Some idiotic humans may have thought secrets were forever. In their passing, secrets fell into disarray with the advent of telepathy and foresight. That wasn’t entirely true. They simply required a great deal more work . . . that and distance. ROI was a bitch for keeping secrets. Not that the prophecies helped, but most secrets weren’t quite so grand. Still, they were a fear and a very real one.

Gentesha Ameron looked past the white to see the red. The color hadn’t represented an emergency, as much as revenge. She’d been waiting far too long to reap it. She still was, but the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. The crunch of her boots indented the snow as she walked, yet each resounded as time slowed. She was too near . . . too close to something. A single error and all her planning, every well-kept secret might come crashing down. Every step mattered. This late in the game the slightest move might be seen and recognized for what they really were . . . the path to Sarafyn’s end.

He’d wronged her. He’d wronged them all. Every last member of the Humatran Elect were gone . . . all but Sarafyn and herself. Over the centuries that bastard arranged most of their grisly ends. She remained by keeping to the shadows. She’d taken a page from Sarafyn’s own book and faded into history. This only happened after the Elect had fallen, but she remained faithful to both their creed and the prophecies. Bar all else and at any cost the firstborn would do what he was born to do . . . somehow save the future.

The prophecies said as much, or so she’d interpreted them, but this wasn’t what directly concerned her. Hers was a different fear. Her fear lay in the gray areas; what the prophecies merely hinted at. She feared the firstborn’s greatest threat WAS his father . . . the outcast. She was right. Sarafyn was hell bent on ending his son and the world with him.

It was all in the service of disproving fate and leading an unwritten life. To be honest, that sounded nice, as if dreaming of a better place. Unfortunately, that’s all it was, a fanciful dream. The prophecies were very real and unlike Sarafyn, she didn’t have the luxury of pretending they weren’t by covering her eyes and playing house. Even that was fate. Sarafyn was the father of the firstborn, which couldn’t have happened without Lisa. That was over now. The outcast played his part unwittingly, but well. Now he could exit the grand stage.

To her fell the task that ended all others; of saving the one, the only one, who could save the future. To her fell the task of murdering the outcast, Sarafyn, Wferium’s brother. She was Gentesha Ameron. Yet she was not. She was a relic of the past. She was Wferium’s sister! To her she would grant vengeance! She was Tympanium.

<><><><>

Ben Kaplan hadn’t woken up. He lay in the snow unmolested. None would go near him while covered in frozen vomit, not even to loot his corpse. He’d died where he’d fallen and only minutes after. Nothing remained of him but the snow of which he was merging, just another obstacle in the road.

Yet something within him still stirred . . . a life not his own. Hardly even a life . . . servos without a brain. Not a mind which could be read. Ben was hardly cybernetic but long ago something that was had been implanted within both his eyes. It wasn’t so terribly abnormal to have a recording device there, but it was illegal. It was seemingly a greater crime than murder, but that’s only because it was.

People saw so very much of the future and on an everyday basis, yet that didn’t mean any of it had been recorded. Still, it hadn’t. There existed no method, scientific or otherwise, in which a foresight could be saved for later perusal; aside from hypnotherapy, of course. Even so, retinal implants cheated the system. They invaded privacy, that regardless of all else, remained sacred. They allowed absolutely everything seen, but not foreseen, to be recorded. All of this could then be played back with a thought. To most it appeared no different than the faraway look people adopted when in vision.

Ben knew well the crime he was committing, but at the time believed he’d never get caught. He was right on that account. Naturally his own thoughts could’ve betrayed him, but somehow hadn’t. Throughout his short life never did he exist as a person of interest. He wasn’t a novel, classic or otherwise. He was a fucking pamphlet proclaiming the savior was on his way and YOU had to change or he would smite you. No one wanted to change. No one wanted to open the pamphlet, much less read it. No one wanted to know the “nobody” Ben Kaplan had always been.

So within his anonymity lay safety. He could do what he liked and almost felt the freedom of thought humans enjoyed so long ago. This was back when thoughts were sacred and couldn’t be read by anyone but freaks, who’d since preempted the meek to inherit the Earth. Ben nearly felt that free, but not quite. Not with ancients like Sarafyn about. Not when he suddenly failed to blend into society because everyone else was fucking dead.

It didn’t matter. Not anymore. Death claimed him as well, and his right to privacy. Yet that too was about to be violated, as well it should, after having invaded everyone else’s. None knew about the implants or so Ben had believed. One had, though. One who’d been watching from afar and knew enough to plan for such things. One who knew the best way, and perhaps the only way, to thwart an ancient’s abilities was with distance. That combined with technology, the bane of the ancient, proved a volatile blend. One who could only know such things as one of their kin. One who despite all things, embraced both worlds. Tympanium.

Yet she was not so very lucky. This was, as were most things, by design. She existed as an anomaly, a fucking hybrid. She’d learned that hiding preserved her life, but blinded her, due to ROI. Technology became her window into the things she’d otherwise miss . . . things that would otherwise end her.

This was, of course, hit or miss. Nothing here could be known; not for certain. Bar foresight, she couldn’t have known Wferium would so embrace the meaningless Ben Kaplan. All she knew at the time was the seed hunters were headed in a certain direction. Unfailingly, they followed their own individual paths between the seeds, as was their purview. So through simple foresight and planning, she’d “arranged” for Ben Kaplan to get the implants he so craved.

Once he had, Tympanium “arranged” for him to be where he could be found by the travelling camp. Still she couldn’t know he’d be accepted as one of them. Naturally all the ifs, buts and maybes were unacceptable to one of her ilk, so Ben wasn’t the only one she’d prepared for Wferium. He was simply the only one she’d accepted. For it all she was none the wiser.

Tympanium, herself was far away at the time. She knew approximately when the event would occur, but ROI prevented her from foreseeing the outcome. That too was by design . . . at such a distance Wferium couldn’t see her either. Technology was allowing her to see things ancients inherently couldn’t, albeit with significant delay. She wouldn’t know exactly what Ben recorded all these years until just about now, but then that required something called patience, a trait all ancients had in abundance.

Why do all this? Why? Because she knew what most were oblivious of . . . Sarafyn was Wferium’s brother and both still lived. Tympanium knew about the unlocking. She knew regardless of their hatred of one another time wouldn’t allow them to remain apart forever. Ancients always seemed to have an affinity for finding one other, eventually. So knowing Wferium’s whereabouts would, in time, lead to finding Sarafyn. Technology fermented in time was the only way to unlock the secret.

<><><><>

Tympanium’s footsteps weren’t as silent as she would’ve liked. The snow hardened with a crust from a recent rain. The crunch of each step seemed a siren announcing her whereabouts. Should the wrong people find out, death would surely follow. This was not a fool’s guess. Within her embracing of technology, she’d forsaken certain training that would’ve enhanced her abilities beyond what time itself could grant.

Most of her kind remained more powerful than her. This was even true of some younger than her. She now knew this as a fault, but she’d chosen her poison and now must drink it. She’d not known such a thing would matter. Tympanium had been trained by the Atra, Tyndystylyn! Sure, its focus wasn’t nearly so much on her as it was on the twins, but come on! She’d been trained by a fucking Atra! Because of it she’d always possessed a great degree of power. How could she have known it would wane so? How could she have known her head start wouldn’t be enough to stay at the top of her class?

Even so, technology gave her an advantage no other ancient could claim; that she knew of anyway. Because of it her power grew in leaps and bounds, just in a different direction. It wasn’t anything terribly new. All the kids were doing it, but none of the ancients were. Some ancients knew how to work around it, however. This was far from the first time anyone attempted to use technology to end an ancient. Yet, when it was tried it often worked. When it was tried on her, the poor bitches and bastards never lived long enough to regret the decision.

She was NOT weak. She was simply vulnerable to certain ancients, so it was easier to stay out of the limelight. It was easier to let everyone believe she’d somehow died. For all intents and purposes that’s what everyone who’d ever known she’d existed now believed. For it, however, she regretted not ever renewing her bond with Wferium . . . and they had indeed bonded . . . as sisters.

Having never been born that way didn’t seem so much to matter. They were all each other had after Sarafyn abandoned them both. With his departure the glue holding the siblings together began to fall away. She existed as Sarafyn’s replacement, and was glad of it. The Atra’s preferential treatment had her feeling less than what it made her . . . unique. There remained some degree of jealousy and derision towards both siblings, but Wferium enfolded her as the only one of Durham’s children left to her. Because of it she’d become special . . . for the very first time.

Now here she was, hidden from all eyes and so very unacknowledged as the powerful ancient she’d always been. How could she be any less special? Yet she’d traded that feeling for the right to continue breathing. She’d learned to live with her decision, but still missed the way things were so very long ago.

<><><><>

The world had changed in ways unrecognizable, as if painted in a thick layer of blood. Sarafyn had been right. All avenues of continued conflict led to death. The militia from Meadow hadn’t been so terribly powerful, but the mind could be strained no less than any other muscle. The fatigue of swayed slaughter drained both girls, bloodlust notwithstanding.

What Sarafyn hadn’t counted on, surely due to his own duress, was the third option. Except there wasn’t a third option, not until Sarafyn deserted them. Before that infamous moment, bloodshed was all the girls saw. It washed over every vision until they would’ve sworn their pupils glazed red.

The reality of abandonment changed everything. Of course, they foresaw it, but until it actually happened, they’d believed it was merely one of many choices that wouldn’t, couldn’t actually come true. The moment it did, those same thoughts of death turned inward. In a rush to outrun death, other options were brought to light. It was so simple too. The range of sway seemed limitless. It didn’t have to end in death. The girls simply told the armed guards the humatrans had escaped in the opposite direction.

As jealous as she was, Tympanium wished to send them after Sarafyn for his betrayal, but Wferium wouldn’t have it. She still loved her brother, despite what happened. Later on, Wferium explained it to her by saying, “If you love someone, you must be willing to let them go.” Tympanium hadn’t bought it. Wferium was many things, but a saint wasn’t one of them. At the time she was actually quite vicious and forgave little. The truth was far simpler . . . she simply hadn’t known how to handle the situation . . . and didn’t want her brother dead, which was the only other alternative.

Wferium was actually enraged he’d brought her to such a choice. Tympanium could see it in her eyes . . . that unquenchable fire. She knew because she recognized it every time she had the luxury to look in a mirror. There was nothing for it. Not only was it done, but even though Wferium now embraced her, it wasn’t as equals. Wferium played the older, wiser sister. She’d even played the protective one and made a half assed attempt at the sweet, understanding one. Things weren’t that way, not really. She hadn’t given up being in charge. Far from it, she’d just taken on a new persona. It was a new hat and she’d worn so many. The trouble was every hat offered a degree of power and she wasn’t willing to lose an ounce of it.

Regardless, Tympanium embraced the lesser status, because it was more than she’d ever had. It was more than she’d ever dreamed possible. For this, if nothing else, she thanked Sarafyn. Such gratitude didn’t negate her desire to see him dead for what he’d done to them both. Not that it was possible. Wferium forbade it. Life went on that way for years, but as the centuries passed, death stole away Wferium’s opinion on the matter, but that was a reality Tympanium wasn’t prepared for. For all her preparation, she was only now learning of her sister’s untimely end.

<><><><>

The removal and rewiring of Ben’s implants were child’s play. Dealing with what his recordings revealed was far more traumatic. Little other than death had the capacity to rattle an ancient, who’d seen just about everything else this deranged world could throw their way. This was still death, which barely earned a gasp from her regarding the vile denizens crawling about, but Wferium’s end was a different matter altogether.

The two hadn’t parted on good terms, but then none of them had. Sarafyn’s second betrayal destabilized the Humatran Elect he’d helped to build. He’d been influenced by that bitch, Mychelle and chose her over the fold. That fateful decision infected others with a slow, but debilitating doubt. It was the corrosion that ate away at the very foundations of what they’d all sworn to uphold . . . the prophecies.

It hadn’t warped Wferuim’s views on the matter. Nor had it for Tympanium. Both remained wholly devout, as had a few others. It seemed worthwhile to continue the Humatran Elect with the true believers, cutting away all else. They did exactly that, but that meant death to the doubters. It didn’t have to, but they’d splintered into their own little sect and grew power hungry. So, all were slaughtered . . . all but one.

Simon Trenchant remained, for visions proclaimed his repentance true. Foresight also proved a show of forgiveness helped to rebuild the foundation Mychelle and Sarafyn had shattered. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. This bought the Humatran Elect only a few more decades, never having regained their original strength.

Betrayal seemed to be their lot, as Simon’s was next. Power seemed an irresistible force and his only grew within the smaller, reformed group. It blossomed into something both ugly and familiar. Once again, the Humatran Elect split, but this time with Simon leading a group he dubbed simply, The Sect. Remembering his first break with Wferium, this time he chose to disappear instead of face her. He hadn’t. Not really. Wferium saw it, but grew tired of the bloodshed and allowed them to leave.

The Humatran Elect was at an end. There was nothing left to renew. Only a scant few remained beyond Wferium and Tympanium. Disbanding seemed the wisest course of action. After all, Wferium formed the group as a resistance force to counter the human threat, but that had waned. All felt the Global Rupture was nigh and that would wipe their enemy from the face of the Earth. The Humatran Elect was no longer needed.

Naturally, Tympanium wished to travel with Wferium, but she’d made it plain this was a solitary journey. She needed to rediscover herself before she’d feel comfortable in anyone else’s company. Tympanium recalled how little sense that made. The Global Rupture was near. Now was NOT the time to break apart, but to unify and rally for the cause they all believed it . . . the prophecies! After all, fledgling humatrans were rapidly being born and how many more upon humanity’s extinction? They NEEDED teachers and guides just like Wferium! Honestly, who better?

Newly formed humatrans were mostly still loyal to the human cause. They wouldn’t be celebrating their loss. Without guidance many would perish in the aftermath. To just walk away seemed beyond selfish . . . as if she wanted the world to burn. As if her personal losses meant the whole world should suffer. Yet, Tympanium knew that’s exactly how her sister felt. Fuck the world . . . all of it. Apparently, including her, the only one who’d stood by her side through every atrocity and heartache. Well, fuck her! Let her run off and hide!

That’s exactly what Wferium did, but Tympanium chose to stay and help with no one to help her. It stood as the most selfless thing she’d ever done and ended in her own version of betrayal and tears. No one wanted her help and no one was grateful for having it thrusted upon them. This was a truth Wferuim saw years ahead of time. It wasn’t foresight. She just saw the way the world was turning and planned accordingly.

Tympanium longed to reunite with her long lost sister, but by then she’d vanished into the crevices of the world. She needed a forgiveness that proved as ghostly as the mist. So, the wandered, utterly defeated, until one day she found a new path, or rather a new path found her. She felt more at peace with technology as her only friend. It would never betray her.

All the while Tympanium denied the little part of her that screamed to have her sister back. After centuries, she’d finally found her, of all things, leading a seed hunter camp? It made sense in a way. Wferium was a loner, but when in the company of others, she’d settle for nothing less than being in charge. Tympanium supposed shunters were the new, low-key version of her Humatran Elect.

Tympanium understood their purpose . . . to constantly release the Atra gases. It was a worthy cause, but one she couldn’t see herself a part of. For her, groups were a thing of the past, the distant past. She survived as a loner now. She wouldn’t even know how to fit in to such a thing anymore. Nor would she know what to say to Wferium after all this time; not even in a vision.

Even so, being practically immortal, Tympanium believed wholeheartedly in time. She had a mission to end Sarafyn and told herself a sisterly reunion would be safer with him out of the way. She also told herself that one fine day, Wferium would revert back to her loner ways. Time would eventually reveal the perfect moment to reunite. Except it hadn’t.

Tympanium’s worst fears had blossomed into a bloody reality. Wferium found death at the hands of her long lost brother, Sarafyn, and through Ben’s implants, she had a front row seat to every vicious bone breaking crunch as the dogs were finally let loose.

The tears flowed, briefly washing away the grime that seemed to breed on Tympanium’s skin. Unholy gasps notwithstanding, she somehow managed not to scream. She was too ingrained in her aura of silence, a key part of stealth and of survival.

Even so, her internal rage at Sarafyn exploded into wildfire. She was about to bring his whole world crashing down around him. She could do it too. Because he didn’t even know she still drew breath. He wouldn’t either. Not until moments before his own came screeching to a halt. Even if it cost her own life to make his death a reality, she’d see it done.

END

There will be a third book. I've already begun writing it. I'm just not sure when it will be ready for release. Please read the post-chapter notes for more information.