Chronicles of the Brotherhood: Genesis

Act XIII: Inopportune Circumstance

 The sun set in the west letting its streams of red and gold streak across the sky welcoming the night. The crisp summer breeze turned to a soft and cool whisk as the world began to fall asleep. City lights shone as the lights of homes and businesses closed down and turned off. Flenor was becoming quiet, like every night save the night life which carried on in dark alleys and secluded buildings.

Down the tracks leading east out of the city walked a peculiar figure. He walked towards the city under the cover of the coming night. He wore a long tattered and faded blue coat with a hood drawn over his head. His trousers were rolled up and sat atop laced combat boots. The cost tails trailed behind him since the coat was not fastened together, it was bound only by the belt slung over his shoulder and around his waist.

Tied to the belt was a large blade crudely forged and encrusted with blood. Strange markings ran up and down the blade. An ancient tongue that no one that he knew could read it. From the end of the handle hung a rope and blood stained handkerchief. The rope was woven around various bones and feathers and other horrifying items he had picked up and fastened to the length.

He walked silently with a drunken sway to his step. His eyes were weary and his mouth hung open dry as the dirt he tread on. His stench was repulsive and it clung to every part of him from his black and white hair, to his fingertips. His stomach growled, but he kept walking not giving it any mind; he had grown accustomed to it.

He looked up and let the train platform sign illuminate his war painted face. He starred at it for a time and mouthed the words that sat in the text. He looked around and found no one on the platform. The long slab of concrete was bare as desert bones. Newspapers like tumble-weeds drifted over the dusty way, but nothing alive showed itself.

The boy pulled himself up onto the platform and stood in the wake of the platform light looking about with a strange curiosity. He rubbed his eyes and took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Heavy foot steps neared him as he held his breath. By the time the guardsmen turned the corner onto the platform, the boy was gone without a trace.

- -

"Why can't I have this room?" Xekiel whined.

"This room belongs to my sister, Xekiel," Mason explained exasperated. "It belongs to her and her alone, thus, you cannot have it."

"But she doesn't live here now, so why can't I have it?" Xekiel asked.

Mason sighed with great distaste. "Even if she does not live here currently, she may still return to live here again and it would be rude to say 'hey, dearest sister, welcome home! Hope you don't mind, I gave your room away to a blonde demon half-breed!'"

"But her bed is so comfortable!" Xekiel whined again.

"Look, you are welcome to stay here, we have plenty of room, but this room is off limits. You have your choice of anyone of the other hundred bedrooms in the mansion, go choose one of those!" Mason barked holding his stance before his sister's door.

Xekiel threw his hands up and groaned walking away from the door. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he turned sticking his tongue out at Mason and descending the stairs to the foyer. Mason sighed and laid his hand upon the door for moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He looked up to the finely stained wooden door and then to the etching above the door that read: "Sabrina Silverclaw" and sighed again.

"I miss you sister," he murmured to himself. "Come back soon, please."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked down the hall passing the main stairs, he headed to the west wing of the mansion. Much like the east wing, the west wing, second floor hallway was flanked by many doors to many rooms, some bedrooms, others recreational rooms and tiers to various quarters that begged a second floor entry.