Dčjá vu
Disclaimer: Legacy of
Kain belongs to Edios and
Rating: PG-13
Part: One of One
Set: During Blood Omen one, after the
events of SR2
Authoress note: Playing
through SR2 to stave off boredom during revision, this idea popped into my head
after talking to Vorador, he mentions watching Raziel in the pillars clearing.
For all my
reviewers, who without I would have surely given up a long time
ago.
Dčjá vu
{Vorador}
He had
never understood time travel.
The fact
that a person could be born in one year but still be influencing events
centuries in there own past confused and worried him. He disliked the risks involved,
how much power those individuals could have and how much damage they could do
frightened him. But he was still housing one such individual. He had been there
that day when the blue ‘saviour’ had
emerged from the Keep that had at the time housed Moebius and his rotten little
cut-throat army. He had watched as the creature wandered into the pillars glade
where another was waiting for him.
In truth
they had both frightened Vorador. The ragged blue creature had seemed confused
but clearly wielded enough power to be dangerous, and his anger flew off him in
waves, this gave Vorador concern as angry creatures with large amounts of
strength usually did things that could never be undone. But it was the other
that had given Vorador true reason to worry. He had smelt vampiric and appeared
evolved, this was no weak and feeble fledgling, yet Vorador had never seen him
before now and this confused him. He had thought himself the only surviving
vampire of strength.
Where had
this one come from?
He had
listened to them speak and had understood points of the conversation but not
all the references, the vampire whom the ragged blue creature had called Kain,
had spoken confusingly about what was happening now and what could happen in
the future. Vorador had jerked at the vampires name, he had heard it somewhere
before but for the moment his memory eluded him. Kain’s words were twisted and
shrouded in metaphor so much so that Vorador had a hard time following and the
events he spoke were happening as he spoke, how could he know these things. How
could he know that the guardians were collapsing under their own weight?
Vorador was unsure exactly what was happening but after centuries spent with
Janos and the ancient vampires he knew what the pillars magic felt like enough
to recognise when something drastic was going wrong.
Kain
continued to speak even as the pillars blackened around him and had sounded
somewhat unstable, but his voice was far to calm, too controlled for someone who
was truly deranged. Vorador had continued to listen until the vampire had
vanished and the ragged creature that he learned was called Raziel moved away. He
watched confused as the creature held up his arms and vanished from sight and
all other senses. He called his Ravens and sent them out, he wanted to find
him.
He was
unsure why he had continued to follow the creature, it was strange but he felt
drawn to these two. There was something achingly familure about the vampire and
blue creature, something he could not quiet put his finger on and it had given
him an odd feeling. He had eventually spoken to the creature outside of the
ancient’s temple and had learned very little, but had retreated despite this,
his own anger flaring up.
During the
conversation he had remembered where he had heard the name Kain before.
Vampires meddling in the affairs of men, he remembered the tale and how it had
sparked Moebius’ little genocide. It angered him deeply but confused him even
more so, the vampire in the history tale had been named Kain, and he had been
depicted in the tale as a fledgling. Was it possible that that Kain and the one
talking at the pillars were the same? It was unlikely though, despite the
circumstances not enough time had yet passed for the fledgling in the tale to
have matured the way the vampire in the glade had clearly been. No doubt that
fledgling was dead.
He had let
the thought drop for ten years but then found his curiosity peak once again
when he had overheard Moebius’ men speak of the Soul Reaver, he had known
Moebius had the blade in the Keep, but had never really thought of it, for
there had been tales of moving the blade to Avernus, and there had been tales
of the blade disappearing entirely. But these men spoke of the broken blade
being mended. He had taken flight at those words and had infiltrated the Keep
with ease. It was never hard to steal inside even when the Serefan were in
power but now it was child’s play.
The
cathedral was large but not particularly impressive, not to one who had seen
the stone work of the ancient vampires. He had moved silently through the empty
cathedral and had entered the tomb of William the Just and indeed the blade had
been restored. But the tomb was cracked down the centre, it looked as if a god
had ripped it in two and the mortals had pushed it back together. The blade
rested atop the fractured stone and it was indeed whole once more. Vorador had
paused, his hand lingering over the relic; there was a scent on the blade. A
scent he not smelt for years, a scent that he had caught once in the glade of
the pillars when two creatures had spoken and argued.
He had
thought on it for sometime, almost getting spotted in the Keep because of his
confusion. But after a few days he had no new answers, and only the memory kept
replying in his mind. He had been so certain that the blue creature had been
responsible for the pillars decay even despite the words of the vampire who had
spoken of the insane guardians being the cause. He had even named himself as a
guardian. But Vorador had still been so sure that it was the demonic looking
creature that had been the true cause, something about him had stank of
betrayal and of the vampires ancient enemy. But there had been no sign of
either him or the vampire in so many years.
So he had
allowed the thought to slip from his mind once more, it was an easy thing to do
and twenty years passed silently and he never found reason to think on what he
had seen in the glade or the cathedral until this day. His home had been
attacked, but not by Moebius, guardian of time and leader of the ‘purge’ but
rather by a lone fledgling vampire. The fledgling had slaughtered half of his
household before finally stopping when confronted by Vorador. They had spoken
and Vorador had learned this one was also called Kain. But that had not been
what had made the elder tense, what had frightened him more than he would ever
admit was the scent. It was the exact same scent as the scent in the glade and
in the cathedral.
He had
made excuses at first; it was his mind, his imagination, this could not be real,
it was all to confusing. But it was real, for while in
Williams’s tomb he had seen the glass window, he recognised the fledgling
physically, he had never seen one like this before, so pail he looked to be cut
from alabaster. Then there was the scent, he recognised it as the one from the
glade and the weak one that had been left on the blade in the cathedral.
It was the
same creature.
The murderer
of William, the vampire in the glade and the fledgling in front of him were all
one and the same. There was only one way this could be possible, time-travel.
This creature knew the magic’s of Moebius, part of the scent on him gave him
away as a pillar guardian but he could not be guardian to the time pillar as
Moebius still took breath, no this one had to be another and the only logical
choice was balance for Ariel had been the only death in so long. Standing in
front of him now was the hub of the circle, dear god. Vorador swallowed hard
and stood, the fledgling Kain raised an eyebrow at him, apparently innocent of
Vorador’s thoughts and the knowledge of what he would one day become.
Vorador had
never truly wanted to meddle in the affairs of time-travel and those who know
its secrets, for the slightest thing, the smallest wrong move could bring the
future down in ruins around his feet. But so many had died in the genocide, so
many that he had cared for had fallen to Moebius’ mob and the creature in front
of him was the apparent cause. With that thought he felt his talons tense and
had to concentrate to stop himself from leaning across the table and tearing
the fledgling’s throat out. Anything to stop what had happened.
But he
could not kill this one, for he had seen what he would do when older, had seen
how the fledgling when older had tried to reason with the blue creature, the
creature that had made Vorador think of old paintings, of head-crests and
battles. Perhaps the ancients were right, perhaps their saviour had come at
last, as had another, the ancient enemy had been prophesised to raise a champion
of there own. What if this one blinking at him now with a rather strange and
confused expression on his face was all that stood between Nosgoth and the
ancient enemy and therefore destruction.
Vorador
bit the inside of his mouth in frustration, why had Janos not told him more? Why
had he left him so defenceless against all of this? Why had he only told him scraps?
Kain coughed quietly and Vorador glanced at him, the fledgling was frowning at
him a perplexed expression lingering on his features. Vorador shook himself,
this one was so young but already he had proven himself strong and unusually
attuned to the magic’s in their land. So no Vorador would not risk killing the
one who had a chance at saving them all even if he didn’t really believe that the
ancients were right or that this fledgling stood much of a chance of doing
anything, the young rarely survived these days.
But still
he would do something.
He
disliked meddling in the affairs of time travel but he would risk it for this,
and so he warned the fledgling Kain,
“Do not
meddle in the affairs of men.”
He could
only hope it would be enough.
End Ficlet
Authoress note: This was one of those ideas
that’s always better in my head than when I put it on paper or screen.
Please review.