The Sleeper and the Silverblood

Ninthëvel.

A word which summed up centuries of pain and heartbreak: Storm had seen it play out on his mother’s face the few times it had been mentioned in her presence. And Kitara was one of them.

The information stunned him so much, he didn’t remember leaving Myragos. When he passed the long-term care facility again, all the pain and grief he and his father had experienced at her condition welled up and overwhelmed him. Once inside the AIDO consulate, he had to stand by until a portal slot became available. It was all he could do to keep his emotions in check while he waited. By the time he returned, he had to see her. Had to confirm for himself. Had to force her look him in the eye and decide whether to lie to him.

She didn’t.

Pain crackled in Storm’s chest. She didn’t try to deny it. Maybe it would make things easier if she had. Maybe these feelings he harbored wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t have to see the pain in her own expression. The shock, the fear…

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if he could say with certainty he wouldn’t burn down his entire world for her if she asked him to, Ninthëvel or not.

The Ninthëvels were traitors, murderers—and her father was responsible for his mother’s coma, he was certain of it.

Then it turned out the “Ninthëvels,” like the Avensäels, were actually “Myragnar.”

Not just Myragnar, if the files he unearthed were true: noble Myragnar.

“...What does that make you?”

“I don’t know…”

But if it made him anything, it also made Kitara…

Storm groaned and rubbed his eyes hard with both hands. Something had drawn him to her from the very start. A sense of otherness, an echo of his own feelings of not belonging. He had perceived it even when he still viewed Kitara as a threat. She’d sensed it too—hell, she told him as much.

Fuck me.

He shouldn’t have gone straight to her. He should have taken a breath, wrapped his mind around the situation, approached it rationally.

But rage and betrayal drowned out reason. He had allowed his raw emotions to dictate his actions.

Again.

Before Kitara, Storm thought he had an iron-fisted grip on his emotions. He hadn’t become a Major through rash actions or emotional outbursts. Yet, the woman who’d invaded his world and his mind had a way of shaking his foundations, of making him question all he thought he knew about himself and the world around him.

He’d walked into the dark strip, not making the slightest effort to blend in, and confronted her. Quietly, sure. But even through the noise and dimness of the bar, someone noticed Kitara’s tears.

Idiot.

He’d been taught to consider Kitara the enemy. Hell, everything from Valëtyrian history to his own father said the same.

But…his mother still went to save Moriah and her Ninthëvel partner.

Had she known?

Storm should have seen nothing but his mother’s pallid face. Her dull gray hair. Her shallow breathing.

But all he could see was Kitara’s expression, her tear-filled eyes and agonized expression.

As he brooded over his actions, he found himself drawing parallels between his own behavior and that of his father.

The great Councilor Avensäel, reserved even before the accident, brought to his knees by his mother’s injury.

Without his mother’s fire, the coolness of his father’s demeanor hardened to just shy of unreachable. A monolith of icy detachment, wide and impenetrable, separating him not only from outsiders but his own son as well.

Wasthis why? Because he preferred numbness to this agonizing turmoil? Because the absence of feeling was better than being consumed by it? His father, so determined to see the worst in everyone, cynical almost to the point of cruelty. Was Storm destined to follow in those footprints, his own soul encased in an icy dark tower of pain?

He didn’t want that.

Yet, here he was, consumed by grief, betrayal, and regret.

Sleep, he thought. Perhaps what he needed was a clear head. Tomorrow, he would sort this mess out.

In the darkness, the force field around the AIDO’s perimeter was as good as invisible. Thankfully, the twelve-foot fence wasn’t. Listening for the sound of approaching patrols, Storm spread his wings and propelled himself up and over the imposing barrier.

He landed in a crouch with a muted thud and waited a beat. Only silence responded, and for the briefest of moments, he breathed easier.

An ear-splitting siren split the night. Floodlights exploded into life from the fence overhead.

“Fuck,” he grunted, scrambling for cover from the exposing illumination as his heartbeat thundered in time with the blaring alarm.

He needn’t have bothered.

Guardians converged in seconds. The night filled with shouts to stay where he was, not to move. The ominous sound of disengaging safeties clicked around him, and Storm slowly raised his hands to show he bore no weapons—for the moment.

Two Guardians approached, their semi-automatic weapons trained on him, ordering him to identify himself.

“Major Storm Avensäel,” he stated loudly and clearly. “I’ve got my AIDO device in my back pocket—I’m going to reach for it to get my creds.” Silver eyes or not, the Guardians would never rely on that as the sole proof of his identity.

One of the angels nodded sharply. “Slowly,” he commanded, maintaining his weapon’s aim.

Storm complied, moving with deliberate slowness to retrieve his phone from his pocket. With equal caution, he pulled it out and activated the holographic display, which fluttered to life with the AIDO’s griffin insignia, followed by his official identification.

The Guardians inspected it carefully, their expressions relaxing a notch once they confirmed his identity. One signaled for the floodlights and siren to be turned off.

“We still have to escort you inside, Major,” the other Guardian said tersely.

“I understand,” Storm sighed.

His dad was going to kill him.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” one Guardian asked as the others lowered their weapons and re-engaged their safeties.

“Honestly? I don’t even know,” Storm muttered as the other angel grabbed a handful of his jacket and shoved him in the direction of the front gate.

Storm bristled marginally at the rough grip but silently allowed himself to be led, knowing he was very much not in a position to protest.

Four of the Guardian regiment loaded into an SUV as the first shoved him into another vehicle to transport him into the underground cavern. They escorted him all the way into the AIDO’s security wing, where Alasdair and an off-duty Declan waited with matching scowls.

Forget his dad; Alasdair and Declan might kill him first.

“You fucking idiot,” Declan muttered as the Guardians released Storm into their custody.

“Your dad’s on his way,” Alasdair bit out.

“Fantastic,” Storm grumbled.

“I told you to tell me,” Declan snapped. “I told you. What the hell did you think would happen if you didn’t?”

“It’s been a day,” Storm shot right back. “It slipped my mind, okay?”

Declan’s blue eyes flashed with annoyance. “Slipped your mind? That’s your excuse?”

“Yeah, well…” Storm trailed off, running a hand through his black hair in frustration.

“Dec, I’m going to need help with damage control,” Alasdair said, his voice low. “Might want to wake up Zayne.”

“Great,” the Guardian muttered. “I’m gonna be up all night doing paperwork.”

Alasdair’s dark eyes slid to Storm, his expression hardening again. “Consider yourself lucky—it’s only your dad’s position keeping you out of a maximum-security cell right now.”

Storm opened his mouth to retort, but Declan’s heavy hand on his shoulder silenced him.

“Don’t make this worse, Storm,” the Guardian warned quietly, his grip firm but not harsh. “We’re trying to help you out here.”

Storm clenched his jaw but conceded with a curt nod.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Declan muttered. “Try not to get yourself sent back to Valëtyria in the meantime.”

Storm sighed, and some of the fight left him. “I’ll do my best.”

Declan disappeared down the long corridor, presumably to find Zayne. Storm shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall behind him.

As the silverblood brooded in silence, Alasdair moved to a console on the other side of the room, his fingers dancing over the holographic keyboard.

“Was it worth it?” The Engineer’s question cut through the silence, his tone neither accusatory nor sympathetic.

Storm didn’t answer, staring blankly into the distance. His mind returned to Kitara, her emerald eyes bright with unshed tears as she begged him to let her explain. Her pleas haunted him now, reverberating through his skull with painful intensity.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Storm finally muttered, his voice choked with regret.

Alasdair glanced at him, his brow furrowed with concern now. He didn’t have a chance to respond, however; the High Councilor chose that moment to sweep into the office, shutting the door and closing himself inside with the Engineer and his son.

“High Councilor,” Alasdair greeted briskly, his tone professional. He offered a small bow before adding, “Storm has—”

“I know what my son has done,” Cornelius cut him off without even a glance in his direction. His cool gaze focused on Storm, a punishment in itself. “I understand the circumstances, thank you.”

“Dad—”

“No.” Cornelius held up a hand. “You have clear, explicit orders to remain inside the facility boundaries. So when I was notified you breached the perimeter tonight, I reviewed your location logs, only to find you’ve been outside the AIDO perimeter repeatedly!”

Irritation flooded Storm’s veins. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“Lose the attitude,” his father growled. “You have jeopardized your safety and the security of this facility with your recklessness.”

“I had a job to do,” Storm retorted.

“Your job does not involve running off on your own without authorization or backup,” Cornelius countered, maintaining an even tone. “I won’t have my own son flaunting the rules that keep our people safe while endangering himself and others.”

The electricity in Storm’s veins surged in anger. “My job, my purpose, is to protect and support my Sleeper, or have you forgotten already how we got here? You assigned me to her!”

Cornelius spared Alasdair a wary glance. “And yet, you possess no qualms about revealing yourself outside of the profession, despite your responsibilities—”

“Oh, to the head of security? Whose clearance probably extends beyond mine? If that’s how you’re trying to justify your overbearing micromanagement, at least come up with a better—”

“Justification?” Anger leaked into the High Councilor’s voice, betraying his agitation. “This is not about justification, Storm. This is about protocol and your blatant disregard for it. You are not exempt from following orders.”

Storm gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles whitening. “I never considered myself exempt from following orders.” His silver eyes locked onto his father’s icy gaze. “I am well aware of my duties and responsibilities.”

“Apparently not,” Cornelius snapped. “The tenets of the Sleeper profession are absolute. You do not speak of them outside of verified, approved personnel. You’ve proven yourself unfit for the role and as of this moment, you are relieved of your position as a handler.”

Shock reverberated through Storm’s chest, mirrored by the lines of electricity dancing over his clenched fists.

Cornelius turned to the Engineer, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else at that moment. “Vidmar, I want his aura restricted to these grounds. If he puts so much as a toe outside the perimeter, I want every alarm in this facility to sound—all the way up to my office.”

“Of course, High Councilor.” Alasdair pulled out his tablet and tapped in a sequence.

“Dad, that’s—”

Cornelius turned on Storm again. “Do not argue with me. You had your chance to prove yourself, and you failed.”

“Failed?” Storm scoffed. “You never wanted me to succeed in the first place!”

“Because I don’t trust your judgment!”

“That’s ironic, coming from you,” Storm snarled. “After everything you’ve done…all the secrets and lies the last fifty years…you have the audacity to lecture me about trust?”

Alasdair’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“Storm,” Cornelius growled, “I don’t know what you mean, but now is not—”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Storm’s voice cracked as he fought to control the electricity sparking wildly around his hands. “You lied about mom, about Phoenix…you even ordered the Myragnar to lie to me, for stars’ sake!”

Cornelius froze, his icy demeanor faltering for the first time. “Whatever I did, I did for the safety of our people, for your protection—”

“Protection?” Storm’s laughter echoed in the small room, void of any real humor. “Tell me: did Kitara’s family hurt Mom when she went to protect them? Wasn’t Kitara protecting someone else from Phoenix? Go on—I want to hear from you what you think protection means!”

“Storm, you need to understand—“

“No,” Storm interjected sharply, power radiating off him so palpably the lights flickered. “What I need is honesty. For once.”

His father clasped his hands in front of him. “I never said that…family hurt your mother. And Phoenix nearly died.”

“You implied it,” Storm snapped. “You wanted me to believe it. And Kitara didn’t fight Phoenix without a reason, did she.”

“It’s not that simple—“ Cornelius began, his voice thick with veiled frustration.

“Simplify it then! Why did the fight happen?”

“I can’t disclose the details to you, it’s a matter of security—”

“You owe me an answer.” Storm bit out every word with vicious emphasis. “Did Kitara attack Phoenix without cause or not?”

Cornelius didn’t immediately reply. The strained silence stretched, a crushing weight of a thousand unsaid words between them.

“No,” his father finally said with a quiet reluctance. “But it was a…precarious situation. He was a well-known public figure, hanging on by a thread—”

“I bet if you mentioned he was a rapist—”

“Alleged.”

“—that would—alleged? Are you serious?”

“We did not have the resources to deal with that scandal at the time,” Cornelius told him darkly. “Kitara wanted him out of the facility, we obliged.”

“He assaulted someone—”

“And was dealt with, in his own way,” Cornelius interrupted. “He didn’t go unpunished, just…unexposed.”

Storm turned his back on his father, his chest heaving with the exertion of keeping his temper in check and glanced at Alasdair. The Engineer avoided his gaze, but his furrowed brow indicated his own distaste.

“You hid the truth to save face, to protect the image of this organization,” Storm growled, turning back again. “Phoenix deserved exposure for what he did. Instead, you let him slip into obscurity while Kitara took the heat for it.”

“We are not here to discuss Kitara, we are here because of your actions tonight,” Cornelius said tightly.

“Yes, let’s discuss my actions.” Storm’s voice dropped to a deadly rasp. “Let’s discuss how I vilified and confronted a woman who has done nothing but serve as the scapegoat for your lies.”

Cornelius shook his head. “Just because you’ve discovered a facet of the truth does not mean you understand the entirety of it,” he said quietly. “And sometimes, decisions are made that may seem harsh or even cruel, decisions that haunt us later, but which were made for a reason. Such as the one I must make now.” The Councilor’s eyes narrowed at his son. “You are restricted to these grounds, no exceptions, no allowances. If I find out you’ve been outside this facility again, I will have you confined to Valëtyria, do you understand?”

“Confined to Valëtyria?” Storm echoed, the threat hanging heavy in the room. “So you’d reduce me to no better than Mom? A prisoner—”

“Enough,” Cornelius bit out with a chill so tangible the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. “I am the High Councilor of Valëtyria, and you will respect my authority, even if you do not understand my actions. You may not agree with this decision, or any that I have made in the past. Do you understand?”

The words tasted bitter on Storm’s tongue. “Yes sir.”

The High Councilor cast frigid blue eyes back at Alasdair. “Did you finish?”

“Yes sir,” Alasdair echoed, like he hadn’t just witnessed a spectacular fight between the High Councilor and his son.

Cornelius nodded once, then swept out of the room without another word or glance back.