Regret and Redemption:

  A few days had passed since the plane crash, yet grief still clung to the Guardian base like a heavy fog. The wreckage had been cleared and the victims laid to rest, but the air remained thick and muted, as if the tragedy had left a residue no one could shake. For those closest to the pilots and crew, the funeral had been a quiet, devastating affair—bowed heads, tear?streaked faces, and a silence that lingered long after everyone returned to their duties. It felt as though speaking too loudly might tempt fate to strike again.

  As soon as they arrived back at base, Arius and Freya locked themselves in a dim meeting room without explanation. Adam, understanding the weight of four centuries apart, stationed trusted guards outside to ensure they weren’t disturbed.

  Then he retrieved the black box recording.

  Dread gnawed at him as he carried it to his quarters. Part of him wanted to avoid hearing the final moments of his friends, but he knew he owed their families the truth. With a heavy heart, he set up the equipment and forced himself to listen.

  It began normally—James, the pilot, performing routine checks, chatting calmly with his co?pilot Hans. For a moment, Adam allowed himself to hope the system had captured nothing unusual.

  He was wrong.

  Static erupted, followed by frantic breathing. Then Freya’s voice cut through—sharp, urgent, terrified.

  “Land the plane now!”

  Confusion followed, then a chilling silence.

  A laugh broke it—low, taunting, ancient. Adam froze. He knew that sound.

  Chaos exploded. Metal screamed as the aircraft was torn apart.

  “We’ve been breached! Both engines are gone—we’re going down!” Hans shouted, panic thickening his accent.

  James fought with the dead radio. “Nothing’s getting through!”

  A final, quiet admission followed.

  “We can’t stay up like this.”

  And then, beneath the chaos, a new sound emerged—a faint, rhythmic beeping. A dial tone.

  Adam froze.

  James’s voice returned, softer now, barely a whisper. “Hannah? You there?”

  Silence. Then a small click.

  “Daddy?”

  A tiny voice—innocent, loving, unaware. Adam’s stomach twisted.

  “Hey, baby,” James said, forcing warmth through a breaking voice. “Is Mummy there?”

  “I miss you, Daddy. When are you coming home?”

  Adam clenched his fists, imagining James in the cockpit, tears streaking his face as he held the receiver with shaking hands.

  “I miss you too, sweetheart,” he managed. “I’ll be home real soon, okay? But first, I need to talk to Mummy. Can you get her for me?”

  Rustling. A muffled call. Then—

  “Hannah?”

  His voice wavered. The man who had always been steady was unraveling.

  “James?” Her confusion was edged with instinctive fear. “What’s going on?”

  He exhaled shakily. “I don’t… I don’t know how to say this. I’m not going to make it home tonight.”

  Silence. Heavy. Terrified.

  “What do you mean?” Panic sharpened her voice. “James, what’s happening?”

  “I’m so sorry, my love.” His voice cracked completely. “I don’t think I’m coming home at all this week. Something’s happened and… I’m not sure if I’ll be back.”

  “No.” A single, broken refusal.

  “Hannah, listen to me,” he pleaded. “Take care of Clair. Tell her every day that I love her. Tell her I was proud to be her dad.”

  Her breathing fractured. “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare say goodbye to me!”

  “I don’t want to,” he whispered. “God, I don’t want to.”

  A sob. A gasp.

  “I love you.”

  “James, please!” Her wail tore through the speakers.

  “Tell her I’m sorry I won’t make her birthday next week, okay? Make sure she knows I didn’t have a choice.”

  The plane shuddered violently. Alarms screamed. Time was gone.

  “I have to go now,” James whispered. “Goodbye, Hannah. I love—”

  The call cut off, swallowed by the impact with water.

  Static.

  Then nothing.

  The room was still, but James’s final words echoed like a wound. Adam sat frozen, unable to process the sorrow and helplessness radiating from the recording. Something inside him shifted—scarred beyond repair.

  He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the conversation replayed in his mind. He had known every soul on that plane. Their laughter, their lives—now hollow echoes swallowed by the sea.

  But it was James’s face that lingered most. Adam kept seeing him as he had been at that Christmas dinner years ago—Clair a tiny bundle in his arms, bright?eyed and blissfully unaware of the dangers her father faced every day. Now she would grow up without him. The thought gnawed at Adam, a cold dread that refused to loosen its grip. That had been two days ago.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Now he sat in his office doorway, staring out at the vast operations floor. Operatives were scattered across the room, working tirelessly to uncover what had caused the crash, even with Freya’s and Vayne’s reports. Everyone was on edge, desperate for any scrap of news about the Archangels or Dalareyes. But nothing had surfaced—only grief and uncertainty pressing down on them all.

  His gaze drifted to the small group gathered near the meeting room where Arius and Freya had secluded themselves.

  Alejandra leaned against a pillar, watching the door with quiet intensity. Her injuries from the crash had healed quickly, leaving only faint scars—an expected side effect of Guardian blood. Beside her stood Kathy, a fifth?generation Next?Gen from Joseph’s line, her curiosity as fresh as if she’d joined yesterday. Like many of the younger ones, she still believed wholeheartedly that good would triumph, untouched by the horrors Adam and the older Next-Gens had endured.

  “What do you think they’re talking about in there? If they’re talking at all,” Kathy teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

  Alejandra shook her head, amused despite herself.

  “It’s not like that,” Vayne said with a wry smile. “They haven’t seen each other in four centuries. They’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  Kathy perched on the edge of a desk, her sea?green eyes sparkling with mischief. Her mousy brown hair framed her heart?shaped face, and her black T?shirt and cargo trousers gave her the look of someone athletic, though nowhere near Vayne’s combat prowess.

  “You sure?” she asked, glancing at the closed door. “It’s been two days. You really think they haven’t…” She made a suggestive gesture, earning a stifled laugh from Alejandra.

  “Absolutely not,” Alejandra said, rolling her eyes.

  “Really? He’s not bad looking,” Kathy quipped.

  Vayne nudged her with a dry chuckle. “Yes, really.”

  Kathy shrugged, grin unbroken. “You’re probably right. We’d have heard something if they had. After that long apart, there’d be chaos in there. I know I’d be loud after waiting that long.”

  “You’re messed up,” Alejandra muttered as Kathy hopped off the desk. With a cheeky wink, Kathy sauntered away, leaving Vayne smirking—until she noticed Adam approaching.

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “What’s on your mind? Please tell me you’re not actually considering that Kathy might be onto something.”

  Alejandra shook her head, though a faint smile lingered.

  She turned her gaze back to the closed meeting?room door, uncertainty clouding her expression. “No, of course not,” she said. “I don’t think their relationship has ever been… well, like that.”

  “You’re right,” Adam replied, folding his arms as he glanced toward the door. “First, Arius has only ever loved one person that way—and she died long ago, back when he was still human. Second, Freya seems more focused on someone else in that regard, doesn’t she?”

  Alejandra looked away too quickly. Adam caught the faint blush rising in her cheeks. She brushed a loose strand of hair aside, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe… I mean, not that I’m aware of… how could you tell?”

  Adam chuckled softly and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re my daughter. I’ve seen that look before. It’s rare.” His voice warmed, briefly softening the heaviness that hung over them. “I’ve only seen you look at a handful of people like that. Freya included.”

  Alejandra swallowed and shifted the subject with deliberate casualness.

  “So… who was Arius’s love? The one he lost?”

  Adam didn’t answer immediately. He rubbed his chin, his gaze drifting—not evasive, but searching through memories buried under centuries of dust.

  “A woman from his village,” he said at last, voice low. “Long ago, way before civilization had come into existence. It was a different life.”

  Alejandra leaned in, sensing the fragile thread of memory he was pulling from.

  “I assume she was human?”

  “Yeah.” Adam paused, choosing his words carefully. “She was ordinary. That’s what made her beautiful to him. Simplicity. Innocence. She grounded him in a way few ever could.”

  There was something unreadable in his tone—a faint hesitation. Alejandra noticed but didn’t press. She’d learned that pushing too hard only made him retreat behind the ancient walls he carried like armor.

  “She was older than him,” Adam continued. “Not by much, but enough for him to feel unworthy. He followed her like a shadow. Thought he’d spend his life chasing the sun.”

  “What happened to her?” Alejandra whispered.

  A long silence settled between them.

  “The same attack that turned him,” Adam said finally. “The day everything shifted. We were scattered, dealing with threats we thought we could contain. The Primordials had spread across the continent. We tried to stop them… but we weren’t fast enough.”

  Alejandra’s throat tightened. She’d heard fragments of the first wars between Primordials and Guardians, books and legends from older Next-Gens, but never like this—never through her father’s voice.

  “We were late,” Adam said quietly. “By the time we arrived, most of the village was ash and bone. Only four survived. Barely.”

  “The Ancients,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “They held the line just long enough for us to reach them. But even then, it was already over. The change had begun. They weren’t like the others. They never would be.”

  “And the girl?” Alejandra asked softly. “His love?”

  Adam’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.

  “Gone before we got there. They buried her in silence—just the four of them. No rites. No markers. Just earth. Maybe that was the only mercy the deities ever gave them.”

  Alejandra sat quietly, letting the weight of Adam’s words settle. She hadn’t realized how deep Arius’s wounds ran—not just his, but all of theirs. The story of their rise was carved out of ruin.

  Adam exhaled.

  “She wasn’t the only one he lost. His mother, too. Same night.”

  The words struck harder than she expected. She pictured Arius standing in the ruins of his village, alone except for three others, burying the two women who had shaped his world.

  The meeting?room door creaked open, the sound sharp as a blade scraping stone. Alejandra and Adam turned.

  Arius stood in the doorway, Freya just behind him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp—he’d heard everything.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “My mother, too.”

  Adam didn’t flinch. He nodded, meeting Arius’s gaze. “She was a good woman.”

  A silence followed, heavy with shared grief older than any spoken language.

  “I hope I’m making her proud,” Arius murmured. “That I became who she hoped I would.”

  Adam placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You have,” he said, voice thick. “You’ve made me proud, too.”

  After a moment, Arius straightened, his focus hardening.

  “But we need to move. There’s something else we have to deal with. Brunhilda.”

  Alejandra frowned. “Who’s Brunhilda?”

  Adam answered, his hand falling from Arius’s shoulder. “A powerful sorceress. She’s stayed off our radar for a long time, working in the shadows.”

  Arius continued, “She’s the one who started the rumor that a Demon or Angel blade could kill someone like us. And that’s something we need to understand—because both Dalareyes and I recovered from similar wounds.”

  Alejandra tried to piece it together. “So… it was a lie?”

  “Maybe,” Freya said. “And we need to know why. If someone wanted the world to believe Arius could be killed, we need to know who benefits from that.”

  Vayne stepped forward, resolute. “Understood. When do we leave?”

  Arius chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “There’s no ‘we,’ little sister. Brunhilda tolerates me. She won’t tolerate a Guardian—or the descendant of one.”

  Vayne narrowed her eyes. “You’re a descendant too.”

  Arius winked. “I’m special.”

  He turned and headed for the elevator. Adam shot Alejandra a half?smile before following him.

  Freya and Vayne watched him go. Freya’s eyes lingered on his back, distant and troubled.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Vayne said gently.

  Freya blinked, but the haunted look didn’t fade. “He said that before. And for four hundred years, I thought he was dead. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  Vayne stepped closer and wrapped her in a comforting embrace. Freya leaned into it, eyes closed. For a moment, things felt normal.

  But beneath it all, a quiet dread continued to gnaw.

  The elevator doors slid shut behind Arius and Adam with a low hiss, the sound unnervingly loud in the sudden stillness. Operatives across the room had paused mid?task, their eyes following the Ancient’s departure. Fear hung thick in the air—an instinctive reaction that never truly faded.

  Freya’s grip on Vayne tightened, as though she were clinging to the last fragile thread of calm before the storm broke.

  A sharp cough cut through the tension. Freya and Vayne turned to see Lucas standing behind them, a tablet in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in the other. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, dark shadows betraying a sleepless night. Vayne didn’t need to guess—Lucas only drank coffee when things were dire.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he rasped, voice rough with fatigue. “But something just flagged on the system. You’ll want to see this.”

  He handed over the tablet, fingers lingering on the edges as he took a slow sip of coffee, watching their reactions closely.

  Freya and Vayne leaned in.

  The paused video froze on a face that sent a jolt through both of them—recognition and disbelief colliding in their chests.

  A young woman stared back at them. Twenty?two, maybe twenty?three. Piercing blue eyes— same as Arius’s—framed by long, unruly waves of brown hair. Her expression was one of quiet defiance, fierce and unbroken despite the circumstances.

  Behind her, an ancient forest stretched upward in twisting pillars of bark and gold?dappled light. A clearing opened around her, filled with people—some tense and watchful, others focused solely on her, waiting for her next move.

  But Thalia stared directly into the drone’s camera, unflinching.

  Her clothes were simple—maroon shirt, blue jeans—but the thick metal collar around her neck was impossible to ignore. The iron band had chafed her skin raw, thin lines of dried blood tracing a dark ring around her throat. Captive, clearly. Yet her presence radiated a strength that made the others around her uneasy.

  Freya’s heart clenched.

  “Thalia?”

  Lucas nodded. “One of our drones picked it up twenty minutes ago. The system flagged it immediately. I’ve never seen her in person, but… I had a feeling.”

  Freya could only nod, her mind racing back to memories of the wild, unbreakable woman Arius had spoken of with rare softness.

  A sudden ping announced the elevator’s return.

  Arius and Adam stepped out, urgency written in every line of their posture. One look at Adam’s face told Freya and Vayne everything—they already knew.

  “We got her!” Adam exclaimed, relief and astonishment warring in his voice—until he caught Freya’s expression. “How long ago?”

  “Our drone picked her up about twenty minutes ago,” Lucas repeated.

  “Where?” Arius demanded, his voice tight, barely containing the desperation beneath.

  Lucas exchanged a quick look with Adam, who gave a subtle nod. “Conveniently, only ten miles from Brunhilda’s coven. Right outside Morcote, Switzerland.”

  “Morcote…” Adam muttered, his expression darkening. “Isn’t that where Isidoros took up residence?”

  Alejandra and Lucas shared a confused glance. “Isidoros?” Alejandra echoed.

  Adam turned to her, brow furrowed. “Yes. Isidoros was one of Thalia’s first sires—her very first, if I’m not mistaken.” He looked to Arius for confirmation.

  Arius’s jaw tightened, bitterness flickering across his face. “Yeah. I never got along with him. Thalia fell in love, turned him, and then fell apart when he left her. But what I don’t understand is…” His gaze sharpened on the screen. “That collar. It’s a Guendoxian collar.”

  A murmur rippled through the room.

  Adam exhaled slowly, as though a long?buried suspicion had just been confirmed.

  “Guendoxian collar?” Alejandra asked, wary.

  Arius nodded. “An ancient form of control. Enslaving magic. Whoever curses the collar binds the wearer completely—no rebellion, no escape.”

  Adam’s voice was grave. “The Horsemen of Hell used them centuries ago to keep lesser demons in line. They haven’t been seen in ages. Most people think they’re myth.”

  He looked back at the image, the iron glinting like a threat.

  “But why now?” Lucas asked, tension threading through his voice.

  “Thalia hasn’t made contact in decades,” Adam murmured. “After Arius disappeared, she walked away from everything. But look at her.” He pointed at the screen. “She’s staring straight into the drone. She wants us to see her. She’s calling for help.”

  Arius’s jaw clenched, eyes locked on Thalia’s frozen expression. “It’s me. Rumors of my return must have reached her. She’s trying to draw my attention. If she believes I’m alive… she knows I’ll come.”

  Adam nodded. “Then you pick her up on the way to Brunhilda’s coven. If she’s been under someone’s control all this time, that explains why she vanished ten years ago.”

  Without hesitation, Arius turned and headed for the door, motioning for Freya to follow. She hesitated only long enough to glance at Vayne before falling into step behind him, her expression wary but resolute.

  “Lucas,” Adam called, his tone shifting into command. “Arrange a jet—fully fueled and ready. And alert our Swiss branch. They’ll be expecting visitors.”

  Lucas nodded sharply, already speaking into his earpiece as he moved away.

  Adam remained where he stood, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pressure of dread and responsibility pressed down on him. After a moment, he lowered his hand and looked at Alejandra. Despite the tension etched into his features, a small, rueful smile tugged at his lips.

  “Things,” he murmured, “are about to get very interesting.”