Hours had lapsed and the lightness outside of the curtains had begun to fade; the manor eventually swallowed by the darkness. The large shady trees the windows of the rooms opened to had fallen quiet for another day, the grounds were free of roaming groundskeepers, and large balls of warm-yellow light were slowly being turned on to illuminate the pathways linking smaller buildings to the main. The manor was a peaceful place and the beauty of the sprawling grounds in the rolling country-side often served as the perfect welcome to visitors. It was also secluded which served as a form of security form prying eyes.

Ellen and Hans were occupying one of the many living rooms on this evening, the same one that Hans had bought Ellen to during their first encounter. A fire was crackling in the grand fireplace again, casting warmth and soft light on everything that it could touch. With such an intense mentoring session from Claudia that morning, Hans allowed Ellen to have the afternoon off to do whatever she liked. They were now head-to-head in an intense game of chess, their backs arched over an ancient set made of bone which sparkled in the dim light. Hans was winning, but not by much. Their defeated pieces lined the sides of the board like spectators watching onwards at their peers. Intense silence filled the room; silence that was so intense you could almost feel it. The only thing that could be heard was the quiet crackling of the fire. Ellen made a move, a wide grin spreading over Hans' face.

"You shouldn't have," he chuckled. "Check mate."

Ellen sat back in the chair she had occupied those nights ago, folded her arms and pouted. "Every. Single. Time."

Hans slid back in his own chair and took a glass into his hand, swirling the contents. It had been established that he had a taste for aged whisky, and the specific one he had opened tonight was one given to him a number of decades ago from a Master in another clan. Ellen had since learned that clans were separate groups of Tempusmancers around the world, each clan belonging to a different country and occasionally, regions in those countries. She had also learned that the title 'Master' was only given to those that lead one of these clans and that they had the duty to look after their respective groups in times of need. Hans' specific clan consisted of well-functioning and intelligent Tempusmancers that could think for themselves and problem solve. Other Masters weren't as lucky, and had a high call-out and workload.

"You play quite well; so well, in fact, one would have a hard time guessing you've never played before."

Ellen smiled and then she remembered the voice that she had heard in the room earlier. Sire. Her eyebrows furrowed unintentionally as she recalled what the terrified man had said. Her mind was quick to whirl into thoughts, trying to join any links together. Nothing.

"Is everything okay, Ellen?" she heard Hans ask casually. He swirled the glass one more and emptied the remaining contents into mouth.

"Can I ask you something?"

Hans swallowed the whisky and placed the glass down. "Of course."

"What is a sire?"

Hans peered at her, his arms now nestled on his knees. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I heard someone say it today. I've only heard that word used with vampires but I don't know whether they exist..." Ellen explained.

Hans' eyes narrowed on her, his face hardening. "Oh, they exist. You'll hurt their feelings if they hear you say that they aren't real. We just don't have anything to do with them and they don't have anything to do with us. We operate in peace, letting each do their own. They stay out of our way and we return the favour. Did you see who said it by chance?"

She shook her head, no. "Whoever said it was behind a closed door. I only heard it as I was going to the dining room."

Hans abruptly stood up, grasped the glass he had put down and made his way to the mantle where several bottles were lined up. The various trinkets were still here, too, a space where the horse with the crouching man once was. The light from the fire in the fireplace danced across his face and shone in his eyes. He gazed into the flames. His back was to Ellen, so she couldn't see his facial emotions. His hair was held in a loose half-bun; the length of it folded half-way and looped into an elastic band. This was now tainted gold from the light hue.

"A sire," he began, his tone slow and purposeful. "Is a word the Necromancers use to describe their leader, their supreme ruler. The structure of that race isn't like ours – not one bit." He turned to face Ellen, her face was in a grimace now. "They were once a very reputable race and upheld morals that we still hold. All of those moral pillars were abolished when one of them in particular had a different ideology and overthrew the leader. When this happened, the hierarchy changed too. The sire stands above everyone else and keeps everyone else supressed. The word is somewhat shunned here. They believe that Necromancers should be thankful to serve their sire and if they aren't thankful, they receive punishment which is usually death. If you displease them, he will usually punish you indirectly by killing someone close to you. He also isn't afraid to dispense of his own for personal gain. One more; one less. It is nothing to him. It's nothing to Lucien." Hans spat his name.

Ellen bowed her head, trying to put the pieces of everything together. The more she did this, the more her heart sunk. Her nails sunk into the armrests of the chair. She wish she knew this, she could have told Hans and Claudia there and then. He could have been questioned. Hans pressed onwards.

"Lucien is hungry for one thing – power. Both Necromancers and Tempusmancers believe in a prophecy and it states that a person is born every century that is more powerful than all others. Knowing this, the sire has made it his vision to harness those abilities and create the hybrid I told you about earlier."

She felt a stone in her throat. Trying to speak, she stammered on her own words. Hearing all this made her feel as if she needed to faint; the light-headedness and nausea. She felt unnaturally warm and clammy, sweating starting to sit on her skin.

"We believe you're that person Ellen, and that they are trying to snatch you for experimental purposes. They were almost successful once already. It's important you remain safe. The fact you heard someone even mutter that word – yet alone, call someone that word – means that there is someone between us that is feeding off information to him. It also means that you were right, we can't trust anyone. It means we are compromised."

The atmosphere grew to be tense once more as there was an ashen silence. Hans lifted the glass to his lips and had a swig whilst Ellen sat in the armchair, lost for words. "You saved my life...," she stammered.

"It's part of a Master's duty. But I also think Claudia needs to hear this for herself so she can make an informed decision on how best to approach this. Will you call her or will I?" How Hans had brushed this off caught Ellen by surprise. He made it appear as if it was no big deal, just a simple feat. She felt herself further consumed by the nausea that had washed over her before. She felt as if she was flying high and then suddenly shot out of the sky. The happiness, the calmness, she experienced only ten minutes previously now dissipated.

"I will," she whispered, attempting to muster enough energy as she could. Given her current state, she didn't know whether she was strong enough to send the call out so it would reach Claudia. Regardless and determined to try, she closed her eyes and imagined Claudia in her mind. She called out to her, unsure whether she heard her. She called again, and again; energy draining from her body each and every time. Seconds ticked by, reaching a full minute. Nothing, not a sign. Feeling disappointed, she let herself slide further in her chair and bit her lip.

Nothing felt worse than defeat.

I will be there soon, she faintly heard someone say; a female. Claudia. She had heard Ellen after all. Those words were music to her ears and she felt a pinch of happiness return inside her.

"She's coming," she told Hans in relief. He nodded and smiled back at her warmly, instilling hope back into her. There was a quiet knock on the door before it opened and Claudia swept into the room with an aura of irritability around her. She carried a large, displeased look and her chest was raised tall and proud. She carried herself much differently to this morning; she looked much more disciplinary.

Hans raised his hand slightly to Ellen – don't say anything – which she caught from the corner of her eye. "Is everything okay?" he asked instead, raising an eyebrow.

"I just spent an hour and a half dealing with that pig Dvorak!" she exclaimed, obviously emotionally charged – a mix of frustration and anger. She spied the drink in Hans' hand. "I swear I could do with one of those right now."

Hans complied and poured her a glass, tapping it as he handed it to her waiting hand. He then ushered her into the second armchair. "80 years old, this one. I take it Dvorak is still rather unhappy about the outcome of the meeting then?"

"Oh, very much so. He's started the blackmailing game already, threatening me that he will turn his clan to be dysfunctional and exposing themselves to the mortal populace. Can you believe his nerve? Can you? He's putting us at risk of being discovered even further than Hiddlestone!" The name of the writer rang in her ears and she remembered the disgust Hans showed towards him.

"Well Claudia. I think that's the second problem right now. We've found another one. A rather big one, at that."

Claudia's eyebrows shot upwards, forming large peaked arches over her eyes. "And what would that be?" Her voice was short, sharp, dreading.

"I think Ellen would be best to describe it to you. But we have a sneak." For the next five minutes, Ellen recounted what she had heard in the room. The unrecognisable high-pitch; the fear and weakness that filled the words. She described it a series of times prior to Claudia falling silent and calculating the situation.

"It's obvious the man and Lucien were conversing but it's a shame we didn't hear more. It sounds almost as if they are preparing something. An attack?" Her empty hand was near her lips now, her fingers resting on the delicate skin.

Hans nodded. "Only hearing those words, I would dare say that is exactly it. It's too plausible. How though, has got me stumped. They can't do anything inside of here. Even they know that." Ellen felt useless as, invisible, as she didn't know what to say in this conversation. She didn't know enough about this life yet to be able to contribute anything of value.

"Do you think it's Dvorak? He seemed certain of..." Hans stopped talking, his words falling away. Ellen sensed that the Grand Master knew what he was alluding too thus, removing the need to finish the sentence.

"Well, who else could it be? No one else was as vocal as he was. You saw it with your own eyes!" Claudia finished off the drink and slid the glass onto the table, wiping her lips with a sleeve of her robe. "Should we pay him a visit? He is due to leave tomorrow morning back to his clan. I think it's best if Ellen comes with us."

The three of them left the room, Ellen lagging behind as she struggled to keep up with their large steps and quick pace. They snaked through several hallways, up a flight of stairs and a few hallways more. Finally, they rapped on the door or a room within the residential wing of the manor. The light-coloured wooden door opening, exposing the short and stumpy man. His face was a livid crimson once again, from the match with Claudia.

"'ello? Oh, it's you," he scoffed when he saw them. "You even bought her with you. How nice." Sarcasm oozed in his words and Ellen found herself quickly disliking this man.

"You didn't tell us you had non-physical company Dvorak!" Claudia said shrilly, pointing a finger at him.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, shaking his head. His mouth dropped open, as if to protest the accusation. The veins in his face were throbbing once again, the thin lines pulsing. "What company?"

"A certain sire?"

"You're off your rocker, woman! Why would I have ties to 'im?" He took a step backwards, away from the enraged Claudia. Fear spread over his face, his voice faltering.

"Dvorak. If it was up to you, Ellen would be on the street and probably dead by now by the man you worship!" Claudia made a threatening step towards him, towering over the cowering man. All of a sudden, the totem in Ellen's bedroom became real. Claudia was the rearing horse and Dvorak was the coward.

"But I didn't do anything you insane excuse of a Grand Master! My children were killed by that piece of work because I was against him!" He tripped over his own footing, and fell onto the floor. He was taking quick breaths now, quick and shallow.

"All the more excuse for you to be on his side! He told you to do this or to perish also! Isn't that right? Isn't that right?"

Even as a witness to this, Ellen was afraid of the woman who was now throwing words, sinking sharp daggers, into this man. The man was babbling incoherent words, overwhelmed. He rubbed his head.

"I've had enough. I revoke your Master-ship to your clan, and you will now be confined to this room until a relevant hearing can be organised."

Oblivious to her surroundings and consumed by what had unfolded, Ellen hadn't realised that several others had now surrounded them. They didn't appear normal however, dressed in metal armour that had similarities to that worn during the medieval period. Their faces were masked by a black piece of cloth that covered their nose, downwards. One of them dragged the man by the arms further into the room, left the room and slung shut the door. A heavy lock was put into place, and the guards left as silently as they had come.

Hans bent towards Ellen, whispering in her ear. "I am so sorry you had to see that." He saw Ellen gazing at the lock and added, "It's special, that lock. Only guards can remove it. It's guard-bound, you see. They're joined together through their souls, a bit like an imprint."

Claudia's face fell into despair, disappointment brewing within herself. Silently, she turned on her heel and wondered down the hallway. Her arms hung limply as she walked, the hem of the robe dragging on the floor rather than floating from the flow of the air. The ambience was heavy around them. Hans dropped a hand weightlessly onto and steered her in the opposite direction, neither of them uttering even the faintest peep.