“I am unsure of what to feel. Whenever, I read this book? Journal? Historical account? Whatever it is, I feel confused. Unsure. Worthless. A fool. The root for these feelings is unknown to me. I have read tales, far more grander than the ravings of a mentally poisoned man obsessed with nothing but love and revenge. Yet, never have I felt these feelings. Perhaps, it has something to do with the book?

Mayhaps, I am wrong to fault him. Love is a mad and unreasonable thing, afterall. Revenge, even more so. And, Charles is one who is drowning in both.

*Sigh*, I am ranting now. Nevertheless, what I was going to say in the beginning, before my thoughts interrupted me, was that this book feels rather unimportant in the grand scheme of history. However, the book does raise some questions within me. Questions, which I want answered. Thus, I shall study this piece of history.

Furthermore, I rather like romantic plots.

This is Leyah, signing off….”

The Anchor II

Tranquility, serenity, peace. They were foreign words to him. They had been synonymous with his life for the longest time, yet now it seemed as if they were anything but. His life had been robbed and pillaged of them, unbelievably mercilessly as well. He had longed for them. Dreamt of a moment where he could embrace these feelings.

But those dreams were dreams of a naive boy. Who was so fresh out of his home, so fresh out of his loss that he would accept any olive branch thrown at him. That boy was dead, however. Now, in his place was this soulless husk. Driven by nothing but power and revenge. Truly, what an awful fate.

Sometimes, or rather most times, Charles meditated on what the boy would think of him. Of what he had becom- No, of what had replaced him. Perhaps, he would be proud. That was wishful thinking, however. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that the boy would feel naught but disgust. Yet, the boy would understand, he knew. His revenge was worth every ounce of his soul, of his humanity.

Those thoughts were wishful thinking, he realized as the scent of fire tickled at his nostrils. The soot in the air, grating his nerves yet calming them. Calming them, until he remembered the kindling. And he knew, that the boy would never forgive nor accept Charles Arvell.

It does not matter, a part of his mind whispered or was it Pleiades? He did not know but he knew that dwelling on such thoughts would bring nothing to him. Excluding pain and suffering, that is. Furthermore, Charles has already gone too far on his path to ever turn back.

The villa belonging to Governor Luthor and his family was a testament to that.

It had been a beautiful thing, a look into what, mastery over architecture could allow one to accomplish. The white wood forming the majority of the structure, the marble pillars upholding the terraces and the roof. The expertly polished flooring and walls, shining like a gem and as reflective as a mirror. The tapestries that hung from the wall were works of art by themselves. They were expensive, he knew. His family's villa had one from the painter and it had cost his family a fortune to buy it. It was truly a testament to the wealth of Luthor’s family.

Now… now, they were all aflame. Burning as kindling to the pyre of his soul and humanity. Luthor had been a penny-pincher. A rather infamous one at that. Yet, it did not matter. Not when Charles' sword cut down each and every member of his family, all the while the coward hid himself in the cupboard. He must have heard their screams, Charles made sure of that. He seldom enjoyed killing, but as he watched the light fade from Luthor's eyes. He had felt it. A sickening feeling. A tingle of pleasure had crept up his spine.

He had slaughtered their family yet he had felt a sickening pleasure doing so.

‘Luthor, was a traitor, boy. A snake, you have done well in killing him and his blood. You have saved countless, from the treacherous feeling of a knife in their back.’ The words like your father were left unsaid. He had heard them all the same. Pleiades' words, often were irritating and brought forth nothing but annoyance in him. Right now, however? They brought with them a feeling of acceptance and pride.

Pleiades was right, the man and his kin deserved to die. Dying like the snakes that they were, was their destiny. He had merely brought their death, a little more earlier. Nevertheless, a part of him, perhaps the boy who still resided within him, felt remorse, regret, guilt.

His inner war with his emotions came to a sudden halt, when he heard the crunching of dried leaves and hurried footsteps. Charles leapt up from his spot, overlooking the burning house in the distance, sword drawn. The clanking and creaking of his steel armor announced his presence to the individual as the sound of footsteps slowed.

‘This might be an ambush boy, be ready.’ Pleiades deduction was an obvious conclusion. Afterall, at this time of the night? And near to the site of the carnage committed by him? What else could it be?

‘An apostle?’ Charles' question was accompanied by a feeling of fear creeping up his spine. He was not sure of his abilities. Certainly, he could fire a fireball or two. He had no knowledge of the arcane arts used by the apostles. In truth, he had little idea of what an apostle was, at all. He only had Pleiades words to go off of. It was understandable then, that he was not sure how he would stand up in a fight against one.

If it was an apostle, then a better question to ponder, would be, how did they find him? There were only three people who knew of his visit here. He doubted it was any of them.

‘Plausible but unlikely. Unless the apostle has been stalking you, they would not know of your presence here.’ Charles doubted that an apostle could ever tail him. Not without, at least, either him or Elena noting something out of the ordinary. No, it was highly unlikely. Besides, Pleiades often praised the skills of an apostle. Thus, he doubted that one would give themself away this foolishly. Regardless, whether this intruder was an apostle or not, he would keep a close eye on his surroundings from now on. A very close eye. He will advise Elena to do the same, he doubted that honor ran deep in an apostle’s blood.

‘And keep your fear and panic in check, boy. The Apostle’s. They can smell it.’ Charles barely paid attention to Pleiades' advice as the intruder came into his sight. The sword fell from his hand, his mouth hung open at her sight.

“Elena?!”