I still think about Ellie. Is she out there somewhere? Is she with you?

Vincent was halfway to the door when he felt Lucia’s hand on his arm. He resisted an urge to shrug her off. “You’re wasting time. You’ve been wasting time. Let go.”

“What are you thinking, Vincenzo? This isn’t like you. You’re being reckless!”

He spun on her, and she took a step back toward the bed. “Maybe this is what the NTC has done to me. Maybe it’s what the NGG did to me. Maybe it’s just being trapped in a house with a hundred Psychics trying to break into my mind!”

She looked hurt, and confused, though he barely recognized those emotions from her. “You’re wasting time.” He said again, then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to the door.

“How can you possibly think this is a good idea?” she whispered as she hastily followed him into the hallway.

“Where’s Marco’s room?” he said in answer. Lucia rolled her eyes, but gestured down the empty hallway. He moved swiftly in the indicated direction, taking note of yet more priceless art lining the walls. A broken statue caught his eye, looking like the massive head and shoulder of a man gazing upward.

“This is a good idea,” he said after a pause, “because they won’t expect me to try something a few minutes after arriving. It’s also a time when we’re certain Marco isn’t here. Can you guarantee another window like this will open up? Can you promise he won’t be sleeping in his own bed tonight?”

“You know I can’t,” she responded angrily, eyes darting back and forth, likely checking for other Psychics. “But this isn’t like you,” she added quietly.

“I disagree. Just because I usually plan things ahead of time, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of seeing an opportunity when it presents itself. I believe it’s also lunch time.”

“Tea,” she grumbled. “They call it tea.” She sounded more resigned to the plan, but still looked upset. They soon reached the end of the hall, and followed it around a sharp corner toward a single, lone door. It was no different from any other they’d passed, save for its relative privacy.

Vincent went forward and began inspecting the handle. “It’s a normal lock, that surprises me,” he said, summoning a spectral arm.

“That’s because we trust each other here,” Lucia said, her voice like acid. “The whole point of this place is that it’s somewhere safe for us, and you’re doing this five minutes after arriving!”

“This is what you’ve failed to do five months after arriving,” he said, matching her tone.

“Fine! I’m sorry I haven’t moved quickly enough for you, alright? But I want you to at least consider that you might not be acting rationally. You always act rationally.” That finally gave him pause, the green Phantasmal arm poised to undo the lock.

Is she right? He wondered. But how can I trust her? Is she in my mind right now? Mist. Mist. Mist. He felt the familiar weight in his hand, and shook his head. “We need this,” was all he said as the lock clicked open. “Keep watch, I’m going in.” Lucia was trying to object when he closed the door behind him.

The room wasn’t what he expected. Compared to the rest of the house, it was oddly minimalistic. The bed was larger than Lucia’s, and the sparse furniture looked more used and more comfortable, but it was still nearly empty. Thick curtains covered the windows, keeping it relatively dark despite the afternoon sun.

A lone bookshelf stood against one wall, and Vicent quickly determined it was entirely works of fiction from a range of genres. The most interesting thing was a standing mirror, which had a few pictures on it. It only took a glance to recognize his parents in one, and his father and–presumably–Marco in another. Perhaps the man was earnest after all?

Vincent moved on, quickly losing hope that he’d find anything resembling a clue, until he realized he’d made a mistake. He had dismissed a set of curtains as covering a window–one that would have led back into the house. He pushed the curtains aside, revealing a second bookshelf, this one entirely covered by identical, leather-bound books.

They had golden bands at the top and bottom of their spines, with hand-written numbers written vertically–one for each year. The bottom shelf held blank books of the same design, for years yet to come. Vincent didn’t hesitate, snatching the one from the year the Cult in NTC was destroyed.

A brief skim through the pages confirmed that it was Marco’s personal journal. Grabbing one of the blank copies, Vincent quickly located a marker of the same type used to label the rest of the books, and wrote the year he’d just taken. It looked too new, so he rapidly rubbed the spine against the carpet for a moment, scuffing and smudging it slightly.

When he put the copy in the place of the original, it didn’t look perfect, but would likely fool anyone not specifically looking for something out of place. Good enough, he thought, before tucking the journal into his coat and moving back to the door. Hearing nothing, he quickly peaked out, then dashed through.

As he closed the door behind him, and extended a spectral arm to relock it, Lucia elbowed him in frustration. “I can’t believe we did this! Tell me you at least found something.”

“I did,” he replied, before moving back down the hall. Lucia hurried in front of him, quickly checking that they were still alone before gesturing for him to follow. They kept silent as they made their way back to her room, the hidden book spurring Vincent on.

The moment Lucia’s door shut behind them, she whirled on Vincent. “Well? What did you find? I can’t imagine he had the weapon under his bed or something.”

Vincent revealed the book he’d stolen. “Journal. Might give us some clues as to what happened to the weapon, and what Marco was doing in NTC the night of the raid. Oh, and he probably is our uncle,” he added. When Lucia’s jaw dropped, he explained. “He has photos with our parents. He probably would have shown you if you didn’t avoid him.”

“I was avoiding him for a reason, and photos can be faked. Besides, it’s not like I’ve done nothing at all. If you’d have given me some time before rushing off, I could have explained that I found a vault in the basement. I’ve been trying to–” she cut off as Vincent immediately turned back to the door.

“Show me,” he commanded.

“Are you absolutely out of your mind? What the hell happened that turned you from the brother I know into an impulsive idiot?”

“A lot happened!” he screamed back at her, rage pounding through him. “I’ve killed! I’ve nearly been killed a dozen times! I’ve been in a Pit, chased by a monster, and sacrificed everything and everyone to make a difference while you’ve been playing summer romance!” He could feel himself shaking, and forced his hands back into his pockets to keep from summoning his Phantasms.

Lucia looked shocked, frightened even. “I’ve never seen you like this…what’s going on Vincent? I know you’ve been through a lot, but–”

“You know NOTHING!” he roared, pointing an accusing finger with his left hand while his right balled into a fist. “Or do you!? Are you reading me right now? Is your boyfriend? Am I just another toy for Psychics to play with now?”

She didn’t respond right away, which somehow made Vincent even angrier…until he realized she was looking past him. “Vincent, what’s in your hand?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Nothing!” he said, trying and failing to lower his voice. He stuffed his hand back into his pocket. “Show me this vault! Stop trying to distract me!”

“Your hand, Vincent, it was glowing,” she insisted, moving closer.

Vincent barely managed to keep his spectral arms from forming as she reached for his hand. “It’s nothing!” he said again, trying to turn away. “Just something to keep me safe.”

“Safe from what, Vincent?” she said, now looking him in the eyes.

“From you!” he shrieked. “From all of you! I need protection!”

She didn’t respond right away, the pained expression back on her face. As the moments ticked by, Vincent’s rage was slowly replaced by discomfort, then even a touch of shame. Finally she broke the tension.

“Are you really afraid of me, little brother?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“No, I…Yes, I’m being cautious. First you say I’m reckless, now…now…”

“Do you think I’d hurt you?” she asked, and another wave of rage flared through him.

“You think mother hurt me,” he accused, then shame nearly overwhelmed him as he saw what the words did to her, what he’d implied.

Again she paused, then finally pointed at his clenched fist. “Can you put that down, Vincenzo?” He looked at his own fist, light streaming through his fingers, then forced a calming breath. A spectral hand appeared, palm open, and he slowly placed the Relic on it. The light winked out a second later, and Vincent collapsed.

***

Vincent awoke on Lucia’s bed, sometime later. There was food and water on the nearby table, and he ate greedily. Strangely, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything. Or slept for that matter. He thought back to his time on the ship, and found that he couldn’t recall doing much more than standing on the prow, staring forward.

Vincent was still eating a sandwich, and looking out the window at the night’s sky when Lucia finally returned. She went and sat on her bed. “You slept for most of the day,” she said.

“I feel strange,” he replied. “Strung out, like I’ve been overusing my powers.”

“What was that thing, Vincent? It looked like the Relic Danny gave you, but I thought that was lost.”

Vincent let out a long sigh. “It’s different, but it’s more Invader tech. People collect them, even gang members. I’ve found a few around the city. I thought this one just made light…at first.”

“Light and asshole tendencies,” she said, though her heart clearly wasn’t in the joke.

“Emi was concerned it might be emitting some kind of radiation, so she looked into it. Apparently it works on the same frequency as psy-shielding.”

Lucia’s eyebrows rose. “You were using Invader psy-shielding? No wonder I couldn’t sense you at all. There isn’t supposed to be anything that powerful.”

“Maybe for good reason,” Vincent said. “I remember activating it on the ship, just to try it out. After that everything gets hazy. I think I’ve been awake for four days straight. The paranoia and…all the rest, was probably from more than just the device.”

“Are you still planning to rush off to the vault?” she asked, clearly testing.

“No,” he replied immediately, “that’s not the Plan. First we check out the journal. Even if we were indiscreet about obtaining it, it’s still valuable. We’ll start figuring out the vault next–if it’s even still the right step. For all we know the journal might mention this piece of the weapon being destroyed.”

“Well I’m glad to hear you sounding slightly more like yourself,” she said. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to get some more sleep first?”

“No, we really don’t know how much time we have. Did you look at the journal at all?”

“No time. I was downstairs explaining to a large number of people why you were screaming like a maniac. Thankfully they didn’t catch specifics.”

“Right, of course. I’m…sorry about all that.” He got up and moved to his jacket, folded on the bed. He could tell by the lump inside it that she’d left the journal there, and he brought it back to the table a moment later.

“Let’s take a look.”

***

Hours passed as Vincent went through the journal. Evidently Marco Villari was quite prolific when it came to his notes. As the night went on, and Lucia fell asleep, Vincent struggled to keep his mind focused on the words. The events of the day kept playing out in his mind, strangely blurry.

It disturbed him that he could be so strongly influenced by an outside source. It made no difference that the source was a Relic, or a Psychic, he’d been subjected to that influence now, and found himself changed by it. He didn’t believe he’d ever felt rage like that before–even in life or death situations–emotions like that were for other people.

Despite the obviously negative experience, part of him felt lesser at the loss of such intense emotion. Those were thoughts for another day, however, as the journal finally touched on what he needed.

I can’t believe they had the arrogance to bring their ideas, and their conspiracies to the council. How could they not be denied? The weapon would be the end of us, whether they believe it or not. I have to convince him to rethink this plan. I know Ellie won’t budge. I need to think.

Vincent leaned back, considering the words. The council was likely the controlling group behind the Cult, though he’d only heard of them by different names. If they knew, any one of them could have leaked the information to the NGG. But why? Were they so worried about losing the asteroid? He read on, searching for more relevant entries.

He won’t listen! He insists it has to be done, and he always knows better, doesn’t he? I even threw sense away and spoke to Ellie directly. It was a worse mistake than I thought. She was furious…but also terrified. I think she’s let her role go to her head.

They’re not leaving me any choice, I’m going to have to go to the council, convince them to put a stop to this. They hate direct intervention, but this time it’s necessary.

Pages and pages of nothing. Apparently it wasn’t easy to gather the council. Weeks passed before the group had spoken again.

I was too late. They’re her puppets now, and they don’t even realize it. Ellie has always been a charismatic woman, but this is…I don’t understand. How could she have changed all of their minds? They went from dismissive to zealots.

The deaths this will cause…it’s not who we are. It’s not who we’ve promised to be.

That sentiment seemed to continue for some time. Marco would rave, and try some other path, find some other ally, only for it to fail once again. Why was he so certain that the weapon was a mistake? At last he reached the final entry of the journal, though the year was far from over. Vincent flipped through the blank pages that followed, surprised the meticulous man would just abandon his record-keeping. Finally he read the last written page.

I’ve given up. I gave up a while ago if I’m being honest. I won’t let them do it. I don’t care if I’m the only one who sees that this is madness, I won’t look in the mirror at a man who let children die. I’m going to call Sam. It’s been a while, but we were friends…and he’ll want to hear what I have to say. Legacy will put a stop to this.

***

Vincent and Lucia sat at a quiet table eating breakfast, alone in the meditation chamber with the view of the gardens. They were both quiet, the night having been filled with conversation, and debate. Their uncle had betrayed their parents. He’d gone to the NGG. He’d been the reason that Legacy had attacked the compound.

The two siblings were taking the revelation differently, and neither were quite sure of their own feelings yet. They’d both experienced the full spectrum of their emotional range as the night went by, and now were alike in their exhausted numbness.

They were staring at nothing when Jeffrey came in, too excited to notice their twin blank gazes. “Lucia! You’ve got to see this!” he ran forward, revealing a Network screen from behind a curtain in the room. The Villaris looked over, less curious than tacitly accepting.

The screen hummed to life, and an image of another anti-NGG rally being interrupted by Psychics in dark robes took over. It was different in scale though, with tens of thousands of people filling an old arena. The Psychics were gathered on a stage in the center.

“Why are we watching this?” Lucia asked woodenly.

“Because!” Jeffrey answered with barely contained enthusiasm. “This is the announcement! The one we’ve all been waiting for. No more rumors, no more hearsay. Cultivator Marcos is finally revealing himself!”

“What does that mean?” Vincent asked, finally feeling a tug of interest. “Is the Cult coming out of the shadows?”

“What? No nothing like that. He’s admitting he’s the Prophet! We’ve been waiting decades for this! Now it can all really begin!”

The siblings shared a glance, then went back to eating their meals. Lucia concentrated on her cereal as Vincent poked at a piece of sausage. Jeffrey looked incensed.

“How are you not losing it right now? This is history happening right in front of our eyes!”

“Because he’s not the Prophet,” Lucia said in a bored tone. “The Prophet is dead.”

Jeffrey’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you on about? You really believe the NGG’s lies?” Lucia just took another mouthful of cereal, so Vincent turned his exhausted gaze on the boy.

“I thought you knew who we are. Our mother is Ellie Villari,” he said, but Jeffrey just shrugged as if it were obvious. Vincent sighed. “Ellie Villari was the first Psychic. An Original, whose powers were Manifested by the Great Hero himself.

“She was the Prophet. And I watched her die.”