Sunday. December 10, 2006. 7:00 PM.

He had never fully adjusted himself to the insanity that was Rhy'din. In his world, creatures as extravagant and diverse as the ones he passed were not the norm. Demons should be sitting in hell and meddling in human affairs from a secretive distance. They should only be whispering in the ears of men, he thought. Not walking around openly and shopping for a new pair of shoes. Carmine Enrique Molinero-Gonzalez never had fully understood what the appeal of this place was. But for some reason the love of his life had felt most at home here. The mercenary never could adapt to it himself.

Spain was where he belonged. The mundane pleasantries of Barcelona were more welcome to him than this. Yet, he could not force himself to return to that home. His songbird still lived here. Despite their differences and his own previous resolve from months ago, he could not force himself to leave. He wanted to see him one last time. Now that his foot had healed up and he could walk on his own again, he wandered the streets of the city mustering the courage to stop by for a visit.

The largest complication in finding the resolve to do so was the man named Icarus. His songbird had found himself a new lover already. Carmine no longer thought himself welcome, but that didn't deter him. What deterred him was the thought that the cat-eyed man might be there. He wanted to see Dris, but alone. Not in the company of the man who had stolen his heart from him.

Carmine could not be certain whether or not that was true. He only suspected that the other man had won the musician's heart. His songbird had not come looking for him. It used to be that way. The mercenary opened the cage and let him fly. Dris always came back to him. Then again, Dris probably didn't know where the mercenary had been staying. Likely he suspected the old bear had gone home. They hadn't been in communication with one another since that day. Maybe for the best.

The days were getting longer and colder. Winter was fast approaching, even in this chaotic and nonsensical land. The old bear wandered by a variety of shops and clutched his coat tightly around himself. The wind bit fierce and howled misery that soaked into the skin and wrapped itself around the bones. What he wouldn't give for a warm fire and a hot cup of coffee. He considered giving up and going home a few times, as many times as he told himself to get it over with and walk to the other side of town where his songbird lived. Maybe, he thought, with a small glimmer of hope, they could share the warmth of the fire and their own bodies. That in turn only made him imagine the musician doing just that in the company of another man, and that made him sigh in dismay.

At the very least, he thought, picking up on the strong scent of coffee fumes wafting out of the walls of a cafe he was nearing, he could have his hot drink. It was late. As the day dwindled and passed into night, the air only got colder. The mercenary pushed his way inside and was only vaguely aware of how dreadfully empty it seemed for such a chill evening. The atmosphere was hollow and silent, dark and disused. He wondered briefly if the establishment was even open, but a young girl behind a counter greeted him with a smile. He ordered a large mug of coffee, paid for it, and took it with him to a table by the wall. He realized after sitting that he was indeed the only customer present. Could the world reflect his thoughts any more perfectly?

He lost himself to memories of a life he abandoned, a life he gave up on. How could he have been so foolish? There was not much else worth living for without his songbird in his life. Gift from a goddess be damned. He felt old. The only person worth living for anymore was his son, and their relationship was questionable. Salvador made it pretty obvious that he didn't want his father in his life. Maybe the boy was right. He was probably safer keeping his nose out of his son's business.

Carmine didn't know when it was he had gained company at his table. He had been lost to his depression and loneliness. At some point he blinked, and afterward noticed someone sitting across from him. He hadn't heard the bells over the door ring. If he had, he likely would have looked up due to habit. The rest of the cafe was still dreadfully empty, and it seemed much darker than it had before. Well, he should at least say something to the stranger who had joined him at his table. All he could think to be was rude, however. "Plenty of tables and you choose to sit with me," the old bear grumbled with a derisive snort. He really wasn't in the mood for the company of strangers.

The stranger smiled. As far as the mercenary could tell, it was a man, and he smiled. He couldn't make out much else, though. He was minimally aware of how strange that was. The cafe was so dark and dreary that he only thought it natural he couldn't define the man's features. He also decided he simply didn't care. No one captured his interest quite like Sheridan Driscol did.

What was even stranger than the lack of visual clarity was the fact that the man said nothing at all. He only sat there across from him and smiled in a disarmingly pleasant sort of way. The mercenary arched a brow and stared at him incredulously. "Well? I cannot be that pretty too look at," he scoffed. No. Between the two of them, Dris had always been the prettier. Nobody looked at him the same way they looked at his songbird.

To that the stranger laughed. There was something very unsettling about the man's laughter. He shouldn't have been startled by the sound of it, though. This was Rhy'din. Strange creatures were the norm in this place. Ts-ss-ss was the sound of the stranger's laughter. A hissing chuckle that made Carmine's skin crawl. "You," the man said, "underesstimate the value of your own life."

Great, he thought. Another loco pendejo. Carmine shook his head and frowned. "Vampire or demon?" With that kind of attitude, he suspected the stranger had to be one of the two. For the few short years he had lived in Rhy'din, he had at least become accustomed to the lowlifes. After all, it had been his job to hunt and eradicate evil of all sorts. Provided the pay was good enough. That's what mercenaries do.

Again the stranger chuckled in that serpentine fashion. "Neither," he said. "But the ssecond iss closser to accurate than the firsst." Even his speech hissed and slurred.

"I suppose that makes you the Devil himself then, hm?" Carmine was completely unimpressed by this assumption. He'd run across his fair share of self-proclaimed Lucifers and the like in his time.

"Flattering," said the stranger, "but no."

Carmine sighed his displeasure as a grumble. This was getting annoying very fast. He set down his coffee, no longer satisfied with the taste of it, and folded his arms over his chest to eye the stranger sternly. "I do not care who or what you are," he said. "If you want something, best to tell me what it is and be done with it. I grow tired of this."

"He hass told you nothing of me, hass he." The shadowy figure leaned closer and rested what Carmine guessed to be arms on the table. He guessed the stranger to be male by the vague outline of body shape and the tone of voice. But he could see very little detail to be certain.

The man's words made very little sense to him. He? He who? The most important he in his life was Dris. If this man was another secret lover of the musician's, he'd be very put out. Carmine frowned at that thought, but quickly disregarded it. For some reason he didn't think this stranger was talking about Dris. "A name might help," he said.

Ts-ss-ss. The snake quietly laughed again. "They alwayss assk for my name." That seemed to be a thought murmured aloud and nothing more. "And I alwayss tell them," he added more directly, "who iss not ass important ass what."

"I already asked you what you are," Carmine said.

"Sso you did." The man made of darkness shifted. He seemed to lift an inky hand as if to tap at an unidentifiable mouth. Carmine squinted but could not even see the detail of his eyes. "For your, perhapss," said the shadow, "I will make an excseption."

Carmine snorted. "I must be special," he scoffed.

The shadow man hiss-chuckled again and lowered his hand. "More than you know." He was silent for a moment, as if thoughtful. Then he spoke once more in that continuously slurred sort of way. "Firsst, a requesst."

The mercenary only grunted. He only needed to grunt really. In just that way he told the stranger to speak his damned request and get it over with. His patience was growing thin.

"You wear a jewel around your neck," said the stranger.

Carmine raised a brow. Not many people knew about the emerald Tear he wore around his neck. He was fairly certain he didn't know this stranger. So how did this man know? "What of it?" He touched his hand to his collar, protectively touching the stone through the fabric of his shirt.

"Remove it."

That was a suspicious request. The man hadn't asked to be given the pendant. Carmine wouldn't have traded the Tear for anything in the world. No wise man would have. Though he didn't know the intricacies of the jewel, he did know that a fae Tear was unique. He knew it had been a gift from the mother of his son. That was enough to make it a priceless artifact to him. "Why?"

"I wissh only to look at it," said the stranger. "Pleasse. Remove it and sset it on the table. You have my word I will not take it from you. I will not even touch it, ssimply look upon it."

While that promise seemed harmless enough, Carmine was not the type of person who trusted the word of strangers very easily. He had only just met this man. He hadn't even been given a name. "Why?"

He thought for a moment that he had seen the stranger frown. He also thought he had briefly seen a glimpse of eyes that lacked color and pupil, eyes that were purely white. He suspected the lapse and hesitation in response might have indicated impatience. Carmine had a knack for reading body language, but there was very little of this man's body to see. Only darkness and shadows and a vague shape that was like a body. But then the man spoke again, as calm and serpentine as he had from the start. "I fail to ssee what harm there could be in granting my requesst," he said. "You wissh to know my name, what I am, and I only wissh to get a better look at the jewel you wear."

The man made a very good point. He was curious about those two facts. Carmine thought on this, and nodded. He decided there was no harm in the trade at all. Though he was still reluctant to absolutely trust the stranger's word. He slid the silver chain up over his head and removed the pendant from around his neck. He set the tiny emerald teardrop on the table, but slipped the chain around his coffee mug. That at least would make things more difficult should the man be lying.

The stranger hummed an appreciative sound. Carmine thought he saw the man smile but could not be sure. The cafe seemed to be getting darker. The overhead lights dimmed, but when he looked up at them they were just as bright as they had always been. These signs made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was amiss, but he couldn't determine precisely what.

An uncomfortable silence lapsed between them. The mercenary did not know how much time had passed. All he knew was that in that time he and the stranger had both been staring at the tiny jewel that rested on the table. Carmine thought he saw the object glint eerily, but the shadows made it seem dull instead.

After a time, the stranger's lips stretched a slow smile. The expression was nearly as serpentine as the sound of his laughter. That chuckle. He voiced it again. "Ssuch a tiny thing," he said. The man put his palm flat on the table next to the pendant and tapped a rhythm beside it with one finger. True to his word, though, he didn't touch it.

Carmine grunted noncommitally again. It seemed the thing to do. He couldn't argue the truth of the Tear being tiny. Seemed a wasted effort and a bit of a boring topic. "Your name," he said, getting to the point.

"Ah yess," hissed the shadowy stranger. Ts-ss-ss, he laughed again. "I will not bore you with a long lisst. Doubtful ssaying even that impressess one ssuch as you."

The mercenary grunted, again. No. He never was impressed with the people who claimed to be extremely ancient with a list of a thousand and one different names. Rhy'din was chock full of the same song and dance. One monster claiming to be older and more powerful than any other, and everyone else in the vicinity. He half expected this hissing stranger to start spouting off similar nonsense.

"Oncse upon a time," said the man, "I had a name that wass feared to be sspoken. They ssay a name givess power. A name iss only half ass important ass believed, Sseñor Gonzaless."

Carmine raised a brow. So this stranger did know him. At the very least, the man knew his surname. Or half of it, at any rate. He found himself wondering who this man was. Should he know him? He did seem familiar for some reason. Maybe he was getting too old for his liking. His memory was the first to go, was it? "Get on with it," he grumbled with a dismissive gesture. He could at least pretend to be bored with the man for the time being.

The man hiss-chuckled once more and leaned back in his seat. He was so relaxed, so sure of himself, and it irritated the mercenary to be in his company. "A name, I promissed you." He delayed further response for longer than was necessary. Maybe it was an attempt at dramatic pause. "Oncse upon a time," he said, "I wass known ass Apep."

Thunder crackled. The sky turned dark. There should have been any number of ominous and supernaturally disturbing anomalies to accompany that revelation, but there wasn't. In truth, the name only stretched as a whispery echo in the cafe. No earth-shattering catastrophe occurred. The world remained calm and still. Carmine looked around, expecting a meteor to crash through the ceiling any time now. The employees behind the counter didn't even so much as rattle a mug. He looked back at the man suspiciously. "Should I be impressed?"

"Impresssed? Hah hah, no. All you sshould do iss remember the name while you sstill can."

"What do you mean?" That sounded like a threat to the mercenary. Though this man did not seem at all menacing to him. He was just another self-proclaimed powerhouse with delusions of grandeur to him. But even Carmine was capable of making fatal errors in judgement.

This man, so naming himself Apep, leaned forward and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He leaned very close, the shadow of his bulk blocking out the light that made the tiny fae jewel visible to the both of them. He almost seemed to swallow the light as he moved. Carmine could only barely see the sharp cut of a grin. Or at least, he thought he did. "Many there are who would like to know thiss name I give you. More sstill who know what it definess. You don't know what I am, do you?"

Carmine grunted his displeasure. "Only another would-be godling in a city far too full of them, if you ask me."

There again was the laughter. Only it stretched longer and was more pronounced. The man tossed back his head and let his laughter pour out unrestrained. That laughter melded with a visual echo of stretching and smothering darkness. Then, Carmine was more aware of his error. The darkness was a thing that could be felt, coiling up his legs from the floor and wrapping him in a cocoon of absent light as he sat in his chair. "Would-be godling? No, no, good ssir. Not sso much a greedy lordling with high hopess ass a god newly rissen from hiss tomb."

Tendrils of inky black became solid bindings that slithered and crawled up his body. He felt them twist around his arms and neck and hold him at bay. Carmine choked on the words he meant to speak. What is this?

"Carmine Enrique Molinero-Gonzaless," said Apep. The man made of shadow rose from his chair and stepped into the table. He seemed to swallow the table away as he drew closer. The mercenary gasped for air and found himself looking into eyes as white as purest mountain snow. "Human ssire of one Ssalvador Delahada Azar-Gonzaless. You ... are the perfect ssacrifice."

Visions of ancient times flashed before the mercenary's eyes. He saw a distant landscape of hard-packed sand and corroding sandstorms. He watched that land transform itself to an earlier time, back when Egypt was lush with life and foliage. Deep in eyes of purest white he saw these things. On his final breath the meaning of the name became known to him. Carmine gasped one last time and then saw nothing but white light. That light was the last thing he knew...

...

There was nothing unusual about this Sunday evening. Outside the air was cold. It had even started to snow before the proper time, which was not uncommon. He wasn't looking forward to the winter. He never did. With winter came intollerable silence that lasted three months longer than he would have preferred. If only he knew...

Salvador had decided to spend the evening somewhere warm, somewhere not very many people thought to look for him. He wanted to be alone tonight. The closer time dragged on to winter, the more antisocial he felt. And the best place to stay antisocial was in a random church in the city. He didn't often go to the same chapel, but he was running out of new churches to hang out in. So this church was one he had been to before.

Later, he might have considered ironic that this was the same church that had plagued him with a strange dream once upon a time. But that thought wouldn't come to him until much later. For now, all that mattered was that he found himself at ease in the soothing serenity of a house of God. Here he could rest. Here the world would leave him alone. No headaches. No annoyances. Nothing. Or so he had hoped.

The timing couldn't have been any more perfect. Night crept in. An hour ago a priest had pulled the rope to ring the hour on the bell in the steeple. He pulled until the gong resonated seven times. This was a sign that evening mass was starting. Salvador sat through the sermon as he always did, not even paying attention to the spoken scripture. He sat in the very back, tucked away in a corner behind the shadow of a support beam that held the high chapel ceiling at bay. He sat slouched in the pew with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. The preacher's words and the congregations prayers were little more than a buzzing hum of noise in the background.

Twenty minutes passed.

Salvador heard another gong sound. Only this raucous noise was not from the bell in the steeple. This was a sound only he could hear, and it clawed at his eardrums. He snapped open his eyes and sat bolt upright. He clapped his hands over his ears with a pained hiss. Headaches were one thing, but a migraine caused by a sudden clamor of screaming copper chimesong was unbearable. A woman a few seats ahead of him turned slightly to look over her shoulder.

Another minute passed.

He couldn't breathe. A fire flared to life in his lungs. Salvador gasped for air and clutched his chest desperately, as if he could coax himself to breathe again by touch alone. White spots jumped into his line of sight and clouded his vision. He reached for the woman who had turned to look at him, but his hand landed on the support post instead. His nails scraped long lines into the woodwork as he slid to his knees. The woman could not help him. She had turned around to join the rest of the congregation in another hymn at just the inopportune moment.

One more minute passed.

Thu-thump. A heartbeat. He felt his heart pound once, through his chest and against the palm of his hand. White spots grew larger and larger, until all he saw was a field of light. Still, he couldn't breathe. The fire burned cold inside. His blood, he could feel it, hear its silence, stilled. Thump. His heart stopped beating. He gasped once more, feebly, for air. He could not inhale. Only exhale. And upon releasing that last breath two words escaped him. "Sombra ... blanca."

Light was devoured by darkness, and so too was Salvador Delahada. The last thing he saw, in the corner of his eye, was a tiny gold and silver wisp that for a split second in time he thought resembled a dragonfly. Then, he knew nothing at all.