I had finished the day, but going straight home… no. Not just yet. I preferred to take a detour, walk a little. My steps led me to that old bridge, the one overlooking the quay where boats dock late at night.
I leaned on the railing, eyes lost in the reflections of lights on the black water.
I don't know… if I had to compare this life to the one before… I'd say both have their share of twists.
Before, I was the god of the Underworld. A throne, an army, screams every second. Chaos as background noise.
And today? I'm just a bodyguard. A human, or at least I give that appearance. Forced to hide my demonic powers to blend in. To go unnoticed.
All that for what? To waste time. To wait. To wait for Jamila's luminous energy to become usable.
I sigh.
But sometimes… I ask myself questions.
Should I destroy them, the Roskarov? I could erase them from this world, from memory, from traces, from records. As if they never existed.
But… no. That would be too easy. Too clean. And I still want to have fun. There must be some complications to spice up the game.
And then… there is Krehaan.
That name keeps running through my head. I need to see him. At least once. I don't know what he's planning, but one thing is certain: this guy is dangerous. Far more than the Roskarov, if my memories are right. And yet, everything Claremont told me about them doesn't worry me.
It's not Krehaan himself who unsettles me… it's what he hides. A creature, maybe, lurking in the shadows, that makes this little group so confident, so… invincible.
I look up at the sky. The stars shine faintly, as if they were afraid of me.
Maybe I should contact Johnson…
He could keep an eye on Krehaan. Discreetly. Yes, that's a good idea. But first… what is he doing on vacation, that one? He must have gone back to Grenoble. Even he, as a human, must pretend to have a normal life.
I sigh once again.
Then I straighten up, turn my back to the river, and start walking again. It's time to go home.
That night, I returned without trouble, the oppressive silence of the city keeping me company up to the threshold of my apartment. A few hours of rest, barely disturbed by echoes of old memories, and morning had already dawned.
The day of departure.
Claremont had warned me two weeks in advance. A mission abroad escorting someone. Discreet, certainly, but not without importance: destination Mexico. There was an old facility affiliated with the Foundation that Claremont wanted to inspect personally — a kind of secured villa, perched on a mountainside, supposed to serve as a strategic outpost.
I hadn't asked for details. That kind of place, that kind of trip… they were just a pretext. Everyone was looking for something. Me, I was looking for fragments of light. Claremont, he was looking to understand where the world would tip first.
There were six of us in total.
Three standard bodyguards — professionals, human, competent but far too naive to guess what was brewing in the shadows. There was also Jeanne, a discreet but effective analyst, whom Claremont never left behind on missions. And then Claremont himself. Too calm for someone so involved in these kinds of plans… too calm to be entirely honest.
The private plane took off without delay. Moderate comfort, lukewarm champagne, heavy silence.
I settled apart, to the right of the window, observing the invisible. The atmosphere was tense but feigned, as if everyone was playing a rehearsed role.
Claremont, seated two rows ahead, tapped distractedly on his tablet. I could feel his thoughts spinning in loops, hidden behind his furrowed brow. He knew this trip was no accident. So did I.
The landing was smooth.
The Mexican sun welcomed us with dry heat, almost oppressive. Upon stepping off the plane, the contrast was brutal: a vast, rugged land, away from the civilized world. Arid mountains, dusty roads, and in the distance, the horizon fading into mist.
Armored SUVs were already waiting for us on the tarmac. A local escort, made up of agents with dark eyes, dressed in black and too heavily armed for a simple "inspection."
I contented myself with watching silently. One thing was certain: this trip was not what it claimed to be.
When the doors slammed and the convoy started toward the villa, I knew it with certainty.
The villa was larger than I had imagined.
Walls of ochre white, carved directly into the rock. An inner courtyard shaded by fig trees, a half-dried fountain, and rooms arranged in a semicircle around a central patio. Discreet luxury, old, maybe too old.
We were left to settle in before nightfall.
My room smelled of lemon and warm stone. A wide bed, rough sheets, a large window open to the mountains. I dropped my things carelessly. No need for more.
That very evening, Claremont insisted on "relaxing a little." I followed without arguing.
The small village below still lived at the slow pace of overly long evenings. The streets were lined with lanterns, colorful garlands, climbing bougainvillea on the walls. A smell of grilled corn, spiced meat, sweat, and beer.
We ate on the terrace of a local restaurant. The three bodyguards joked with the waiter. Jeanne studied the menu suspiciously, as if searching for invisible poisons between the lines. Claremont, meanwhile, seemed perfectly at ease, a glass of mezcal in hand.
— You should try it, he whispered, handing me his glass.
I looked at him. Then I took the glass, brought it to my lips, and put it back down.
— Bland, I simply said.
He smiled.
— Still as cold, huh!
The meal stretched on. Plates emptied. Laughter swelled. At one point, a little girl came to sell us braided bracelets. Jeanne bought one out of politeness. I refused. The child looked me straight in the eyes. For a long time.
There was something in her gaze I couldn't identify.
Fear? No. Rather… a strange lucidity.
When she left, Claremont raised an eyebrow.
— You scared her.
— She saw something.
— Or maybe you see too much.
I didn't answer.
We returned on foot. The others turned toward the patio. Claremont and I took a detour to the rooftop terrace. It was pleasant. The sky was violet, dotted with stars.
He handed me a cigarette. I refused.
— You're still as pleasant on missions, huh, he breathed.
— I'm here to watch.
— Me too.
A silence.
Then he turned to me.
— Do you think this villa hides something?
— No. Not yet. But it attracts.
— Attracts what?
— The fragments.
Claremont nodded, as if he already knew.
— We have a few days here. Tomorrow, we play tourists. Then… we start searching.
I stood up.
— Good night, Claremont.
— Try to get some sleep, Natsa. Even demons need rest.
I didn't answer.
My room was cool. The sheets had kept the memory of the sun. I lay down. I didn't close an eye.
Somewhere, behind the walls, the villa was breathing. Slowly. Like a sleeping heart.
But it was not yet time to wake it.