for the necromantic core transplant. Cassius had accompanied him, much like a sentinel to ensure his safety.
Velra had traveled to the home of Cornelius Martel and Warlow Boyd to discuss the involvement of Cornelius in all of this, specifically that he seemed to have a secret alliance with Remnant.
That information had come largely from an unreliable and biased source in Victor Halrow, so it needed to be confirmed.
Velra was the most optimal person to see to that, considering her positive relationship with both Cornelius and his husband.
Sylas had wanted to go, but Velra had refused, claiming he would “go in hot”, and Cornelius did not respond well to aggression or accusations.
I looked up from the pages of the book that I was studying on my bed at the sound of more grunting and cursing coming from the living room.
Sylas.
He was upset.
Stressed, I believed was a more accurate assessment.
According to the teachings of this book I was reading called Emotional Intelligence in the Modern Age, which Lazriel had sent Cassius weeks ago, it was likely frustration rooted in feeling powerless both without his magic and with his father being revealed as living.
I’d gotten this book from Cassius because with Lazriel, Velra, and Sylas now around so much and deeply entangled with him, it had seemed pertinent for me to expand my knowledge when it came to emotions and relationships of the mortal realm.
My kindred, Ariana, claimed that I had already come a long way in that regard, but I wanted to be certain, to know more.
I slotted my bookmark between the pages.
I didn’t really need one, I had exceptional recall.
But Velra had given it to me. Actually, she’d made it for me when she’d come to Haven Initiative recently.
It had beads dangling off it that were arranged in the colors of the rainbow.
She’d learned that rainbow was my favorite color.
I loved all the colors that formed such a beautiful phenomenon, so I had decided not to choose.
Besides, with even a single color missing, the rainbow was not the same.
It had to be all of them. The other aspect of the lovely bookmark was a special wire threaded with rainbow heart gems that she’d fashioned with her jewelry-making skills.
I smiled to myself as I rested my book on my pillow, then pushed off the bed and strode out of the room to see if I could assist Sylas and lessen some of his upset.
Not only could I feel the tension radiating through the space as I drew closer, but I also registered that his pulse was worryingly erratic.
I turned the corner and a journal came flying through the air.
I snatched it with a burst of speed before it sailed by.
“Sorry,” Sylas spoke, looking up from the couch where he sat with more journals and many papers spread all over the surface of our coffee table. I also noted that he had four coffee mugs interspersed amongst it all.
It didn’t quite serve to explain the full extent of his erratic pulse, however, even with him ingesting that much caffeine while he was in a near human state with his power currently bound.
As I approached, I studied him in greater depth.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, even trickling down his temples.
His hands were trembling.
And his gaze was wild as he repeatedly drove his fingers through his now messy hair.
“You are experiencing an anxiety attack,” I told him as I reached the coffee table and stood opposite him.
He looked up at me again from the couch. “I’m fine,” was all he said, before returning his attention to a brown, leather bound journal in front of him, a pen held in his shuddering grip as he scrawled magical symbols across it that were barely legible given his state.
Symbols that I was well-versed with.
“Allow me to ground you.”
He did not look up again this time. “No need, K. Appreciated, though.” He continued scrawling, grunting as he could not form the symbols properly.
I saw limited options with his responses, so I snatched the pen from his hand, along with the journal.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
I didn’t respond, focusing on the task at hand instead—what he actually needed.
Employing my vampiric speed combined with my extensive magical knowledge base, I rapidly reformed them—pages upon pages of them, then handed it back to him.
He took it and his gaze flicked from me to the pages. He appeared stunned. “Well… thanks. This is… thank you.”
“You are attempting to determine how Morien Morgrave has been resurrected.”
“You read all that, absorbed it already? That’s not the entirety of the research.”
I lifted a shoulder. “There was a pattern to be found. I was able to bridge the proverbial gap and determine the bigger picture at play, what you are actually attempting here. I thought Cassius told you to wait until he returned before you delved into this once more?”
“He was just concerned I’d leave to seek out answers.” He rolled his eyes, but it seemed performative, more than true. “I have no magic. How would I even do that? His worry is unfounded.”
“Who do you mean to reach out to, if the way was clear?”
“Ambrose Wisteryn.”
Startlement betook me. “The black magic virtuoso.”
I failed to suppress a shudder due to what that name evoked for me.
More specifically, the connection that particular being had to one who had hurt me grievously.
Sylas observed it all too easily. “Given your reaction, I suggest you return to what you were doing, and leave me to my research.” His expression softened.
“I know of his association with a certain someone who abused you. Stay away from this, all right? You don’t need this mess touching you.
I’ve got it, K.” He smiled. “It’s all right. ”
I drew in a steadying breath. “You believe that your father was resurrected using extremely potent black magic in order to transcend the issue of him being brought back as mere Animated Fleshwork and being bound to a master—his raiser—as a result?”
“It’s the only way around it. It has to be.”
“It is the only magical way around it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are searching for magical explanations and solutions only. It makes due sense as this would normally only be designated as a purely magical problem. However, you neglect to factor in Chimera Circle’s former existence.”
He sat forward, unfolding his arms, intensity sparking. “You believe there is science at work also.”
“Magical science for actual accuracy, but yes. It could very well be. Especially with how your father died, as I just saw laid out in detail from your research. He was killed by Ryker Morgan and left in pieces. So we are not only dealing with resurrection more than a decade after a death, a necromancer who should not be able to return once they pass into the Valley of the Dead in permanent death state. We are also dealing with him needing to be pieced back together.”
“He couldn’t be resurrected into pieces of a body.”
“Indeed. So it was done immediately following his death, before he had been pulled into permanent death state in the Valley of the Dead.”
“You mean somebody was waiting?”
“There are many reasons to protect a necromancer of Morien Morgrave’s caliber. As you well know.”
“So, somebody dug him up right after the Guardian Movement buried him, brought him to a Chimera Circle lab and put him back together in preparation for a planned resurrection over a decade later?”
It did sound absurd.
But that just meant there were still missing facets involved in this left to determine.
“Or, it was an illusion in the first place.”
“No. His death was felt. I felt it. Ryker was also certain that Morien’s magic and lifeforce were extinguished that day he put him down.”
“The illusion being that he was left in pieces,” I clarified. “A powerful enough, devious enough individual could have achieved that, even under the noses of Ryker Morgan and his Guardian Movement.”
Sylas jolted.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Illusion… deviousness… the black magic connection… necromancers…” He choked.
“This was him. He was involved in this. He’s not just a former associate of Ambrose.
There was another… him… that bastard. He did this.
This fucker and Morien were working together all those years ago.
It was alluded to that day at Glasswake…
” He rose and started pacing. “He said there was an endgame, a bigger picture. This must’ve been a major part of it.
” He swung his head toward me, his expression grave. “Corvin Morvain.”
I swallowed hard and took a staggering step back.