Arriving at Luke's house felt like crossing the threshold into a domain fraught with tension and unanswered questions. The atmosphere, charged with the unspoken, reflected my inner turmoil—a mix of determination and the gnawing uncertainty that had taken root in my mind. The failed attempts to contact Jeremiah since yesterday weighed heavily on me, each unanswered call amplifying the sense of urgency and concern for what lay ahead.
The mystery of Fedor's arrival, his sudden and inexplicable integration into my Guardian team, swirled in my thoughts like a persistent fog. Jeremiah's choice—a Russian with barely a grasp of broken English—posed more questions than it provided answers, adding layers to an already complex puzzle. Why him? What unseen threads connected us in Jeremiah's mind?
Gladys's house, once a haven in the tumultuous journey I found myself on, had offered no solace this time. Its walls, usually resonant with warmth and guidance, now echoed with a profound silence that mirrored the emptiness in my heart. The absence of her presence, her wisdom, left a void that I found increasingly difficult to fill.
The tension that enveloped the room seemed to thicken with each step I took, the air almost shimmering with the weight of my apprehension. My sigh, a futile attempt to dispel the growing sense of unease, barely echoed in the quiet before being swallowed by the charged atmosphere.
"Where is Luke?" The voice, unexpected and resonant with an Arabian accent, cut through the silence, startling me into a defensive stance. My heart raced as I turned, instinctively ready for confrontation, only to find myself facing an intruder whose presence was as imposing as it was unexpected. Tall, lean, with the starkness of a shaved head, he stood with an air of calm assurance, his non-aggression signalled not just by his open posture but by the unmistakable sight of a Portal Key in his hand.
"Who the fuck are you?" The question burst from me, a reflexive demand for answers, edged with the tension that had knotted itself within me. My gaze fixed on him, searching, assessing, the wariness in me coiled tight as a spring.
"I'm not a threat," he responded, his voice a blend of reassurance and firmness, the Portal Key he held serving as a silent testament to his claim. The air between us, charged with my initial suspicion, seemed to shift slightly, a tentative step towards understanding.
“Who are you?” I found myself repeating the question, my tone now tempered by curiosity, yet the undercurrent of caution remained undisturbed. The balance of trust was fragile, each word exchanged a weight added or removed from the scales.
“I’m Leigh Trogaris,” he declared, his name a new variable in an equation that was becoming increasingly complex. “I’m a friend of Jeremiah’s.” The statement, intended to reassure, instead added layers to the mystery, weaving his presence into the intricate tapestry of concerns that already plagued me.
A sinking feeling took root in the pit of my stomach, a tangible response to the unfolding scenario. The revelation of a new Guardian, wounded and in need of help, had already set the stage for unease. Now, the introduction of Leigh Trogaris, claiming affiliation with Jeremiah in Luke's living room, compounded the apprehension. It was a convergence of unknowns that seemed to herald a deepening of the crisis, a widening of the web of intrigue that surrounded us.
The urgency in my question, "Where's Jeremiah?" carried the weight of my growing apprehension, my voice tinged with a concern that felt like a tight band around my chest. Leigh's response, "He's not so good," was like a punch to the gut, his words offering more questions than answers, cloaked in a vagueness that did nothing to ease my worry.
"Take me to him," I found myself insisting, the words propelled by a surge of urgency, a need to act, to do something—anything—to aid Jeremiah. But Leigh's admission, "I can't. He's back in Strechna," hit like a cold wave, reminding me of the frustrating limitations that bound us as Guardians. The inability to use each other's Portals was a barrier I had momentarily forgotten, a restriction that now loomed large in the face of crisis.
"What—" My attempt to grapple with this information, to find some sliver of a solution, was cut short by Leigh's interjection.
"I don't know exactly what happened," he said, the tension in his voice painting a picture of confusion and urgency. "He was with Winston, another member of his Guardian team, when they were attacked."
"Attacked? By whom? Where?" The questions spilled from me, a torrent of concern and the need for answers.
“I don’t know!” Leigh yelled, his frustration spilling over, a storm in his eyes. “I received a distress signal from him, and when I arrived at his location, he was covered in blood.”
"Shit," was all I could muster, a succinct summation of the dread that settled heavily upon me.
"He was simmering close to losing consciousness, but he was determined to speak with me before he returned to Clivilius to recover," Leigh continued, drawing me further into the unfolding drama. Motioning for him to continue, I was captivated by the dire narrative. “He kept rambling about Winston and Luke, something about critical intel.”
As Leigh's revelations unfolded, my world seemed to tilt on its axis, a maelstrom of confusion and betrayal swirling within me. "What the hell is going on?" The words slipped from me, a verbal manifestation of the chaos that gripped my thoughts, the room itself seeming to sway in response. The realisation that Jeremiah had not sought me out in his moment of need pierced me with a sharpness that felt all too real, a sense of betrayal that cut deeper than any physical wound.
"Why you?" The question emerged, laden with a mixture of hurt and disbelief, a challenge thrown into the thickening air between us.
“I guess he thought I could get to Luke the quickest,” Leigh answered, his words offering a thin veil of explanation.
As I glared at Leigh, struggling to anchor myself in the rapidly shifting reality, his next words served as a lifeline amidst the storm. "I'm Luke's Guardian Atum," he clarified, his tone grounding, offering a beacon of understanding in the tumult. The relief that followed was a balm to my frayed nerves, the logic of Jeremiah's actions becoming clearer, yet no less painful in its necessity.
"I gave a second Portal Key to Beatrix Cramer. I believe you are close with her sister," Leigh added, injecting another layer of complexity into the unfolding narrative.
Another sharp pang hit my chest, and I scowled at Leigh. If Gladys knew that Beatrix was a Guardian with Luke, my chances of convincing her to join me were almost non-existent. They could only meet safely on Earth, and those opportunities, it seemed, were quickly fading.
"Did you know that we've been trying to persuade Gladys to accept Jeremiah's final Portal Key?" I accused.
“No,” answered Leigh, his response carrying a note of helplessness. “Jeremiah shares very little details of his Guardian life with me.”
“That makes two of us,” I retorted, the bitterness of being kept in the dark a sentiment now shared between us. This shared experience of exclusion, of being peripheral to Jeremiah's deeper strategies, did little to ease the sense of isolation that had taken root within me.
The sudden prickle at the back of my neck, an instinctual warning of danger, was the only precursor to the ominous thump that echoed through the hallway. A chill, sharp and sudden, coursed through me, the air heavy with a sense of dread that seemed to seep into the very walls of the room.
Leigh's warning, “Get ready for a quick exit,” cut through the thickening atmosphere, his words a beacon of clarity in the growing fog of unease. With my senses heightened, every nerve end alert, we moved towards the hallway, our steps measured, the tension between us a tangible force.
The sight that greeted us was one ripped straight from the pages of a horror story. A man, his body battered and bleeding, stumbled from the bedroom, his fall against the hallway wall not just a physical collapse but a manifestation of the nightmare scenario we found ourselves in. The heavy thud of his body, the trail of blood he left behind—it was a scene etched in violence, a vivid reminder of the dangers that lurked just beyond our realm of understanding.
“Winston?” Leigh's voice, laden with both concern and urgency, broke the stunned silence that had enveloped me. Watching him crouch in front of Winston, the immediacy of the situation became undeniable. “Help me!” Leigh's command pulled me from the inertia of shock, propelling me into action.
Breaking free from the temporary paralysis of shock, I hurried up the hallway. As I crouched beside them, Winston's condition was dire, his lifeblood painting a grim picture on the hallway floor. His hand, coated in blood, reached out to me, pressing a small USB into my palm. "Take it," he gasped, the weight of his plea evident in his strained voice and the desperate plea in his eyes.
While Leigh worked frantically to stem the flow of blood, a futile battle against the tide of Winston's injuries, I found myself grappling with the urgency of the situation. "What is it for?" The question fell from my lips, a desperate attempt to grasp the significance of the USB now in my possession.
Winston's struggle for each breath, the blood that marked his words, lent a chilling urgency to his message. "Get the data to Luke Smith," he managed, the desperation clear in his gaze. "You must." The imperative, delivered with such intensity, left no room for doubt. This was not just a request; it was a mission, one that bore the weight of consequences far beyond the immediate danger.
Leigh's demand for the identity of the assailant, “Who did this?” was met with a revelation that seemed to hang in the air, heavy with implication. "Enemies of Killerton," Winston's response, though brief, was loaded with meaning, casting a shadow of larger, unseen forces at play.
As the reality of Winston's revelation sank in, my mind was momentarily hijacked by the tumultuous memories of the attack at Killerton Enterprises. The vivid recollections of chaos, the clash with Amber and her Guardian team, played out with sharp clarity against the backdrop of my current predicament. A shiver of doubt crept through me, the lines between friend and foe blurring in a haze of uncertainty. Amber, who had once appeared as an ally, had her own clandestine motives within Killerton, complicating the narrative further. The revelation that she, too, was navigating the murky waters of espionage and subterfuge within the same battleground we found ourselves entangled in added layers of complexity I hadn't fully considered until now.
"The blueprints?" The question cut sharply through my spiralling thoughts, a focused attempt to anchor the conversation back to the tangible, the here and now. Winston's strained response, "I don’t know what that is. This contains the instruction for resetting a Portal Key," thrust us into uncharted territory, the weight of the implications momentarily staggering.
Leigh and I shared a look of shock, the potential of what lay within our grasp dawning on us both with the force of a revelation. The possibility of resetting a Portal Key, of potentially altering the very fabric of our Guardian dynamics, was a concept that both excited and unnerved.
Winston's agonised groan, a painful reminder of the human cost already paid in this shadowy war, drew our focus back to the grim task at hand. The minutes stretched out, laden with tension and unspoken fears, until Winston's struggle ceased, his passing marking a solemn moment of silence that felt heavy with significance.
Leigh's question, "Could it really be possible? Could we really reset a Portal Key and create a new Guardian?" echoed my own whirlwind of thoughts. The idea, fraught with both opportunity and risk, was a beacon of unknown potential in the murky waters we navigated. "I guess anything is possible," I responded, my voice tinged with the caution born of experience. My mind raced with the implications, the strategic advantages, and the moral quandaries that such a power could entail.
Steering the conversation back to Winston, I said, "We need to take him back to Clivilius."
Leigh nodded. “I’ll take him with me, and make arrangements with Jeremiah.”
“Good,” I replied, a weight lifted at the thought of not having to add the disposal of another corpse to my list of urgent actions. “I’ll make sure Luke gets this.”
As Leigh activated his Portal, the hallway was momentarily illuminated by a wave of colour that seemed to dance across the wall, a brief interlude of light in an otherwise darkened space. Leigh, with a heavy grunt, lifted Winston beneath his shoulders, his actions a testament to the solemnity of the moment. "Be careful, Cody. I'll be in touch soon," he said, his words imbued with a sense of finality and a warning of the uncertainties that lay ahead. Watching them disappear, the hallway returned to its previous state of darkness, a visual echo of the void left by their absence.
Alone with my thoughts, I murmured, "Does Killerton Enterprises know that the Portal Keys can be reset?" The question, softly spoken, was more a reflection of the swirling jumble in my mind than an expectation of an answer. My internal dialogue provided a shrug in response, an acknowledgment of the fragmented knowledge that had come to define the Clivilian legacy over generations. The realisation that it was impossible to discern who knew what anymore settled over me, a cloak of uncertainty.
With a sigh, I returned to the living room, the weight of the USB in my fingers a constant reminder of the secrets it held. The decision to sit and wait for Luke's return was one born of necessity, a pause in the relentless pace of revelations and decisions that had marked the day. The discovery of another Killerton Enterprises access card in my pocket was an unexpected jolt, a gasp escaping my lips as I pulled it out. "Where the hell did that come from?" The question hung in the air, unanswered.
The answer, it seemed, lay in the memory of my escape from Killerton Enterprises, a moment of closeness with Amber that had gone unnoticed at the time. The realisation that she must have slipped the card into my pocket was a silent acknowledgment of her role in the intricate web of alliances and secrets that enveloped us. It was a piece of the puzzle that I hadn't anticipated, a silent gesture that spoke volumes.
Armed with the access card and the USB containing the potential to alter the very dynamics of our existence, I returned to Belkeep, the events of the day a maelicstorm of implications and responsibilities. The revelations carried with me, the secrets now in my possession, were both a burden and a beacon, the potential for change as daunting as it was invigorating.
