Enneas Nestoris was not a good fisherman, but that's what kept him alive for now.
He didn't allow himself; the younger, more ambitious Enneas in his heart, to go back to his workaholic obsessions, his previous ambitions, his previous life. Enneas was a man who could infiltrate a crime syndicate for twenty years unspotted, feeding information to its rivals as he continued to be treated like a prized dog. That Enneas, left to rot at a backwater village, would always find his way back to his old work, taking up jobs that had caused his runaway life in the first place.
Those tasks, if not abandoned, would be the death of him now. His life now had a greater value, given that there was someone who was deeply attached to him--
Yet, the humble life of a fisherman was nothing short of details to be obsessed over; and Enneas found himself grounded in reality again. Perhaps he was so morbidly curious about dissecting oceanic creatures, or he would find ways to scramble the signal of his fishing vessel, while he looked awestruck at the ever-expanding sea. He was grateful too, grateful there was so much he could do with his new profession.
However, his thoughts had always lingered on his life in the five syndicates, and they never planned to leave him alone. Enneas hated that feeling. The blood he spilt was already flooding him, reaching up to the level of his chin, his mouth filled with the scent of blood.
When he was still in Hyperion City, he almost drowned within his duties when he got entangled with the internal power skirmish--
Among the shoreline of Tikath, a boy was playing on the beach with his stuffed toy-- his only friend. It was the only toy that survived their runaway life. The others were either left at their old home or were forgotten in the haste of packing up. A remnant of Achillean's past life.
For a while, back when he just arrived at Tikath with his dad, he would love the quiet, fisher's life, the spanning beaches and the small docks. But as months turned into years, and years slowly nearing a decade, the spanning beaches turned into miles of boredom and plainness, the docks into tell-tale signs of stagnation. It was becoming boring for an inquisitive mind like Achillean.
He wanted to have a real life, a life filled with bustling sounds and bright lights and seemingly endless opportunities, a life of technology. But his dad took it away from him. Now they're stuck here instead.
As those thoughts crossed his mind, the air around him rumbled and cracked. It was unlike the noise the engine of a ship would make or the thunder which seldom plagued his homestead.
This sound was oddly familiar to him-- Achillean tried to recall where he heard the noise from. Then he remembered-- it was the nostalgic rumble of a land-speeder: a common phenomenon near his old place, where he would hear it during the midnight street races--
When his eyes trailed towards the direction of that noise, he saw a glimpse of black and red.
Enneas muttered a curse word under his breath as he strode towards a device near the doorway. It was old and was clearly dug out from the trash (or fished up from the sea), but the man managed with what he had on the rural land. With a few clicks and typing, he then turned a dial, which focused the rigged cameras. His eyes were squinting at the monochrome footage while a million calculations ran through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut, shutting away what the arrival of that land-speeder meant.
A syndicate-owned speeder was approaching his homestead.
The man knew who it belonged to because he had spent so much time near that speeder that he would've considered it as his. Then he breathed in, accepting that his humble, fishing life on Tikath was finally over. But this time, he would not greet the syndicate with open arms. Not again.
"He's here," Enneas said to himself.
He gave himself a moment to rehearse the protocol he made a few years ago in his mind, to stop his panicking. He turned to a rather large machine on his desk, pressed a few buttons, to purge the data he had stored, data that should have been erased when he fled. (Why couldn't he? For a trace of sick, twisted nostalgia he still had? A feeling of pride?)
He had been storing data since the time he gave up his day job to become a hitman. If the data purge didn't work, he would start ripping the pile of machines apart, and if that didn't work too, he would have to start praying.
The machine began to sizzle and fizz as the data purge reached its completion, releasing a pungent smell resembling burnt flesh. He would not let them take anything here.
Then, he began to strip away every trace of evidence that pointed towards another lifeform living with him. Easy. He shoved away some of his son's belongings into a niche he had made long ago, while the gravity of the situation sunk into him just as fast as he hid the cot. He could use these to buy some time later.
A series of light and rapid footsteps approached the door, he turned around to see Achillean, hair unskillfully cut into dusty, choppy locks and his face smeared with sand. He looked at Achillean's hands, yet there was no stuffed toy to be found. Enneas' heart sank; the loss of his son's only companion would only bring more distress to the boy.
"Dad-"
"I know. Pack your things. It's time to go."
He turned back to his small room of devices as the little boy scampered to his room, swiping an assortment of survival kits into his rucksack.
Flicking a few buttons on his computer, the signal broadcaster activated and Enneas said a few panicked words onto the screen.
While Achillean was keeping himself busy by hiding anything his dad didn't manage to, he made out a few words from the conversation happening in the adjacent room:
"He's coming for me, you have to get here--."
He didn't know what the future had in hold, but he hoped that meant he and his father could finally leave Tikath for good. He walked out of his room before his father kneeled in front of him in the doorway. Achillean looked up, expecting nothing more than his father's sombre eyes.
Enneas looked into his son's eyes. Then there was a long, cold pause. Soon, the memory of a juvenile Achillean and his escape from Hyperion City flashed through, it was a painful pang, it was cold and chilling down into his bones.
Maybe it wasn't as good as Achillean thought. Maybe his father would leave him. Maybe this time it would end in shambles.
"Remember, Achillean--" Enneas was never good with words, he was more of an action-oriented man, but he spoke in such a way that showed he chose each of his words carefully,
"Know that even though the world is messed up, and your path will always be alone, your ambition will guide you. Do you understand?"
But Achillean didn't understand, what child could possibly understand about the darkness of the world? Then he retraced the words, savouring them again, saying something that would have left a better impression on his son instead.
"Whatever I do, I do it out of my love for you. Because I'm proud to be your dad, Achillean." He held the small figure in his arms. feeling a warmth he wouldn't feel again.
"I love you, dad."
"I love you too, son," There was an only softness in his voice. "Now go."
Achillean abruptly stopped. "You have to come with me."
"I'll be at the rendezvous soon. But," Enneas paused, "I have business that I must put an end to. Alone. I'll be there as soon as possible,"
Achillean only stared at his father, confused while his body was trembling, and Enneas tried his best to control the damage, "I promise." --Don't hold on for too long, don't give him time to think, don't give yourself time to reconsider-- and Enneas pushed the boy away from him. Enneas watched as Achillean teetered away from the house, leaving Enneas alone with his homestead of 9 years.
The house was empty, devoid of his son's traces. Enneas soon left the house, and let go of the Enneas who had been Achillean's father for those years. With a deep breath, he put on the mask of Daybreak, and let his past surface onto his skin again.
He realised he had made a choice, a choice that would keep his son safe if he succeeded.