I sneak a glance over at the alarm clock, and 7:30 am is the timestamp. How nice to wake up an hour before work. A long groan escapes my lips as my body rolls over to check the rest of the bed. Rosalia nor Cereza are here. After my left does its daily ritual of sorting out the slight curls that reside in my bed hair, I try to go back to sleep until a loud thud by the curtains fills the room. A slender silhouette forms on the curtains before Cereza emerges into the room from the balcony, wearing her signature cat suit-made from her own hair-along with her glasses. My eyes sink into the pillow, not ready to adjust to the morning light.

"You sure are awake early."

"I know," I yawn. "Was Rose with you?"

"I dropped her and Donovan off to school before knocking some angels around." I slightly shift my head to take a peek at her, and Cereza's cat suit has disappeared, making me quickly wake up to the nudity. She bears that trademark smirk on her face. "Since the kids gone, and you're finally awake for once," she returns to the bed, climbing on top of me. "Now we can be naughty. Want me to get the candle?"

"As much as I would like to naughty time, going to work with hot wax on my chest wouldn't be fun."

She raises her eyebrows, as if wondering if the opposite was the case, before folding her arms to the back of my head, bringing her face closer to mine before steering towards the side of my head, proceeding to nibble on my ear. A slight moan escapes my lips. As much as I would like to get ready to work so I can leave work quickly, I couldn't help but make an exception. We haven't had any..."bonding" time for about five months. I can suffice and deal with such a famine by giving time to myself in my office bathroom since I'm the only one at the firm at late hours. Cereza, on the other hand, has her "toys", but her toys are mainly for hurting me rather pleasuring herself because inflicting pain makes her feel powerful. And power is her real pleasure. Before I could realize it, the nibbling moves from my ear to my neck and creeps closer and closer to my lips from below my chin.

"I got us tickets for a play and dinner at the new bistro tonight."

One of her eyebrows raises in curiosity. "Fine-dining me tonight? Ever the gentleman."

"There's just a light amount of paperwork left to be finished before I am free. No clients and no appointments are scheduled today. I'll be in and out in time to start the next seven days with you and the kids. Sounds like a plan?"

"Plan?" She rises on top and proceeds to suck on my bottom lip. "Sounds more like a promise."

I sigh a combination of amusement and defeat as my eyes close. "You never let me win, do you?"

"If you wanted to win, you shouldn't have gotten married," she bears her signature smirk before leaving another smooch. As my muscles relax, giving in to Cereza's entrancing kisses, another muscle starts rising as her pelvis taunts mine. She commands me in a whisper, "Don't you want to touch me?"

"You command is my wish."

Like a bent flower that had been hugged by the sun, I rise from the bed, my tanktop being pulled and held on for support while her legs straddle me, until I end up on top of Cereza, inching towards her lips to resume.

BRRRRNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG BRRRRNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

I freeze, head turning to the night stand where my cell phone rests.

"Let it ring."

My head turns back to stare down towards Cereza. "But what if it's the kids' schools?"

"They've been at school for 40 minutes. What the hell is going on at that school to warrant a call?"

Donovan pops up in my eyesight. "Hearing Infernal demons talk to you."

"...Answer the phone."

Hopping off the bed and grabbing the phone. I look at the caller ID and quickly recognize the number. "Wasn't expecting a call from you this early in the morning, Chief. Am I fired?"

"Morning, Sigurd! Although you are our worst worker," I could smell his sarcasm from the other side as I stroll back and forth next to the bed, "I'm clingy and can't let you go. After all, who is going to teach the junior attorneys how to break into the print room after 7pm? Anyways, I'm calling to tell you not to be mad at me..."

My eyes narrow. Usually the Chief is the last person I expect to upset me. "Alright."

"I might have scheduled a uhhh small appointment for you today."

"Chief," my eyes close in annoyance, "I told you no appointments."

"I know, I know," he starts stammering, "but someone called in earlier, specifically requesting for you. They saw the billboard ad for the firm and recognized you-by the way, apparently you're making the women swoon and their husbands angry. And you thought you weren't photogenic. What did I tell you?"

I roll my eyes, "Don't underestimate the power of two things: beauty and sexually frustrated housewives."

I hear an "ugh" from the left of me. I forgot there is a sexually frustrated wife within my vicinity.

"What does this secret admirer want? Business license? City authorization?"

"Sounded like he wanted a permit."

"Oh. That can be done in 15 minutes. Set him up for," my mind briefly reminds me of the date tonight, "twenty to six."

"Will do. See you in an hour," a dismissive click goes off in my ear.

"Of course, it's wife #1 calling as always."

Here we go. I sit on the bed, "Cereza, I'm trying to make an effort. Please."

"Yes, and as always, you make the effort until your boss looks for you."

"It's a new firm, and I had to adjust to things. You think I spend days upon days away from my wife and kids with a smile on my face?"

"I don't. But I don't see you frowning about doing it either," She got out of the bed, her cat suit re-appearing, before she walks towards the window leading to the balcony. "Can't wait to possibly see you tonight," she puts much stress on "possibly" before disappearing behind the curtain.

I stroll towards the bathroom, a heavy sigh accompanying me. After lightly slapping myself awake, I take my shower, brush my teeth, gel and comb my hair into a sleek combover, and spray on some cologne before putting a mahogany suit with an onyx dress shirt and an ivory tie before gathering my coat and leaving for work, locking the front door. On my way to work, I catch an abnormal amount of stares, particularly from older women, sometimes in front of their husbands. Usually I would get an occasionally stare from or followed for a couple of blocks by women who attempt to flirt only for me to flash my wedding band. And even then, I've had a few adventurous ones tell me "we can keep what's done between us...between us" before describing my wife's discontent as the full rage of Satan. However, today has me feeling like a piece of meat in a lion's den. The chief's words echo in my head: "Beauty and sexually frustrated housewives." Once I arrive at the firm, I walk inside and receive greets from most of the junior staff and some of the senior executives.

"Sigurd, over here!" Chief waves over at me, beckoning me.

"Chief."

"You've been a good hit for business! We've been getting a serious influx from a lot of businesses. And all it took was a hot environmental lawyer to get them horny. I sincerely thank your mother and father for being attractive enough to birth you."

"I...don't know how to respond to, but thank you, I guess?" I fold my arms,"Since it's my face on the ad, can I get a small bonus fee?"

Chief grins before hitting my arm with the newspaper. "The next paycheck for you will be a bit beefier than usual. Keep up the good work."

The stroll to the office was a delightful one. To walk past all of the offices, ringing phones galore, busy with new clients. My decision to close my booking timetables for the next 14 days was a smart decision. Now to go into my office and finish the paperwork I have left. One hassle I continue to realize throughout the 150 years I've spent being a lawyer is the smallest stack of paperwork seems to take the longest time to finish. As I finally knocked out the last file, which was primarily the city government looking to revise their sustainability program, I checked the time, and 5:50 arrived. Which means, ten minutes til closing time and ten minutes til a week long recharge. It also means my secret admirer is also late. As I clean some paper scraps and unneeded files off my desk, a knock fills the room, although this one is peculiar from the other ones. This knock is gentle, yet the spacing between knock carries a tinge of aggression as the length of waiting between each knock is short, long, short short, long, long, long. As I ball up some loose paper and throw them into the garbage can, basketball style, an impatient "Come in" escapes me, granting the next client permission to enter.

"Ah, Mr. Snarensven, I presume?" The next client strides into the office, his hand in his pockets. Focusing my attention on him, he was very different from the clients that were previously coming in. olive skin, sporting a short yet ruffled, sandy blond undercut with faint strands of grey popping out as the office light shines above us while wearing a black opened trenchcoat with a marigold colored sweater hiding underneath. His smile gave me chills. His smile wasn't necessarily insincere. It was more like a smile of familiarity. Despite the warm welcome this client was trying to give off, my guard was on high alert. I clear my throat.

"Yes, please have a seat," I stretch my hand towards the two chairs in front of my desk. "From what I was told, you are looking to request for a permit?"

"That is correct." He pulls out a box of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

"Sir, no smoking in here please," I glare at the cigarette he manage to wrestle out by smacking the bottom of the box.

"Pretty please?" He somewhat begs, already in the process of lighting the cigarette. "Just a few little puffs. They help me calm my nerves." I roll my eyes before walking towards my seat at the desk. Before I make it entirely to the seat, the client resumes finishing his sentence. "I am indeed looking to receive a permit, specifically for the Yggdrasil Forest."

"The Yggdrasil Forest? The one that's connected to the Platinum National Park? That's a rather odd request. Might I ask what for?"

"I am an archaeologist, Mr. Snarensven," an "Ah" escapes my lips from the realization. He continues, "In my years of studying, the Yggdrasil Forest has been the center of many mythical tales, including the ever so famed, 'Fountain of Valhalla.'"

I question, "I've never heard of this 'fountain.'

"No worries. The Fountain of Valhalla is likened to be the sweat and tears of brave fallen warriors of old Norse who met their ends."

"So you're looking for a fountain of ancient bodily fluids? You archaeologists are an interesting lot," I casually joke. "I assume 'sweat and tears' are allegorical hyperboles?"

His snaps his fingers and points, "Bingo. The real treasure at hand is an underground river stream that my team and I would like to dig for. However, that part of the Yggdrasil Forest is sealed off from the national park. I would like to request a permit to enter those grounds, seeing that park visitors are forbidden from entering the inner depths of the forest."

"That can be arranged. Sounds like you guys are pretty serious about your line of work, and educational. History and education will always win city hall over, so the permit will more than likely get approved within 48 hours," I pull out a Hvelgemiran permit form for the archaeologist to fill in. After he finishes, he looks up at me, his green eyes beaming with an uncomfortable amount of glee. "Done and done."

"Excellent. Before I leave, I'll put it in our dropbox, and our delivery carrier will send it downtown to be processed in the morning."

He looks at me, surprised, "Wait, that's it? It was that easy?"

"Usually, it is unless your business has a history of violating city codes," my eyes glance at the wall clock above his head. 5:59. Less than a minute, and I can finally kick this guy out. I ask before scooting my chair behind to tidy my area some before vacation begins. "Any questions before we close?"

"OH! Uh yes, umm. It's regarding your name," he suddenly ponders. That caught me very off guard.

"Uuuhhh...what about it?"

"It's an interesting name. Are you from Vigrid by any chance?"

"I am. I've long moved from there. Why do you ask?"

"I had an inkling. It's just that when I saw your picture on the hoarding, it caught me off guard to see such vibrant purple eyes. Little brother."

My legs lock right on the spot, the glass window showing the city skyline mimicking my astonished expression. I muster to turn my head around slowly only to be greeted by an overbearing grin on this man's face. A part of me wants to believe this is Gunnar, but another part of me still stands in disbelief after centuries of no communication. Unknowingly, I swallow my spit to moisten my throat. "You must have the wrong person," I muster enough composure yet my back still faces him. "I don't have any remaining family members."

In the window's reflection, he removes his cigarette from his mouth, lightly taps the tip, and takes another suck before blowing smoke towards me. "No I have the right person. I don't remember Snarensven in our name though." He takes another puff. He squints his eyes at me with a slight scowl on his face, "Last I recall, you can't get purple eyes from a Snarensven. Only from a Volsung." The name "Volsung" instantly sparks for me to turn a 180 towards the man, his face full of glee. "Well at least I know you still recognize your name after all these centuries. How have you been, Siggie?"

I shoot from my seat, the chair bumping against the cabinet behind me from the sheer force. "Get the hell out of my office."

"Woah, woah, Sig. Lighten up," he places his cigarette at the edge of his mouth before walking towards my desk and picking up a picture frame. "Beautiful wife and beautiful kids," he takes his cigarette out of his mouth. "Siggie, you've been holding out on me. A sister-in-law, niece, and nephew I haven't met yet? You always liked to do things on your own and not include anyone. How selfish." He points two of his fingers -index and middle- towards my face. "Glad to see Mother's eyes are still living on though. Father always said they are what drew him to her in the first place. And now, they've drawn us back together."

"Put the picture down, Gunnar," I command, his eyebrows raising at the mention of his name.

"You do remember after all, eh?" He puts the cigarette out and flicks the small, burnt body of what's left of it into the garbage can. His raises his hand in a surrendering gesture and sighs, "Relax, why don't you? I come in peace. The reason I'm here to tell you: you were right all along."

I don't have much of a response to an obvious statement; however, my eyes ponder on the small book he pulls from the back of his pants.

He resumes, "500 years ago, our brethren fought with the Witches in an effort to eradicate those demon worshipping heathens. Little did we underlings, and even some of the clergymen, at the time know there was one widdle banished Sage by the name of Balder who orchestrated the entire clan war, extincting our fellow brethen and commanding the angels to join him in annihilating the rest of the witches. Such a sad conclusion for the legacy of both clans, truly."

Memories of 500 years ago came swarming in. The higher-ups waking me and the rest of my fellow class up. The two witches I killed. And the witch from the wooden cottage in hiding with her family. I was unaware until now that well...my supposed Father-in-law was the cause of all of this. I swear, irony has a vendetta against me to end up marrying his daughter.

"Unfortunately for Balder, he was defeated by the hands of one last remaining Umbra Witch who ironically happens to be his daughter. The one called "Bayonetta." I freeze in my tracks as he looks again at the family picture. "Never did I think the daughter of the man who really destroyed our clan would be in my family. I know Father is probably rolling in his grave. I swear, irony has a vendetta against us."

"I wish I cared about Cardinal Freyr's judgment or what he thinks about me in the afterlife," I speak up. "I don't know of this 'Father' you speak of."

He looks at me. "What happened between you and Father is 500 years in the past. I wasn't in that room to know what sparked a fire in you to extinguish Father's, but if there's one thing I do know is that you're the most intelligent out of you, me, and Father...while also being the most empathic of us all. I need you for a much bigger purpose. One that would save humanity. According to," he pulls out a small brown book with gold trimmings around it. I look at him in bewilderment.

"Freyr's journal."

"Bingo! It is indeed."

"How did you acqu-"

"AH AH AHT!" He wags his finger at me. "Had you not pull that stunt of yours, you would have inherited the key to his office. Quite a fascinating room full of writings and studies. Calling Father a scholar would be to underwhelm his vast knowledge. A philosopher? Underestimating his profane logic. But his personal thoughts and secrets?" He holds up the small brown book. "He always kept it with him. Like a second heart. Speaking of which," he reaches behind him to pull out another book similar in stature to Father's journal except it was white with gold trimming. "When Mother passed, Father kept her diary along with his. Such a romantic tragedy, the interminable life of our parents surviving through two small leather books."

My eyes roll again, tired of hearing Gunnar's babbling. I sneak a glance at the clock. 6:07.

He continues on. "As the last two Lumen Sages remaining in this life, I need you more than ever, Brother. To restore our clan and bring up a new generation of Lumen Sages from the ground up. One that would lead humanity into an era of peace, freedom, and brotherhood. Like it was meant to be before Balder flew too far from the cuckoo's nest."

So he's the one that's been trying to start a Lumen Sage revival that Mister Cheshire warned us about...

"Thank you for the invitation, but it's a no from me," I walk to the coat stand near the door to grab my suit jacket as Gunnar lurches my footsteps.

"Siggie, you don't understand!"

"No," I put my coat on, "you don't seem to understand what rejection is."

Right as my hand rests on the doorknob to leave my office, I hear a mighty cry from behind, "YOU'RE THE DESTINED ONE, SIGURD."

Destined? I turn around in confusion. "What the hell are you shouting about?"

Gunnar walks up to me, placing his hand on my left shoulder. "Do you not know why you and Mother's eyes gleam with such a majestic purple hue?"

"The power of genetics," I snark before attempting to turn around towards the door, but the resting of Gunnar's hand on my shoulder becomes more forceful, stopping me in my tracks.

He then opens Mother's diary, turning the pages with a focused look on his face before stopping, moving the opened book towards me. "Read that."

I will only entertain such theatrics for one minute before kicking him out. The page reads:

Growing into my womanhood, the inquiries pertaining to my spiritual heritage has been an interesting journey. Today is my birthday. 18 doesn't feel much different from 17, but according to Father, it's much of a difference to sit me down earlier today. He broke the news that I was the inheritor of "The One." I thought he was joking at first, considering I always thought Aalok would get it. I don't engage in the Lumen Arts nor do I know much about what a Lumen Sage is. But to my surprise, Father was not disappointed. The smile on his face as he revealed such confidential information was the biggest smile I ever saw since Mother passed away.

I asked him, how was he sure it is I? I don't practice any of the arts to which he told me it was my eyes. The original color of my eyes were originally grey, but upon closer inspection, they morphed into a dark purple that rivals wine made with the finest Concord grapes. According to Father, the eyes are the window to the soul, and the brighter and richer the purple, the more powerful the inheritor. In my case, Father says I don't have to worry about not having the spiritual power as I am of the 46th Ovirkur Generation. According to him, there have been a few accounts of multiple inheritors of different Virkur Generations who have all lived within the same period, but The One's power is so bottomless that multiple possessors has no affect. However, there are written records of certain Inheritors being more powerful than the others, no matter their age. Supposedly only one child can carry this power, almost as if Destiny marked them for greatness. That is why they are called, "Destined." The One shines the most in Destineds who are deep within themselves of a pure, wise soul and compassionate heart, no matter how grave their folly as a human.

Simply put, The One appears every other generation. Only one generation is able to use its' never ending source of power, and the generation after The One inhabits a dormant state in order to recharge its spiritual energy. It's a never ending cycle. Curious, I did ask Father how would one be unable to break this cycle to which he responds the only way possible is to simply kill the last surviving inheritors.

I close the journal. I fear I have gravely underestimated who or what exactly I am and I fear of my ignorance affecting the children, specifically Donovan. My breathing finds all of this hard to accept. Also, I was very curious about the mention of one particular name.

"Mother mentioned Cardinal Aalok. Aalok is our?"

"Uncle? Yes." Gunnar confirms. "According to Mother's diary, Aalok was outcasted from the family due to his...interesting preference when it came to pursuing the opposite sex. Or rather...the same sex. Little do you know, I caught up with him some time after Father's passing and well...delivered justice in his involvement of killing Mother."

"You killed Aalok?"

"To say 'kill' would put me in the same boat as him. Again, Siggie," his eyes lower, piercing into mine, "I delivered justice. Now, as you can see," his fingers pushes the top and bottom eyelid of his eye, "my eyes are green. You, Siggie, are the head of the 47th Virkur Generation. And you are the only one who I know can help me." I stared at him, still lost in thought, until he continues, "I needed the permit to access the Fountain of Valhalla because its waters are so spiritually imbued, it grants immense power equal to that of a Destined. Do you know what this means? You and I can rule an unstoppable army of Lumen Sages. We can restore honor to our family. To what it means to be a Lumen Sage. We can right the wrongs our ancestors caused. I beseech you, Sigurd. Join me as my right-hand man, little brother."

"No," I reply, catching him off guard.

"But Siggy-"

"NO. I no longer practice the Light Arts nor do I have a desire to pick it back up."

He shook his head in disagreement. "It doesn't matter how many centuries may past. A Lumen Sage never forgets how to fight. Especially a damn good one." Both of us just stared each other down until the door opens, catching both our attention. It was Cereza, wearing a the black mini dress I bought her for our last anniversary last year. It had taken me 2 hours to pick out a luxury dress that fit her style: deep v-cut that allows her shoulder blade to peek out before stopping below her buttocks, a wide crew neck that accentuated her buxom with thin white straps that begins the white outline of her torso. Her hair is in a beehive updo, similar to how she wears her hair with her catsuit, but less exaggerated and more modern with a wavy bang that resembles an S-curl. I look at the clock. It's 6:15.

"What's been taking you so long? I've been in the waiting area for twenty minutes until the receptionist directed me to take a lift up here." She walks in only to stop at the sight of Gunnar.

"Where have my manners gone in front of a beautiful woman?" He dusts his palms off with his coat before resting his hand on my shoulder and bears that same grin from earlier on his face. "Nice to meet you, Sis. The name's Gunnar . Siggy's big brother."

She scrunches her eyebrows as her eyes dart back and forth between us until they land on my face. "You never told me that you had a brother."

My teeth clench, "I didn't know I still have one."

"So I guess this means there is more you don't know about Siggy here, Sis?"

Cereza continues staring at me in the midst of Gunnar's blabbering. "Apparently not."

"Well then, I'll let you lovebirds spend some quality time to get more acquainted," Gunnar strides, almost as if he's taking a walk through a park. "Oh! Before I forget," he whispers into my ear, "If you don't take my offer, then I might have to see if Mother's words about ending the cycle are true with a visit to my niece and nephew." He whispers in my ear.

Without hesitation, my feet make way towards him, hands yanking on his collar and slams him against the wall, my certification falling to the ground from the force. With every second I peer into his eyes, nothing but anger rushes through my veins. Into my eyes. My eyesight for a minute flashes white. I hear Gunnar whisper once more, "Yes, your eyes glow with such vibrancy. Let it take over you. Bring 'The One' forward."

A forceful grab of my shoulder brings my eyesight back into my office, Gunnar's devilish grin in front of me. I turn to see Cereza's arm as the culprit.

"It was just a little banter, Siggy. You've grown into quite a grouch these days. We'll touch bases later, little Brother," he states, walking towards the office door. Right before the door closes, he peeks an eye through the crack, muttering, "Catch ya later, little Sis."

It was just Cereza and I in my office, as the sun begin to set. No matter how much I try, the will in me to move would not allow. All I can do is stare at the floor, ashamed.

"There's another secret or two you're keeping from me?"

I always planned on telling her about my past, but the one time I do want to tell, I cannot have the comfort of being the one to initiate it. I look towards Cereza's face, my eyes heavy with guilt. "I...am a Lumen Sage."

She didn't show much of a response. "Show me your Lumen watch."

I comply, walking towards the clock and removing it from the wall, revealing a small secret chamber. I open it to see the watch, shaped like the sun. I grab it, holding its face in the air towards Cereza, as if I were a detective. She turns her body away from me, folding her arms. "I was going to tell you yesterday night." my eyes hold the floor. "I couldn't since Rose came into our room." Still, no response from her. I walk towards her back, placing my hand on her shoulder. "Cereza, please talk to-"

Suddenly Cereza turns around to look at me, her eyes basking in fury and rimming with tears she refused to drop. It is a look so intense, I can only shut my mouth. "I had a hunch," Her voice soft and lower than usual, as if holding back anger. "There were...signs. Yet I brushed them off, being a fool in love. Seeing me in purgatory when we first met. Your cologne carrying a faint scent of rosemary," she her voice gradually increases in volume with each word. "Just exactly who the fuck are you other than a fourteen year old lie? Who is this person standing behind me?"

"My name is...Sigurd Volsung," I confess.

"Volsung? Even your last name was a lie," She walks to me, the only thing separating our faces at this point was the air passing through our nose. "Why Sigurd? All of the nights I spent being vulnerable and believing that I was burdening our children-that I was plaguing our children with my Umbran powers in the hopes they could have a normal life, according to YOU. FOR 18 YEARS, SIGURD."

"Because that's not a life I want to live anymore," I continue as she stomps past me, each footstep brimming with frustration towards my office window. "I have no desire to be a Lumen Sage. I haven't practiced the Light Arts for 500 bloody years. I just wanted to be human again. To not deal with that life anymore."

She breaks her glance from the window to look at me, her eyes soft for a moment, "Human again, you say?" She ends with a teasing inflection.

My eyes shift back to the floor. "Yes."

"What a naive, selfish idea. You knew what you were in for when you made your pact Sigurd," she makes her way towards me again, her voice growing louder with every inch. "There is no escaping this life. And now, Donovan and Rose can't escape it either. Donovan is suffering. And I was made to think it was of my doing, so do you see why I'm livid?"

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck your sorry," she throws the tickets I bought for our date night in my face, her face stoic. "Have fun with your party of one. I think I'll call Jeanne and turn this into a girl's night out instead."

The slam of the door is as audible as the slam of my fist upon my desk. Way to go, Sigurd.

No matter what I do, the past always finds it's way back...