"This is most troubling," Seem murmured. She was sitting in Veger's hospital room, deciphering the scroll. After the stunt he'd pulled, she didn't trust him to stay put unless someone was keeping an eye on him.
Veger, still in bed, was busying himself with the task of getting his locket open. So far, he'd chipped away most of the glue, and now it was just a matter of prying the cover off. The ottsel turned his eyes to her. "What's wrong?"
"This scroll that Daxter found… it details a ritual to bestow upon mere humans the powers of the Precursors," Seem looked up at Veger. "It explains everything. Why the Marauders have fought so vehemently for the artifacts, why they took you and Daxter prisoner… These are the ingredients needed to perform the ritual."
"But… if they needed Daxter and myself… why did they shoot to kill during our escape?"
"Perhaps it was a lapse in judgment on their part. I have not yet translated the ritual itself. But I fear that the ceremony calls for the Precursors' death. We should all be grateful that you and Daxter escaped with your lives."
Veger looked at the locket in his hands as he thought about this disturbing revelation. "How can we put a permanent stop to this?"
"For now, I believe the best course of action is to keep as many artifacts away from the Marauders as we can. Perhaps, without this scroll, they will not be able to perform the ritual."
"Unless they made copies."
Seem nodded. "It is likely. Hopefully a full translation of this scroll will shed some light on a solution to this dilemma." With that, Seem went back to work.
Veger climbed onto the windowsill and opened the shutters. The sky looked clear: no sandstorm in sight. The ottsel glanced over at Seem. She was completely absorbed in her work. She'd never notice if he went for a quick walk to stretch his legs and get some fresh air.
The ottsel dropped from the window onto his bed and grabbed his clothes. He hurriedly got dressed, hoping to make himself as presentable as possible. After all, just because the rest of Spargus' population was uncivilized didn't mean he had to be. Veger stuffed his locket into a compartment on the inside of his vest and climbed back onto the windowsill. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the ground outside his window.
Now that he was free, Veger followed the road to the seashore. As the scent of salt water reached his nose, he sighed. It reminded him of all the summers he spent with his wife at their cabin on the beach, outside of Haven's walls. There, they never had to worry about the pressures of life as a Count, or as a schoolteacher, in his wife's case. That all changed when their son was born, but being a father was worth it.
Those had been happier days, before Praxis betrayed him… before he betrayed Damas. Veger's ears drooped and his head hung with the shame of what he'd done… of what the last thing he ever said to his best friend was…
"What kind of a leader are you?! How could you have let this happen?! My wife and son are dead because of you! How could you betray me like this?!"
He could never forget the look on Damas' face: it was so full of confusion, of grief and of guilt. Although he was too shocked to speak, his eyes seemed to say it all: How could you say that to me? I loved them too, and I'd never betray you. You're like a brother to me. Veger had never spoken to Damas after that. Right now, he'd give anything for a second chance, to make things right between them.
Veger sat on the rocks overlooking the ocean and watched as the sun slowly inched closer and closer to the glittering water. As the blue sky turned orange, he thought back to the last night he ever saw Damas…
Swords clanged in the palace's throne room as Damas fought to defend himself. The mutiny that Praxis had painstakingly worked on for years was finally reaching its climax. Unknown to Damas, the Krimzon Guard had been completely under Praxis' control for over a decade, and they were not rushing in to help the rightful leader; they were rushing in to detain him.
Damas' sword flew from his hand and slid across the ground, stopping at Veger's feet. The Count had been watching the battle from the shadows. His rage burned inside him and he wanted nothing more than to see the great warrior die before his very eyes. But that was not to be Damas' fate. Praxis had an even worse death planned for him. He was to be banished to the Wasteland.
The Baron was giving his villainous monologue now. Veger didn't pay much attention to it, but when he heard his name mentioned, he took that as his cue to reveal himself. He stepped out of the shadows, his eyes fixed on Damas' horrified face. It wasn't that the king was shocked that Veger had actively helped plan this coup, as Praxis had mentioned in his monologue, but it was the precious item in Veger's arms: his son, somehow sound asleep.
"What are you going to do with him?!" Damas demanded.
"We're going to kill him," Praxis replied, "in front of the entire city. The people will know that my rule is definite, and that resistance is futile."
"No! Please, spare him! He's just a child!" Damas cried. He begged Praxis for mercy, but it fell on deaf ears. The Baron declared that Mar would be executed the next day.
As the Krimzon Guards took Damas away, the fallen king threw one last desperate look at the Count and the little boy. "Please, Veger…" Damas whispered. "Don't let them…" The doors slammed closed. Veger tightened his grip on the small child and looked down at him. He looked so innocent, so peaceful. Just as his son had moments before…
"Praxis," Veger said. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Of course," Praxis replied. "This couldn't have been a success without you pulling a few strings. What is it?"
"Let me take the boy," Veger said. "I… want to see how he reacts to my experiments. I'm sure his eco powers would yield some interesting results."
Praxis thought for a moment. "Fine. But the second you no longer have a use for him, he dies."
"Of course, Baron." With that, Veger took his leave. The Count walked briskly through the palace hallways as the Krimzon Guards celebrated around him. He stepped into the elevator and waited as it descended. The little boy stirred and opened his eyes. Mar looked up at Veger, scared and confused. Why wasn't he still in his bed? What was going on?
"It's alright, Mar," Veger said softly. "It will all be okay…"
Mar whimpered and clutched Veger's shirt with all his strength. Something was definitely wrong, but if Veger said it was alright, then it was alright. His father had always trusted this man, despite the tension that seemed to be between them. Mar felt safe in his arms. There was no doubt that Veger would take good care of him.
When the elevator touched down, Veger hurried to his home nearby. Upon entering, his crocadog jumped up from the couch and ran over, panting and wagging his tail.
"Easy, Lycan, easy," Veger said. He placed Mar down on the couch and the crocadog jumped up and started sniffing the newcomer. The child giggled and stroked the animal. Lycan lied down and rolled over, allowing the boy to scratch his stomach. Veger sighed and hung his coat up on the hooks near the door before sitting down next to the boy.
"You're going to have to stay here with me for a little while, Mar," Veger told the child. "There's trouble in the city, and it's not safe for you to be in the palace, or out in the streets." The little boy looked up at his new guardian quizzically. "When I'm gone, you'll have to stay hidden in the basement. Lycan can keep you company, and I'll make sure you have plenty to keep you occupied, okay?"
Although Mar seemed to understand what Veger was saying, he still seemed confused. "I can't tell you exactly what's going on right now, but when you're ready, I'll explain everything. Okay?" The child nodded his head. "Good. Now, it's time to--"
Mar's stomach growled. The child looked up at Veger with big blue eyes and a sheepish grin. The Count sighed. "Fine. We'll eat, then you go to bed." The boy giggled and followed his new guardian into the kitchen.
"'Ey! I been lookin' for ya, ya stupid rodent!"
The gruff voice snapped Veger out of his memory. He looked over his shoulder and glared at its owner: Kleiver.