Dark Omega

CHAPTER 22 - LOOK TO THE FUTURE

Xerza's day had been long indeed, beyond the extra hours caused by Moeral Princeps's slow rotational period. No matter how long the days, time was the same, marching ever forward, waiting for no man or woman, no matter how highly placed. She was now in bed, well past the start of the sleep cycle, still working.

Lady Xerza was a high-ranking officer of the Dragon Order. She took pride in her organization—her Arcanum—and always sought to improve its efficiency. Many tasks she could delegate to subordinate leaders, but not all of them. Such a large, complex, and delicate operation would still require careful guidance from its supreme commander. If only she could limit her activities to the purely practical, watching the shadows for threats to humanity and the Order. Stuff that Quaestors were supposed to concern themselves with. 

If only things were that simple. Xerza was far more than a mere guardian of the darkness. She was a player of the highest rank, heir to Tancred's legacy. There was no rest, no respite for those who aspired to stand at the very pinnacle of power. All her days, from waking to sleeping, was filled with duties. Time for recreation was nearly nonexistent. As it should be—how could she rest when so much was at stake? But now that Marcus had finally gained access to the Maiden, things were shifting into a higher gear. If the plan succeeded, the Order would have a powerful weapon to wield against the Shadow, one that could tip the scales.

There was no time to lose. The Fimbulvinter—the great cold before the end of the world—was already upon them. She'd read the classified reports of stars inexplicably cooling, plunging entire worlds into eternal winter. And in the dark places of the universe, the forces of the Shadow were marshaling. Nexus psychosis was on the rise throughout the Successor Kingdoms. Shadow incursions were more common than they had been at any point since the Great Betrayal. The Kull were raiding in force again. Sure signs of what was coming: Ragnarök, the final battle. That was a battle humankind desperately needed to win—unless they wanted to become slaves to eternal darkness.

Xerza needed to be more focused than ever. But then there was Aaron—Maximilian. Five years she had been distracted by him. Why had she brought him to her side so early? The question to that was simple: if she hadn't, he would have burned. Placing the clone into the wild had been a bold experiment and not a wholly successful one at that. She should have let him burn, learned from the experience, and moved forward. That would have been the logical thing to do. Stop fooling yourself, Xerza. The sensible thing to do would be to never bring a man back from the dead in the first place. They will find out eventually. And then my sins will catch up with me, and I've worked so hard for will be lost. Why can't I stop doing it? Why did I send him to Vern? Why do I keep repeating the same mistakes?

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Tancred had taught Xerza how to sleep again. He had shown her how to let go of the past, to embrace the now, to look to the future. Maybe that was part of the reason Xerza repeated past mistakes—she had her gaze fixed on what was to come.

Her mentor had walked at her side as Xerza dared let her dreaming mind drift upon empyrean tides, to be cleansed and replenished. Gone were the hungering demons, gone was the back pit. She was free to wander her dreamlands as she willed. She had slept well, all things considered, in the long years since Tancred's abrupt disappearance.

But on this night, the dream returned to haunt her.

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She dreamt of a little girl named Salt, long since forgotten by the galaxy. Young Salt lived in a small village called Divine Grace, upon the world of Zephyr, somewhere in the great Sixth Circle of the Coalition. Her parents were very devout, as were most Zephyrean folk. As devoted to the Gods of the Pantheon—Horus above all—as they were loyal to the Archon and the House of Dalton.