IX. You've always known

Taut silence descended; all eyes were on Aeternus's kneeling form. Only the Phantom realized that he had not come alone – the familiar shapes of Lászlo and Sándor were there beneath the arch, each on one side, painted red by the light of the lantern, no doubt on Aeternus's order to stay where they were. Had he wanted them to follow him, they surely would have, and even though the Phantom had assigned Gaston and Leclair to watch the door, they would not have held them up. After all, Aeternus had used his powers on them. Still they were not facing the door, as they were supposed to be, but watching Aeternus.

Everybody was. The few servants did so as well, uncertain what to do.

If they moved, those damn gypsies, he would kill them, the Phantom thought. After all, he knew an easy way to kill now.

"Oro supplex et acclinis," Aeternus continued softly, with the same clear, clipped pronunciation as he would give his name in, exactly as the words were written; not a common way for a Frenchman to pronounce anything Latin. "Cor contritum quasi cinis." Still his head was lowered, and the Phantom could feel that he was withdrawing what little powers he had been employing when entering. Yes, Gaston and Leclair were turning towards the entrance again. And so softly that it was almost inaudible, he concluded, "Gere curam mei finis."

Well, that man apparently knew his Latin.

And it also revealed something about him that the Phantom realized only now. "You're German, aren't you?" But he knew the answer already.

Aeternus did not raise his head. "Prussian."

So he had been right about him. The Phantom smiled. Strange that such a small triumph could please him so, after this great battle and at last his victory over his worst enemy.

Aeternus would provide no difficulty now… or would he? After all, Aeternus was different, in some strange way. And there were some questions about him which strongly called for answers.

But before he could form any question, Aeternus called out to the servants, "Hail the Phantom, the new King of the Catacombs!"

Most of them dropped down to their knees straight away, some with their faces in the dust, and those who hesitated at first followed the others' example quickly enough. Almost half of them were women, the Phantom noticed as he glanced at them without true interest. Had he really killed most of the men, then?

The new King of the Catacombs.

"They are yours," Aeternus said. "They will obey you. Command them."

Was this what they expected of him? Very well, then. There was only one thing he wanted them to do. "Go, you filthy slaves," he told them. "Go, leave this city, and never come back."

He was showing them mercy, he thought as he watched them scramble to their feet and approach the exit hesitantly, splitting up into two groups which both kept as close to either wall as possible, avoiding the Phantom and his men as good as they could on their way past them. He could have killed them. No, he should have, and if only because they were gypsies. How he hated them, those filthy half-breeds, that folk of thieves and thugs who had tormented him so much in his childhood! But they were helpless against him, and he could not just slaughter them with Christine watching. She would never approve.

Besides, would killing them really make him feel better? He doubted it would. Maybe the wild lust for blood would capture and intoxicate him for a few fleeting moments, but then, when he returned to reality, nothing would remain, nothing but bitterness for not being able to undo what fate had made him face, and what he still was facing. There was no sense in it, and no satisfaction.

Soon the last of them had passed the archway flanked by the sculpted pair of angels, more running then walking, and their steps faded away as they headed towards the entrance to the sewers, just as the Phantom had expected they would. He could still feel them clearly, but soon they would have left his territory, left it forever.

And then he would have his peace again.

Yes, but what else? What would he do then? He was a hunted man, after all; Créon had not been the only one to hunt him. And Christine had rejected him.

He had won, but there was nothing left for him in this world, nothing at all. Of what use was such a victory?

To be exact, there were the Girys, Claire and Meg, but what did they really matter, compared to his love? His world was so empty when Christine was not there.

At his feet, Aeternus stirred slightly, just as if to draw the Phantom's attention back to him. Hell devour him alive, why was he still there? Why could he not have gone together with those gypsy slaves? The Phantom's first thought was to do the same with him as he had just done with Créon, now he knew how to do it – and it had been so obvious, why had he not realized it earlier on, when dealing with Adhemar? – but there were still a few questions he needed to put to him.

"You helped me."

Aeternus inclined his head slightly. "I did."

Yes, but never as much as Christine helped me. The Phantom had to fight off a strong desire to grasp her around her slender waist and pull her into his arms once more, overcome by gratefulness and love towards her. "Why?" he demanded instead, more gruffly than he had intended to.

For the first time Aeternus raised his head, though only very slightly, so that he was regarding the Phantom's high black boots now, instead of the dusty ground before his feet. Somehow it seemed that he avoided the Phantom's eyes so clearly not of fear to be read, but of politeness, of demonstrated submission. "I cannot get involved myself," he answered simply.

The Phantom mustered him, his eyebrows slightly raised to signal his answer had not been quite clear, but Aeternus chose not to specify, and since he did not look up at all, there was no sense in it anyway. Curse the man, he would have to be more blunt then. "Why? And get up, damn you," he added. The next time Aeternus might catch his hints when he faced him properly.

Moreover, while he kneeled, Aeternus had an excuse not to look him in the eyes. If he stood opposite him and still had to avert his gaze, wouldn't that be a lot more humiliating?

Yes, show them their place, a voice inside him hissed. Teach them all. As long as any of them lives, you can never stop fighting them.

But this was the last one left. And for some reasons of his own, that last Lost One had helped him. That bought him a bit of time before he, too, was sent to Hell.

Inside the Phantom's chest an angry furnace roared, shooting sparks up to his throat, making his mouth go dry.

Slowly Aeternus rose to his feet, and slowly he pulled off the one black glove he wore, his own personal kind of mask. The Phantom knew what to expect, and he did not even blink as Aeternus held up his shrivelled, blackened right hand into the firelight. And still he did not meet the Phantom's gaze, but looked at his crippled hand instead. "At the time when the world of old ended," he said softly, "when you and Créon and all of the others got their scars they would be branded with forever, I, too, was fighting for the fate of a realm which would not last any longer. But I never was like you, nor was I like Créon. Both of you were mighty men, destined to change the world and be remembered by many generations to come, but I was the Listener." He moved his skeletal fingers as he spoke, bending them and stretching them again, and the Phantom could feel Christine shudder slightly at the back of his mind. "I watched, and I remembered. But never did I act. As the Conspiracy of the Shadow was brewing, I joined the Herald of Fate, because I had foreseen the downfall of the Old Order, and I was with him as he prepared to take the Realm of the Divine with fire and sword. But I did not participate, because I was not meant to. Until the moment came when I grew bold. But even as I crossed blades with another, the sword fell from my hand, and as I was watching, my hand burned and shrivelled to a skeleton's."

As he had ended his tale, silence spread, only broken by the gentle crackling of the flames on the braziers. But they, too, were fading, the Phantom saw. They were burning down, and already the hall was darker, the shadows in the corners waxing slowly, soon to resume their rightful place once more.

So ended the reign of the King of the Catacombs.

And there would be no more King of the Catacombs, never again.

Yes, the Phantom thought, resting his hand on the hilt of his sabre as he watched the dying flames, there are no myths of kings and gods and Lost Ones. There is just me. "I'm sick of all your fairytales," he said coldly. "Find somebody else who will believe you."

And then Aeternus looked at him directly, and he smiled. And as their gazes met, mist swirled up before the Phantom's eyes. "You are too young yet to remember," he said quietly, "but you are strong. Soon you will. Yet many a year will pass until it all comes back to you. Even Créon, who was our Master, did not know everything, even though he is old enough to have seen two centuries pass." Then his smile broadened. "He kept referring to the War of the Shadow as the Second War of the Powers," he murmured, as if to himself. "It was rather annoying, really."

Should he break down Aeternus's defences and twist his senses into true madness for these accursed lies? No, it was not worth the trouble. "Don't tell me Créon was two hundred years old!" he snapped. "If all you have to tell me are stories like this, then save your breath, for I'm not going to believe you. Besides, that old man, that Bertrand, claimed he was about a hundred and seventy, and Créon looked not nearly as old as Bertrand did!"

"Yes, but Bertrand was less gifted, less mighty than him," Aeternus answered calmly, heedless of the incredulous murmurs behind him. "The stronger one of our kind is, the longer he lives. We grow up like anyone else, if maybe a little slower, but then we stop changing, and only many decades will do what a single year sometimes does to a common man."

True enough, the Phantom had to admit to himself. After all, he should have looked a lot older than he did himself. But two hundred years? How could anyone be two hundred years old?

How old had Niobe been, and Adhemar?

And how old would he become himself before he finally left this hateful world?

"You know it, don't you?" Still Aeternus was smiling gently. "No, don't deny it. Don't deny anything. I don't intend to quarrel with you. The time has not yet come for you to remember, but eventually you will, and then I'll be glad to tell you the rest of the stories. After all, we have all the time in the world."

He did not want to ask. No, indeed he did not. But he was ashamed to admit to himself that his curiosity got the better of him. "Aeternus... how old are you, exactly?"

"Four hundred and fifty-six in March." Aeternus laughed, just like one would laugh at an amusing joke. "It's been quite a life." And once again he ignored all the gasps and whispers from the Phantom's companions.

"Bloody Hell!" Raoul exclaimed. "Man, if you're not boasting, you must remember how Columbus sailed to America!"

"I do, vicomte," Aeternus replied. "That and many a thing more."

"Bloody Hell," Meg repeated, and the Phantom almost grinned at the idea of what her mother would have to say to this. "Hey, don't you get pretty confused when you're so old?"

"No," Aeternus laughed, and the Phantom was surprised that he seemed not annoyed at the slightest at the girl's comment. "Everything becomes clearer to me, that's all. And I remember more with every day. My past lives, too, or at least the most recent ones."

The Phantom wanted to tell him to hold his accursed tongue, but now he had captured his companions' interest. "Past lives?" Xavier asked, excited. "Hah! I knew people get reborn all over again! Told you!" And he poked out his tongue at Marie.

"I'm not sure about common people," Aeternus answered. "But we do. This is our fate. Our curse. We are denied our place in the world, condemned forever to fight for it, to search for it and never find it. The last time I was born in 586, and I died in 1163, if I remember that correctly, though I was murdered, so it hardly counts." He grinned, clearly amused at his audience's expressions. "I couldn't quite tell you the dates from the time before, but it was in Roman times, that much I know. I used to be an aide to Caesar once, even. That's also where I got my name."

Of course. Why had the Phantom not seen it before? Aeternus. The eternal one.

"Not that my memories are as clear as they might be," Aeternus continued conversationally, "since there are images mostly, but also thoughts and feelings. And there are the records I make for myself, of course. My little secret."

"Ah, very clever," the Phantom muttered. He was so sick of it, so sick of it all. All he wanted was to return to his dark grotto and be alone, and to sleep for many hours, hoping to forget all that had occurred, all he had seen. And maybe then he would wake up and realize that it all had been nothing but a bad dream, that there were no Lost Ones, and that Christine was still there, that he had another chance...

"But I don't intend to keep you long," Aeternus said, serious once more. "Lászlo, is everything ready? We'll be departing for Bavaria today."

"Yes, my Lord," came the reply from the entrance. "We are ready to go."

"Excellent." Pulling his glove back on, Aeternus nodded to the assembled, ready to go. "I was honoured to make your acquaintance, Phantom." Then his lips suddenly formed a little smile again, making his neatly trimmed moustache and short goatee shift very slightly. "Strange how history repeats itself. Back in the old days, they called you Wraith." And then he left, without another glance, heading towards the door.

"Wait," the Phantom said sharply, and Aeternus halted, though he did not turn around. "Why were you with Créon? What was really in it for you?"

For a moment Aeternus was silent, as if he were pondering the question, then at last he replied, "We'll speak about it later, my friend, when the time for it has come."

"So I'll be seeing you again." It was no question; if Aeternus said they would, the Phantom somehow felt they would.

"Yes, I think we will. And sooner than you might expect." He paused, bathed in the dying light of the red lantern. "Until then, keep in mind who you are, and what you are. You've always known you were special, haven't you? Not a monster, but special. Until I return, remember that." Then he waved to his pair of fair-haired retainers, and they passed through the arch, through the light now too dim to seem like blood anymore, only a strange red glow originating from a lantern, and were gone.

"Bloody Hell," Raoul muttered. "Now that was odd, the oddest thing I saw in some time, though your duel, or whatever it was, was a strange enough thing in itself. You two just standing opposite each other, glaring… The weirdest day of my life. Or what d'you say, Erik?"

The Phantom shrugged. Only now he felt how tired he was. Too tired to harm Aeternus. Too tired even to remind Raoul that he was not Erik to him.