POV Astral
Six hours later, Astral woke to a persistent soft tapping on the rear car window. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and the trail of drool from her chin, before pushing a light blanket from her body. Sergeant Scruffy remained vigilantly tucked under her arm.
She tapped on the window twice in response, indicating to Philip, her driver for this afternoon, that she was awake but needed two minutes. The dark tint of the rear passenger windows lifted gradually, allowing her eyes the time to adjust to the light. Though she saw the world differently, she appreciated the slow transition from monochrome blacks to harsh bright colors.
Two minutes later, Philip opened the rear passenger door, and stood at attention, his free arm resting behind his back. She squinted against the wash of saturated colors, bringing up her hand to allow her eyes a few more short seconds to adjust.
Philip moved to stand in front of her, blocking the oppressive light, basking her in his protective shadow.
Like Mathias, Philip had a pure soul that lit him up from the inside, revealing his person in full. That’s where the similarities ended. He was an odd soul, incapable of spiritual growth and therefore cast no aura.
Even William, whose person was cast in a constant shadow, had a flaming aura. He had great spiritual potential. He had a lot to offer the world. Or as was most likely going to be the case, he was feeding off the world, draining others of their potential through every selfish action.
Philip had a soul, but no spiritual potential. An odd combination that’s not often seen in humans. Not seen in natural humans, that is.
Philip was a tall broad man, easily six-foot-six (198cm) and wore a fine, black, three-piece suit and tie, suited to the wealth of the Daamon family.
His bald head reflected the slow descent of the late afternoon sun. They wouldn’t have time to tour the campus before curfew.
He tapped the side of his own shades. Philip and Mathias were right, she couldn’t be seen without her tinted glasses. She needed to be more diligent about wearing them. She plucked them from their protective case and put them on, then stepped out of the car.
Philip flattened the odd wrinkle in her dress attire. He pulled at her vest, and straightened her blazer, then gave her a thumbs up. He held up his hand, signaling for her to wait, as he fished through his pockets for a small piece of toffee and handed it over, holding a finger up to her as a silent warning to not eat the piece of candy now.
She put the sweet in her pocket and nodded. “Later then.”
A drone flew overhead, casting its surveying shadow over them, lingering a moment before moving on. The administration was aware of her arrival and someone would rush to greet her.
Philip was gentle when he placed his hand to her back and gave her a soft push, a silent command. It was only appropriate for the Lady of the house to take the lead, even if she had no idea where she was headed. The central crystal dome of the administration building was as good a direction as any.
The main building sat at the end of an elaborate series of circular gardens. The building itself was once referred to as the Crystal Palace, the seat of power for the elite of the former regime. When the Council took over, some fifty years ago, they converted the palace into a functional administrative space accessible to all people. To add insult to injury, the Council converted the training grounds to a glorified high-school whose combat and military branches were slowly eroding.
The glass building dominated the view, imposing a divide between the campus and the rest of the nation. The building’s massive east and west wings towered over the central building by three stories. This place had a life of its own, a history, thoughts, feelings. It was a proud structure.
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Humans within the building gave the building its soul, lightning it up from within. The Administrative building’s soul was a weak and fading thing, but that could be attributed to having fewer personnel on location during the Summer months.
The gardens that dominated the front entrance of the grand palace had thoughts of their own too. Pollen caked the air, offering a variety of confused perfumes, masking the subtle but consistent scent of decay. Vibrant greens and slew of colors from the flowers in bloom offered Astral a rich palette to inform her world, reflecting their essences in the form of a large gathering of lights at the foot of the Crystal Palace, the building’s artificial façade visible to her.
She crouched to inspect a flower closer to the ground, cupping its pink bloom between two fingers. The honey dew color of its life force slipped into the stem, down the central plant, and into the ground.
Astral frowned. The flow of life was moving in reverse. The little flower was doing the best it could to slow its inevitable death.
She was gentle when she pushed the plant aside, inspecting its brothers and sisters that were crowding the area. Her frown deepened.
She felt the ground, rubbing it between her fingers. Lightly damp. The soil came away without effort. She pushed her fingers into the ground. No resistance. These plants were recently added. At a guess, within days.
Appearances had to be maintained after all.
She caught herself before wiping the dirt from her hands against her trousers. She took in the gardens around her while brushing her hands together, noting the faded colors in the distant forest. Something was draining the life from these plants. Either that or the ground had lost all of its nutritional value, which was an odd thing for a crew of professional landscapers to overlook.
“There she is!” came Dezmond’s voice. He sounded ecstatic to see her. Astral knew better.
The fountains sprang to life, triggered by motion sensors as Dezmond hurried along the length of the decorative feature. The shallow pool ran a fair length up the main path to the central building.
Astral hid her less soiled hands behind her as Dezmond wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. He pulled her away, his rough hands maintaining a light hold on her arms. “How was your trip? Long? I know it can be a little tedious. You did your reading? Of course you did, you’re a good girl.” He smiled. All of these questions were superficial and didn’t deserve answers. He didn’t care how the trip was, how she endured, as long as she showed up.
The old man had a fiery aura, far brighter than Mathias’. Dezmond had the excuse of being a powerful sorcerer, the fourth son of a fourth son.
His aura was dominated by greens. In his case green had a stronger correlation with communication than compassion. Humanity was at war against forces they would rather pretend didn’t exist and the Daamon’s mustn’t forget their duty to the people in these terrible times. Sometimes, compassion was a hindrance to what needed to be done.
The lack of the corrupting blacks in his greens always made Astral suspicious. He was often imposing his Will onto others, yet, his greens flared pure. He was not a bad man; she could give him that much. He was acting in the best interest of the people. At least there was that. But when it came to her…
The greens simmered to a dull roar, while intelligent blues and adaptive reds danced. Reds revealed his corrupted influence. His fear of her revealed itself in tides of black, pushing the reds higher, demanding immediate action. He was good at hiding his fear, masking it with the illusion of love as he pulled her close and gestured towards the great gardens. “Truly a wonder of human ingenuity. The Regime never appreciated such fine natural beauty. Absolutely beautiful, don’t you think?”
“If dying flowers are your thing,” Astral muttered, knowing that she should not insult their host who was not yet within hearing distance of anything she might have to say. Dezmond squeezed her in warning. “Oh, don’t be so sullen,” he said jovially, and gave her another squeeze. His voice did not betray his ire, but she saw it in the spikes of green intermingling with reds, like a warning. Intuitive purple flattened the tide as he sought the hidden meaning of her words.
A cluster of drones circled around the main garden, sighting their person of interest, before breaking off in different directions, leaving one behind; Dezmond’s constant companion for public accountability. The old sorcerer’s aura dulled considerably. He hated being in the public eye. He hated being judged for what needed to be done. He hated being judged by people who knew nothing of the fragile state of their continued existence. He hated those who would use the slightest social infraction as an opportunity to slay a powerful political opponent, at the expense of millions of lives.
He had many enemies, but men of power often did.