CIRCE

xx

Her father towers in Lonan's apartment, where she had corralled him, Tannier, and herself to for a private discussion, out of the eye of the public. His hair brushes the ceiling, the light of the windows shadowed by his armored form. Even when she has him sit her father looms, stuck awkwardly in a chair at her kitchen table.

Lonan sits down across from him, Tannier posted at her side, but she hesitates to speak. All she can do is stare at the man who is supposedly her father, stupefied into silence, benumbed by the pieces of her face that she can spot among his. He stares back, unspeaking, anodyne as he lets her look.

Eventually, Lonan asks; "What is your name?"

"Prometheus," Her father replies clearly. "Kallikrates Prometheus Ireneou Siderenild."

"Why have you come here?" She asks.

Prometheus lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders in a show of dignity, beginning a monotonous, practiced speech.

"To offer allegiance - "

Lonan cuts him off.

"Not that political spiel," She says. "Why have you come here? And now?"

Prometheus quirks is head to the side, a curious look, but Lonan is sure he knows what she means.

"You say you are my," Lonan stutters on the statement, never before having been on her tongue, "my father. Why has it taken you twenty-seven years to appear?"

Twenty-seven years, each of which she needed him. Someone to raise her as a child, to love her as a young girl, to guide her as a young woman, to support her as Pathfinder. So much of her life has been spent alone, isolated from the world, deprived of family and connection, on the belief that she had no one. Nothing. Now, after twenty-seven years, when she no longer needs a father, he appears. He missed every important piece of her life and then shows up, twenty-seven years late.

Prometheus seems to understand the rage that hides behind her attentively-built veil of indifference, well-hidden but still detectable to the astute, ignited within her eyes and whispered among her words. He replies carefully.

"After Anrhe's Plight, we lost the location of this planet. What do you call it?"

"Circe," Lonan says.

"Right," Prometheus murmurs. He pauses for a moment, a distant look in his eye as something clicks inside his head, but he is back within a second. His voice is strong again, steady. "No one knew how to get here or where it was, except for one person. I went with him on a voyage here, twenty-seven years ago, and met a woman named Rhosyn. I was going to marry her, but we were called back home. When we got home, that person, the only person who knew the way here, was killed."

Prometheus reaches out across the table to Lonan, offering his hand. His eyes peer into her, suddenly glistening as he murmurs to her, earnest in tone.

"Believe me when I say that I wanted to come sooner. I loved Rhosyn. Of course I wanted to be here with her. Of course I wanted to be here with you."

Lonan glances down at his hand, her own hovering atop the table, but she's stuck here, unable to take it, unable to move away. She's uncertain about either choice. Her heart seeks so desperately to believe this man, hungry for family, starving for affection, but her head knows better than to trust a stranger so quickly and so unyieldingly.

Watching her carefully, Prometheus closes his hand, but his arm remains outstretched on the table, still ready and waiting should she change her mind. He continues, more somber.

"But this is a forbidden planet. There are people, where I'm from, that hold nothing but ill intent toward this planet and your people. That's why I've come. That beacon that was lit within Aeaea Stronghold has revealed the location of Circe." Prometheus' gaze burns in to hers, insistent as he speaks. "You're no longer hidden. There are those - power seekers, warlords, greedy people - that are now trying to flock here. They will tear this planet apart, reap it for all its resources, destroy nations, and kill anyone who stands in their way. Including you. Not even your guard could stop them."