So... this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I decided to just go ahead and post it. This is probably going to be the last chapter I post of this, since there doesn't seem to be interest in reading more. If, however, you actually find yourself interested.. please, for the love of God, let me know, because while I don't like writing for myself, i would absolutely adore having someone to share this story with!
The death of Edian Drosia was, above all other things, a problem. She left the world with a difficult question: who would lead the remaining people of the clan? Jochanan had received the news of her death through his network of informers. This was no good... Immediately, he'd started rummaging through the tree of the clan, though he did not need to venture far. If the Soul Weapon chose the nearest blood relative... then it must have gone to his daughter. That, too, was a problem.
He sat in front of the large desk in the union's office in Dubai. They had moved into the new building only recently. Gently, the noble drummed his fingertips against the dark wood of his desk. In half an hour, several members of his clan would come to him, looking for answers. Did Edian really die? Who would lead them, now? Even before her death he had been the one they turned to, disappointed by an absent-minded clan leader who always seemed preoccupied with something else. Wasn't he predestined for this position? For centuries he had spied and lied, schemed and conspired. Neither the union nor anyone else acknowledged him the way he deserved. He would make them, then.
Briefly, his gaze turned to the old photograph (a copy, the original was stored away safely). He with two younger nobles – a blonde young woman and a blonde boy, hardly more than a teenager. Among the first photographs taken, an invention his daughter had showed them with greatest excitement. His daughter. That girl could not even lead her own life, let alone an entire clan. Of course, that was not the main issue – she would not be the first incompetent woman to be in charge of Clan Drosia. However, there was a fundamental difference between her and Edian: Edian always has been predictable and reasonable. Edian could be influenced.
To place his daughter in a position of power... behold, the clan leader who will bring power into the weakened union, a puppet that followed his plans and carried out his orders... Maybe even help him out. Never underestimate how dangerous a charming woman can be. Alas... he has not been blessed with an obedient daughter. All the possibilities in front of him vanished into thin air.
When the three men and two women who would speak for the clan stepped before him, he finally had an answer.
"The rumors are true, my friends. Tell our people that our beloved leader, Edian Drosia, has entered eternal sleep. We will mourn for her and remember her fondly," he started and finally got up from his chair. His moment had come, no one would step between him and his hour in the sun.
"The soul weapon has chosen me as its rightful wielder and the rightful successor of Edian Drosia. Tell our people that I will, as I always have, lead them with their best interest on my mind and in my heart."
"Ignes." Gently, he rapped his knuckled against the door to her room. Most of the time, she did not tolerate having anyone in there. Now, however, he received a hum as invitation. Roctis had not found her in the laboratory, so he reckoned she must be in her room instead. A few doodles and sketches and notes have been stuck to the wall by her bed where she sat cross-legged. Softly, Roctis closed the door and made his way to her bed. Ignes shifted aside so he could sit next to her comfortably. Slowly, she let her head drop against his shoulder.
"I was so scared I might lose you," she mumbled softly, breaking the silence after a while. Roctis merely placed an arm around her and let silence settle back in. Rarely did they ever have such moments of pure, genuine gentleness. Ignes remembered days when she would just sit in his lap and watch him do whatever he was doing, later moving on to sitting next to him, instead, pencils and parchment scattered all over the table.
"There is something important I need to talk to you about." He shifted so he could look at her and, gently, cupped her face with his hands. This sweet face, he would always see the little girl she used to be, once upon another time. However, those days were over. Ignes was no little girl anymore and this world was not one where they could walk with ease, knowing nothing could ever harm them. "Anyone who isn't us... is an enemy. Remember that. Trust no one."
To be loved was not always a great bliss. No, often it was a burden, instead. Her dying breath... His dying breath... He'd heard too many dying breaths of too many people he had cherished. In his own, quiet, silent way, Rai had loved all of them. He'd loved Edian, loyal and quiet, loved Urokai's fire, loved Roctis' big heart, Zarga's cool mind, Lagus' sharp intellect. In a way, he'd loved each of them, unable to show, unable to make them see. Sometimes he wondered whether his current friends thought the same of him, now. Did they feel abandoned? Did they doubt he cherished them? Sometimes even Frankenstein made him wonder. Was he giving enough?
Raizel did not move when he felt a hand touching his shoulder lightly, fingertips coming to rest on the fabric of his jacket.
"I am sorry," Frankenstein said softly and it was all he needed to hear. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out, placing his own fingers over Frankenstein's before the human could pull away. For a few minutes, they did not move at all.
When Frankenstein turned around and left to make him tea, Raizel felt less forlorn.