Timothy stared unblinking at the single flickering candle that stood before him. The familiarity that shadowed the room filled with family loomed in the background. Father stood behind the raised podium bearing down at him with his steely blue gaze, as a hunter would it’s prey.

What hung in the air was more ominous than the last time Timothy had stepped foot in this room. Whispers broke the usual foreboding silence. Everyone now knew the ritual had been done correctly. There had been no fault on his part.

So what had gone wrong? Why was no one showing signs of the power? Hands came up to cover mouths which dared to utter such blatant doubt. Unless someone had shown the signs and was hiding it. They gasped and shifted their eyes between other possible betrayers. There was no other plausible explanation. Anxiety was thick in the atmosphere as accusations formed behind their lips.

There were no secrets in this family.

“We have now been patient. We have waited for much longer than I would have anticipated or wanted.” Father was angry, though Timothy thought that perhaps only he could tell as the older man’s nostrils flared.

“You said you had a plan.” Father’s glare hd not strayed once.

Ignoring his own nervousness, he took a step back as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a hand that surprisingly did not shake. “Yes Father I do.”

His mouth was very dry and he felt every pair of eyes zero in on him. He tried to calm himself with more deep breaths, attempting to reassure himself. These people were his family after all.

Father waited for him to continue.

“Yes.” His voice came out as a hoarse grunt. He failed to clear his throat quietly as sweat gathered over his face in a greasy film. “Yes Father I do.” He repeated. “While we were researching these humans with special abilities one of the scrolls we came across stated that there was one physically dividing feature between these mostly normal, but blessed humans, and blasphemers. It is a small mark below their solar plexus akin to a birthmark, but more defined in form.

“you see it’s a perfect circle. I suggest that we check every member of the family for the mark—”

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“There were no other texts to collaborate this evidence.” Timothy flinched. He didn’t have to look around to see who had spoken out of turn. Scott Corelyn was always quick to jump in and point out others’ missteps.

Father still did not look away from Timothy who, after a heartbeat, took that as permission to continue on. His voice grew weaker and behind him Scott scoffed.

“Once we find the one who bares the sign, we can test them further.”

Father furrowed his brows in thought. “I see no fault in this plan. I will personally check all the blood oath relations. Of course I myself will go first for all here to witness.” There was no hesitation or shame as the older man stepped out from behind his podium unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up in swift, efficient movements. What was revealed was not the failing body of a man near death—but a sturdy muscled torso littered with scars. Reminding everyone in the room that before he became their leader he had been their strongest warrior. There was no sight of the perfect circle though. The room released a collective breath. Relief washed over Timothy with this blatant show of support. “Scott, Taylor!”

The shadows relinquished Timothy’s brother and sister-in-law as they stepped forward. “Yes Father?”

“Gather everyone. We will move from oldest to youngest. Bring them to me and we will look for this mark. Taylor, you will alert the branch families that they are on call for this inspection as well. No one is exempt. Dismissed.”

“Yes Father.” The room vibrated with their one resounding voice and the footsteps echoed off the hallway walls as they took their leave. Father sat in the silence alone.

***

Timothy waited in a well lit room with other men and women of his family. Brother and sister. Aunt and uncle. Too many cousins to count. One by one called into an adjoining room for Father to examen.

Once Father and the heads of each branch family passed the inspection, they began the long process. They didn’t only check for the mark using eyesight alone. Bryon would wash the area with an alcohol wipe to be sure no one was hiding it beneath make up. The method was degrading but they wanted to prove their loyalty to Father, so uttered no arguments or complaints.

Timothy mused as he waited. He had come to learn that despite his regal demeanor and strict disciplines, Father was a very fickle creature. Timothy had been a plaything. A toy on the end of that man’s leash his entire life. Born into a branch family, he had never been anything more than a tool.

The people who held Father in high regard never saw the weaker side of him. Never saw the extent of his useless rage. They simply saw the firm, knowledgeable figurehead.

Timothy had seen Father doubt.

His turn came up as these thoughts churned in his mind.

With a stiff gait he walked into the cooler room and unbuttoned his shirt. Bryon moved toward him and timothy’s gaze strayed towards Father’s ever watchful stare. He had no mark on him.

He saw the impatience and frustration that swirled within Father’s eyes. He watched the slight twitch of muscles as his jaw clenched and the white of his knuckles as the grip tightened on his wooden cane.