The rounded metallic blue disc looked rather like a large pebble as Julian turned it over and over in his hand, contemplating the pattern of silver veins running across its surface. The veins looked random, but Julian knew that the were actually a specific arrangement of conduits designed to draw and transfer large amounts of energy from varying levels of reality and merge them with the thoughts and power of the user. In essence, it was a magic wand that really worked.

In peacetime, they had been powerful tools of construction, a device with which dreams could be shaped and moulded. In wartime, though it was a loathsome and feared weapon, capable of delivering untold levels of pain and destruction. It was called a 'chaos driver', and Julian hated it. Before the marshmallow demons had attacked, he had wielded chaos drivers with his considerable skill in order to build great monuments and buildings. He had been an architect of energy and creation, highly regarded by his people. But that was over now.

How many had fallen before his power now? A hundred? A thousand? A million? The fighting had gone on forever, or so it almost seemed now. The happy days of his life, filled with creation and life were shrouded in the mists of time now, lost among the wreckage of his civilisation. His skill in handling the chaos drivers and the energy they could produce had been a necessary tool in defending his kind from the waves of attack that had fallen upon them.

But the enemy also had chaos drivers. The powers unleashed had been unimaginable. So many on either side had fallen, to the power of the chaos drivers, and to the array of less powerful, yet still devastating weapons employed by either side. Slowly, one by one, the Architects who had wielded the chaos drivers fell to each other, and the remaining Architects became ever more crucial to those on either side, both for the attacks on the opposing forces, and to defend their own against the power of the chaos drivers used by the other side.

Over time the opposing forces had dwindled. Shining cities, once standing tall and proud, filled with life and prosperity, now stood as smoking ruins, uninhabited and broken beyond all hope of repair. Not that there would be anyone left to repair them after this war.

It was in one of these deserted cities that Julian now stood, considering the chaos driver that sat so placidly and innocently in his palm. The great silver towers that rose above him, great buildings of seamless shining mirrors, were once part of a beautiful city, ruled over by a rainbow sky that shifted and danced all day long, and was replaced by a shining blanket of starlight at night. But now the towers were broken and crumbled, as if some great hand had descended from the clouds and crushed them. The sky was a horrible swirling purple and green, dancing rainbows corrupted and polluted by chaotic forces called by the power of the chaos driver, to forever scar and ruin this place. A place Julian had once called home, but would now never be home to anyone again.

He knew they were coming, he had seen them through the power of the chaos driver he now handled. A tiny sliver of energy, reaching out and drawing back the image of his approaching foes had shown him their number, power and capability. He knew they had a chaos driver as well, and so for all he knew, depending on the skill of the Architect handling it, they could know exactly where he was and how capable he was of defending himself. They seemed to be searching, though, rather than heading straight for him, so he believed that the defences he had worked around himself had been sufficient to evade detection.

He had been alone for a long time now. He hoped that the others in the other cities had fared better than he. This one was barely worth defending now, except that no more must be allowed to fall to the marshmallow demons, not even a ruin of former glories like this. There was no significance to this place now, no strategic advantage, save for the fact that Julian's race still controlled this place. The darkness that now approached must not be allowed to take it. There was some great purpose, Julian knew, some reason why no more could be allowed to fall, but it had fallen into the dark recesses of his memory and he could no longer recall it. But it was imperative, he knew that with every fibre of his body and soul.

They were close now, no further than around the corner and a block further down. Still they had seemed not to sense him, not that it mattered at this distance. Julian prepared himself to unleash the power of the chaos driver once more, against the principles and morals that their use had first been founded on, principles of creation, not death.

It felt like he'd fought this battle before. Then again, he'd seen so much death and destruction that it really just melded into each other into one long horror of carnage within his memory. He had killed before, many times, and this was no different to any other time. He would have shed a tear for the long dead, but the sorrow and pain he felt had lasted so long and cut so deep that he was numb now. All that was left was to defend this place, no matter the cost. He remembered crying once, long ago, for the lost friends and dead comrades that had fallen around him. They seemed like no more than distant dreams of what could have been now.

He shrugged the old feelings of remembrance away and stepped out into the street the marshmallow demons were approaching down. There was no spring in his movement, no cartwheel into action, he just merely stepped out. Some of the demons saw him, and raised their weapons, guns, glowing swords, even some items that defied description, and readied themselves for battle. Beyond them all, at the back of the group, Julian sensed the power of the opposing chaos driver, but he could no longer summon the energy to fear it.

The chaos driver in his own hand thrummed with power as he raised it, glowing fiercely with silver light, sensing the imminent command of its owner. No verbal command was necessary, but from barely moving lips Julian uttered the emotionless instruction. "Destroy."

Julian watched, no readable expression on his face, as golden beams of energy sprang out from the chaos driver, aimed directly at the opposing demons. The ones closest to him fell immediately, some dissolving into nothing before they even struck the floor. Rays stretching towards demons further away struck an invisible shield, splashing outwards and changing colour, becomes sprays of black energy, almost as if someone was pouring oil from a great height onto a sheet of glass. It was the opposing chaos driver, being used by the other Architect to protect the demon force.

The resistance seemed pitiful to Julian. As he watched the energy he was projecting being splashed away, he could see the weakness of the defence and the cracks through it. With a casual thought he increased the amount of power flowing through the chaos driver and watched as the black splashes of energy retreated further and further, demons falling one by one, evaporating as the shield cast out by the opposing Architect fell behind them.

Before long, the marshmallow demon Architect was the only creature left standing to oppose Julian. The multiple rays of golden energy combined and shone even brighter as the closed down on the marshmallow demon, slowly collapsing the shield around it, the black splashes becoming more violent as the shield shrank. It occurred to Julian that he could easily push harder and end the battle much more quickly, but he didn't see any point in wasting more energy on such a one sided battle, and he felt so tired and worn by the endless battles, it just didn't seem to matter any more. He could sense the fear and panic of the soon-to-be-dead marshmallow demon, but it hardly touched him in any way, he felt no sorrow and no joy in the death of his opponent. It was just a duty that had to be completed.

But, before the final moment of victory came, the marshmallow demon Architect did something that Julian did not expect. Dropping its shield willingly, opening itself to the energy Julian threw at it, the demon sent as much of its vengeful power as it could muster in the split second before death into its own attack, directed straight at Julian. In the same moment, arrows of gold energy struck the demon, and bolts of black vengeance struck Julian, who had carelessly not bothered to raise any shield against such an attack.

The marshmallow demon flared into non-existence, the chaos driver it held, black with red veins, dropping to the floor with an empty metallic clatter that echoed between the broken buildings. Julian, feeling his body torn through by the blast of black energy, fell to his knees, the blue and silver chaos driver dropping to the floor as it slipped from his hand.

Julian knew he was going to die, and the thought brought a smile to his face. Perhaps, subconsciously, he had left his shields down for that reason, that after so long fighting and seeing everyone around him fall, he simply wanted an end to the existence that, for him, had lost most of its meaning. But suicide had always been out of the question, somehow it felt wrong to give up that way. Perhaps it had been forbidden by some ancient rule of this war, or perhaps it was what sliver of purpose Julian had left. But it didn't matter now, the important thing was that it was over. There would be no more fighting for him. No more pain, no more sorrow, just empty, blissful oblivion.

It didn't come, though. Julian stayed there, motionless, staring at the floor for several minutes, feeling the life draining from him, and feeling somehow fulfilled in his death, like some great journey was ended. But then, nothing happened. His perception didn't fade into nothing, his body didn't fall limply to the floor, he didn't die. And yet, he knew he was dead. The feeling of having been at this moment before, which he had felt before the battle had begun, came back to him, and he knew that he had died, that this was not how things were supposed to be.

Slowly, Julian raised his head, looking out over the fallen bodies of a few of the marshmallow demons that had not been evaporated. Raising his gaze further, he saw the broken buildings and shattered street that lay in front of him, and then, hovering a few feet above the ground, was a giant lemon. Across its skin was a giant face, bearing two eyes that stared back at him and seemed to penetrate to the very depths of his soul. If he could have summoned the energy, Julian would have shivered.

"I should be dead," Julian muttered, staring up at the great lemon.

"Yes," the lemon replied blankly, its expression unreadable.

Julian felt a wry smile creep across his face and he chuckled dryly to himself, some manner of vague understanding crossing his face. "I did die, didn't I?"

"Yes," came the same uniform reply from the lemon. "But," it suddenly added, as if an afterthought, "you are not yet finished."

Julian stared at the lemon, seeing suddenly that it was not yellow, as a lemon should be, but golden. There was something about it, something he could feel just beyond the boundaries of perception, something that was important. He struggled to grasp it as he spoke, slowly and carefully. "What are you?"

"I am what you were, and what you always will be," the lemon replied cryptically. Julian wasn't sure if he preferred the short, one word confirmations or the longer, but more cryptic statements. He kept trying to see through the veil that he knew covered his perception, preventing him from seeing what the lemon truly was.

"What is there left for me to finish?" Julian asked as he tried to break through the mental wall preventing him from seeing truthfully.

"He's coming around," the lemon announced with genuine concern, its voice different from the usual blank tone.

Julian shook his head and tried to figure out what the lemon meant. He began to feel very tired, his eyelids drooping inexorably, and just before he passed from consciousness, he suddenly realised what was happening.

"No, not yet!" He yawned, and fell asleep.

**********

Julian winced as he opened his eyes a little and found his senses assaulted by a wall of white light. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember what had happened, but the memories refused to surface in his mind. Fighting the rising panic he felt, Julian decided the most logical course of action was to assess his situation, without resorting to opening his eyes again.

He seemed to be sitting in what felt like a chair, and quite a comfortable one at that. His body was slumped forwards, his head resting on folded arms that appeared to be on some flat surface. It was cold to the touch, and either wood or some sort of veneered surface, judging from the feel as he stretched his fingers experimentally. A desk, then.

The next reflex was to push himself upright, and it wasn't until he tried this that the full extent of his condition became apparent. His arms felt like lead, and his body could barely raise the energy to shuffle them beneath his head, let alone push himself up. His thoughts felt slow and laboured, and his head ached. He wondered if Nathan had put something more in that drink than a slice of lemon and some ice. Wait, yes, he had been in the Angel, with his new friend Nathan. Then what?

There was a slight pressure on the side of his neck, and Julian felt the panic rise inside himself again. There was a short, sharp prick, and Julian realised that someone was trying to inject him with something. He tried to move away, but the most he could muster was an enthusiastic shrug. He considered trying to open his eyes again.

"Julian, don't try to move. It's just something to clear your system." The voice was unfamiliar, but sounded calm and friendly. It came from the far side of the desk. Julian realised that he didn't have very much in the way of alternative options, so he complied, allowing the injection to occur.

Slowly, the feeling of exhaustion and aching muscles began to lift as the treatment he had been given began to take effect. He regained some of his energy, and managed to plant both palms flat on the desk, straining to push himself upwards. It was a tremendous effort, but he managed it, and let himself slump back into the chair. For a moment, just as he toppled past the point of balance and began to fall back, he realised that he didn't know if this chair even had a back to be fallen on to, and was relieved when, a split second later, his back came into contact with a padded surface, and he allowed himself to relax a little.

His host seemed to be giving him time to recover and adjust to his surroundings, judging by the patient silence that now filled his ears. Every sound that he heard was in someway connected with himself; his palms against the desk, the slight screech of chair legs against the floor as he toppled back. Each sound seemed to echo a little, and sounded almost hollow.

A musty smell filled his nostrils, a smell that brought Julian a long-buried memory of having visited an old newspaper archive in one of the big city libraries as part of a school trip when he was much younger. Julian concluded from this information that he was in a large, open room, possibly some sort of archive for files, and he felt a certain sense of pride in his tired mind for reaching the deduction. His curiosity, though, demanded solid evidence, and so he decided it was time to try opening his eyes again.

He opened his eyelids very slightly again to start with, and his senses were again filled with brightness. But instead of reflexively closing them again, Julian forced his eyes to stay open. Slowly, little by little, his sight adjusted to the glare and intensity, and dark, blurred shapes became apparent against the brightness. Julian tried to focus on them, grasping whatever details he could and trying to resolve them into solid forms in his vision.

Immediately ahead of him was a large dark square, possibly brownish in hue. That had to be the desk. Beyond that, Julian could see the wall, which appeared to be a light colour, maybe a cream or beige, set into which were two very large windows, the source of the intense light. Between the desk and the windows was a tall dark rectangle, the same colour as the desk, but with a light coloured shape in front of it. Julian focussed his attention on this, and over the course of several moments determined that this was a rather large, ornate wooden chair, almost like a throne of sorts, and that its occupant was wearing light coloured clothing, though the details of the person sitting opposite him were beyond his perception.

Looking to the sides, the walls were lined with dark furniture, layered with strokes of other colours, such as deep reds and blues. Putting the evidence he had already collected together, he deduced that these were bookshelves, filled with what were probably fairly old books, which would have explained the musty scent in the room.

Julian settled on the idea of the room being some sort of office, more probably a study, and the thought of shelves of old books and old ornate furniture gave him the image of a professor of history, or some subject that would have need of the aged books that he had decided lined the walls.

That left Julian with just one more question, though. Beyond where he was, and why he was there, there was the question of who had brought him there. Although he didn't know for sure, he was fairly certain that neither Nathan nor Kershaw were the professor type. He just couldn't reconcile the image of people who carried guns and fought in the open streets with the deep calm and sanctuary of his current surroundings, as blurred as they were.

"How are you feeling, Julian?" The voice beyond the desk was filled with patience and concern. For a moment Julian felt as if he had suffered enough random strangers showing him concern over the past day. He shuffled weakly in his chair, still trying to resolve the man sitting opposite him. He had gotten as far as pale skin, framed by light coloured hair, probably blonde, unless it was a reflection of the bright sunlight from the window, and wearing a cream coloured suit. Further detail escaped him for the moment.

"I've been better," Julian moaned. "I don't recall being knocked over by a truck."

There was a gentle chuckle in reply to his comment, then a moment of silence. "Yes, I do apologise about that. But we had to get you out of there in rather a hurry."

"Out of there?" Julian used the phrase to question itself. "Out of where exactly?"

"How much do you remember?" The man asked as he raised himself from the large chair and began to make his way around the large desk. He appeared to make a gesture with his hand and the sound of a door closing behind Julian echoed around the room, the echo giving Julian another indication of the sizeable dimensions of the room. Julian guessed that whoever had administered the medication to clear his system of whatever it was had been standing behind him, and had just been asked to leave.

"I... I remember the Angel," Julian struggled with the most recent memories he could recall. "The Angel's Rest. I was there talking with-" He stopped abruptly, unsure of how much he should give away to this person, who he knew nothing about. Facing his own death more than once in the past day had made his reasonably suspicious of anyone's motives.

"Nathan, yes," the man finished Julian's sentence for him. "Nathan Black, we've been aware of him for sometime."

"Well, yeah. I was there with him, and someone came in and attacked us. Kershaw, I think he's called." Julian had fewer reservations about naming Kershaw, given that he was fairly sure that he wasn't on Julian's side.

The man appeared to nod slightly as he placed a hand on the desk just in front of Julian and began to move some objects around on the desk. Julian watched carefully as the man picked up a vaguely teapot shaped object and started to pour into vaguely cup shaped objects. "Kershaw. Yes, we're aware of him as well."

"We?" Julian questioned innocently as the man continued to pour.

The white suited man chuckled gently and placed the teapot on the desk again. "All in time, Julian. Here, drink this." He passed Julian a warm cup, making sure he had a firm grip on the handle before releasing it into Julian's care. "It's tea, and I am reliably informed that it helps with your current condition." The man retreated back to his seat on the far side of the desk and sat down gracefully. "First of all we have to get you up to speed. So, you remember the Angel, and you remember being attacked. Let me fill you in on the rest."

The man began to explain, and as he did, Julian's memories began to wearily fall into place.

**********

As Nathan threw the table to the side, he dived with it, his just-drawn gun firing wildly at Kershaw, two bullets zipping through the air past him, embedding themselves in the wall behind the bar as the bartender dived into cover.

Julian tried not to look at the evolving battle scene as he dived in the opposite direction as Nathan, beginning a sprint to the nearest exit, which happened to be the entrance to the mens' toilets. Narrowly avoiding collision with the fruit machine against the wall as he ran, Julian threw the door to the toilets open and slammed it shut behind him once he had run through, feeling the concussive shock through the doorframe as a bullet struck it behind him, but didn't penetrate.

Panic ran through him like a drug, filing his bloodstream with adrenaline. He stood, panting, looking around the toilets for any possible escape route. The bland magnolia walls loomed around him, cubicles along the far end of the room offering no help at all. The windows were no more than think slits of glass at the upper edge of the walls, far too small for him to even consider fitting through. He had run himself into a dead end.

Turning back to the door fearfully, Julian heard more shots ring out back in the main bar area. He wondered what was going on, whether Nathan was all right or not. Swallowing his fear, he reached inside his jacket and drew out the small pistol, fingering it gently. Holding it in one trembling hand, he braced himself against the door, ready to throw it open and rejoin the battle, whatever waited out there for him.

Another shot rang out, and Julian took that as his cue. Giving his fear no time to try and reclaim him, he threw the door open and began to run. He paid no attention to his surroundings, he just turned straight for the door and started moving. He was somewhat relieved to not see Kershaw blocking his escape route.

A second or so after Julian started his break for freedom, Julian saw the woodwork of a supporting pillar a couple of feet in front of him explode into chips as part of it was blasted away by a bullet striking it. He almost stopped in panic, but managed to continue, holding out his own pistol in the rough direction the shot had come from and firing back a couple of shots. The gun recoiled with a level of force Julian was not expecting, almost pulling itself free of his hand, but he gripped tightly on to the weapon, as if it was his only lifeline.

The shots must have made a difference, as he did not hear any more guns being fired in the bar area. If he had had the time, Julian would have worried what the lack of firing meant for Nathan, but the door was almost upon him and thoughts of escape filled his mind, blocking any other conscious thought.

Julian's hands, one of them still gripping the pistol tightly, slammed into the door to the Angel and erupted outwards with a loud bang as they swung into the sidewalls of the door beyond. At the same time, Julian heard a loud smashing sound, as if a window had been broken somewhere in the bar. Concentrating on his own problems, Julian burst out on to the street with his gun still in hand, not even stopping to take note of the activity around him.

Some of the pedestrians in the street spotted the gun in Julian's hand and scattered, some flinging themselves to the ground, some just fleeing in terror. But Julian wasn't in much of a state to take notice of them, the same terror as they felt flowing through his own mind. He turned out of the Angel and ran straight into the body of a rather tall man dressed in a black suit, who had just been standing in place outside the door.

The impact gave Julian the shock he needed to push him into evaluating his surroundings more rationally. He bounced back a little from the tall man he had hit, and looked up slowly at his face as he stuffed the gun unceremoniously back into his jacket. Behind the tall man was another, shorter individual, a woman, but dressed in the same kind of all black suit, and wearing dark sunglasses as well, hiding her expression, although Julian was fairly sure her eyes were regarding him as blankly as the man's were.

Before Julian could react, the man raised his hand, in which he held what looked some sort of a cross between a gun and a medical syringe. He pressed the trigger underneath the metallic silver device and a dart fired with a popping sound into Julian's chest, the needle tip driving into his skin. Julian recoiled further in pain and moved his hand to try and remove the dart, but before his fingers could grip his world became fuzzy and started to spin wildly. He was aware of his knees crumbling beneath him and a falling sensation, but by the time he hit the pavement, he was out cold.

**********

"A tranquilliser dart," Julian said, almost amused, his free hand rubbing his chest at the point where the dart had hit.

"I apologise, Julian," the man in the white suit said, spreading his arms in a gesture of repentance. "We had to get you out of there, the situation was dangerous and there were too many unpredictable elements. My people were under orders to find you and remove you from the situation as safely and quickly as possible."

Julian sipped at his tea, contemplating the memory of the shoot out at the Angel. "But why? What interest do you have in seeing me stay alive? Nathan told me there were two sides fighting against each other, that he was on one and Kershaw the other. So, if you were there to rescue me, just which one of them were you rescuing me from? And just who are you anyway?"

"Ah, I'm sorry," the man bowed his head slightly and smiled at Julian. "My name is Professor Arkwright, but you can call me Charles if you wish. And I'm afraid that it sounds like you have been lied to, Julian. You see, Nathan and Kershaw are working together. We've been aware of their schemes for a while now."

Julian stopped half way through taking a sip of his tea, his relaxed expression washing away as he looked up at the Professor, his eyes wide with surprise. After a moment he realised that his upper lip was still submerged in hot tea, and he quickly put his cup down on the edge of the desk. "What? But how?"

Arkwright sighed, a troubled look on his face. He tilted his head a little and stroked his forehead with a thumb and index finger. "It is a worrying situation, Julian. We were fortunate to be able to move quickly enough to save you. Others have not been so... fortunate."

"Wait," Julian said quietly. "This doesn't make sense. If they're working together, then to what aim? And why have they been fighting at each meeting? What is really going on here?"

"I'll try to explain," the Professor offered. "But even we don't know the full extent of what is going on, so there may be gaps. Hopefully, though, I will be able to convince you of the truth of my words."

"I'll listen," Julian nodded slowly, "but I'm not sure I'm going to trust anyone for a while."

Bowing his head slightly in appreciation, the Professor settled back into his chair, resting his hands together over his chest and smiling a little. "Good, thank you." He fell silent for a moment, the furrows on his forehead betraying his moment of deep thought, although Julian wasn't quite able to focus enough to see them clearly. "It's hard to know where to begin, without knowing exactly what you know already. So I'll start with the basics and we'll get you up to speed."

"Fair enough," Julian agreed. "Let's hear it."

"Very well. Tell me, how much do you know of secret societies?"

Raising an eyebrow at the question, Julian shrugged vaguely. "A little. No more than the average guy on the street, all conspiracy theory and mystery. I'm not really convinced of their existence."

Professor Arkwright chuckled dryly and shook his head. "Most people aren't. But then, most people aren't always right." Standing again, he turned to the window and looked out at whatever was outside.

Julian blinked as his eyesight slowly finished clearing and saw the room clearly for the first time. It was certainly a study, fit for a Professor, books lined up along the walls exactly as he had thought. The desk was so ornate to be almost antique, and the cups were finest china. Looking out of the window, Julian saw some sort of enclosed courtyard, buildings hewn from old, gold-brown stone rising up on each side. People milled around the courtyard, some stopping to enjoy the trees growing over the grassed areas, though not for long as the autumn chill would bite through their clothing. Others moved quickly between buildings, laden with satchels, books and papers. A university, perhaps? That would have explained the Professor being there.

"So you're saying that you think secret societies exist?" Julian asked as he continued his appraisal of the room, glancing at a couple of books laid on the desk, reading their titles. They looked like history textbooks.

The Professor didn't turn from the window as he answered. "More than that, Julian; I know they exist." Julian already knew what Arkwright was about to admit, but kept quiet. "I'm part of one."

"What does that fact have to do with Kershaw and Nathan? I'm guessing they are part of a secret society too?"

Nodding slightly, Arkwright smiled, the reflection of the gesture just barely visible to Julian in the glass of the window he faced. "That is correct."

Julian smiled a little. "And I also guess that the society they stand for isn't the same one you do. In fact, even more than that, I'd bet that your society doesn't get on well with theirs."

"Which makes it a good thing I am not a betting man, Julian." The Professor nodded at the window again. "You are correct on both points."

"So," Julian mused, shuffling slightly in his chair. "Why don't your societies get along, what don't they get along over, and what makes me so important to either of your goals that I merit this kind of special attention?"

"I am sure that you appreciate," the Professor said, turning back towards Julian, his body cast in silhouette against the bright light from the outside, "that, given the nature of a secret society, I cannot simply divulge everything about our cause to you at this point." He stepped across the floor and returned to his chair, placing a hand on top of the back support and leaning against it gently. "It is unlikely that you could absorb the full picture right now anyway, I fear, but I will do my best to satisfy at least some of your curiosity."

"All right," Julian agreed, seeing Arkwright clearly for the first time as he stepped out of the light. As his voice suggested, he was an older man, probably in at least his fifties, but the way he carried himself and his expression, as sharp as the cut of his suit, belied a man who had not been dulled at all by the ravages of time. He looked in good physical shape, and his qualification as a Professor showed that his mind was certainly no less well looked after.

Professor Arkwright took a deep, contemplative breath, and began to speak. "There are things in this world older and more powerful than any normal person could dream of. Some of them are wondrous, and some are terrible. But we, of course, are not normal people." The Professor's eyes seemed to sparkle a little with pride. "We are something different."

"You're talking about the Awakening, right?" Julian asked confidently. This explanation was already beginning to sound familiar to him. Perhaps Nathan had not lied so deeply.

There was a pause as the Professor blinked at Julian, clearly not expecting him to have known about the Awakening yet. "Well, yes," he stumbled, nodding. "That is what I am referring to. That, and so much more as well. If Nathan told you about the Awakening, then he must have also told you about the war ordained by Fate herself."

Julian smiled faintly and nodded in acknowledgement. "A little, yes. I know that we were supposedly called by Fate to battle a war of light and darkness, though why and where I don't know." He sighed and shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure I can believe it."

"The truth of that battle is something I have worked most of my life to try to substantiate, Julian. When I started out on this road, I felt very much the same as you do now, so I understand your misgivings." Arkwright sat down gently and rested his palms openly on the desk in front of him, leaning forwards slightly and looking directly at Julian. "I still don't know many details, but trust me, it happened."

"A race of heroes, and a race of demons?" Julian asked, further remembering the explanation Nathan had offered him.

"I suppose, yes, that would be a fair description." The Professor sighed a little and pushed his palms against the desk as he sat back. "Two sides, made equal in number and strength, given and equal chance of victory. We shook the stars themselves with the power we wielded back then. More and more power was unleashed until, finally our numbers dwindled to tiny numbers from the great armies that began. From what we can fathom, it took a very long time for that to happen. Years, decades, centuries, the specifics we aren't sure about, but it was a very long winded and violent war."

"All right, Professor," Julian started.

"Charles, please," Arkwright interrupted.

"Charles," Julian nodded apologetically. "So, if this war actually happened, as you believe, just who won? And why are we all here with so little memory of it, yet with so much seemingly left to fight over?"

"Well, that's the ultimate question, isn't it?" The Professor spread his arms and grinned. "Just why are we here? Why is anything here? What is its purpose?" He leaned back against the desk and raised a finger as he spoke further. "What I know, Julian, is this: What it was that we were fighting over, the reason Fate called us to that place, it isn't over yet. Our best theories, scraped together from what little we can remember, suggest that perhaps no-one won, however that could have occurred. Or perhaps, the battle was not won convincingly enough to satisfy Fate. There are some who say that our arrival here is just by chance, there is no meaning to it at all."

"I'm starting to believe that very few things happen by chance," Julian commented wryly.

"Agreed," the Professor nodded. "But whatever reason there is for us being here right now, this war has followed us, and so we must fight it. We are aware of each other, of the past blood between our races, and the sides are becoming ever more confrontational as our numbers grow. We have no other option."

"But what prize is there for winning this fight? What point is there for all this bloodshed?" Julian shivered a little, remembering some of the details of his tranquilliser-induced dream, brought forward by talk of the war and fighting.

"Right now?" Arkwright said questioningly. "There is only one prize for us fighting now, Julian, and it may not seem like much, but it is one of the most important prizes there can be. We fight for our survival. There is too much blood, too much bad memory between the two sides. We were called to that place to fight each other, perhaps even called into our very existences for that one singular purpose. There couldn't be a peace between us."

"And where do Nathan and Kershaw fit into this exactly?" Julian asked. "Last thing I recall, they were trying to kill each other in the Angel, and they seemed pretty serious about it."

Professor Arkwright sighed and nodded slowly. "Yes, our good friends Nathan and Kershaw. They have been very busy indeed." He paused and shook his head. "I'm sorry, this is a rather distressing subject for me. They've been painfully thorough in their deceptions."

Julian gave the Professor a few seconds, his expression sympathetic. "I understand, but I have to know. What exactly was it that I nearly fell foul of?"

"When we were called to fight, the battle lines were clearly drawn. Each warrior knew what they stood for, light or dark, and knew who stood with them, and who stood against them." Arkwright sighed again and shrugged, his face full of sadness. "But now, it is different. With the lost memories and uncertainty that haunt us all, it is a challenge just to remember where you stood in that battle, or even that you stood at all. And recognising those that stood with you, well, it can be nigh on impossible, especially for someone so new to the truth as yourself, someone who probably has not even discovered the full depths of themselves."

"Your new friends, Nathan and Kershaw," the Professor continued with new determination in his voice, "are involved in deception of the gravest sort. They meddle with the minds of the newly Awakened such as yourself. It starts with a chance meeting such as yours in Livingstone Street recently. One will play the ‘good' guy, and one the ‘bad'.

"In your case, Nathan took you under his wing, so to speak. He told you as much as he needed to in order to pique your curiosity, to build on what you might have learnt through any faded memories of your previous life to give you just enough to make you believe that what he was telling you could be the truth. Between Kershaw attacking you, and Nathan saving you, firstly at the underground station, and then in the Angel, he built up your trust and convinced you, or would have been on the path to convincing you to fight alongside him.

"The next thing that happens, he miraculously announces that Kershaw has had a change of heart and will fight on his side as well. So then you are all fighting on the same side and their little recruitment process continues. Those that don't choose to stand with them or see through the lies end up dead." Professor Arkwright paused for a moment, then continued in more sullen tones. "You remember the shooting on Sycamore Drive three weeks past? As I remember it made quite a splash in the national press. Two young adults, killed in cold blood together?"

Julian nodded, shivering a little as he recalled the memory of the gruesome pictures in the press that day. Suddenly his eyes widened slowly in horrified realisation. "You aren't saying that was...?"

The Professor nodded solemnly. "Kershaw and Nathan. Two of their less enthusiastic recruits who unfortunately didn't buy into their deceptions, and they paid the heaviest price for it. We usually try to keep a watch on them, which is how we managed to be in the right place to rescue you, but that night they got away from us and we were left helpless to assist. The only saving grace of the whole incident was that they weren't able to cover it up as they usually manage to. It will make them more cautious, perhaps a tad slower to act in the future, but that is little consolation for the loss of two good lives." Arkwright brought his fist down on to the desk angrily and abruptly stood up at the same time in one flowing movement, his anger at the tragic event all too evident. He turned towards the window and stared out at the courtyard again. "Whatever you do," he muttered sorrowfully, "you can't save them all."

Julian allowed the Professor a moment to calm himself as he thought over what had been explained, and compared it to what Nathan had told him. There were certainly a lot of similarities, but it left him with two people who were opposed to each other, but who both claimed to represent the side of light. That meant he was either in danger right now, being with the Professor, or as soon as he left his company, he would be a prime target for two gun-wielding murderers. Either way, he had more to worry about now than he had done 48 hours ago. Suddenly, the Silverline Fisheries project felt like a walk in the park by comparison.

"Charles," Julian realised he had been staring at the desk for a couple of minutes while the Professor stood at the window, motionless. He raised his gaze to Arkwright's white-suited back as he addressed him. "I'm sorry, but I have another question."

The Professor turned slowly back towards Julian and smiled warmly. "Certainly, Julian. What else can I help to clear up for you?"

"Well, it was something that I felt with Nathan, and with Kershaw. Something that Nathan called the Shriek, and the Calling. He said that we could feel in each other what side we belonged to, that it helped us to recognise who was fighting who." Julian struggled for a moment over how to phrase his question, then spoke uncertainly. "But I don't feel anything from you, and Kershaw gave me the opposite feeling to Nathan, which says to me that they really are on opposite sides. If that is true, then how can what you are saying be right?"

"You've already said it yourself, Julian." Professor Arkwright waved a hand in Julian's direction. "If it is true. But, put simply, it is not true. You see, either Nathan or Kershaw, or maybe both of them, we don't know, have drawn some kind of ability from their previous incarnations that allow them to manipulate certain sensory inputs in other people, causing them pain, pleasure, and anything in between. It is merely another level of the deception they have laid down." He saw Julian's uncertain expression and sighed a little. "I know it sounds unlikely, but look at the alternative explanation; We all carry around some unknown energy that marks us clearly out for any other Awakened individual to see? Doesn't that feel just a little too convenient?"

"I suppose," Julian muttered, not entirely convinced. "But if all of what you said is true, and they could have ended up killing me if I didn't agree to join them, why did Nathan give me a gun? I could have shot them!"

"Ah, yes, the pistol," Arkwright nodded. "Let me see it."

Julian looked a little mistrustfully at the Professor as he fished the weapon from his jacket pocket, holding the scuffed silver firearm in his right hand, his expression belying the decision that was being fought over in his mind of whether or not to give the only defence he had away.

"Don't worry," Professor Arkwright said reassuringly as he noticed Julian's expression. "You can keep it. Here," he moved across to some of the shelves and pulled some particularly weighty looking tomes on the floor, opening one or two of them as he placed them in a haphazard pile. Backing off, he pointed at the books. "Try shooting them."

A confused expression on his face, Julian lined up the pistol as he could, trying to recall how such a thing was done in the movies he had seen recently. He squeezed the trigger and winced at the loud bang that erupted from the weapon as it fired and echoed around the room.

The door flew open, and a tall man in a black quit dashed in, looking alarmed. Julian couldn't quite recall if it was the same person who had shot him with the tranquilliser gun outside the Angel. Right now, he was willing to let it slide. The man looked at the Professor, then at Julian, who had hidden the gun behind his back reflexively as the door had opened. "I thought I heard a shot."

"Don't worry, Steve," Professor Arkwright smiled genially. "I just dropped these. I forget how heavy they are sometimes." He indicated the books scattered on the floor with a hand.

Steve nodded slowly, then retreated from the room without any further comment. His expression had remained stern and suspicious throughout. Julian found himself briefly entertaining the amusing thought that he was some kind of robot.

Raising the pistol again, Julian examined the barrel, as if there would be some clue as to why the books had remained unharmed. "Blanks?" He ventured.

"Precisely," the Professor confirmed. "They took no chances, probably relied on your lack of firearms experience to explain away the fact that you never hit anything."

Julian put the pistol back in his jacket and went back to sitting in the chair, suddenly feeling much more defenceless, even though he had known that, with his lack of firearms skills, he was probably pretty much unable to use the weapon properly anyway.

"Actually, Julian, you might be better leaving that with me here," Arkwright advised gently as he sat back on his side of the desk, leaving the books scattered on the floor. "It's not much use to you as it is, and there's the risk of you getting caught by more mundane forces and prosecuted if you keep hold of it."

"I suppose you're right, Charles," Julian nodded as he fished the gun out of his jacket again and placed it on the desk carefully. He sighed and rested his elbow on the desk, then supported his forehead with his palm, staring at the gold etching that lined the top of the desk surface. "This is all just so much," he sighed. "What am I supposed to do now?"

The Professor smiled.