Return to Meridian

Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain belongs to Edios and Crystal Dynamics, not me. I am making £0.00 out of this fic, it is written purely because I have a burning need to create. Although I would like to own Vorador . . . then he'd be mine.

Rating: PG-13

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Chapter One

The war was over. The war was won. And yet there was another still to be fought. The cruel masters of Nosgoth, the Sarafan, now leaderless, still had to be put down. There were cities to be rebuilt, and order be restored. And a new rule, my rule, would then begin. To the victor go the spoils. At last, Nosgoth would be mine.

Kain was tired.

That kind of tired that builds quietly, while you're not paying attention, only occasionally brushing against the periphery of your consciousness. Then suddenly it comes up and swamps you. Knocking you on your arse at the worst possible time.

He'd probably slept once since that night he'd woken to find Umah staring at him. The nights since his awakening all blurred together to form one endless night. But he'd accomplished the impossible, or at least the impossible, for Vorador. Kain couldn't deny the warm smug satisfaction that curled in his gut at the fact that Vorador had tried unsuccessfully for two hundred years to overthrow the Serefan and Kain had done it in days.

Some father of vampires.

But now, standing on the dock of the Hylden city, staring up at the wreck he'd arrived the endless night was catching up with him. The boat was useless, run aground, the engine an undecipherable mesh of pipes and cogs. The only way back to the mainland was going to be his bat form. But with his body trembling and his vision blurring at the edges, Kain knew he'd get maybe half a mile out to sea before he'd fall.

A rather under dramatic and pointless end to his quest.

Best to rest first.

The Hylden City blazed behind him. There would be no sanctuary there. Even discounting the fire and with the Hylden all destroyed, there were other dangers. Those big bastard spiders were still there, and perhaps more of the demons. There was no guarantee the destruction of the gate had been their end as well. So no, the city was not an option.

That left the ship, which had been badly damaged by him running it aground earlier in his impatience. But it didn't look like it was likely to sink. It was hardly the ideal place for a rest, but it was the only port in a storm that he badly needed.

Clambering aboard, his lip curled at the smell. The corpses he'd left littered across the deck were already rotting. But he quickly reminded himself that he'd slept in worse places, that brothel in Steinchencröe for one.

In the end, he found what he assumed to be the captain's cabin. It wasn't large, but there were no corpses other than his own. It also had a door he could lock and furniture he could use to secure the room further. Again, not ideal, but needed. Once he collapsed onto the cot, the all-consuming tiredness became, if possible, even worse. But his mind was racing. It would take a moment for his exhaustion to overpower it.

It was over.

He'd done it.

The Reaver hummed contentedly next to him, and he let a hand drop onto it. Dammed if he was ever letting the blade out of his sight again. Having it back now, he truly felt the void it had left when it had been out of his possession. Like an itch you don't realise is there until you scratch. The blade's hilt glowed, the power within reaching down the blade to make contact with his fingers. It felt like pins and needles or small insect bites against his skin.

He'd always known the blade was, at least to an extent, self-aware. He wasn't sure how it was so, if it had a truly conscious mind or if it was merely a will power, or perhaps a curse. But either way there was something there, something that was normally blood thirsty and desperate for the fight. But now, in the creaking quiet of the boat, it felt warm, and for want of a better word, relieved. The power coiled around his wrist and when Kain tried to pull his hand away; it did not let go. Too tired to argue with the inanimate object, he relaxed back.

The anger and adrenalin that had carried him through the last few days was finally leaving. Kain wasn't sure that was a good thing. As the anger faded, everything it had masked was revealed. The self-doubt, the grief, the betrayal. The reaver flared under his hand again, the timing strangely coincidental given the current direction of his thoughts.

"It seems I have to learn the same lesson once again. Trust is for fools." The memory of Magnus rose and felt like a punch to the gut. "More often than not," he added. The memory of Umah. She'd distrusted him and that had led to her stealing the nexus of stone. His distrust of her had led to him killing her for doing so. She'd died for what he was was starting to think felt more and more like a misunderstanding.

What a waste.

So, distrust wasn't a perfect protection, either.

His head throbbed; he closed his eyes against it all.

His body ached; he'd not run himself this ragged since his overthrow of the circle. The constant activity, the stress, the frustration and the worst of it, the absorption of so many new 'gifts' left him both starving and shattered.

Perhaps he'd spread himself a little thin.

Janos had commented on it before he'd left for the Meridian Docks. Commenting that perhaps it would be wise to wait and rest a few days, let the power he'd absorbed settle within him, allow himself an adjustment period. He'd scoffed it off, of course, but now, sitting here with his bones feeling like jelly and his stomach rolling with nausea, he was thinking maybe the ancient vampire had had a point.

He needed time, time to recover his balance, to refill his reserves, which were well and truly empty. The image of the mansion in the swamps rose unbidden, its warm halls, deep plush sofas and even deeper beds. He'd looked down his nose at Vorador and his love of opulence. But here, exhausted and trying to get comfortable on a rusty, thin cot, he yearned for the mansion. In particular, he craved the worn sofa he'd adopted in the east library. It had been one of the more battered pieces of furniture, well used and pushed into one of the smaller nooks to be out of sight. It was quiet, soft, and the smell of old papers, fireplaces and ink had become a consistent source of comfort.

But the mansion was miles away, if it was even still there at all. Two hundred years was a long time, after all.

But the Sanctuary was closer and most definitely still there. It lacked the splendour of the mansion, but it was a home or sorts.

He suspected Vorador would be there. The old vampire had not been where he had fallen. Kain had attempted to return via that route to see what the situation was. He'd found the room empty and thus assumed Janos would have teleported Vorador back to Sanctuary before following him to engage the Serefan Lord.

Despite their most recent squabble, Kain doubted Vorador would hold much of a grudge he had never had before. So perhaps, once he had enough of his strength back, he would return to the Sanctuary. Vorador would no doubt appreciate being told of his Sire's fate if nothing else.

End Chapter

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