CHAPTER ONE

Shegun felt a weight on his soul as he knocked once on the mahogany door. The soft thud resonated in the hallway, bouncing back at him like an elastic ball. He stepped back, pacing, rubbing his hair, and biting his lips. He could still hear the voice of the Protector. We lost two Sentinels.

What Shegun could not comprehend was the extent to which their enemies were determined to go. Would they destroy everything in this city? Two lives were lost tonight, making it five in three days and a total of sixteen. Sixteen Sentinels in two weeks.

Shegun snorted. There were witnesses, of course. Many saw it, but only a few survived. The ones who emerged unscathed could only describe the damage in one word, death. They said the darkness took a human form and swarmed over them like locusts. It had pried its way through their defenses, devouring bones and leaving behind decayed flesh. There was nothing like it, not since the reign of King Akabard the Eleventh.

Shegun swallowed, realizing how fast his heart was beating. He managed to hide his shaking hands in his pockets, but that did little to quell the beads of sweat lining his brows.

He sauntered towards the open window, lost in thought as he watched Ketrian Street. He didn't see the cars bustling in all directions, with loud horns and lights flickering like fireflies in the dark. He didn't see the men, women, and—strangely—children too. He didn't notice their jokes, glee, or shouts. He didn't have to. If the stories were indeed true, if Lord Er—

No, he dared not mention his name. He dared not name the breaker of homes and the father of lies. No, he dared not name the Lord of the Dark.

Shegun blinked himself back to reality, feeling a nudge in his stomach to run down the street. It was his job. To warn, to alert, to save. As third in command to the Archbishop himself, his job as a Sentinel was to protect, to guide, and to make whole. Yes, he should be down there to warn them, to tell the people of the evil. But would they believe me? Would they believe a low life bastard whom the Archbishop has trained as a son?

Shegun took a deep breath and walked back to the mahogany door. Images flashed before his eyes, pictures of the Void and its strategy. He knew their strength. If only he knew their weaknesses.

Reaching for the door, he tried to knock again, but his left hand reached for the doorbell instead, as if having a mind of its own.

"I know you are there," a deep voice echoed from the other side of the door, "I can still smell you."

Shegun withdrew his hand and walked into the room. The burning smell of wax greeted him first, followed by a pungent stench that almost brought tears to his eyes. He didn't know what it was, but judging from the mask his uncle wore, he guessed the culprit was the silver container sitting close to the man's feet.

Shegun snorted and covered his nose with one of the masks hanging freely on his right. The large room held three wall clocks, each twice the size of Shegun's head. Two shelves seemed to grow from the floor to the ceiling, spreading on the four walls of the room and leaving a small space in the center. They were stacked with books, from ancient manuscripts to contemporary Wolfian diaries, and where the books failed to fit, they floated midair like suspended balloons defying gravity. Scrolls also added to the collection, organized in a porcelain jar on the ceiling in a well-reserved space.

Shegun sauntered to one of the sofas and folded his hands on his chest without taking a seat. His uncle had not taken the chairs either. The man had claimed that sitting on the floor was vital for improving his backache despite Dr. Alen's advice.

"Father," Shegun said, tucking his shaking hands in his pockets. The hollowness in his stomach had returned, adding to the metallic taste churning in his gut.

"Yes, my boy. Nice to see you. Come now, tell me, how's your training?" Shegun's eyes fell on the pages of the green book the bishop was reading. Light Rain, he thought. He knew the book; the bishop had forced him to memorize its pages, just like he forced Shegun to memorize every article, book, and letter from the first wars to the breaking of Irianta.

"Training is fine, I guess," Shegun said.

The bishop raised an eyebrow but did not take his attention from the book.

"What's changed?" he asked, his deep voice piercing through the hovering smoke like the sharp edges of a blade, "You aren't one to be skeptical about training."

Training? How convenient. The world is on fire and all he cares about is some foolish training? Light.

Shegun walked further into the room but stopped in front of a portrait. The blonde woman standing next to the slim man had bright, beautiful eyes that matched her tanned skin, contrasting with her red, full lips and smooth, long legs. Her smile was towards the camera, but the slim man held her chin as if trying to redirect her demeanor to himself.

Shegun traced his fingers on the portrait. Compared to the stout man sitting on the floor behind him, the younger version of the Archbishop held a striking aura about him. The naivety in the blue eyes was a stark contrast to what the man had grown to become.

"There has been an accident," Shegun said without turning to the bishop.

"You mean the attack on the Northern Conclave?" the bishop's voice was firm, though he didn't sound surprised.

"You knew?" Shegun spun in disbelief to see the smile on his father's face. "You knew about the killings and did nothing?"

The bishop maintained his relaxed poise as he took off his lenses and closed the book. Despite age crowning his once dark hair with gray, the man looked strong, perhaps the strongest man Shegun would ever know.

"If you mean the accident, then yes," the bishop said, "but the killings? I dare not say."

"God, I can't believe this." Shegun slapped his face. He feared his father was ignorant; he feared revealing the upheaval would trouble the sick man. But now, he didn't know what to feel. How long has he known? Why has he not acted? Why hasn't he warned the people? God, why in the name of heaven is he so calm about it?

"Do you remember what happened in King Edward's chambers the night he caught his son with his wife's heart?" the bishop asked.

"The legend of the first Wolfian king has nothing to do with this, father. People are dying. Have you seen the news?"

"The news? Blah, need I remind you who pays the journalists?" he shook his head. "Now, don't act like a child; tell me what happened to King Edward that night."

"I hate history, father. Why ask about the murder of some medieval king when our contemporary world is on fire?"

"Because we need history to live in the story," the bishop said, smiling. "Help me up, will ya?"

Shegun grunted but did as he was told. He guided the man to his feet and let him lean on one of the shelves. Despite the skin sagging beneath the bishop's elbows, his hunched posture was a head taller than Shegun and twice as large.

"Now, that's better," the bishop said. "Sometimes I forget how much my feet enjoy bearing my weight." He smiled and returned his attention to the shelf. His hands reached through the back of the books but stopped when they met a wooden object.

Shegun could only watch, not knowing what to do or say. His father was the Archbishop, the grand alpha, the most powerful creature in the seven conclaves of the Wolfian states, next to the King and second to the President himself. At his call, every Sentinel would evacuate the citizens to a safer city—if he chose to run, though. However, Shegun knew his father well; the man would rather die than give up without a fight. Being a Sentinel himself, the Archbishop would put his life on the line for the redemption of the least in society. But why is he acting like a child? Or is his age finally getting to him?

Shegun breathed in. He had returned his sweaty palms to his pockets. While that proved a temporary option, it did little to calm his racing heart.

"I promised to keep this until your twenty-fourth birthday," the bishop said as he averted his gaze. "I guess no time is the right time." The richness in his blue eyes blazed like the light of the moon on a vibrant night. There was no evidence of time or age hanging about their brilliance. They just stood there, burning with wisdom and urgency.

"What is this?" Shegun asked, taking the object into his palms. It was a piece of gray cloth not larger than two inches in height. It was mostly intact, but the edges were worn as if someone had ripped it in a hurry.

"This," the bishop said, "is history. The held by Prince Gareth himself."

"No, it can't be," Shegun tried to say but struggled with words, "you mean…this…is King Edward's list? You mean Prince Gareth murdered the king for…for this?"

The bishop nodded. "Disappointed?"

"No," Shegun chuckled, "amused if I may. I never thought the list was an old rag."

"Well, that rag, as you called it, contains the names of seven Wolfian kings."

"Blah. It's blank."

The bishop shook his head. "To the unknowingeyes, yes. But to a mind with knowledge, well, you read the history. Remember the old saying?"

You can only see the way by looking through and not with your eyes.

Shegun shook his head.

"But how?" he asked, lifting the old rag toward the lighted candles. "How can this be? No, don't answer that. I think a more appropriate question would be, why are you giving me this? How will it help us with the attacks on the conclave?"

"I am afraid I don't have the answer to that question at the moment. But what I do know is that you will find your way," the Archbishop said, leaning away from the bookshelf. "I know you will."

The words were barely out of his lips when Shegun heard, felt, a loud thud.

He gasped as his wide eyes stared blankly at where the bishop had leaned moments ago. He could still feel it, the vibration of his father's fall. Somehow, the disturbing sound had reached his soul, yanking free every bitterness he'd buried over the years.

"Father!" Shegun exclaimed, guiding his falling knees towards the older man. But he was too late. The bishop had slumped on the floor, wide eyes straining to keep back the cloak of death that enveloped him. Blood oozed from his head in pools, soaking the rugged carpet.

Shegun wrapped his arms around the man, forcing back the hot tears that fogged his vision.

"I don't understand, what happened? Father, please, don't do this to me."

Despite his sobs and pleas, the blue color in his father's eyes faded, leaving a dark golden hue which Shegun had never seen before. It was wide, beautiful, but not as beautiful as the brilliance of the blue.

He was the only father, brother, mother, and sister Shegun had ever had. And losing him…

Shegun gnashed his teeth and, tilting his head backwards, he screamed!