CHAPTER 1: IN PEACE, VIGILANCE

'Vigilance' wasn't exactly the most inspired of names for a town watched and guarded by the Holy Church, but it was certainly superior to 'Nihil-class Malevolent Entity Containment Outpost Su-Twenty-Three,' as it was registered in the modern day.

It was also easier to say.

Vigilance wasn't originally the name of the village—the people who had founded it just called it 'home,' and calling it Waṭan only made sense from a foreign, non-Arabic speaking perspective. It was only upon conversion to Christianity by a catholic mission that it was named—in honour of the saint who had sacrificed himself to seal away a terrible monster, and his last request to stand guard over it.

Three hundred years later, it remained just as much an isolated township, only with a folk legend the mundane people barely believed. It existed within the Marrah Mountains, Sudan, and was so isolated that it often went a decade or more without visitors—which was fortunate, as they avoided the warfare and destruction that wracked much of the country during the fifteen-year civil war that didn't look to be ending any time soon. However, that didn't mean that they didn't get any.

Aziz Abdel-Massih was one such person—not that anyone in the village was aware of this fact. As far as they knew, he was the son of the previous priest's sister, who decided to follow in his uncle's footsteps and had been taught to take his place before his death. The Holy Church went to great lengths to ensure that the majority of the townsfolk weren't aware of the fact that the saint, the monster and the seal were all very much real and remained a present threat that they unknowingly restrained with their worship of God; the power of faith was a remarkably effective thing. Thus, as distasteful as it was to mislead the serving faithful, hypnotism was used to keep things running smoothly.

They could have brought in people already aware of the supernatural world, but there was already a population who served well enough and dedicating as many resources as they already did was pushing it, given their isolated location.

Together with eleven others, Aziz served as the second line of defence should the threat ever slip its chains and break free of the prison. Not that they would amount to much if the old reports of its power were true. Their true function was to ensure both the seal and the town's populace were working as they should, and nothing beyond that. There were the occasional supernatural beings that wandered through the area, drawn by the lack of humanity's warding presence and the veil of power around the town, but they were dealt with easily and discretely.

But sometimes, extraordinary people popped up where they shouldn't, and the Church was very observant…and opportunistic.

So when he had been called upon to baptise Azhad, the newborn child of the sadly deceased Nadja bint Ahmad and Hashim ibn Satam and looked into the too-aware emerald eyes—a colour that none of his family line nor anyone else in the village possessed—of the abnormally silent child and sensed the vast well of power hidden within him, Aziz knew that this boy would be special. It would do well to keep an eye on him as he grew.

No newborn baby should possess the ability to unnerve an experienced Executor of the Holy Church so easily.

Furtively meeting the eyes of the other agents of the Church, he knew they agreed with him. they could all feel it. They'd keep mum on the subject for now, until he displayed any reason for them to be suspicious of his character. Aziz had successfully baptised him and found no abnormality, so they were certain of his humanity.

Time would tell if that changed.

"—Because of Man! Because of Lork—"

"—tole our godho—"

"—ill be ours again, and so the Mundus must be dest—"

Red soaked him from head to toe. He left armies of corpses and a sea of blood in his wake. Murderer. Monster. Demon. General. Hero. Saviour. Saint. He left cities of innocents to burn and nations to die to save a world that would only hate him for the act. He slaughtered countless mer simply to cut more in his path down and had nothing to show for it in the end.

His sword was sharp and radiant, the oceans of crimson life spilled upon its edge unseen and its colour unmarred. No amount of death and senseless destruction could taint the peerless beauty of the weapon of mass murder, though the same could not be said of the hand that wielded it.

"I'm sorry, Eyv…"

He swung his sword and the wor̶͓̘̙̖̲̎̀͗͋͝l̴̢̟̠̞̞̍̉̄̂̆Ð̴̹͖͚͍͓̇̓̒̌͌ Ð̷̨̧̛̺͓̭̦̬͇̬̗̯͙̝̬̞̱̝̘̠͍̱͔̇͛̎̽̍̍̋̋̉͛́̈́̋̈́͛͜͝͝Į̵̨̩̼̲̭͙̝̝͉͔̟̦̱͓̥̤̝̫̖̯̀͋́̀͆̅̇̈̌̿̏̌̀̀̆̐̋̍̈́͑̚͜͝͠Ę̷̢̛͈͉̺̤̪̪̦̣̗͈̗̹̱̭͓̰͍̀̑͗̈́̔͌̃̾̃̇̏̃̓̚͝͝͠͝Ð̴̡̡̧̤̜̺̟̗̥̞̤̣̞̝̻̰̪̠́̿̈́̇̓͋̾́̊̄͌̊́͒̉̕̚͜͝͝—

"Hey! Are you spacing out again, Azhad?!" came the insulted cry. "Hmph…! Don't you ignore me, butthead!"

Azhad sighed but didn't stop the smile from winning the fight against his normal placidity, opening his eyes lazily and turning to face the source of the rambunctious voice. Greeting him was a girl of eight years, who bore a startling kind resemblance to him, if only in face.

It was even more surreal to him, knowing that they were in no way actually related, biologically speaking. The fact that her aunt had birthed him was irrelevant.

She stood at a modest metre and twenty, putting her only slightly below his own height. Her hands were planted on her hips and she glared sullenly at him, her fiery ochre eyes and black hair contrasted against her warm caramel skin.

"And what would Aunty Aaliyah say if she heard you talking like that, Amal?" Azhad questioned dully, but the smirk and glint in his green eyes told Amal he was present enough to tease her.

"Mother would slap you round the head for calling her that, then the same to me for not doing it first," Amal argued, her glare intensifying. "She's raised you for eight years, and doesn't blames you for Aunty Nadja. I just want my fun brother back, so get over yourself already and stop having a hissy fit, you big baby—"

Azhad reached out and plucked her ankle from his position on the ground, yanking her off her feet. She fell to the grassy ground with a shriek, and Azhad took the opportunity to scramble atop and sit upon her back, pinning her to the ground. He ignored her curses, poking the back of her head casually just to further annoy her.

"She probably would," Azhad agreed. "And I'm not 'having a hissy fit,' you little ghoul, I'm coming to terms with the fact I technically killed my mother."

Well, in actuality he had done that a few days ago. There was something else on his mind, something he noticed around the same time.

"Get off, you damn hippo!" she struggled, but Azhad kept her trapped with a sort of casual ease that only further infuriated her. "Your mother's still alive, and she's about ready to knock the stupid out of your head if it means you'll talk to her again! And you know what, so am I!"

No, his mother really wasn't. She died almost forty years ago.

While he was grateful to Aaliyah for all she had done, taking him in, giving him a home, her time and more importantly a sister, she wasn't his mother. Both claimants to the position were dead. Aaliyah may have been in his life longer than either of them and while she tried her best, she wasn't equal to the half-decade he knew Elnaia al-Verkath. She didn't need to be for him to be grateful to her and appreciate her, but she would only ever be an aunt.

It's for the best anyway. Parents and I have a bad track record in staying alive, Azhad mused morbidly. Granted, only this time around is a result of my existence, but still. My Aunts and Uncles seem to be immune.

Speaking of uncles… "And what is Uncle Farid's opinion on this whole mess?"

"He thinks you're disrespecting your mother for all the effort she's put in, and said that if you don't grow up within the next two weeks he'll do something about it personally," Amal said, looking away.

They both knew what Farid considered appropriate when it came to 'doing something about it.' It was the main reason none of them were insistent on considering him to be Azhad's father. The man had never liked him, and the feeling was entirely reciprocated. That may have had something to do with the fact that Farid had always wanted Aaliyah's sister instead of her, so Nadja dying in childbirth was seen as Azhad stealing away that chance, no matter how disgusting it was to lust after your wife's widowed sister. That immediately broke two laws of his religion, so Azhad had found little reason to respect him after that. Azhad was aware of the true reasons behind her death so while it was technically correct that he had killed her, that didn't give the man an excuse to be so hateful because as far as Farid knew, Ahzad was just an ordinary boy.

Plus, he was hardly appreciative of Aaliyah to begin with, so he had no leg to stand on.

"Hmph. I'd like to see him try," Azhad said darkly, hands twitching. While to Amal it might just appear that he was aiming to get himself a beating, Azhad knew better. He could end him with his bare hands in under a second, and all he needed was a good enough excu—

No, Ahzad chided himself, squeezing his eyes shut. You're supposed to be better than that. The War is over, and the General isn't needed anymore. Don't.

"If it'll get you to calm down, I'll speak with her at the end of the week," Azhad promised, moving past his comment and dark mood before Amal could say something about it. He got off her, dodging her reflexive attempt to drag him down in turn. "Now, how about we do some exploring, hm? Looks like a small storm is rolling in. If we get about a third of the way up the mountain, we should have a great view of the grasslands before it hits us…"

"I…! You—fine…" Amal made a token attempt at resisting his subject change, but gave into her excited smile quickly. She was an adventurer at heart, and Azhad almost wished she had been his sister the first time around. Almost. Given how it all ended, he didn't want her to be a part of that world in the slightest. "But the first one to the top gets carried down!"

Well, that took the fun out of it. He couldn't rightly subject her to carrying him down a mountain, now could he? Then again…he was her brother. The fact he was actually fifty-two years old was irrelevant. He didn't get a proper childhood the first time around, so he would make the most of it. Tormenting your siblings and all.

"I hope you're feeling strong today, sister," Azhad said with a smirk, ignoring her as she took off running immediately, her mocking laughter carried by the wind. His lips shifted into a proper smile as he took off after her, easily catching up and then keeping just barely ahead of her. "Because I've been eating well!"

Azhad wandered through the village in the dead of night, his mien neutral and his pace relaxed. He navigated more by intuition and memory than actual sight, as the town didn't like to use fires for anything other than cooking and boiling water. While that could make it dangerous should any of the wild animals that inhabited the woods around the village wander in, most people knew better than to wander about after dark fell.

It was also why he felt safe doing this at all.

While they had technically tied at the last moment, Amal had been exhausted halfway into their trip down the mountain, so he took it upon himself to carry her down, easily ignoring her complaints as he did so without struggling in the slightest.

Even as a child, the combination of Atmoran and Yokudan ancestry was a potent one, even back in Tamriel. By the time he was an adult, Azhad estimated he'd naturally be about four to five times more physically able than the average human here just by exercising to the point of good health, never mind what he could do should he set his mind to reconditioning his body to what it once was.

Azhad stepped through the village, quiet as the breeze, and slowly made his way to a large, artesian well situated in one corner of the village, next to the wooden church. Except…that variation of well needed an aquifer, and not once had Azhad ever seen water being drawn from it. There was another well on the opposite of the village, and water was drawn from it all the time.

So why was there a well that had no apparent purpose, right next to the church? Even the priest and his assistants used the other well.

Azhad wasn't foolish. He had spent a total of twenty-nine years travelling the world, and he had come across countless situations where religious groups sought to conceal things that were concerning in nature, either because they were perpetrating it or they were protecting the world from it.

Perhaps he was sticking his nose where it didn't belong, but Azhad couldn't leave well enough alone. Not now. If it were just him, he'd ignore it after ensuring that the priest and his assistants weren't out to enslave or sacrifice the people of the town. But it wasn't just him that lived here. And while he could handle anything that was thrown at him, even now that he had been reduced to that of a child, Amal couldn't.

She was just an ordinary girl with a few innocent tricks she wasn't aware he had taught her. Proper breathing, advanced proprioception and increased spatial awareness were the main ones, to help in their little adventures. He had subtly and carefully made sure she learned them from him via observation and exposure as they ran around. He hadn't taught her anything combat-related, but she was more graceful and physically able than a child her age had any right to be. Most animals would ignore her presence due to how in tune she was with her surroundings. Even predators would think twice about engaging due to how smooth her movement was and how aware she was of everything around her.

But any determined, supernatural creature would easily overwhelm her without even blinking. Thus, they presented a threat that couldn't be tolerated by him. Thus, Azhad had to ensure they wouldn't act on that threat.

Even if it meant giving up his childhood to become the Swordsman again.

He arrived at the well, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked it over. Immediately, upon close inspection, he picked out thin, subtle writing all over the stone that formed its mouth and even the ground, which seemed to pulse lightly. There was a faint…buzzing, and his eyes seemed to want to just slide off it unnaturally, which he managed to ignore by focusing properly. Azhad was tempted to reach inwards and call upon his slumbering power, but hesitated and pushed the urge away. While his body was reaching the point he could begin training it again, magic was an entirely different matter. He'd need to slowly acclimate it to both the feeling of power and relearn how to manipulate its flow. It had been almost eight years since he had touched it properly and he wasn't confident in his assuredly degraded control to use it safely.

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused outwards, placing a hand against the stone. There was a kind of power that seeped into the stone, quiescent and lazily drifting. Like it was sleeping. His impressions of it were faint, and Azhad was sure he was missing a great deal of its nature, age and purpose, but unless he stimulated it with his own energy he could only pick up the passive remnants of it.

The well was a centre of power—like a drain for every other source in the village, but only in little droplets gathered day by day, built up and contained somewhere beneath the village. He could even feel faint impressions of that unique presence that was Amal, fiery and sunny, as well as Aaliyah, dependable and warm, and much fainter ones that brought forth brief impressions of faces and feelings that he knew belonged to others in the village. Then, delving as deeply as he could in his state, he found the faintest traces of people he had never met—weathered faces and weathered skin, at the end of their peacefully-ending lives. Every person in the village had contributed to the literal well of power over the years in some way.

All of them except him.

That made him frown. What was it about the power in there that the others possessed that he did not? He tried to see more, to know, to understand and comprehend why his presence was missing in the river of energy that felt…Passionate. Stalwart. Grateful. Devoted—

Ah. Of course, Azhad mused to himself. Faith. Worship. Prayer.

The people of the village worshipped a divine being Azhad didn't believe in. They called His name, thanked Him for His work and prayed for many, many things. For themselves, for their kin and for their world. For the past and for the future.

It wasn't that Azhad thought their god didn't exist, or that he found the idea of faith ridiculous—far from it. It was merely that he didn't spare much concern for a divine being that so readily ignored its own followers, even when it was easy to respond. If it was content to ignore him, he was content to ignore it. Not once had he felt its presence during worship, either of his own or of others. Not like he had with the Divines. Not even like he had with the Daedric Princes.

Perhaps it was arrogant, or self-centred, and the priest would certainly admonish him for being prideful, but Azhad did not feel beholden to their God. Much the same way he didn't feel beholden to the All-Maker, or any of the Daedric Princes.

He had found his gods early in his life, and had never found a reason to disrespect them or worship others. He had shown respect to them, found their ideals worthy of upholding, and fought in their name. Azhad had been rewarded with good friends, good health and, for a time, peace. When they called upon him to act to protect their Sacrifice, he did so.

And now he had a second chance. His reward, for a lifetime of holding to them.

But this 'Allah' didn't so much as spare them any attention. If He didn't want to be worshipped, He would have made that clear. Azhad would have known what it felt like to feel even the most minute fraction of His attention, much less disapproval—he had weathered the judgement of an immortal, omnipotent being too many times to have missed it.

But none of that answers why exactly their Faith is being drawn here, in particular. It's being focused. Used. This feels…intentional. Who made it this way…and for what purpose? Was it the church? The priests? That saint the tales speak of? Is that why the church was built here, to keep an eye on it? Azhad mused frustratedly. He would know within minutes if he unlocked his magicka, but for the previously stated reasons, he didn't want to risk it. This doesn't seem like something that is going to be an immediate issue. The flow of power feels as it did decades ago, and the quantity hasn't wavered in just as long. It can—

"And what exactly do you think you're doing, young man?" came a hard voice from behind him. It took everything Azhad had to ignore his instinct to attack the source of the voice and whirl around with a small shout of surprise like a child his age should. He met the disapproving eyes of the priest in charge of the church, but he couldn't help but notice he seemed abnormally tense. One hand carried a candle stick, in which two small candles made of tallow ominously lit his stern face and Azhad caught the signs of hard, refined muscle tensed beneath his clothing. One arm was hidden behind Aziz's back. "Especially so late at night! You should be asleep, you stupid boy. Any of the animals could have made a meal of you!"

"I-I…Father Aziz, I don't… I mean…" Ahzad gave stuttering his best attempt, but he was certain it didn't fool the—paradoxically older and younger—man in the slightest. He always had been a terrible actor. Keeping a straight face? Easy. "I was just…!"

"Just what? Hmm? Snooping around when you shouldn't? Risking harm to have a story to brag about?" the man glared, though thankfully he seemed to relax as time went on, his muscle uncoiling and his left hand slowly coming back into view. Why does a priest in a village that has rarely known conflict know how to wield a weapon?

Regardless, Azhad was grateful for the lowering tension as it gave him an excuse to drop the 'caught in the act' pretence and appear to regain control of himself. If he were smart about this, he could even get some information out of the man. Willingly or not. "It's just… the well. It feels weird. I-I noticed it during the last few services, and I just thought it odd that it's never used…"

The man's face remained unchanged, but Azhad detected a sudden, unnatural stillness in him. He nearly reacted in kind to the sudden preparation for hostilities but managed to control himself enough to merely shrink away like the child he appeared to be. At least, that's what he hoped it looked like, and not like he subconsciously shifted his legs for a wider and more balanced stance…!

Divines damn it, Azhad cursed, but didn't try to change his posture. It was already too late. Attempting to overcompensate would just look more suspicious. Of course, but when I need my damn instincts to warn me if someone's coming, they don't bloody work! Makela would skin me alive if she ever found out…

"It's not used because it dried up, boy," he replied tersely. Right. Azhad wasn't buying it. he continued on, however, his voice guarded. Aziz's eyes were hooded by shadows and contrasted by the dim firelight and they stared sharp and unflinching into Azhad's form. "But weird? In what way?"

"It feels…fuzzy," Azhad explained lamely, doing his best to look confused. If Amal or Divines forbid those two saw me, they'd never stop making fun of me. Why do I do this to myself again? "I get itchy when I look at it, and there's this buzzing in my head…!"

"Calm down, boy. There's nothing unusual about the well. It's all just your imagination," the priest said sharply, approaching and taking a firm grasp of his shoulder. He's not even going to address the fact he was so interested in how it felt, is he? He's an even worse actor than I am! "All that running around with your sister is giving you wild notions about quite simple things. Now come with me. It's too dark to let you go back, so you'll be staying here for the night. In the morning, you can explain to your parents why exactly you thought it was a clever idea to run around so late."

The man turned on a heel, and Azhad made sure to linger for a moment before following after him. They turned around the corner and entered the church, the large doors swinging shut behind them, strangely muted. Hmm. I feel like I should be more worried. Maybe I really am getting too arrogant.

Just to be sure, Azhad surreptitiously looked around, his eyes scanning over everything and assessing the entire room in an instant. It was easily the largest building in Vigilance, and could comfortably contain the entire population with a bit of room to spare. There were simple wooden pews that ran the width of the building in two columns, and it was entirely enclosed. Sturdy, simple and well-ventilated. The priest was the only one who actually lived in the church, in a small house to the rear. His assistants were a little down the way, but given the storm that had been approaching, he doubted they had stuck around after dark and returned to their homes.

In fact, it had just started raining. Azhad could hear the water beginning to hit the roof and slide off the sides. The priest had done him a favour by finding him when he did.

Nothing out of the ordinary since the evening service. Looks like they just did their usual cleaning. The air feels normal. The walls are bare. Cross is unaltered. The priest is…getting some incense? Hmm…

Aziz did indeed pull a clay censer out. It was simple and unadorned, hanging from a large rope of twine. The priest used one of the candles he had to light the incense, then set it down upon the nearby altar. He also blew out the fire that was gathering in the clay censer, letting smoke gently drift from the top as it continued burning without a flame. Aziz then clasped his hands together, whispering a prayer under his breath and touching the censer gently.

Did…it just glow? What's he doing?

Azhad took a seat on the pew closest to the altar and the priest, eyeing him assessing, even as he kept a chagrined look on his face. He watched as the priest seemed to linger over the censer, and he detected some degree of hesitance before his shoulders set and a change came over him. Well, that's ominous. What's he planning?

The priest picked up the censer and turned to face Azhad, his face blank of all emotion. He held the censer before him, gently swinging it in a near-perfect, rhythmic motion, Left and Right. "Do you know what this is, child?"

"…a censer," Azhad said, an eyebrow raised in bemusement. "Incense is burned in it to represent our prayers going to Allah in Heaven."

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

"Correct. The prayers are heard. The Lord's voice reaches all. Through me, through the Incarnation, He touches us. Open your mind to the Lord's commands, and let the Executor of His will be obeyed. His words ring with Truth…"

Left… Right…

Hyp…notism… Azhad realised, a bolt of awareness breaking the spell. He almost shot to his feet but held himself back just at the last moment. He was free from the spell, and judging by the priest's lack of reaction, he hadn't noticed Azhad's sudden tension. It wasn't quite beyond salvage, but things had become exponentially more dangerous. I had assumed active magic didn't exist in this world because the concentration of power in the air and people was so low. But that was stupid. So long as there's a will, there's a way. The incense is altered by magic, a way to make me more suggestible, using a physical medium to bypass natural resistances. The swinging is to lull and lower the guard of the target and the words are similar to the mental manipulation of the Illusion school through auditory resonance. It's one step short of Tonal Magic, even if it lacks so much of its power. And the energy…it's not coming from him internally, and feels similar to the one running through the well. Are his abilities fuelled by pure Faith?

"Speak. Why did you investigate the well?" the priest pressed, his voice hard and unflinching. A change had overcome the normally placid man, different even than the tense wariness he had shown when he had caught Azhad outside. Azhad was now absolutely certain this man was a dangerous warrior. He had been trained extensively and was no stranger to bloodshed. He could properly hear it now that the well-honed mask had dropped.

"It felt odd. I kept forgetting it despite seeing it every day. It made me worried and curious," Azhad said absently, keeping his eyes blankly following the censer as it swung. This was the really difficult part. He didn't know how this form of hypnotism worked. Was the recipient empty of emotion? Did they act dreamily? Were they noticeably different or did they just become abnormally cooperative? The priest didn't seem to notice anything off, but Azhad couldn't trust it anymore, not with his focus divided between resisting the hypnotism and watching what he said and how he acted. He just had to go with his gut…and tell the truth. It wasn't as if anything he did was particularly damning, besides his ability to see past whatever was protecting the well, but that much was obvious already. "Nobody else really noticed it and water was never drawn from it. Even you went to the other well."

"Speak. What did the well feel like?" Aziz continued, eyes narrowing.

"Like…like it made things fuzzy. My head hurt a little when I looked at it and refused to look away. When I touched it, it felt warm. I thought…I thought I felt people in it."

"People…? Hmm. Speak. What do you mean by 'people in it'?"

"I…I felt like I was looking at their faces. Hearing their voices. Feeling their presence. Like they were at my side…"

"Is it wearing off so soon…?" the priest murmured to himself. "Speak. Have you told anyone else of these feelings?"

"N-No…I-I was going to t-to tell my s-sister tomorrow…" Azhad added a stutter to his response, hoping to hurry it along, playing on the priest's muttered words. It seemed to work, as the rhythm of the censer seemed to falter for a moment.

Aziz took a breath, and Ahzad spotted the corners of his mouth down turning. "Listen. There is nothing wrong with the well. There is nothing special about the well. there is nothing notable about the well. It is normal. The well is normal. The well is normal. The well is normal. There is nothing worth remembering about this night. Nothing happened. Repeat."

"There is nothing wrong with the well…there is nothing special about the well…there is nothing notable about the well…it is normal…the well is normal…the well is normal…the well is normal…there is nothing worth remembering about this night…nothing happened…" Azhad repeated. It was a good thing that Aziz was so clearly disciplined and trained. Otherwise, Azhad might have felt a bit leerier about the priest making a lone boy forget what happened during a night spent alone with an older man.

"Obey. Sleep. Obey. Sleep. Obey. So I speak with the Lord's voice. His will be done," the priest finished, clapping his hands together. Azhad put on a good show of closing his eyes and slumping over. He twitched when foreign arms lifted him up and moved him elsewhere, but settled as he was set upon a rough surface, then heard retreating steps and a closed door.

He didn't dare move or in any way give any indication that he was awake. He couldn't be certain that he had truly fooled the priest.

Certainty is the death of caution, Azhad. Always act with confidence, but never think with certainty.

This is not good, Aziz thought to himself, exiting the church and stepping into the light rain. He swiftly made his way to the well, kneeling before it and checking it over for any alterations. It made have only been the first of several locks upon the prison, but it was the second most important, behind the actual seal itself.

Upon reassuring himself that the lock was holding firm, collecting and channelling the prayers of the people of Vigilance properly, he let out a small sigh of relief, immediately turning to the hidden and secret lines of scripture around the well, carved into the trees and the ground. Each line reinforced a certain concept—Uniformity, Plainness, Ignore, Forget—and together formed a Sanctified Barrier that prevented any from noticing that which existed within it, partly by stopping them from focusing on it and partly by forcing observers to forget even looking at it in the first place.

How did that boy ignore it? Is it his eyes? Is there more to them than being an impossible colour for him to possess due to his lineage? I couldn't sense any power from them, he mused, his apprehension mounting as he found nothing at all wrong with the structure and function of the barrier. At the very least, direct manipulation seems to work, though it has its issues as well. It almost looked like he was resisting it at the end. What is this boy?

He turned back to the church, re-entering it and moving to the office he had stashed away in the back, near his sleeping quarters where he left the boy. He wouldn't be sleeping this night. There was too much to consider.

The others were asleep by this time, though at the very least one should, according to protocol and their schedule, be on reserve should he need aid. With the situation contained, there wasn't any immediate need to request aid, but at the very least a second person had to be informed should that change.

Reaching underneath his robes, Aziz pulled forth a metal cross, which, like the well outside, was inscribed with countless tiny lines of scripture. He clasped it between his hands and placed it against his forehead, whispering a prayer under his breath.

Within his mind bloomed eleven lengths of string, all wrapped around the cross in his hand. Ten of those threads were dim, disconnected—the ones who were asleep. He could tug on them to wake them up, but that was unnecessary. Only one was lit up, and it responded the moment he pulled.

"Situation, sir?"

"Non-emergency. Just an update for now," Aziz said, closing his eyes. "But one that is of particular relevance to you, Aaliyah, considering it involves your son."

"…how on earth did he…?" Her mental 'voice' was filled with a great deal of exasperation and even the smallest hints of disbelief. It wasn't as if he could blame her—if not for the fact he was intimately tied to the barriers around the well and the church, he never would have known Azhad had snuck out to investigate the well. "What did he do?"

"He saw past the Sanctified Barrier on the well," Aziz cut straight to the point, delivering the most vital information first. "I caught him poking around only a few minutes ago. Claimed that he felt odd things from it."

"…of course he did," Aaliyah sounded tired, and not just because of the late time. "What is to be done with him?"

"I've hypnotised him to forget this night, but that can be undone. He showed some degree of resistance to it. But you know him better than I, Aaliyah. What do you think should be done with him?" he returned, making sure to keep his voice neutral. It was part genuine question and part test. To see if she was still loyal to the Church. To understand the nature of her feelings toward her family.

"…if he is capable of peering past the barrier and resisting hypnotism at his age without any training, then he shows a great deal of promise. There's also how much time he spends active. He never seems tired. Amal was telling me he carried her halfway down the mountain after their climb without even breaking a sweat. If…if trained properly, he could be of significant use to the Church. I recommend watching until he turns twelve or openly demonstrates supernatural power before inducting him, however," she said reluctantly.

"I agree," Aziz said, tone unchanged. "In that case, since you have the most contact with him, I'll leave his observation at your discretion. He expressed a willingness to speak to his sister about his impressions of the well, so she is another avenue of information. I trust you're close enough with the both of them for them to tell you of such things too?"

"As much as any child is willing to talk to their parents about their personal feelings at their age. It'll only get worse as they get older," Aaliyah snorted wryly, but the emotion was forced. "Azhad is avoiding me at the moment after I told him about Nadja. He's a smart boy, however. He should come around with a little more time. Amal's been working in that regard too. So long as I can keep my idiot husband in line, it shouldn't be an issue."

Ah, of course. Aaliyah and Nadja had integrated far more intimately with the village than the rest of them. Nadja had done so out of love. Aaliyah…had not. They were only half-sisters, but the two of them had been so close that the blood difference was negligible. Nadja's husband, Ahmad, had died of what they had concluded was tuberculosis several months before Azhad's birth, and then Nadja died not long after Azhad was born. For whatever reason, Farid, Aaliyah's husband, had never liked the boy. The same could not be said of Aaliyah and her own daughter, Amal, who had treated him like their own almost immediately.

While it had always been considered due to his heritage, Azhad's abnormalities were only further reinforcing his belief that the boy should be trained by the Holy Church. "Make sure you do. I have a feeling that the boy could grow to be one of our best, in time. I'll be trusting you to be honest in your reports."

"He may be my son, Executor Aziz," she retorted evenly, but there was a hint of anger and the faintest trace of guilt in her voice. "But I know how important it is the Church has the best assets it can. You will know all I do. Where is he currently?"

"Sleeping here at the church," Aziz said, closing his eyes and sighing to himself quietly. It seemed some part of Aaliyah was more attached to her children than she let on. It was to be expected, and in a way, he would have been more disappointed if she weren't. That didn't mean it would be tolerated if it got the way of either her or any of the other's duties, however. "You can get him now if you feel up to it. The less reason he has to question the hypnotism, the stronger it will be."

If she couldn't separate her emotions from her duties as an Executor, then he would have to separate them for her.

As Aaliyah approached the church, ignoring the growing rainfall, she wrestled with worry, fear and anger.

Sometimes, it felt like she was torn between two worlds. She had been warned of this before integrating into Vigilance by her predecessor, but in the typical surety of youth, she had assumed she would never waver from her duty. She was an Executor of the Holy Church, an expertly trained warrior who stood among the greatest protectors of humanity in the modern day. Her faith and conviction was unquestionable. Her mind focused utterly on doing as the Lord needed her to.

But she should have listened. She should have killed her heart before arriving in this village. It wasn't as if the place had any special effect on people—if anything, she disliked it here. The role she was forced to play. The mask she was forced to wear. It was stuck centuries in the past and with all the lack of societal progress that implied. Each day there forced her to remind herself just that bit more loudly of the necessity of her mission—to guard the prison of the terrible creature locked away below.

But then she had her daughter and adopted her sister's son. Her husband meant nothing to her except his use in preserving her cover. But Amal and Azhad…she had never expected to have children—Aaliyah had expected to die young, in defence of humanity against the monsters that sought to destroy it. In a way, she saw being put on guard duty in the middle of nowhere, Africa, as an insult to her abilities. She felt wasted in this place. It was only when she read the report of how dangerous her charge was, and felt its chained power in person that she understood it was more of a compliment.

The years Aaliyah had spent here had softened her edge, she knew that much. Motherhood had only softened it further, even as she felt a different kind of unwavering conviction in her. One that she truly doubted with her all her extra years would ever falter.

Her children must be safe.

But she wasn't the kind to hover over every bump and bruise. That would only smother them, and she knew the moment they began to walk that those two would only chafe under such restrictive and coddling motherhood. She knew, logically, that allowing them their independence while still being present would be the best way of raising those two. They were incredibly smart children—still children, thus prone to stupid decisions, but Azhad was normally perceptive enough to catch Amal when she pushed the boundaries. Exactly like a good brother should.

But then things like this happened, and she was starkly reminded he possessed just as much reckless curiosity as his sister. They wouldn't be content staying with Vigilance, and she was certain that by the time they reached adulthood, they would leave the village. That left her with two options.

One: they leave, without knowing anything about the outside world, and they would have to learn for themselves.

Two: she ensures they are trained by the Church, thus granting them strength, knowledge and connections.

The first option was hardly an option at all. The world was too big, too unkind, to simply let them figure out just how bad it really was themselves. They had to be forewarned and forearmed. But she couldn't do that without breaking her cover and necessitating further hypnotism of the villagers, which was…unadvised with how much was already done.

But if she were to have them taken in by the Church? They could train and be educated properly, instead of the meagre scraps that could be passed on in a village that hadn't interacted with the outside world for centuries.

That had its own downsides. Aaliyah knew her children could become extraordinary Executors—because there was no way either of them had the patience to content themselves to a parish life—but that meant they would forever be putting themselves at risk by combating the abominations and monsters of the world until they made their way to an early grave, just as she expected to have done. While there was the chance they could be sent back to their Vigilance, it was unlikely.

Damned if she did, damned if she didn't.

As far as Azhad was concerned, that choice had already been made. Regardless of what her reports contained, Aziz had already decided on having him trained. But Amal was a different story. She couldn't bear to separate the two. They were already inseparable. But, at the same time, she hardly wanted to expose her daughter to the same world that Aaliyah had grown up in. It was cold and cruel in a way that the mundane world, in all its human malice and depravity, could never match.

She had time, however. Years, even. The choice didn't have to be made immediately. But one day, it would have to be made. That much was clear to her. Aaliyah could only hope she made the right one in the end.

Aaliyah cursed to herself as the rain made the journey more treacherous by turning the earth beneath her feet to mud. It didn't matter how much fresher the air was or how beautiful the land—nothing would make her forget the convenience of modern cities and enclosed transportation.

Thankfully, her home was close to the church itself, and she knew the way well enough to not need any light. Soon enough she was slipping past the door and into the much warmer interior of the church. Taking a moment to brush off what loose rain she could, she instinctively took stock of the room.

Seeing nobody around, Aaliyah quickly navigated to Aziz's office, entering after a brief knock. She shared a terse nod with the man when their eyes met, and Aaliyah schooled her expression to cold professionalism. They didn't need to share any words—anything that needed to be said had been already. Instead, she followed him to quarters, eyes fixing immediately on the ebony hair of Azhad as he slept on a rough couch.

Her heart eased in secret relief once he was in her sight, and she wasted no time in gathering his body in her arms and turning to leave. She spared no words for Aziz, knowing there was nothing important to say on her part.

He seemed to disagree, however, and with a carefully neutral face, he spoke to her with a blank tone, "Don't forget the oaths you've sworn, Executor Aaliyah. Your duty takes precedence over anything else. If he proves to be of use to the Holy Church, he will be used. Just as all of us are."

Aaliyah paused, and did her best to ignore the tension and heated indignation that swept through her. She turned her head slightly to stare at him from the corner of her eye. It may have been a mistake and only further reinforced his misgivings, but she couldn't help retorting, nor the disproportionate coldness to her words. "I remember all of my oaths, Executor Aziz. Without exception. Do you?"

Uphold the will of the Lord, for His will is all that is Good.

Fight in his name, for the sake of all humanity. Every resource must be used for the betterment of the Holy Church's ability to stand against evil.

Innocence is a virtue, and ignorance is a blessing. Trod not upon either lightly, and only with the certainty it will not break those who are deprived of both.

Aziz's face tightened imperceptibly, and Aaliyah knew she was on thin ice from that point onwards. Without saying anything else, she left, swiftly making her way out of the church and into the rain once more.

She stopped just beyond the door, looking up and squeezing her eyes shut, overcome with an emotion she couldn't accurately describe.

Despair? Anger? Powerlessness? Grief? It was all those things and more.

"You stupid boy," she whispered, looking down upon her son's face and shifting until she could stroke the hair out of his face. Her hand framed his jaw, and her heart ached when she recognised just how much like her sister he looked. Aside from the emerald eyes, there was no mistaking Azhad to be anyone else's child. God, she missed her. "Why couldn't you leave well enough alone? You just had to go and stick your nose into whatever you felt…and nearly dragged your sister in as well."

She tightened her grip around him further, unsure if she wanted to hold him closer or throttle the bloody fool. "Please…please, for her sake…don't do something like this again. I don't want either of you to be a part of this side of the world. Nobody is ever strong enough to truly live beyond just surviving it…and I'm so afraid to think it what it might twist you two into. So please, just…be content with the ordinary mysteries."

She shook her head. She was only saying these things for her own comfort. The hypnotism would ensure he would not awaken until dawn and would not remember a single thing, much less what she said after the fact.

She would just have to keep a closer eye on him from now on.

…I can't make that promise, Aaliyah. Not so long as even a single thing in this world could threaten us.

Ignorance alone doesn't protect against those that wish harm on others.

I'm sorry.

BEGIN PART 1: RENEWAL

…What's that? This is a completely different first chapter and the other two are missing? Don't be ridiculous.

It's not like I realised halfway through the first draft of Part 1 that it was actually too rushed, poorly thought out and with far too many holes. It's not as if the important characters were about as three-dimensional as a blank piece of paper. And not in that pretentious modern art kind of way.

It couldn't be like the important story beats were brushed aside to make way for the undeserved build-up of a hype moment. Logic and reason definitely weren't ignored in favour of the first step of creating an insufferable Mary Sue whose challenges were shallow and unmeaningful.

god that idea of an altered perception by learning his full name was a terrible one you never read it it didn't happen shut up go away

Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous and would mean I did my usual thing by skipping to the action without setting the scene properly.

That would be a completely amateur mistake. Hah. Hah hah. Ahahahahahahaha hahahhahaahahahhaHAHAHAHHAHAHAH

Nobody will ever believe you.

please don't hurt me