Chapter III: Purpose.
He straddles around the grand hall looking into each of their faces as he passes them. They all greet him excitedly and he calmly smiles at each of them. Izzeriel tugs his shoulders enthusiastically as he speaks of him. He can feel a certain sense of pride coming from the sound of his voice, yet, as the hours pass, he feels more and more empty within.
The night goes on and the charades are kept all through it. The continuous pretensions, the dry laughter, the incredible sensation that tickles his hands like a thousand microscopic needles. He's nervous. He hoped he wouldn't be by now, but he is.
He grabs his left hand and slowly caresses the emblem of the Circle. He feels a light burning sensation emanating from it and looks at it. He stares at the symbol for what seems like minutes then he looks up to his companions.
"Excuse me," he says calmly interrupting. "I, uh... I'm going outside to get some air."
"The weight of your night getting to you, buddy?" asks Izzeriel smiling.
Wesley chuckles. "You could say that."
"Figured as much. Go out, kid... take a breather. There's still a long way to go."
Wesley bows to the other Circle members that were accompanying him and looks at Hamilton, who steps aside and allows him to pass to the balcony outside. As Marcus turns to follow him, Izzy slaps his shoulder.
"Hey, Hammy..." he drinks another glass of champagne, "...how's the wife?"
Hamilton's face brightens like the birth of a Super Nova. "Still dead, my Lord."
"Great to hear it. Send her my blessings when you see her, will ya?"
"It would be an honor, sir."
The voices dissipate into the din as Wesley steps out to the balcony. He's taken momentarily aback by the wind blowing fiercely through the night sky. He walks over to the farthest corner of the balcony and leans against it. He takes a couple of deep breathes and looks to his right.
A small figure stands beside him. His bright silver hair flowing against the wind. His frail, crimson hands cling to the cold steel serum wheeler. He takes deep, yet soft puffs of air, as if he were analyzing its intangible structure.
Wesley looks back to the darkness outside as his heart thumps overwhelmingly. He arches his back, and attempts to casually put his hands inside his pockets.
"You really shouldn't try to make impressions with your looks, boy," the frail Lord by his side tells him without turning his gaze.
Wesley coughs nervously, then stands straight again while turning towards him. "I apologize, my Lord," he says bowing. "I did not realize it was you who were here."
Vail turns to him with a simple smile crossing his face. "There's no need for formalities, boy. Your accomplishments alone merit my admiration and tribute."
A sigh of relief escapes Wesley for a moment. "You are too kind, my Lord."
Vail smiles at him then slowly makes his way towards him. "How do you take the celebration?"
Wesley sighs. "It's overwhelming, to say the least. I didn't realize how big a turn-out it would be."
"Everyone are always eager to get acquainted with the latest member of The Circle. It has been long since we last integrated another Thorn into our ranks. But perhaps the interest is more because a former Keeper is now amongst us."
Wesley looks at him unsure. "Keeper?"
"Of the Slayer," replies Vail as he looks towards the sky. "I believe they are currently denominating themselves as Watchers."
Wesley turns towards the crowd. He notices that some glance momentarily towards him. A sharp sensation of cold stabs his back and he's suddenly back at the Coliseum. Clinging to his hand as the thousands of invisible eyes that relished in his pain suddenly take shape under the light. Everything becomes clear to him.
"To bring a Keeper into The Circle is a great gamble from the Triad's part," continues Vail. "They have been watching you through our eyes for a very long time, boy. You have done an incredible feat in tipping the scales in our favor."
Vail laughs softly, extending his hand under a fly that had flown beside him. He closes his fingers upwardly and the fly dissipates like a puff of smoke before a fierce gush of wind. "Love truly is the most destructive force in Creation," he says glancing towards Wesley.
Wesley forces his gaze upon the gathered crowd. His heart sinks as if anchored by a thousand tons of weight. His thoughts travel, searching for those he had betrayed once again.
"Thinking of the fallen?" asks Vail.
Wesley rubs his eyes, taking a quiet moment. "I'm afraid so," he finally responds with a glint of sorrow in his eyes. "Their memory is too powerful to forget. I just wish I could push them away."
"I don't believe you do, my boy," replies Vail with a quaint smile. "Your memories drive your motives. The pain you have suffered. The guilt over your betrayal. Your doubts. They all have a purpose, my young Wesley."
He puts his hand over his shoulder as he continues. "They give you a direction, and allow you to rely in your strength. That is much more than many of them have. That is why the Triad chose you, and that is why you will wield true power now that you are one of us," he points to the crowd, "They are great soldiers from all around this planet, and almost every single one of them fears you. Because you are everything they hope and dread you will be."
Wesley looks at the mingling creatures with determination, while Vail turns to the sky. He draws breath with a calm that only a God can rival, relishing in the action of inhaling and savoring the cold and humid atmosphere. "Beautiful weather today," he finally says. "Radiant."
"Seems sort of hollow to me," responds Wesley somewhat confidently.
"On the contrary, young one," says Vail with a smile, "everything glows brighter than a star."
Wesley looks at him with intrigue and leans against the concrete railing in the balcony beside the small elder gazing at the dark. "What do you see?" he says intriguingly inquisitively.
Vail smirks, "Light, my boy. Beautiful light."