Guns met Carmen as she neared the outskirts of the little camp, but that was fate. She knew it because she’d seen it. She knew they’d as well. Yet she’d seen little other than this very moment and couldn’t know how it might all end. It didn’t matter. She was here to collect. She’d done them a service by freeing the firstborn and they would damn well pay up.

This wasn’t something they seemed willing to do. That much was obvious. One might even think she could die here. The guns said as much. Yet something beyond her abilities told her that wouldn’t happen. In fact, it told her no matter which choices she made, her death couldn’t happen . . . not here and not like this. It simply told her it wasn’t her time. She’d no real clue why she trusted such fairy tales, but that didn’t change the fact she was here, now.

The look in their eyes was unreadable. The silence bled through as the seconds ticked away. Fate was at play. As much as it revealed in visions, it adored holding back key details. It was a mysterious thing. Yet this stalemate couldn’t last forever. Something would happen and likely soon. In the heat of this moment she knew only one thing for certain. The guns proved a truth and a wise one at that. She wasn’t to be trusted, but then what was the foresight of a lie if not the truth? Lying, thieving and scheming in this day and age weren’t as easy as during the human reign.

This was the dawn of the half-truth. Carmen learned as much from Wferium. The pupil studied the master and was allowed to do so. She never knew why that was, but knew better than to question it. She’d take what she could get and make it so much more. It was practically her motto. It preceded her time with the lofty ancient and the seven exhausting years within her camp. She’d learned the craft back when she actually was young.

Carmen wasn’t old, but neither was she young. She sported a lovely EA23 and wished always to do so, regardless of the inherent danger. She found she could handle all this diseased world could throw at her far easier than the ravages of being old . . . or rather appearing old. Deception was her trade and it wasn’t an easy one. She’d made more sacrifices than even she could remember. Yet the one thing she needed; the most important tool was youth . . . and for women, beauty.

She’d never asked for her body, but it was the only gift she’d ever willingly accepted. That’s because it was the only one ever freely given. Sure, her mother sliced off a few fingers to advance her. It was the “right” thing to do, as if Carmen ever would, and it definitely fell under the category of “price”. However, that was youth. Her beauty was freely given . . . most likely because, like fate, it was something of a mystery.

None ever really knew how their unborn child would look as an adult. No one’s foresight could see that far ahead. It didn’t hurt that her mother was a looker and her father a stud, but she didn’t like to think of them in such a way. Hell, she didn’t like to think of them at all. She hadn’t spoken word one to them in well over a decade. That was due to the fact she’d ended them both for crimes best not discussed at the moment. They hadn’t really deserved the few words she’d spoken. Beauty never guaranteed decency. Carmen should know. As much as she loathed it, she’d turned out much like her mother, a conniving little bitch. Though, she had to give her credit. In her prime she’d worn a bigger pair of balls than her father ever grew.

Regardless of her little trip down memory lane, the guns remained trained on her, but she was hardly worried about them. She’d time enough to reminisce because everyone here knew she’d show, with the likely exception of Jason, the firstborn, who she knew still slept. In the same light, everyone here knew death hadn’t been invited. The guns were a ploy, but she supposed a necessary one. It was an act to show Carmen she wasn’t trusted. It was meant to make it so utterly obvious they all knew who she was, what she was and that none of her tricks would work here.

Be that as it may, it also proved what she already knew . . . this was her part to play and within this little troupe she was needed. She didn’t know what for, but she’d always been a strong believer in the prophecies. Regardless of her trade, which if nothing else kept her fed, she’d always followed the path of the Futurists. It was how she’d known what Wferium said about Jason was true. She wasn’t present for that particular sermon, but she’d foreseen it and knew it was time to act.

Not that he’d made things any easier. She was seedborn and possessed the gifts of foresight and telepathy, but wasn’t as skilled at either as she would’ve liked. She truly didn’t know the path from the tent to the woods would be clear and remain that way. She wasn’t the motherly type and never liked coddling, well, anyone, but for the firstborn, she would’ve . . . if she’d known death wasn’t so near. She wouldn’t have done it all nice and pretty like, but she would’ve done it all the same.

If she had, this lot would’ve been the ones meeting her and Jason, not the other way around. Whatever else she might’ve been feeling she didn’t like abandoning the firstborn to whatever fate was his to have, but she figured in the grand scheme of things she’d done enough by freeing him. It turned out she was right.

It was a good thing too. If she’d stayed with Jason she doubted she ever would’ve had the unique opportunity to end that whore Aryl and her lackey, Sebastian. Their deaths, well, they needed doing. Carmen felt honored she was the bitch to do it. It was true things very nearly turned out differently. Regardless of the god damned slogan never once in her life had she found “different to be good”. Still, she shouldn’t complain; it served her purpose. She’d duped more non-seedborn idiots than she could rightly remember with just that line.

Carmen hadn’t foreseen the pair rushing her up the hill. The cards hadn’t fallen that way. However, thanks to her hunting and tracking skills she’d already known they were trailing her and planned on taking them out more discreetly. That never happened, so she improvised and with a little luck she survived to tell the tale . . . not that she ever would.

Nonetheless, she owed a great deal of this victory to Joy. Joy was the happy little name she’d given her sniper rifle because it was what a successful shot always brought her. At the time it had been at the ready. To the best of her ability Joy was always at the ready, but that was her. Most didn’t even bother. Hardly anyone used snipers anymore. Many more cheery than they’d the right to be called snipers a “tricky” weapon. That was bullshit . . . they were downright deadly. There was just too great a chance that one way or another the shot would either miss or kill. Missing alerted everyone to your presence and killing . . . well, that was something like Russian Roulette, as it usually ended in DOE. If not, if the wounded party had friends, when did they ever pass up an opportunity to take revenge against the youthing?

That very danger was what gave Carmen her edge. Sure, everyone knew what a bitch ass piece of work she was. Hell, she was downright proud of that. Yet when it came to hunting and being hunted it seemed everyone underestimated her. That was a mistake; one which kept her breathing. Sometimes she’d correct people on that candy-ass assumption. None ever believed her and she still held onto her skin. It was fun to watch the idiots choke on their beer, but particularly misshapen chunks of food usually ended up getting caught in their gullet as they cracked up laughing. Maybe cracked up dying . . . depending on just how bad it was. She wasn’t about to save them.

At the moment it appeared she might be the one needing saving. Not so much from death, as from fate. Carmen hadn’t wanted to be here. Hadn’t she already paid her dues within Wferium’s shitty seed hunter camp? Yet, she deemed her foresight, when it worked, to be fate. Sure, she chose her path as the dice rolled, but in the end fate always won out whether she liked it or not. Fate put her here, in the middle of frozen nowhere, with guns at her face and among people whom she’d never really gotten along with. Of course, that description snuggly fit nearly everyone she knew.

There wasn’t anything for that except to blaze her own trail. That never panned out so great either; she earned her living scamming people. That didn’t work so well on trees; they seemed wise to her schemes and rarely ever had anything worth stealing. Over the years it became increasingly hard to both earn a living and erase her reputation. Sometimes it was a real bitch being a devoted Futurist while ripping off everyone she laid eyes on. She’d learned to live with it, but she must admit hunting took the edge off.

This was where fate put her, but that wasn’t the worst of it. In one of her visions she’d glimpsed a scene that kept her here. To do what, she wondered? Fucking mingle? Tea anyone? Sorry, it’s a fucking block; got a microwave handy? Maybe she could shoot the breeze on her latest conquests. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?! These bastards probably already knew about that; the guns kinda said it all. What the hell! Why not dance?! It’d keep her legs warm!

Out of the uncomfortable silence Carmen screamed, “What Price?!” Expected or not the moment passed without interruption so she elaborated.

“You all know that I join you in ‘whatever’ you’re doing! You all know that I do NOT work for free! So . . . at what god damned price?! I fully expect to be reimbursed not only for this, but for freeing the firstborn too! So . . . What’s in it for me?!”

Suddenly Xavier’s eyes glazed over and he spoke in an unearthly tone. “Your skin. Whether you know it or not, all other paths lead to your end. It was fate that brought you here and its fate that will guide you. That and the prophecies.”

Absolutely everyone stared. Not at Carmen, but at Xavier. Barely had he spoken a word since arriving at the camp a few hours prior. It didn’t matter. Aside from Carmen and perhaps Jason, everyone knew. It was obvious what this was, or rather who this was . . . Takei, the ancient . . . the prophet. He was swaying Xavier. Just as Meraine existed to become the firstborn’s protector, so too did Xavier have a purpose . . . as the voice of the prophet.

This was the first time he’d done it and explained the surprise. Neither was there any warning it would happen or even could happen. Swaying was an exceedingly difficult art. Shortly after the Atra war a few humatrans found swaying humans to be remarkably easy, but things were different now. Humatrans swaying humatrans required a much greater degree of skill . . . especially seedborn to seedborn. It was rarely ever witnessed, or if it was few ever realized it was happening. Naturally, however, the older the humatran the greater the skill and who, but the prophet, had more?

As far as foresight was concerned, no one else saw this event because Takei had summarily prevented it. The visions came as visions do, but it took a master to block all such things from a group of seedborn. Albeit Jason, who slept away the cold, was barely such. No humatran, ancient or not, firstborn or not, could possess abilities unless seedborn. So too was Jason. It had long since been the practice of hospitals, Durham notwithstanding its secret, to be built upon an Atra seed. So too was the hospital in which Jason had been born . . . it just cost more to be born there . . . a lot more.

This was no secret to Sarafyn, but it was the lesser evil. He knew avoiding the Atra seed would effectively null and void every possibility of his son fulfilling the firstborn prophecy. It wasn’t spelled out, but everyone who believed in that lost prophecy expected the firstborn would need their abilities to do whatever fate held in store for them. They were right about that. Sarafyn couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter. He knew his son would eventually need his abilities to survive the future onslaught. This wasn’t for the future’s sake, but for sheer survival . . . he didn’t want his son to die.

Yet the events surrounding the birth of the firstborn were also prophecy, regardless of the fact that Takei was the only one who knew about it. Being the prophet, he knew so much more than that. He saw so much more. So too had he foreseen the first time he’d spoken through Xavier, a foresight occurring three centuries ago, because this too was prophecy unfolding.

This surprise was a necessary ingredient to awe. Not that Takei ever much needed such devotion, but Meraine’s shock was required to shock Carmen; and Carmen’s shock was needed for her to submit to her role in this tale. She was world wise. She knew the ins and outs of this modern civilization . . . particularly that of the seedy dens. That and she was far more willing to get her hands dirty. Such things would be needed on their journey. Takei, for all his knowledge, lived in seclusion and tried to avoid violence. He lived in the past. Modern times required a modern guide and since the modern world had so degraded into a loathsome, whorish thing, the group needed someone who could properly navigate the defiled terrain . . . thus Carmen.

Yet, this world had so seeped into her veins she’d forgotten how to trust . . . anyone. She might’ve been the product of her environment, but she’d been so very wronged at every turn and had the right to be wary of all who crossed her path. Regardless, this must change for her to play her part . . . thus the possession and the surprise of it. In fact, the only thing Carmen ever truly believed in was the prophesies and fate. She was in all but title a Futurist. This too was necessary for her to give a damn about what was happening before her very eyes. Now she did. She most certainly did.

For the life of her, Carmen believed Xavier’s ghostly words. She couldn’t explain just exactly why, but something inside her, deeper than her sixth sense, believed what lay before her was her only recourse from death. She’d been practically everywhere and had seen most of what mattered. She knew when someone was being swayed and she knew when the puppet was being displayed for effect. Creepy as it was, the eerie nature of the voice was only for show. Never could a sway convince in such a manner. The whole idea behind it was to blend in, not stand out. That was, unless, that was its purpose . . . such as now.

What Carmen knew and what Carmen believed were two different things. She knew little other than whoever was speaking wasn’t Xavier. It couldn’t be Jason. Could it? No. Firstborn or not, he was a new fish. Maybe one day he could do such a thing, but not now. From the utter shock on her face she knew it couldn’t be Meraine, unless that too was a ploy. She doubted it. She’d seen enough to know what was genuine and what was a lie. So that only left the ever silent Takei.

She supposed it made sense. He never spoke . . . ever. So maybe he simply couldn’t. Maybe he needed an outlet. Maybe he was old enough to find one. She’d no idea how old Takei truly was, but then never before had she actually given a damn. To her he was just a man who must’ve been deaf and dumb . . . a prime target for her schemes, but that never panned out. For all her attempts, something always got in the way. It was a variety of things, but in those moments they all demanded her attention more than lonely, stupid Takei. She’d never once considered the fact this was by design. She did now and her eyes widened.

Who was this man? Takei was quite possibly an ancient. After all, she thought with her inflated ego, who else could play her so damned well? Even so, Takei was something more . . . something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Though, that question was answered in short order as Xavier once again opened his mouth to shatter the deafening silence, but this time with less pomp and circumstance.

“You know of me. All who’ve studied the prophecies do. I am what you’d call the originator. I am the prophet. I am the ancient, Takei Marada. I exist to guide fate as fate guides you. We all have a path to follow and yours is with us. Come and join us. Come and learn of things you’ve never before fathomed. The future is here. The future is now.”

At this Carmen oozed of skepticism, but the same thing that told her death awaited her in all other directions was now telling her this too was the truth. She didn’t need it to. She knew a lie when she heard one, but things weren’t all so cut and dry. Swaying wasn’t normal. Swaying broke the known rules. Swaying muddied just exactly what was real and what wasn’t. In such a manner she could be fooled and she’d always known that.

No doubt she wanted to believe, but experience taught her death was usually the reward for all who so easily trusted. Ancient or not, was she not the enemy? Should she lower her gun to be blown away by an ancient who may actually be able to hold her years? Had she not already ended Aryl, his kin in years if nothing else? Surely he knew about this. Did he really not desire revenge?

Then once again. “All here know of Aryl’s fate and your part in it. It’s of little consequence. Greater things are happening here. You know this. You followed fate to meet the firstborn. You followed fate to become a seed hunter against your better nature. You are devoted to fate and fate to you. But try if you must. Try to end us. And you will. I have seen it. Know that fate doesn’t play out that way. Our time isn’t destined to end now. Neither is yours. Pull the trigger. Trust me. Forfeit all you hold dear for this one chance to unlock the mystery of fate.”

Fate or no fate, Carmen wanted free of this situation. Her trigger finger twitched with the desire to go through if not back. He knew this. He knew the only way was forward. She so wanted to end him. He’d so pissed her off. Prophet or not, he was unraveling all she’d ever known. She was a Futurist, but never once considered abandoning her seedy nature to follow it. She believed it was possible to live in both worlds . . . and she was, even within the seed hunter camp. Right now all she was hearing was that fate, not Takei, wanted her to forever lose half of what made her who she was. Since she couldn’t kill fate Takei was the next best thing. He, as he’d put it “guided fate”. So then maybe his death would free her from it.

She wondered though, was he really the prophet? Could she really kill the prophet? Even if she could, what sort of unimaginable penance lay in store for her? However, he said he’d already witnessed her attempt and it failed. Should she really test that theory? God, she loathed him! It had literally been years since she’d been so god damned conflicted! How the hell was he so able to play her?! Fuck him! FUCK him!! FUCK HIM!!!

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Then whatever the cost, fuck DOE, anger overrode all else and Carmen pulled the trigger. At such range the shot reverberated through every ear and shook the very trees. Joy was pissed! Yet Joy also missed! She’d been aiming point blank at Takei’s fucking face! How could she miss?! He hadn’t even fucking moved! How the fuck was that even possible?! Now what?!

Xavier never flinched, but then neither had Takei. Meraine, gun in hand, fell on her respective ass. Then words once again fell from Xavier’s mouth.

“Time to go. Fate deemed all this necessary, but our time here is done. Follow or don’t follow, but then you will. All abilities aside, even that of your sixth sense, you know you will. You will follow your guide. Forever your guide.”

<><><><>

An explosion tore through Jason’s mind, but then he was already dead. He’d died so very long ago at that damned fence. Yet it wasn’t damned. All was as it should be. He knew it. He’d felt it. Most of all he’d accepted it.

This was death and death was good. His waking mind never considered that possibility. It didn’t matter. In this moment nothing else mattered but the light at the top of the hill. It seemed to grow, but the light didn’t blind. However, so too did the distance between him and it grow. Impossibly so, what was yards away now seemed twice that. For it all tears etched his ghostly face.

All this time he’d been traveling, but the time seemed lengthened too. Minutes turned into hours to the point where he would’ve given up hope of ever reaching that pinnacle of white. There wasn’t anything else. Hope was all that remained. Even his body had fallen away . . . seemingly miles away.

The valley stretched beyond itself as the grassy terrain fell away. All manner of land, forest and water seemed to replace it. It seemed he was more than floating . . . he was flying. Such was the need and for it he flew faster. He flew higher, if only to get a better glimpse of that ever so elusive light. For all the distance between them, the light never faded. Just the same, it never exited his vision, but was forever on the horizon.

Countless miles passed under his imaginary wings; so too had days stretched into weeks. Yet never did he tire. Never did his pace wane. If anything his desire grew stronger, which seemed to fuel him, as that seemed all he needed . . . a spectral form of adrenalin that, for its very nature, never faded.

Then the crack of thunder resounded. No lighting followed and the clouds hadn’t even darkened. This crack rang loud in his ears and seemed to come from everywhere, but nowhere. For it he was torn from the sky into the land of pain.

<><><><>

Trust in the prophet never faded from Meraine, but her attention turned to the cries of the firstborn, as if a baby mewing for mother’s milk. For better or worse she’d grown attached to the boy, who for all intents and purposes seemed so utterly helpless. More and more she felt herself a mother figure to him. She’d do anything for him. Of course, she doubted he felt the same, but that was alright. When did a child ever appreciate those who looked after them?

For the moment Carmen fell from her mind, even after the shot . . . even after the shock of Takei speaking through Xavier. Something told her everything was as it should be. In all reality, her sixth sense had never been calmer. Nothing seemed to matter more than Jason, not even Takei, the prophet to whom she was in utter awe. So she picked herself up off the ground and without giving anyone a second thought, moved to aid Jason. She moved quickly too, as a mother would.

Meraine knew Jason wouldn’t be able to hear her thoughts . . . not at the moment anyway. Takei blocked all such things to ease his suffering . . . such was his power, though she didn’t know of anyone else who could do such a thing. Sure, in her youth, she could block all manner of people from reading her mind. So too could she break through their barriers. Though, never had she imagined creating a barrier FOR someone else. Maybe she could’ve had she tried. Now she’d never know.

It was a short ways back to camp. Takei made it clear that Carmen was to be met away from the firstborn. Meraine couldn’t guess why if she truly was to join the camp, but she chose not to question it. Her job was that of protection and it seemed wise since Carmen wasn’t to be trusted. Apparently that would change, but these things took time. Carmen wouldn’t give up her old ways so easily. It was obvious, since she demanded payment for freeing Jason. She’d have to put that aside before she was allowed in. Hell, she’d have to put that aside before she’d be willing to join. That much they could agree on.

Once Meraine neared camp she could tell Jason still huddled within her stealth dome. Wonderful waves of heat poured from it and melted the snow all around. The ice was another story, but it too now sported a carved out dent. Some water had evaporated, but tarp or no tarp, Jason now thrashed in a puddle of melted ice.

She couldn’t bring him out. The cold would freeze him solid. But neither could she keep him in. He wouldn’t stay and she knew it. There wasn’t anything for it. That’s when Takei walked up silently, always so silent, and handed her both a blanket and a full set of clean clothes. Of course, he would’ve foreseen such a problem . . . likely 300 years ago. That seemed plenty of time to shop around.

One problem solved, but getting him into them? Getting him to agree and do anything she said? Well, that was another issue altogether. She really didn’t know what his beef with her was. She’d only ever tried to help him . . . even long before he’d been born. He’d repaid her with curses and a throbbing arm. She’d just have to work around it. She figured once he met the cold, which would be any minute now, he’d be more than willing to put on something warm. Well, she was wrong about that.

<><><><>

Jason returned to the waking world with a start. He’d already been soaked to the bone, but the water was warm. What remained dry were certain key parts of his face. That was soon remedied. Water flooded his mouth and nose at the same moment. Then the thrashing began in earnest.

Blood rushed to his brain as the veils of the world were ripped away. He fought to breathe beyond all else, but where the fuck was he?! Sitting up only served to remind him how every muscle screamed from the beating he’d taken back in Joan’s shop. He hacked free his lungs once again. Along with the water rose a pinkish hue as the damage wrought upon his esophagus remained. He panted and spit up the remnants . . . turning a deeper red as the moments passed. Within it all he sat. He wasn’t completely sure where he was, but it was all coming back to him.

His eyes were wild, mostly noticing the small space in which he’d been confined. It seemed so much the nightmare. Having expanded, the stealth dome hovered a foot above his head. It wasn’t the device itself that so unnerved him; he’d seen such things before, though he’d never owned one or even had the luxury of using one . . . until now. It was simply the sudden change in environment. The last he knew he was freezing and probably dying . . . yet another casualty of winter.

Obviously someone saved him, but past all this, what he noticed was the pure bliss of nothingness . . . his head no longer throbbed. Every last voice passed as if the last call on a train never to return. It was a lovely thought, but did little to comfort him through this storm called life. Death, at least as he’d known it, was much more pleasant. The memory of flying was fading into a piece of the past, but what he remembered most was that of being serene . . . and he longed to go back. That, however, was the land of dreams and not so easy to get back to.

Yet he wasn’t so alone. A figure moved beyond the confines of the dome. Fear crept in, but then fear was rarely so cautious. It rose so quickly. The woman . . . she was coming. His thoughts were somehow blocked, but she called for him and he could see her silhouette growing. Hatred floated on the surface, but fear overwhelmed it. She wasn’t alone. They’d . . . found him.

<><><><>

Meraine watched, not so much in shock, as Jason burst from the stealth dome and broke into a run. Warm water splashed all around, barely having time to reach the ground before refreezing. Being so utterly soaked, hypothermia would set in at any moment. She must do something and right the fuck now. He hadn’t gotten far.

She may no longer have any abilities, but Takei possessed them in abundance. Apparently he’d foreseen this as well. He was waiting for the boy in just the path he knew he’d run. In fact, with the glance backwards as he ran, Jason would’ve run right into him had Takei not grabbed him first. He was as gentle as possible, but the boy struggled, terrified. It made perfect sense. Takei, though not so tall, was an imposing figure, especially if it was the very first time to lay eyes on him . . . and it was.

Par for the course, Jason’s weapon of choice were curses and he threw them around liberally, perhaps making all who heard wonder just how the future could be saved by such a foul mouthed little brat. Meraine, herself, invested far too much into the firstborn to think in such a way, though some might assume she was disappointed. Jason was young . . . very young by all accounts. Hell, he hadn’t even been advanced. Belligerence was to be expected of children. She remembered being the same way. It was, for lack of a better term, their birthright. Children, more than all others, were targeted for murder. Had they not a reason to bitch? Well, she thought so and forgave him every word. She expected Takei would as well.

Regardless, he couldn’t be let loose as he so demanded. He would die. Already ice was forming on his soaking clothes. It was for the best he changed anyway. Whatever color fabric he was supposed to be wearing, all that shone through now was a faded, but somehow glistening red. The water had made it so, but the blood remained . . . most of it was still Joan’s, as if her last hurrah. As if perhaps her final escape; at least part of her had gotten free of Wferium’s wrath. Regardless, she was dead and gone, but then so was the one who’d murdered her.

During the interim, Takei let all know the basics of Wferium’s fate . . . aside from Jason, of course. It was enough to know she was dead. The certainty of it all was something of a shock, but it had been expected. Wferium simply made too many mistakes . . . or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe this was just the price she had to pay for her role in the firstborn prophecy. Who could say? Either way she’d sacrificed so very many on Jason’s altar. It only made sense a price must be paid. This much remained true even though Meraine knew she’d do the same, but didn’t like to dwell on such things.

Aryl was gone too . . . along with Sebastian and so many others. She’d made a mental list she hoped she could keep straight. The seed hunter camp and Wferium’s flock were all gone, dead or scattered to the wind. If anything, their tiny band was all that remained of it, but their purpose had changed. No more Atra seeds would be released on their account. There were other camps, plenty of others. The job would still get done. Even if it wouldn’t, hers was now a greater responsibility.

Yet she had to concentrate. She didn’t need to read minds or foresee events to know Takei wanted her to change Jason’s clothes, piece by piece, regardless of his struggling and kicking. It was no easy task. It seemed both strange and natural to “change” him, feeling so motherly. After all, she hadn’t known him as a child so hadn’t had the opportunity to do such things. It was a chore but one she supposed she enjoyed, at least in part. Getting kicked in her tits wasn’t particularly fun, but at least she’d steered his feet clear of her right arm and face.

All the while he was swearing, but now at her, since she supposed he thought she was in charge here . . . Takei being her muscle. He’d finally made it very clear why he hated her so much. He thought she was the one who’d led the attack on Wferium. He thought she was the one who’d captured him and ended the ancient. Nothing could be further from the truth, but how exactly was he supposed to know better? Of all the people who remained, poor Jason, was the only one still in the dark. He still knew little to nothing about anything . . . even himself. It seemed he truly was a newborn, where everything was shiny and new . . . and terrifying.

Jason would learn. He didn’t know it, but he was in good hands; possibly the best with Takei at his side. It would truly be a motley crew with Jason, Takei, Xavier, herself and soon Carmen. Even so, they were all here for him, because of him and most, if not all, would be dead if not for him. Whether he knew it or not he mattered and quite possibly more than anyone else on the face of the planet. Right now, though, he was being, well, difficult.

<><><><>

Jason wasn’t happy. Jason was downright terrified, but he put on a brave face and fought. This may very well be his end, but then . . . why were they . . . changing him? So he could die warm? Something wasn’t right here, but that just didn’t seem to matter. The adrenaline that suddenly flooded his body didn’t allow for about faces. It was forward or forward. So he continued to fight.

Hell, even if they weren’t about to murder him, he still wanted free. Free to do what, though? Continue walking in the freezing snow? Going nowhere? What good would all that do him? It didn’t matter because it didn’t matter. This was the heat of the moment. No rational minds allowed. He was rather good at that. He even believed it had saved his life a time or two. He even believed it might somehow save him now. His saner side knew better. This guy’s grip was like a vise. There wasn’t any escaping.

Was there really a need to, besides this all-encompassing fear and that of the unknown? Would that pass? Really, he knew he wouldn’t die here, but then did he really? What exactly was happening in his other world? Flying? Expanded horizons? Not to mention the most brilliant of lights he never could reach? How could this possibly be real? What if it wasn’t? What if it was all some sort of unbelievably crazy, yet reoccurring dream? Well, then he could die . . . anywhere, at any time. He could die here. He could die now. Though, the worst of it all was he knew; he absolutely fucking knew no such serene landscape awaited him on the other side.

So he struggled in earnest as his frozen clothes cracked off one by one. Then a bad case of death began to set in upon his pale, naked flesh. With it the struggling eased, as with death all things do. Hypothermia was setting in. He was vividly feeling the lack of feeling. Like so very many before him, he was falling under winter’s spell.

As if in a fog he heard a voice saying to move the dome, but not so urgently as would be expected. What could possibly be so calm among the living? Of course, he knew. Something told him all was known. This had been preordained. This suffering was what then . . . character building?! Nearly dying always was, wasn’t it? Was it not true? That age old axiom? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Well, he didn’t feel stronger, but then death wasn’t quite finished with him yet . . . and may yet win. He was beyond caring now. He’d already passed back into that pleasant place. He was flying again and who knew? Maybe, just maybe, he’d reach the light this time.

<><><><>

It seemed hours, but mere minutes, if not moments had passed. Once again Meraine was witnessing the firstborn under the threat of death. Yet was he really? This too was prophecy. All that happened now was. If everything was going according to plan then Jason couldn’t die here. Fate wouldn’t allow it. So be it. Yet it still hurt so very much to watch, much less participate.

As quickly as possible she’d wrenched off his shoes, socks, pants . . . everything. Nothing was so easy. All was so very unfamiliar to the boy and for it he fought tooth and nail. There was no escaping Takei’s iron grip, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t kick her in the face . . . and he nearly had a number of times. Then he slowed as if thrust into a vat of water. She knew he was dying. She knew hypothermia was taking hold. There wasn’t anything for it; she had to continue. He’d die all the quicker with the frozen clothes on.

Then Takei, speaking through Xavier, told her to move her stealth dome. What sense did that make? Not that it shouldn’t be moved, but for her to do it? Wasn’t she in the middle of trying to save the firstborn’s life . . . again? Even so, he was right. She was the only one present who knew how to operate the infernal thing. Takei was a man of the past; technology didn’t become him. Nor, she supposed did it for Xavier, who was already taking over the changing with quick, well-practiced movements.

There wasn’t much time to wonder anything, but still she did. After all, not only did she know how to work her stealth dome, but was adept at it . . . should anyone else understand how, none could’ve done so more quickly. So she wondered whether or not Xavier moved of his own volition. As devoted to Takei as he was, and had perhaps always been, he would’ve done the deed on his own, but could he have allowed for the necessary speed? Would everything go faster if Takei moved his puppet himself? Perhaps concentrating on both acts weakens one or both to the point of collapse? She couldn’t know.

Well, it didn’t really matter, but what was exceedingly clear to her was why Takei had chosen Xavier to speak through . . . they were aligned. Takei could’ve simply swayed anyone, but the devoted made the task easier. Seedborn and even normal humatrans, well, they resisted. It was natural to do so when one felt their mind slipping away. Xavier, however, was an open book for Takei; the prophet simply had to turn the page. Considering herself for the task she realized she wasn’t so devoted to the ancient, or at least not so much as to the firstborn. For Xavier, Takei came first. Not only this but fate had assigned her a different task and she was busy doing it.

Fate provided Xavier for Takei to use and Xavier, during the interim of meeting both herself and Carmen, had provided the wooden skiff. Moving from this place was vital and it had obviously been foreseen the firstborn wouldn’t be able to walk. All was as it was meant to be. So too did Meraine place her stealth dome, with its wonderful aura of heat, directly above the center of this skiff.

Jason was now dressed, but the cold wouldn’t so easily release its icy grip; so too his conscious mind upon the waking world. In this limp state he was already being moved to the skiff; both Takei and Xavier placing him every so gently, but quickly upon it. The stealth dome remained active; its battery life still renewing and chugging away. For how much longer she was no longer sure, but fate provided so it wasn’t much of a concern.

From there extra belts once wound in layers around Takei were removed and repurposed into straps to both hold Jason in place and pull the skiff he knew would come into existence. Takei himself wore these on his shoulders. He could’ve made Xavier pull it, but who else was stronger? Being the prophet, the answer may very well be no one . . . on the face of the planet. Added strength was a bonus that grew as the years flew by and Takei was indeed old.

Just like that they were off. Little to nothing they’d arrived with had been unpacked. Preparation to advance, if not flee; forever remained the rule Takei followed. His very life demanded he travel light. Fate had made him little less than a nomad. Prior to his stay at the seed hunter camp he’d wandered for roughly 75 years. Meraine figured he knew where they were headed, so chose not to ask.

As far as Carmen was concerned, she was nowhere to be found. For this, Meraine worried, but needlessly so. Then Takei spoke through Xavier once again. Seemingly since arriving Xavier had yet to speak one word of his own. That was alright, though. Being an introvert, he was so much more powerful this way . . . and confident.

“Protector,” Takei had taken to calling her such, as once she thought about it, for centuries that was how he’d known her. ‘Meraine’ was the unfamiliar word.

“I said the World Wise would follow. I didn’t say when. A confused mind cannot set to the task fate requires. Her final convincing comes later. For now fate has a job for her to do. Owing to her spite at the world, I fear it’s a task not one of us is more suited to. Not even me.”

Then she felt a decidedly long pause as if the next words were difficult to spit out. That’s because they were. With a glance she saw Xavier’s face contort as the words spilled out one by one. For the moment Xavier was Xavier once again.

“Carmen . . . must . . . eat . . . someone.”