I'm back after a long absence, I apologize for the delay!

Those of you who have stuck with this plot bunny arc since the early days will remember parts of this chapter from its original form in chapter 7 of Mirrors. It's been updated a bit and edited in this extra-long chapter.

Chapter 10:

The Scion's Warning

Upon the evening two nights before All Hallows' Eve, Chief Inspector Fowler found himself the recipient of an extraordinarily unpleasant bit of correspondence.

As it happened, he had been left with a considerable preponderance of papers to file and letters to write, none of which pertained to any cases of his own. Another detective within the station had run across trouble while dealing with another of what the men of Scotland Yard had begun to call, in resigned and tolerant sighs, "Baker Street Affairs". Fowler suspected that whatever the Baker Street Affair might ultimately turn out to be, Inspector Lestrade would have allowed his reports to pile up to an alarming degree. Thus it was that Chief Inspector Fowler gathered Lestrade's unfinished reports, along with his own evening papers, and set his clerks to sorting them all out.

No sooner had he taken his seat behind the stern old oak desk when his senior secretary made a peculiar sound. Upon questioning the lad, it was discovered that he had come across an envelope addressed to the Chief Inspector. Dark stains blotted the inside of the paper, bleeding through in great brown spots. With trembling hands, the secretary held it up.

"Chief Inspector, this does not appear to be ink at all!" Rutherford, the secretary, crossed himself and squeaked, "It's blood! O, I shall faint!"

"You won't," answered Fowler's second secretary sharply. Rutherford's younger sister Maryann held with no such hysterics. She snatched the envelope from her brother's trembling hand and relayed it to their employer with good haste. It was, she thought, likely that whatever ink or blood was used to write the contents of the envelope had made the paper sticky, and a letter opener was probably advisable.

"If this is someone's idea of sport, with All Hallow's Eve approaching, it is entirely in poor taste," Maryann remarked in a terribly frosty voice. With that, she ignored her hysterical brother and returned to the task for which she had been hired.

It was a plain parchment envelope, such as anyone might purchase, but sealed with a curious wax design akin to a rose with talons rather than thorns, in pale blue sealing wax. Fowler was almost sorry to break it, for despite its grisly contents, it was such a clever little picture that he desired to keep it. Some small effort was required to remove the twice-folded page from the envelope, for as Maryann had postulated, some few spots of the suspicious ink had crusted and attached themselves to the parchment.

With the aid of a thin blade kept for just such reasons, the page was unfolded and laid upon the desk. In a hurried, very nearly illegible hand, the missive said only, "Death walks Mayfair. Send for Prime or you will regret it. Ask the Cobra."

Chief Inspector Fowler did not share the contents of the letter with his clerks. It would have done no more than frighten Rutherford, at any rate. Taking pains to appear no more concerned than usual, Fowler rose and exited the paneled office, calling for Detective Inspector Bell. Would he be so kind as to supervise his office while he was away? Excellent. Answering questions of intent and destination with mention of suspicious correspondence that warranted investigation, Fowler dispatched two policemen to Mayfair to inquire into any recent disturbances, then rushed to catch a cab to Prime Manor.

He merely hoped they would not be too late.

The house was curiously dark and solemn as a small horse-drawn cart pulled close to the gate. A slender figure lighted from the cart, replacing a top hat that looked rather out of place on his small frame. Adjusting a wide, stiff collar, the young man stepped up to the bars of the gate and rattled them.

"Hallo? Isn't anyone home?" he called in a gently jovial voice.

At once, a raggedy person strolled to the gate from the other side. He leaned forward, examining the young man in the Eton suit, then grinned widely.

"Hullo, Jack! Come home from school, have ye? I don't s'pose ye got any letters about the goings-on round here? It's fierce troubling, is what it is."

"I did receive letters to some extent," Jack replied to Hagen, "But my mother's letters were largely enigmatic. What's this all about then? I daresay it sounds like Miss Liú has had a time of it!"

Hagen Shackleton swung the gate wide as young Mr. Darby retrieved a satchel from the cab and paid the driver. There had been delays in the journey most of the way from Eton, and Jack only now had been able to secure a cab to the manor. He exchanged some trivialities of news with Hagen as they made their way up the wide steps of the manor, and bemoaned the fact that, at the age of fourteen, the Irish lad now stood nearly as high as Jack himself.

The door swung open nearly before they had trod upon the uppermost step. Winston waited to welcome the returning member of the House of Prime with a placid smile upon his wrinkled features, for he had become very fond of the Darbys in the two years that they had lived within the west wing of Prime Manor. The faithful old manservant had a certain amount of tacit glee within his quavering voice as he announced the arrival of "one young Master Darby" to the occupants of the third parlor.

Polite remarks of welcome from Dr. Rach and Miss d'Iacon, warm and yet reserved, were balanced by the boisterous shouts of Mo Li and the members of the Bullhorn Band, gathered in conference upon the floor, and the tender embrace of his own mother. Lord Prime set aside the book he had been reading from and crossed the parlor in three steps to heartily shake the lad's hand.

"Welcome home, my lad," said he, "I'm afraid you've returned to a rather more disturbed atmosphere than you left."

"Well I should say that was natural enough," little Raphael put in from his place at his brother's side, "Jack has ever been the calmest of our young ranks!"

"I expect," Mo Li interrupted gently, "That Lord Prime means our problems with the wolf."

At this, the room took on a somber hue, as all seemed to suddenly recall the mysterious deaths. Upon Jack's request of explanation, the story was revealed in what bits and pieces they had discovered, ending with Madame de Cobray's insinuations that Count Polidori knew more than he was saying.

Jack listened without comment, but the whiteness of his knuckles upon the brim of his hat gave away his concern. His eyes turned to Miss d'Iacon, who had been something of a mentor to him before he had gone to Eton, just as she now tutored Raphael.

"Miss Arcee," he interjected, and took a seat upon his mother's footstool, "Did Madame de Cobray truly voice her suspicions aloud so boldly? Where anyone might hear?"

"Aye," said she, "It concerns me as well. Outside eavesdroppers aside, I wondered whether she might not be speaking too freely before the servants."

She exchanged meaningful looks with Brogan and Wheel. "We are all well aware that folk of the de Cobrays' standing often do not notice so much as a servant's face, let alone their behavior. Though it has served us in the past, I know that the very same trait may be used for ill purposes. I am sure we are not the only people in London who know how to exploit the failings of the class system."

"Then you suspect a servant may play the tale-bearer to Kaon?" asked Dr. Rach.

"We must accept that it is at the least a possibility, and one we ought to prepare ourselves to deal with," answered Arcee.

All were in agreement here, as it was general knowledge that Baron de Cobray had dealings with Lord Megatron. Therefore, he, if not his entire household, was certainly under surveillance. The House of Kaon did not tolerate betrayal of any sort. There had been no mention of the dealings of Kaon in Miss d'Iacon's conversation with Anastacia, yet the mere giving of any sort of information to a member of the House of Prime might have been enough to attract notice.

Of an equally concerning nature was the Count Polidori. If he were truly as influential as the de Cobrays seemed to believe, surely it would not take him long to learn that some very unflattering rumors were being spread about his character!

"It is troubling," Mrs. Darby spoke softly, but her words carried the weight of worry. "Madame de Cobray sounds as though she was not being at all subtle. If she is to be believed, there may be greater perils than the rivalry of two houses, to say nothing of the danger stalking the East End."

"Quite right, my dear lady." Dr. Rach patted her hand and said he thought it was worth investigating.

The familiarity of his gesture did not go wholly unnoticed by Young Darby, who found that Miss d'Iacon and Lord Prime had noticed as well. Secret smiles passed between the elder two, and Jack managed an expression of indifference. Mo Li seemed about to remark upon their newly manifested affection when a most urgent knocking at the door heralded the arrival of some late visitor.

The conversations of before seemed to take a more sinister hue with the coming of this nighttime guest. With an expression partway between professional disinterest and deep concern, Winston announced that Chief Inspector Fowler had arrived, and would Lord Prime care to speak with him a moment? It was understood that the Inspector would not have come at such a late hour had not the need been urgent, and so all prepared for some news sure to be at least a little dreadful.

Fowler was a cautious man, but not given to superstition. All the same, at the first sight of the solemn gathering within the parlor, the man felt a twist of misgiving in his solid gut. He had a hunch, and as his hunches nearly always played to his advantage in the end, Fowler decided to gamble on it. Good evening, said he, and had anyone spoken to any of the de Cobrays recently?

There was a violent start in general throughout the room, and Fowler was obliged to explain the curious notice that had arrived in his offices earlier that evening.

"I thought perhaps that ask the Cobra referred to the de Cobray family, and by your faces, I expect there's been some trouble I am not yet aware of, or I'm greatly mistaken!"

Lord Prime read the bloodstained note, then read it again. His brows lowered. "I fear that we will not know the nature of whatever has occurred unless we go to the de Cobray house ourselves. I cannot say for certain, but I feel that we have stumbled into the midst of a long game, one that may be nearing a critical gambit."

It was decided that in the interest of safety and investigation, the House of Prime would divide into smaller crews. Hagen Shackleton would go with Wheels to collect the remainder of the Shackleton family and move them out of the East End until Lord Prime was certain the danger - or rather, the most recent danger - had passed. He had arranged for them to stay with the Foiche family until then. Lord Prime himself arranged to take Brogan, Brendan, and Miss d'Iacon with him to the de Cobray house to investigate the claims of the letter. All were armed and apprehensive. Everyone else would remain at the Manor, preparing medical aid and fortifying the house in case of attack.

With time of the essence, there was no time for goodbyes. Lord Prime took his own carriage and horses, and drove on all but recklessly, for he was certain that if they did not move with all haste, they would be too late to prevent a tragedy.

The door of the de Cobray manor gaped open like a wound, and within the dark recesses, nothing stirred. It fell to Brendan to light a lantern, which he did with all speed. Without the soft glow of the lamp, the house put on the aspect of a great maw, waiting to engulf the unwary. Miss d'Iacon loaded her derringer and held it at the ready, and Brogan, taking no chances, wielded a howdah pistol. Lord Prime thought it appropriate to walk in the lead, as he was responsible for the lives of his House, and clutched at the Beaumont-Adams revolver at the back of his belt. There was a feeling of darkness and oppression across the walls and floors that had nothing to do with the amount of light scattered about.

"There should have been some sound by now, even a servant," Brogan remarked, and he tightened his grip on the howdah pistol.

"You're right, Brogan," Miss d'Iacon felt a terrible chill wrap around her heart, "There's not a soul stirring, not even the infant!"

A terrible fear washed over them all and Lord Prime led a hurried expedition to the nursery, hoping to allay the terrible premonitions in his mind. The way to the nursery led through the servants' quarters, and it was here that they had their first taste of the true horror of the situation. Brendan stumbled over something as they moved through the dark, and upon lifting his lantern it was discovered to be the body of a woman.

With a cry, Brendan Foiche moved back a pace, and lifted a trembling fist to his mouth. He was no coward, nor was he a stranger to death, yet the sight of one recently dead could hardly be anything but shocking, for he was a tenderhearted man.

"Saints preserve us," whispered O'Garvie, "It's come here too!" He pointed to the great gouts of blood that surrounded the unfortunate soul, and it became clear that each fell in the shape of a hound's footprints.

Brendan thought to raise the lantern, and within the ring of light lay the bodies of the remaining staff of Baron de Cobray. Each had been savagely torn to pieces, yet there was an astonishing lack of the smell of blood, just as though there had been no blood at all.

"We can do nothing for these poor souls, we must continue onward," Lord Prime said heavily, and they continued up the narrow staircase to the children's quarters.

No cheer of children's games nor soft breath of slumber emanated from this nursery. There was a horrific stench, and a horrid gurgling gasp, as of someone struggling to breath through water. Brendan stepped forward and raised up the lantern again, steeling himself for the sight of some abomination. He was not incorrect.

Baron de Cobray was dead. He lay where he had fallen or been pushed, at the side of an overturned cradle. One hand rested among the unoccupied blankets, the other was twisted behind the man's back. His throat appeared to be no more than a white pulp, and no blood covered his body. His face remained fixed in an aspect of inexpressible terror.

"My God in heaven!" Miss d'Iacon breathed, and it soon became clear that she spoke not of the dead man, but of something somehow worse within the befouled chamber. The swinging of the lantern soon revealed Anastacia de Cobray lying limp in the grip of some great black thing with a long white face. Her eyes gazed sightlessly, doll-like, at them all, and the light within them faded with every second. The long white face of the thing that held her was bent over her neck, and they soon realized that the gurgling sound came from it.

The creature raised its head and squinted, as if unused to light. Rivulets of the baroness's blood streamed from pointed teeth down over lips that were more full of life than anything else in its foul features.

Sick at heart, Arcee d'Iacon proclaimed what they had begun to suspect. "It is Count Polidori."

The Count stood, and seemed to regain some semblance of the more human shape they had become accustomed to as he wiped the blood from his lips with all the delicacy of one at a fine dinner.

"And you," he returned coolly, "are Miss d'Iacon, Lord Prime's secretary."

"Stand where you are," Lord Prime interjected in a stern voice, for he had seen that Polidori was beginning to move. "And say where the children of the de Cobrays are!"

"Oh sir, do you really wish to know the answer to that question? I fear you will not like to hear it." the vampire fixed his eyes upon the nobleman's intending to enchant him the way he did so many other victims. He was to be disappointed, for through toil and trial of ages past, Optimus Prime had rid himself of the ability to be hypnotized.

"Stand where you are or be destroyed," Lord Prime raised his pistol to bear upon the center of the vampire's head.

A bestial snarl replaced the previous expression, which had been nearly human in its presentation, and Polidori drew himself up to stand at a level height with Optimus, seeming almost to add a centimeter to his own stature.

"Do you suppose that your weapons have any effect whatsoever upon me? You are foolish, mortal man. I was killing your kind long before your father was born and I shall continue when your grandchildren are old. Provided I allow them to grow old at all."

This strange boast was more discomfiting than Lord Prime would admit, but he did not reveal his feelings. With one hand, he felt for something within his pocket. With the other, he merely raised his pistol higher.

"It is not for you to decide who lives and who dies, Polidori," he remarked with a terrible calmness, "We have guessed your intentions with the family of Lord Cranbrook and you will not be allowed to continue."

Polidori laughed then, a horrible choking sound. "And what good is the last scion of Ǣthulwulf against a lord of shadows? Your house has lost its grandeur, boy. You gather in the scrapings of the street beneath your wings and pray fervently to your god that they will be enough to hold the darkness at bay."

"We have handled ourselves well enough to date, I should think," answered Prime in an altogether dry tone of voice. "Else you would still be skulking unnoticed, would you not?"

The ugly face of the vampire contorted into a mask of fury and he replied that if Prime thought his people so capable, then hadn't he better test that theory? He gathered himself to spring at Brendan Foiche, who alone of the party was not carrying a gun. Optimus knocked him aside, losing his pistol in the process. He grappled with the vampire a moment, but Polidori was stronger than he and threw him to the ground.

Like a shadow made solid, some part of the darkness they had mistaken for furniture moved with alarming speed to stand between Optimus and the vampire. With the sound of liquid being swirled in a glass, the figure thrust its arm forward. Something struck Polidori's chest and with a terrible howl the creature clutched at a long burn that appeared as if by magic from shoulder to navel.

The monster threw open the shutters at the window and vanished into the night with an agonized wail. Silence fell across the desolation that was once a nursery, until at last Miss d'Iacon found her voice.

"What happened?" she demanded after she had closed the Baroness's unseeing eyes for the last time.

"I happened."

The answer was as jarring as it was brief, as Lord Megatron of Kaon entered the thread of moonlight spilling in from the window.

"Megatron!" Brogan cried out, and raised his pistol. None of them had forgotten what the cruel nobleman had done to their House, least of all to Brendan's little brother. For a moment, a terrible doubt crossed their minds as to whether the man of Kaon had aligned himself with Count Polidori, but how could this be when he had just saved their lives?

Lord Megatron brushed off his jacket, then bent to offer a hand to Optimus. The younger man examined it cautiously at first, as though it might conceal a weapon, then allowed the older noble to pull him to his feet. Megatron remarked upon the irony of saving Prime's life when the very subject of his rescue had threatened to kill him the last time they had met face to face. Darkly, Lord Prime reminded his rival that the notion of avenging every death in the House of Prime was not yet off the table.

"You do not trust me, that is good. You are a shade wiser than your predecessors," Megatron was somewhat languid in his replies, examining a small flask in his hand. "Nonetheless, I believe that it is in the common interest that we join forces at present. I do not know how much you have guessed or discovered about that blighted creature you just encountered, but I have of late discovered more of his plan than he meant to share."

Lord Megatron curled his lip at the House of Prime. "He has more in mind than just the disastrous marriage of Lord Cranbrook's daughter, surely you must realize this!"

"And why do you ask us for help?" asked Miss d'Iacon, "Surely you have a host of men at your disposal, why not send them?"

"I might," the man replied, "Save that someone," and here he looked very hard at Brendan, "made off with the very page of the Codex Quæ Occidis that I required to defeat the count once and for all! Much to my dismay, it seems that only Lord Prime holds the key to ending that miserable wretch's life."

"Ah, we don't need you then. Go on with ye and leave us to our hunting," Brogan snapped.

This seemed to strike the man as funny, and his rasping laugh filled the dead air of the nursery. "And how shall you find him if you do not know where to look?" Megatron asked in a very pointed manner.

Then, turning from Brogan O'Garvie, he handed the flask to Optimus with a smile suggesting old stories and past mischief.

"It is holy water," he announced in a tone more like a man struggling to suppress laughter than a solemn declaration, "And O! What a trial I endured to come by it! You righteous men had best not take it for granted."

The houses of Kaon and Prime could not so easily be reconciled as that, and the Bullhorn Band and Miss d'Iacon were rightly suspicious of the motives of one who had so lately been bent on their general destruction.

"And what of you? What is your stake in this matter? Surely you have no interest in pursuing justice for the people slain in the East End." the woman sneered.

A darker expression more akin to a man preparing to commit murder crossed Lord Megatron's eyes for a fleeting moment.

"The lives of a few wretches mean nothing to me, you know that," he snapped, then turned to Lord Optimus. "And you know well I've no love for your House. But by God and all His angels I'll not have that soulless skulk lay a hand on our Queen!"

Having revealed this much of the monster's intentions, he strode to the window where the first blushes of dawn were beginning to turn the sky grey. Standing upon the roof opposite the manor, a robed figure watched dispassionately with an infant cradled in one arm and an older child sitting at his feet, an empty shock in its young eyes. Lord Megatron took a handkerchief from his pocket and shook it once out the window, then turned away.

"Bajāna will send word to my house that we are preparing for battle. And you needn't concern yourselves with the de Cobray children." For a moment a frightening sneer crossed the older man's face. "They are wards of the House of Kaon now. I am certain they will be one day prove to more than repay the House for its magnanimity."

Torn between the certain relief of the knowledge that Polidori had not killed the Baroness' children and the discomfiting certainty that they would be raised with certain bias against the House of Prime and other innocents, Lord Prime merely beckoned them all to follow him back to the carriage. He intended to report the matter to the police, and then decide what had to be done after.

It was late morning when the missive arrived.

The telegram crumpled in a shaking hand. "If I did not know him better," Doctor Rach uttered in a quavering tone, "I should have lost all confidence in Lord Prime, for this an alarming business."

Mrs. Darby pondered silently a moment: she was surprised by her companion's attitude, and yet relieved, for it meant that the party dispatched to the de Cobray house yet lived.

"Well," said she, "Let me see the telegram."

The elder man handed it over with a tired gesture. Briefly enough, it told that the investigative party had spent much of the early hours with Inspector Bell at Scotland Yard, repeating all pertinent information that would be believed, and would be returning to the manor shortly, but with one very unexpected guest. The woman cried out in horror. "Is he mad? How can he think to bring that scoundrel here, among the children?"

The doctor seemed seized in a qualm, unsure of whether to defend his old friend or agree with the woman he found himself growing ever more fond of.

"Pah!" A young voice permeated the calm air of the library and surprised them both. Mo Li had seated herself upon the table and refused to move. She crossed her silk-covered arms over her chest and arched her neck haughtily. "I am not afraid of a madman!" she declared, "Let him come!"

Behind her, Inspector Fowler nodded his head in a conciliatory manner. "I am afraid I could not stop her from coming down," the apology was succinct, and nothing more was said.

Mo Li rolled her dark eyes back and heaved a voluminous sigh. "When is O'Garvie returning?"

Quite independent of her query, Doctor Rach informed the Inspector that Lord Prime and his followers would be arriving late in the afternoon, and that Lord Kaon would be with them.

"Merciful God! Is he out of his mind?" the other demanded.

"Optimus knows what he is about." the doctor returned in a changed voice. At last he seemed to have made up his mind on the subject.

"Indeed? You seem quite sure of Lord Prime, let us hope your faith is not groundless."

Two black carriages halted in front of the grand old house that evening, and the inhabitants of the house stood in the parlor anxiously. The Shackletons had already been safely sequestered at the Foiche residence, and were waiting out the storm there, but the remaining members of the House had yet to decide how best to deal with their unwanted visitor.

"Now then," Mrs. Darby took Mo Li and Jack by the arm. "Conceal yourselves as best you can. I'll not have that madman knowing you're here now. Better that he does not know our true strength and numbers."

In a sickly pallor, Raphael followed suit and the three were shut up into a closet. No sooner had the door shut then the hated voice filled the room.

"It has been long since I set foot in these rooms, long indeed!" The severe man did not smile, but his eyes glittered triumphantly.

He recognized Mrs. Darby as someone he had seen with Lord Prime at a party once, and of course there were rumors of her being a distant cousin living in the Manor, but he had never been introduced. It remained to be seen if she posed a threat to his House at all. The woman shuddered under his gaze and hurriedly excused herself.

"And it shall be long before you come back, I hope!" Miss d'Iacon swept past him grandly. "You are hardly here for a social call."

Brogan and Brendan were not so polite as they shoved the man aside. Lord Megatron's dignity and poise did not falter, and he gazed around him with an air of detached curiosity. Within the cupboard, Raphael felt a flutter of rage begin to rise within him. The scars across his narrow chest bloomed into remembrances of past pain as he recalled to memory Lord Kaon's heartless gaze as he'd leveled the electricity-conducting gauntlet at his heart. The fractal shapes left by the burns seemed to tighten and feed his anger. Desperately, he tried to choke the feeling down, but when the eyes of the enemy seemed to meet his through the crack in the door, the child's blood boiled.

Even as Lord Optimus entered the room, the child threw open the doors of the cabinet and focused all the hatred of a young boy upon the head of the house of Kaon.

"Caitiff!" the word was hissed in outrage. Lord Megatron was curious, rather than insulted.

"My stars, sir!" he laughed, "Is it possible? Your Irish brat is more resilient than I might have guessed!"

Foiche and O'Garvie could hardly have been expected to react other than violently, yet Optimus had the foresight to restrain them. Jack leapt from the closet to catch Raphael's arm.

"Come," he whispered to the defiant child, "He is not worthy of your scorn." As the closet was no longer an ideal hiding place, the younger boy was ushered towards the door, where Inspector Fowler and June awaited. Catlike, Mo Li exited the cabinet and spun a small blade on her fingers. Where she had got it from, no one was quite certain, and no one had it in mind to ask her. Her lip curled in scorn. "Shuāng chūmài, Nǐ huì shībài."

A flash of odious supremacy crossed the face of the guest. "Fǎnzhī, Wǒ qīn'ài de. I never fail." there was no hesitation in his reply.

Jack gently steered Mo Li through the door with the others and turned to go himself. In the brief moment that he faced the rest of the room, the lamplight passed over his face. The next moment, Lord Megatron's eye lit with cruel interest.

"And now, there is a face that I recognize! You'll find, young man, that Lord Megatron of Kaon is not one to forget a face—even that of a pauper." His gaze shifted between Lord Prime and young Darby and he clucked his tongue scornfully. "You know, there is nearly a resemblance between you. Who is his mother?" he jeered.

"You may keep a civil tongue in your head, or out of your head, Megatron. I hardly care which it is." Lord Optimus answered coldly. The nobleman turned to Doctor Rach.

"Lord Megatron will accompany us to the count's resting place come nightfall. He is to give you any information needed."

With strict instructions that no violence be enacted in his home, the stern-faced man slipped from the room to find those who had recently departed. There was a feeling of impending disaster looming over his mind that he could not shake. It could have been some shade of recognition of his own mortality that inevitably came at the expense of confronting a being from darkest legend. He had it in mind to take the majority of the House with him. He had underestimated the vampire's strength once, he would not do it again. But that left only the staff and the younger members of his House behind, and should the battle go ill, who would continue his work?

He looked down at his hands for a moment, then put them into his pocket as an idea formed nearly three months prior took shape.

Jack spun around when his name was called. "My lord?" he asked in polite deference.

"I wonder if I might impose upon you to keep something for me?" Optimus phrased it as a request as he drew something from his waistcoat pocket.

"Of course, sir." Jack was slightly startled by the odd question. "What is it?"

Something cold and metal was pressed into his palm, and Lord Prime's hand lingered a moment. "It is merely an old keepsake of mine. It belonged to my father, and I shouldn't like it to get lost in the coming battle."

It was a signet ring, inscribed with the words Immutare et Integritas wound around the band. The stylized face of an ancient Greek helmet with a torch beneath it decorated the face of the crest. It was the symbol of the House of Prime, and until this particular day, Jack had never seen it separate from Lord Optimus' hand.

"Are you certain you ought to give something so precious to me?" The boy gazed at the ring in astonishment. He had to return to Eton before long, and he worried that he might lose the ring. Or then there was the possibility of those classmates aware of his lower class origins accusing him of theft. Fears and insecurities began to circle his mind until unexpected contact brought him back to the conversation.

The hand of the signet's proper owner gently lifted his face to meet wise eyes. "I am very certain of my decision, lad. It will not be an easy thing to carry, but it is a burden you are ready to bear." He did not tell him what it meant, hoping there would be no need to, but June would know what to say if he did not return.

The younger man cleared his throat several times before finding his voice again. "Thank you for your trust in me," he answered Lord Prime humbly. "I will keep it safe until you return."

Optimus returned to the other members of his house as they stood guard over Lord Megatron and prepared to leave. Whatever dangers the night ahead held for them all, he at least had the comfort of knowing that the House of Prime would not end with his life.