There are myths in the world.
So many myths.
As soon as something unusual happens, man immediately strives to explain it away with some rational reason, some logical assumption. At least, that is how Man explains the myths. He ignores the possibility that some myths might just be true and tries to say that all myths are just a fictional adaptation to cope with some inexplicable event or thing.
But what if there truly are inexplicable events or things?
Humans like to believe that there is nothing unique or unusual about the world, no magic left. However, in the end of time, when science is no longer able to save what little will remain of man, there shall be magic. At least, in one sense of the word. The darker, older, far more ancient arts will live on, persisting as they always have and existing into the next realm and the next world beyond this.
Robin wished she could just go back to being one of them, those following humans, like sheep, able to ignore the underside to life.
She glanced to Amon, across from her in the private plan. Somehow, between Michael, Nagira, and a friend of the other's, known only as Markus, they had managed to arrange for a flight on a private jet across the Atlantic from Ireland to the tiny, Atlanta suburb of Roswell. Even more surprising, was the sheer level of plush accommodations. Leather seats, and not too many. A mini bar. The works. Robin half expected a gourmet chef to prepare lunch while they all got massages.
Amon was different, changed. And Nycole was the source of it. He had become sullen, and determined, bitter, it seemed. Amon had returned to his quiet self, fueled by the drive to find Kathain and save her from Solomon. The man sounded and acted exactly as he had at the STN-J. He seemed to revel in every minute of it, feeling completely at home. In truth, he almost reminded Robin of a child, completely excited and enthralled by the vast possibilities spread before him.
But it still bothered her.
And this all stemmed from Nycole.
The empathy had done something to Amon, deep in the confines of Dun Aengus. The girl had changed him somehow, made him confront the destiny they offered, and accept it. It was all the empath's fault.
Robin wondered, absently, what exactly Nycole had done.
Shortly after Dun Aengus, Amon contacted Michael while Brett worked directly with Markus in trying to secure their travel. They needed to regroup, and to arm. The only place to do that seemed to be with Markus, whoever this strange fellow was. And the only place to find him was a little town just north of Atlanta, oddly named Roswell. From there, the rag tag little band of Warriors could form a plan, and strike out to free their friend.
It only took a few hours to see them leaving the seeming safety and security of Lauren's flat in Dublin, bound for the private jet and, then, winging their way across the glittering ocean, across the deep.
And, then, the quiet set it. Amon, Brett, and the other Warriors turned to their work. Kristo sat, working out an arrangement for a secure channel from the plane to Michael and, also, to Markus. The shadow walker sat, instant messaging and shopping, creating a list of supplies and arms they would need to survive this battle that Amon seemed to be planning. Thus far, the former sniper just assumed overkill and kept sending more and more list items for Markus to secure upon their arrival. Amon, meanwhile, typed away, conversing with the STN-J's resident hacker.
He seemed so distant, so changed. Like Sakaki. Haruto sat beside Nycole, looking over her shoulder. Both of the hunters had been so resolved in their lot to life, chasing down witches wherever they hid. Now, the pair had sold their souls to some unknown cause and battle that none of the Thirteen ever understood yet. Robin pondered what had changed in them.
"I made him see the truth," the empathy whispered from her seat, crooning the words into Robin's mind, reading her doubts and fears.
The girl blinked but focused harder, trying to ignore the pervasive voice in her mind, the feeling of being violated and exposed. She burrowed her nose deeper into the book at hand, but loosing the words in a blur. Nycole altered Robin's visual focus, forcing the girl to concentrate on the matter at hand.
"Don't try to ignore it. You know this is what he needs to do."
Assertively, Robin flipped the page, slamming the thing down in annoyance at the mental invasion.
"Fine, go on and pretend. Have fun with your games and delusions."
Mentally, Robin scoffed, practically spitting on Nycole's little display. The empathy had all but fingered the Craft user a child. And, yet, in the grand scheme of things, maybe Robin was a child. That didn't stop her from being rather irked by their patronizing attitude towards her.
Nycole didn't really care at the moment. She was too busy searching what little they'd brought from Japan with them. Here was her hair ties. She and Kathain had been wearing them the day of the Solomon raid, just for fun. They were long, ribbon bits, in black and crimson. The empathy put them aside. There, was the little sketch the two girls had been playing with over the counter that evening, toying with various little caricatures.
The book.
Nycole dreamt of it, recalling the little, leather bound tome that Kathain always carried. The empath knew her friend couldn't have thought to grab the journal and take it with her. Secretly, Nycole wished they had the book, and some of the secrets the precognitive had scrawled therein.
Amon ignored the girls, typing away at a computer. "Have you cracked it yet?"
Michael's voice responded in garbled frequencies over the connection. "Yes, but I'm not entirely sure if it's what you're looking for."
"Send it."
"Well, it could be her location, or it could be Solomon's last pizza order. I could be wrong, but it looks like she's being kept here." Almost instantly, files began to come up, displaying a map and pinpointing a location in Washington D.C. somewhere. "Lucky thing you were already heading across the Pond, so to speak."
Amon didn't believe in luck anymore. He hadn't really, but, like most humans, the hope that the stars, moons, and charms would keep them safe, had been a comforting one. No, as the man gave a sideways glance to Nycole, his previous notions of luck melted away. There was no luck anymore, not with this group, not with Nycole or Kathain. There was no blessings and charms that could keep them. This was fate, destiny, something far greater than chance coincidence and rabbit feet combined.
But this wasn't something Amon would dare admit to Michael.
The man didn't even admit it to himself, let alone anyone else. No, Amon darkly desired for all of this to be just be random chance occurrence. But, it wasn't. It was no accident that Nycole dreamt the night before of America, of their home. When she had awoken, Nycole immediately told Brett of how the empath missed Atlanta, how they needed to go right back to Atlanta, back to the beginning.
And, so, they were returning to where it all started, to the sprawling metropolis, belle of the south. They were taking a pilgrimage together, into the past.
Sakaki had heard whispers of Atlanta and what had happened there ages before, but no one had ever told him exactly what transpired in that Southern relic of gentry. For the most part, the others seemed to be quite contented to ignore the events that forced them to flee for the far flung islands of Japan, and for Kristo's little house in the countryside. Even then, Haruto could see the hesitation and trepidation at the thoughts of returning home to Atlanta, written in each and every one of them. Except for Bear and Raven, who seemed happy enough to sleep through most of the journey.
Kristo, once done placing his weapons order to Markus paced anxiously up and down the long length of the plane. Rumor had it, the shadow walker had left family in Atlanta. A mother, and a brother. Along with a step father the man didn't quite seem to care for. But who knew with Kristo, some days?
Geoff just sat meditating, obviously unsettled and attempting to center himself.
And Brett? The fire elemental had gone online to continue ordering through Markus. Sakaki could have died at the thoughts of an American equivalent to Nagira, however, they seemed to hold this newcomer to the situation with cool regard, keeping their distance. It seemed like they weren't exactly eager to see the man, just the weapons he would provide.
Apparently, when damned, it payed to have connections.
Haruto sighed heavily, sinking back into the chair beside Nycole, and gazing up to the cabin's white ceiling. "You think this will work?"
"Kathain would know," the empath murmured in a meek voice.
Sakaki nodded. Kathain and Nycole had been inseparable, forced to bear this terrible burden and aid the Thirteen, just as Haruto had. But, while Sakaki chose to walk into that situation, Kathain and Nycole had been ordained by the powers of time and destiny, not by free will and choice. The empath needed the precognitive, as much as the Thirteen needed the pair of coppery haired lasses.
Haruto slid an arm around the girl. "We're almost there…"
"That's what I'm afraid of."
xxxx
Life.
Life.
Death.
Things were mutable anymore. Alive. Dead. Who cared? It didn't matter in the end. They were things that HAD to exist. If they died, they would just be reborn. It was like being some sad, sappy hero in a video game, chasing after the princess until killed, only to resurrect and start the level all over again. It didn't matter if anyone died this time around. They'd just wait for the next chance.
That was how it always had been.
The world blurred around Kathain, veiling her in distortion and trapping her deep behind the distant mirror, behind time immemorial. She had fallen into time, into the fabric of the universe.
And, yet, the girl hadn't.
Voices were over her, above the world and the clouds themselves, the booming, thundering voice of God. "She's stabilizing."
Things didn't make sense anymore.
But, then again, when had they ever?
xxxx
IHOP.
There has never been a better institution, at least, that's what Nycole thought. Where else could you go at 4:00 in the morning for a cup of coffee, breakfast foods, and dinner at the same time? Nowhere. Where else could you order pancakes and a hamburger at the same time? Nowhere. Well, some would argue Waffle House, but WaHo only took cash, not credit/debit cards. The group had grown used to the seedy lighting and sticky, vinyl upholstered booths before everything had happened, when many of them were in college and only carried debit cards. It was vogue at the time, and easy.
They instinctively returned right to the IHOP, knowing their connection would meet them there. Nycole's hunger and craving for stuffed French toast died, squelched out of existence by the thought of the man they were meeting and the possible news he had.
At that moment, in the dark of the night, Nycole both loved and loathed the IHOP.
Years and years ago, when Geoff and Kristo first started working there, Geoff had put his mark across the place. The bartender had seen and learnt of their true destiny, confirmed it through Markus. Anxious to see things out, and to bring about a smoother transition to the life they needed to live, Geoff placed his mark about the diner, using his symbol. Kathain would have dared to even call it his "sacred name," the name that whispered the man into existence. It was that sigil that had drawn them all there.
Nycole surveyed the place, feeling the same, chiming energies welcoming her, along with a deep, bass melody crooning in the background of Markus's spirit. "The more things change…"
"Neon sign's still up," Geoff teased at the thought, ignoring the empath's obvious unease.
Robin shrugged as the entire group entered the restaurant, assaulted by the sickly sweet aroma of baking breakfast foods, fragranced cleaning chemicals, and old deserts from earlier that night. If the thoughts of Markus hadn't been enough to turn the girl's stomach, that agonizingly saccharine odor was. The teenage witch placed her hand over her nose, hoping the kitchen staff would clean up soon.
She hated this world that Amon had dragged her into, full of these people and places, but Robin would never say such a word. Instead, she just followed at the back, listening as they entered the hazy smoking section, heading for the back booths.
Someone the fire starter couldn't see beyond Amon's shoulder greeted them, a male voice dripping with sarcasm and cynicism they didn't need. "Well, look what the cat dragged in." The male purred over the words, clearly pleased with himself and these turns of events that brought the Thirteen back to him. "Or, should I say, Kathain?"
Brett returned the salutation, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement of the presence. "Evening, Markus."
"Come, sit. We have much to talk about."
xxxx
Ah, home at last. I forgot to give song creds to Sarah McLachlan for "Time."