The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Lack of Clarity

What am I doing?

Storm’s thoughts churned with confusion, doubt, and new and compounded questions. He had to get out of there: away from her overwhelming aura, away from the uncomfortable truths eviscerating him, away so he could think straight.

Moriah was Kitara’s mom. She was Felled. His mom tried to save Kitara’s family and ended up comatose as a result. His father may or may not have lied about all of it.

Which meant the High Councilor might have also lied about Kitara trying to kill another silverblood once.

Storm stifled a frustrated sigh as he snuck back into the AIDO. He wanted to ask about it, especially after she all but admitted it before. “You wouldn’t be the first silverblood to try. And yet, here I am,” she’d said.

But he couldn’t do it. Not after he’d accosted her. Not after the story she shared with him. The raw horror in her eyes as she recounted her parents’ gruesome deaths still twisted his gut. The hatred—was it actually hatred?—had drained from him at that moment. He was confused enough already and, he had to admit, nervous about what she might say. Instead, he apologized and received a response he hadn’t expected at all.

All the while, her aura pulsed through the room. A miniature sun.

Her aura…

“…it was like a goddamn freight train crashed through the door…”

And he wasn’t alone.

He wanted to reach for her then, to touch her, make contact, almost as if to reassure himself she was real and not the villain of his childhood. Storm’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth. That would have been a very, very foolish decision on his part, given their last volatile meeting, but the sudden desire had startled him.

Her eyes.

Those jeweled green eyes could make a man’s blood run cold if she turned on him.

Or hot. Very, very hot—

Storm shook his head to stop that line of thought where it started. He didn’t think Kitara would kill him unless he gave her a good reason to—like threatening to electrocute her, asshole?—but he’d probably wish for death if she suspected he was looking for an excuse to try…that.

Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to him, of course. Any man with half a brain would have imagined her in bed after laying eyes on her—and he had that first day, despite his resentment. Even the memory of the idea of it made him hard.

“…I’d bet no one sees you beyond the color of your blood. Maybe not even yourself…But I’m more interested in who you are—and who you could become.…”

The words hit at the heart of everything Storm had felt the last few years. Invisible even in the spotlight, unrecognized for his skill and hard work, yet renowned for something he had no control over. How did this Fallen daughter, this woman he had tried so hard to alienate, recognize it when no one else could? How did she see him so clearly when he wasn’t sure of his identity himself? How had Kitara become his single moment of clarity?

And how could he attain a similar clarity in every other aspect of his life?

That night, Kitara tossed and turned as she tried to sleep.

Fragments of dreams mixed with memory disrupted her rest. A flash of heat. A tangle of limbs.

Blood.

Screaming.

Darkness.

Silver eyes.

Kitara jolted awake, heart pounding, unable to sleep after that. She texted Devika, asking her to get in touch when she had a little spare time. It didn’t surprise her when she received a response almost right away.

Now, Kitara sat in her desk chair as her friend appeared on her screen. “What’s going on? It’s so early—”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Kitara laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them.

“Everything okay?” Devika asked with a frown.

The Sleeper took a deep breath and went with the simplest answer. “Storm came back.”

Her friend nodded with a sage expression. “Ah. How did that go?”

“He listened. We talked.”

Devika listened as Kitara recalled the highlights.

“Now he’s hellbent on coming back to keep helping me out here,” she concluded with a sigh.

The Historian snorted. “That tracks.”

Kitara glanced up. “Does it?”

“C’mon, Kitara. He knows he messed up and owes you big time, and he’s a silverblood who became a Warrior to spite his dad. Of course it tracks.”

“He mentioned that to you, did he?”

“No, but Alasdair did. I get the feeling he’s not a fan of the High Councilor.”

“Join the club,” Kitara muttered.

“Is it too dangerous for him to come?”

“It could be.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” Devika quirked an eyebrow.

Kitara shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’m not sure about anything anymore.” She rubbed at her temples, trying to soothe the headache developing there. “Any chance you’ve learned anything about Itzal? I’d really like to make some headway there.”

Devika’s expression brightened. “I did, actually. With Storm poking around the archives, I didn’t get a chance to tell you. It’s not much, mind you, but something I think you’ll find interesting.”

Intrigued, Kitara leaned forward. “What?”

“I mentioned he has some sort of strong power, right? Well, he doesn’t appear to be Valorn,” Devika said. “And neither demons nor vampires have powers the way we do.”

Kitara’s brow furrowed. “An unknown type of immortal?”

“Could be some kind of hybrid thing they succeeded in breeding,” Devika said, rubbing her chin in thought.

Like the demons.

“That reminds me,” Kitara said. “A contact of mine shared something about what Ostragarn did when they last had a ruler. Shyamal.”

Devika nodded. “He was the last Netherling to have any kind of power down there. I think he was assassinated a few decades ago, and Ostragarn has been leaderless ever since.”

“My contact said Shyamal tried to find a way to restore the Doruri, kinda like Itzal is rumored to be doing now,” Kitara recapped. “He used the Doruri, Valëtyrians, Ostragonians, even his own kids. The demons came about as a result.”

“Mutated monsters that can fly but have no powers?” Devika replied. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“So is it possible Itzal’s a…demon 2.0?”

“Could be. Seriously, he’s like…a footnote in most of these texts.”

“For having several millennia’s worth of information, the library sure seems to fall short of helpful a lot.”

Devika sighed. “I wish I could argue with you. After I pulled the archives for Storm, I did some digging to cross-reference. But there’s not a lot of meaningful information about the Fallen. All surface level stuff: what they did, when they Fell, but…nothing really beyond that. It’s strange—normally if something is that hard to find, it’s because the information doesn’t exist.”

“Do you think it’s on purpose?” Kitara asked, her mind racing.

Devika shrugged. “Maybe? I’ve asked Alasdair to help me when he has time, but I don’t want to make it sound too urgent in case he starts asking questions.”

“I agree. Sorry to put you in that position, though.”

“Don’t be. I asked him all on my own; I knew what I was getting into.” Devika glanced around. “I did find one other thing. And…it’s mostly my own speculation.”

“You’ve got good instincts, Dev. What do you have?”

“You remember what I said about the first references to the Fallen being around the same time as the Ninthëvels’ rebellion?”

Kitara grimaced. “Yeah. Something I still need to ask Storm about, actually. Given recent events, there really hasn’t been a good opportunity to bring it up.”

“At this point, I’m not sure it would help anyway.”

“Why? What did you find?”

Devika’s mouth set in a grim line. “Kitara, based on what I’ve found, the Fallen formula was created to defeat the Ninthëvels. I suspected it because of the timing, but some of these texts all but confirmed it. There’s so little about how Valëtyria Felled anyone back then, but they all mention some kind of fearsome power the Ninthëvels had—nothing detailed, just…terrifying, apparently. So Valëtyria and Myragos had no choice but to engineer something to stop them.”

“How did they do it?” Kitara asked, leaning forward. “Does it say?”

Devika shook her head. “But…I don’t think it was the same thing they use to Fell angels today. This—this sounded more like a weapon.”

“A weapon?”

Her friend nodded. “And if that’s true…”

“Then Itzal may want to get his hands on it to use it the same way,” Kitara muttered. “Great work, Dev. Now we might have something to go on.”

Devika shook her head. “That’s just it; there’s another reason I need Alasdair’s help.”

“Why’s that?”

“Anything else remotely close to the subject of the weapon Valëtyria used to defeat the Ninthëvels is locked behind some serious security. I pieced together what I could, but most of this…I don’t think even the High Council can access it.”

Kitara sat back. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Because the security message I get says ’Myragos credentials required.’”

“The Myragnar’s citadel? How…do you get credentials to a citadel?”

Devika shrugged. “I have no idea, but Alasdair might. I’m just waiting for him to get a spare minute to help me.”

“Stars,” Kitara muttered. “You really think there might be answers in Myragos?”

“That’s the only theory I have that doesn’t lead to a complete dead end, but I’ll keep digging and see what else I can find.”

“The Myragnar don’t allow almost anyone in,” Kitara said, almost to herself. “Maybe that’s the ‘credential’ criteria they mean.”

Devika nodded slowly. “Could be. And maybe Alasdair will know a way to access some of that information without going through Myragos directly. But I’m starting to think the Ninthëvels may be more involved than I originally thought.”

Kitara was saved from needing to reply as the Historian glanced up beyond her computer screen, distracted. “Shoot, Philemon just messaged me, and I’m supposed to have a report ready for him…”

Kitara stifled a groan. “Don’t get yourself fired for me, Dev.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t fire me for that. Honestly, he probably doesn’t even remember he asked me to write it. He’s so butterfly-brained, it’s a wonder anything got done before I got here.”

“I bet,” Kitara replied, smiling.

“Yeah. Keeps me busy.” Her friend smiled back. “Talk later?”

“Of course. Whenever you don’t have a work thing you’re supposed to be doing.” Kitara raised a knowing eyebrow at her friend.

Devika shot her a rueful grin before the screen went black.

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