Chapter 3

Authors Note: I hope to have some concept art, maybe some pictures up, relatively soon. Finals Week and traveling may get in the way, but every endeavor shall be made.

Inquiry. Denied.
Interference. Intriguing.
Futile.
I am the all.
Nothing is hidden from me.

Journal Entry #19

Let him think I keep secrets. Better than admitting I don't know. Truth—I don't think anyone does. I've long known we are considered no more alive than the NIL's but this simply demonstrates human ignorance. My heart beats, just quietly and significantly slower than a human's. This is the difference. We need to eat to survive, same as everything else alive. NIL's do not eat to survive. They are a horde of demons, mindless drones of some mad evil.
When the particles were released from the bowels of a hateful planet, many of my own people perished, even more of the bitten vampires. Even those who did not die found themselves greatly damaged. Unlike humans with their ridiculously short lifespans and constant breeding, my people are slow to evolve. After almost 300 years, those who spend their lives on the surface, those humans who migrate or live in Junkyards like these, are mostly immune, while any of my people find ourselves weakened.
I still believe we got it easy. Because our immune system is set up differently, we just die. We do not return.


“Update,” Tavian commanded. A scroll of text moved up the screen as the electronic telegram read off the message.
Message delivered. Subject refused. Permission to return?
With a flick of his hand, Tavian called a bare formed android. No flesh covered its metallic skin, but in an obscene twist of humor, he had left its human head intact, the flesh abruptly ending at the neck. The face was that of a dark skinned man with strong cheekbones.
“Bring me Lord Denisovich.” The KingKiller nodded and melted back into the dark. Tavian paced the floor of his relay station. Aside from some maintenance Techniks, few saw the inside of this room, were not even aware of its existence. Tavian firmly believed in keeping as much technology with himself and hidden from common knowledge. Let them ponder how he kept in contact with his surface agents without the use of messenger golems.
Tavian lived under a plain philosophy. People are simple. Tell them they don't deserve something and they will strive to better themselves for it. Tell them they can't earn it and they will adapt to seize it. Tell them you won't let them have it and they will overthrow you.
But offer them hope...promise them an end goal and they belong to you, willing to sell their soul to make you happy. This was how he made the city float. He controlled who—human or vampire—was allowed to escape the harsh reality of the Wasteland and begin a new life in the glittering dream that was the Sapphire City. With very limited resources, Tavian had no interest in the greater good. With total say over space, food, water and safety, he held sway over every action. Of the surviving vampires, only four percent or so lived on the Old tech airship. The majority of the rest were clustered around the docking ports the ship stopped in to refresh supplies on its trek across the sky. Tavian maintained a purposefully inflated bureaucracy, encouraging competition between the surface Atreans for the chance to become neophytes. Of course, this only applied to individuals who had been bitten. No pure blood would ever consent to participate in such a rat race. Most of the population on the ship, however, were serfs. Some were volunteers, humans willing to do anything to get away from the Wasteland. Most were simply taken. So dependent were the vampires on their old familiars, it was essentially impossible for them to get on without humans. If this concerned the Atreans, they made no indication, especially the individual making his way to Tavian's communication room. The door hissed open and a barrel-chested man with long silver hair entered. Tavian flashed his most gracious smile.
“Ah, Gregor!”
Lord Denisovich bowed only just as far as his station required.
“My Lord Adjudicator.”
“Oh, come now, don't be so formal,” Tavian exclaimed, the statement itself a mere formality. They
continued this ritual dance, voices jovially proclaiming old friendship whilst their eyes sized up the kill. Gregor Orlovii Denisovich had always been an imposing figure, even now, when his waistline had gained more bulge than brawn. He wore a blue double breasted jacket with two lines of buttons running down the front, which stopped fashionably at the waste. The back stretched on, almost to the floor. The collar was high and stiff, reaching almost to his ears. He wore no cravat, though they had come back into fashion, yet he was not without decoration. His beige breeches sported a black stripe down the side and his thick folded cuffs boasted gold embroidery of the finest tailoring. His pants tucked into black soft leather boots and from his pocket hung a silver watch.
Finally, they came to the subject which had summoned Lord Denisovich from his estates.
“I've received contact from the neophyte sent to find your daughter.”
Any surprise or excitement the father may have felt was well hidden. Tavian pressed on.
“It does not appear she will be joining us anytime soon.” Gregor grunted.
“All wolves return to the den eventually,” he declared, fingering his pocket watch, emblazoned with the Denisovich family crest: a snarling wolf's head. Tavian smiled indulgently.
“In any case, we must press on. What have your men on the ground turned up?”
Gregor shifted, his face twisting in frustration.
“Aggravatingly little. Either no one has found it or can find it...or all our methods of persuasion are ineffective at convincing them to reveal its location.” Tavian's fine eyebrows arched.
“And you have the best persuaders in the land.” The Lord bowed at the compliment.
“Well,” Tavian stretched his arms out and yawned as if unconcerned, “I'm sure you won't mind if I put some of my own people on it.” Denisovich visibly grimaced, clearly unhappy with this turn in events, yet powerless to argue.
“Whatever you think is best, m'lord,” was all the response he could give. Tavian dismissed him with a nod. A flash of coat tails and Gregor was gone.
“Who will you send?” A voice that sounded like a breeze passing through crystallized moonlight drifted down to Tavian's ears. He looked up to the obscured balcony where his Châtelaine stood. Though her presence had gone undetected by all his visitors, he'd always known she was there. She rarely left his side, enveloped by shadows, acting as counselor, spy and bodyguard. In his position, such duties frequently overlapped. Briefly, she disappeared before materializing seemingly out of nothingness on his audience floor.
“Denisovich will not take this slight lightly. You know he was hoping to use the opportunity to undermine your seat.” Tavian waved his hand dismissively.
“Gregor is too far entrenched in his quarrel with the Thraxin family to focus his energies on me.”
“A quarrel you orchestrated, my lord,” his companion reminded him with a smile. Her age was impossible to determine. Her lustrous hair was the color of polished silver worn away from her face, save a few tendrils which trailed in front of her elfin ears. She dressed simply but elegantly, with a dress of deep crimson accented only with a black tabard laced through with thread spun of fine gold.
Tavian smiled, returning to her first question.
“I'll have Marek do it.”
She frowned, her bow-shaped lips twitching.
“You put too much faith in the neophyte. The others are becoming suspicious.”
Tavian laughed, deep and throaty.
“Good, let them worry they have fallen out of favor, it will make them sharper.”
“Be cautious, Tavian. Marek is still something of a wild card. Who knows what may happen if he retrieves his memories?”
Tavian grew serious. True, Marek was a strange case. Most infected vampires retained some memory of their lives as humans, yet he claimed total amnesia. This had proved highly beneficial considering his previous self's chosen occupation. Tavian nodded in agreement. Should the situation change, his plans would be set back. He touched the face of second-in-command, her skin soft and warm below his fingertips.
“What would I do without you, Alix?”
Alix Lucretia Olivia blushed and looked away, her lavender eyes closing.
“As always, I seek only to serve you, master.”
“Of course,” he responded, expecting nothing less. She watched him leave, his half cape trailing due to his long steps. Part of her yearned to follow him, but she would not be welcome where he was going and beside, her task was elsewhere. No doubt Denisovich would be mobilizing his forces, endeavoring to reach the goal before Tavian could interfere. Alix tapped out a succinct message to the still waiting neophyte.
Permission refused. New mission. Seek out the Chalice. Stealth required. Lethal force authorized.
Once she knew the message had been received, the Gate Keeper of the Sapphire City placed an indistinguishable panel on the wall. A door slid open, one of thousands which connected virtually every room on the airship with a labyrinth of hidden corridors. She sighed. It was a long walk to the holdings of Gregor Denisovich and his children.