'This is an outrage!' Directing his face towards Huntress, the man grips her by the collar of her blood-drenched lab coat. Retracting his arm, he pulls the girl towards him and burrows his eyes into hers. With a smile deeply rooted on the woman's lips, Huntress returns Eisenhower's glare, seemingly without fear or remorse.

'The only outrage is the way you have treated my brother and myself. All I did was take the compensation that was due.' Huntress grips the man's wrist. The veins running down the back of her hand bulge as she tightens her hold, forcing the man to release her.

'A mortal's life is worth less than the grass on a field. Are you implying that something so without value is in any way comparable to the risk your servant took in disturbing my brother's rest or the insults we have suffered at your hands? If I did not seek restitution for this farce, I do not believe our Clans could ever have true unity. How could you expect for us of the Mohan Clan to accept such humiliation without recourse? Are you not being too unreasonable?'

With his hand wrapped around his wrist, Eisenhower massages blood back into his limb. He turns from the madwoman and lifts his arms along with his face towards a shadowy figure sitting atop a throne.

'This woman makes a mockery of our hearings!' The man shouts. 'I implore my lords. Empower me to render judgment upon her!'

'For what? For defending the honour of my brother and my Clan?' Mimicking Eisenhower's stance, Huntress directs her face towards the hidden figure of Constancia Mohan. 'Blessed Matriarch, would you permit my life to be ransomed for the sake of a mortal? Surely if our Clan's unity with that of the Blackshire's is to be desirable, it must be based on equality between our two peoples!'

The man breaks his stance and moves in front of Huntress. He grips her shoulders, re-establishing eye contact.

'Do you believe us to be fools? I know what you are doing. You are making a spectacle of this hearing with the intention of diverting attention from your brother. Perhaps the two of you are working together against the interests of the Blackshire Clan. Did you not, yourself, admit that you opposed the unity of our peoples?'

With his lips, the man has condemned himself. I can see it clearly on the madwoman's face; those were the words she was waiting to hear. As for why the woman desires to include herself in this trial, I cannot say. But, without question, that is her desire…

'If you believe me to have conspired against your Clan, I am willing to submit myself to the same scrutiny as my brother. We have nothing to hide, and I'm more than willing to prove our innocence before everyone.'

Atop her throne, the matriarch stands. Like a flock of birds escaping disaster, the engulfing shadows flee from her presence, revealing the woman within. Despite her distance from me, the regality of the woman emanates from her being. Her hair, radiant gold, her skin, effervescent; whether it be a trick of the flickering light or her grace magnified in my eyes, in my sight, the woman glows. Despite her delicate, youthful appearance, perhaps in contrast to it, power emanates from the woman; my world trembles at the sight of her. Without doubt, with no question in my mind, the only thing which separates me from oblivion is her will.

By her word, mountains would fall, and the sky would crash into the sea…

In her sight, how do I appear?

Am I little more than an insect? It would take no more effort on her part to crush me. To me, the woman is like a star above the heavens. I can see her, but her power is beyond me, and yet…

Am I not the one who will ascend the stars?

Will the day not come when she and all others stand beneath my shade?

Her power is immense. I won't deny it. On this day, she stands in judgement of me. However... this day shall soon pass, but my day will outlast eternity.

That is what this is for; that is my goal.

Eternal life.

Power which transcends power.

Vengeance upon my enemies.

I will not cower before one who does not strive for eternity, nor will I let my heart grow faint before this challenge. I have already acted against the woman. In time, she'll discover as much. Inevitably, a day will come when she stands against me. On that day, I won't run, and I will be victorious.

'My daughter has willingly submitted herself to this hearing. Her request shall be honoured.' Constancia's voice is little more than a whisper, yet it fills the stage. From where I stand to every man and woman surrounding me, Constancia's words consume the air. Though light, her voice carries all the weight of her authority. Though gentle, her words compel. The woman does not permit, she demands. Her every utterance is law; chains binding her subjects to her will.

The die is cast.

Whatever Huntress has planned…

There's no turning back.

Eisenhower turns towards the Matriarch. He extends his arms towards her and returns his face to the ceiling. 'Your righteousness knows no bounds, my lady; you, who would not even spare your children from justice. Your honour is without question. Your dignity is beyond words.' Without looking away, Eisenhower begins to clap. One by one, the spectators above join in the man's ovations, and the hall fills will applause.

'Your matriarch has spoken. Lady Mohan, you too shall have your memories exposed, and if you are found to be complicit in any of the tragedies that have fallen upon this Clan, you shall be put to death.' Though his words hold the threat of execution, Huntress' smile only broadens. Returning to my side, Huntress bows towards the matriarch and again towards our inquisitor.

'As I have said, I have nothing to hide. All you will find in my memories is proof attesting to my innocence.'

The man stares at Huntress and pushes air forcefully from his nostrils. 'We shall see.' Turning his back to my "sister" and myself, Eisenhower faces the entrance of the hall. 'Bring me the Dream Seeker's Eye.' The man shouts. Following his words, the doors to the theatre burst open. Through the doors, two men carry a golden chest between metal rods.

Grunting as they do, the men haul the golden trunk atop their shoulders and ascend the steps to the platform. Drawing nearer, I see sweat pour from their brows as they continue towards the centre of the stage. With heavy breaths, the men slowly lower the chest to the ground. As it touches the floor, they deeply sigh.

Eisenhower walks to the chest and places a palm on the top. Runes carve themselves around the frame of the trunk; they emanate a blue glow before flashing brightly and returning to nothing. As the final rune vanishes, a sharp click cuts through the air, followed by a clack and the chest popping open.

Eisenhower holds his hand above the box; as if drawn to his palm a large golden ring, suspending a second gyrating ring between its sides, rises from the chest and hovers in the air. The device draws streams of Tension to its core, forming a translucent orb within its centre. The orb condenses; it shrinks smaller and smaller until all that remains is a scarcely visible point floating between the now rapidly rotating inner circle. Abruptly, the core of the rings ignite. From a burst of rose coloured fire, a single flaming eye forms at the centre of the contraption.

At the spectacle, the crowd, once again, explodes into applause. With the exception of the elders upon their thrones, not a single seat remains occupied. All stand to their feet, slapping their palms together, shouting their praise towards the phenomenon below them.

'I have in my presence The Dream Seeker's Eye. Before its gaze, no deed can be hidden.' Locking his sight with mine, Eisenhower smiles. His eyes radiate fervour; his lips, malice. Without a doubt, the man thinks me caught. He's convinced of my malfeasance and believes he can prove it. Of my guilt, he is correct. However, his faith in that toy is where the man falters.

The Dream Seeker's eye…

Through strained effort, I struggle not to laugh at its sight. Biting the inside of my lips, I prevent a smile from revealing my contempt.

It is possible to extract my true recollection from my mind, but not by such means. To one trained by a mind Tension Master, the eye is a trinket, an ornament, a display of wealth and nothing more.

'Master Mohan, I assure you, there is no means to escape the eye's sight. If you wish to confess and throw yourself upon my mercy, now is the time to do so. For your crimes, your cultivation will be crippled, but you will be permitted to live. If you choose to forego this opportunity and the eye finds you to be guilty, there will be no clemency, and your penalty shall be death.'

'I have nothing to confess. I have done nothing but act for the benefit of our peoples and the unity of our Clans.'

'We shall see.' With his hand below the eye, Eisenhower walks in front of me. 'Unlike a memory potion, you will not be in control of the memories the eye can examine. It shall search your mind, hunting for all traces of thought related to my enquiry. Nothing can be hidden. Are you prepared, Master Mohan?'

'I am.' I reply. The burning eyeball shifts to the left and the right before focusing on me. Its heat seeps through my skin and travels the length and width of my body. No part of my being left uninvaded by its eerie warmth, I feel its strangeness flow through my veins.

My surroundings dim and fade until I'm left alone within a dark, empty space. Images manifest in the darkness. Though blurred at first, they begin to take shape.

In the distance, I stand. To my sides, the fools who had accompanied me to the Bishop Clan's bank. A fog descends in front of my spectre; it too takes shape, the shape of a woman, a girl, really. Each second that passes, her image clarifies until her form is unmistakable to me.

Daphne Bishop.

The girl I killed.

'We're not here to fight.' The phantom me says. 'We just want to understand why your people killed our brothers.'

The spectre of the girl begins to smile. She draws from her back her broad-headed axe. 'You might not be looking for a fight, but you've found one.' Fog pools behind the girl. The conglomerated mass separates and moulds into the forms of blurry faced men; each one holds an axe identical to the one within Daphne's hands.

'The Bishop Clan will share its authority no longer. Filthy mongrels of the Blackshire Clan, prepare to die!' Without another word, the army of Bishop Clansmen advances upon my spectre and its companions. Arts soar between the two forces. Before long, the Blackshire party is overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

'Logan! You are the future of our Clan! You cannot die here. Run! My brothers and I will secure your retreat.' The image of the Brown-haired boy shouts as he forms barriers of water, intercepting the revolving spears of rock hurtling towards him.

'No!' The other me says. 'I will fight by your side until the end. Do not have me disgrace myself. I would sooner die a dog's death than run like a coward.'

'Your courage is not in question; however, this is not a fight we can win.'

'Then we shall die together!'

From all sides, the memories of my comrades are attacked. Their resistance, equal parts heroic and futile, crumble in the face of the Bishop Clan's barrage. I watch from afar as two of my companions fall, leaving only the brown-haired boy and the spectre of myself alive.

'I am truly sorry, my brother, but we cannot both escape. I must do what is best for our Clan.'

'What are you-' Before my phantom can finish its sentence, the brown-haired boy strikes my spectre's neck, and I watch myself fall.

Darkness reclaims my sight, and once again, I am alone.

A tornado of fog descends from the infinite blackness above. It spreads and thins, revealing from within my twin surrounded by knife-wielding mercenaries.

'We've finally caught you. Surrender now, and your death will be swift!' One of the mercenaries shouts. 'It's nothing personal, but we've been ordered to ensure you never return to the Blackshire stronghold.'

Drawing its sword from its side, the other me faces the horde of killers. 'You cannot stop me. I must warn my elders of the Bishop Clan's betrayal.'

'Enough talk. Kill him!'

Alone, my spectre charges into the mob, and once again, the image dissipates to nothing. When the recollection resumes, my phantom lays bloodied and broken with a blade protruding from its stomach.

'Get him to a healing centre!'

***

Light reclaims the space, and I return to the present. A wave of disorientation washes over me, forcing me to my knees. Sweat drips down my face and splatters upon the tiled floor below. Despite my mental and physical exhaustion, my lips warp into a smile. I hide it from the eyes above by staring at the ground beneath. Staggered breaths flutter past my lips as I remain kneeling on the ground, waiting for the words I know will arrive.

'This cannot be.' Eisenhower says. 'The boy, he is…

'Innocent.'