The First Age

Carter was a man on a mission, fueled by a mix of hope and desperation, searching for Colette, the woman who occupied every corner of his heart. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind a thousand times, imagining a grand reunion where he would win back her affection. Yet, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her entering the room. Colette was a vision in silvery blue, her gown cascading around her like moonlight on water, her blonde hair artfully arranged to accentuate her features. Her mask, vibrant and delicately feminine, added an ethereal quality to her presence, making her seem untouchable, a goddess among mortals.

But it was the man by her side that brought Carter's fantasies crashing down. Tall, confident, handsome and strong, he was everything Carter feared. A surge of jealousy ignited within him, fierce and consuming. The sight of Colette, so radiant and seemingly content, on the arm of another man was a blow he hadn’t anticipated.

Before he could succumb to the bitter cocktail of emotions threatening to overwhelm him, a voice cut through his thoughts. "Sir?" she inquired, an eyebrow raised as if she saw through his façade. It was a mere waitress.

Carter’s head snapped towards her, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "What?” he responded sharply, the word laced with his frustration.

"Do you even know whose party this is?" she asked quietly, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

Taken aback, Carter found himself at a loss for words. His mind raced, but no plausible explanation came to him. Before he could muster a response, the waitress was whisked away by another guest, leaving him in a growing sea of uncertainty.

Realizing the precariousness of his situation, Carter knew he needed to regroup. Colette's attention was the prize, but now was not the time for rash actions. With a resolve hardened by necessity, he decided to bide his time, to wait for the perfect moment to reveal himself to her.

The conversation continued. Nikolai found himself talking more and more with Scion and Konstantin, though he was aware that he would soon depart to speak with others of the aristocracy. However, he was lingering because he knew the hosts of the ball would soon make their opening remarks, and when they did, everyone would see that the Ascendancy was close by.

As such, a waitress was summoned to pass flutes of cold champagne, her demeanor professional and tray expertly balanced. Nikolai did not intend to indulge, but he would hold a glass anyway. He would even raise it at the appropriate moment in toast to the Vasilievs.

Nikolai turned to accept the glass that would serve only as a symbol of support, but he was suddenly struck with surprise. The appearance of the waitress struck him with the force of a revelation. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman who had been haunting his dreams lately, her features almost identical, a mirror image of the past. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the ambient noise of the party fading into a distant echo. The dissonance of the moment was unpleasant. He had only one other bizarre encounter with dreams come to life, and it did not escape his attention that the man responsible was also here tonight.

He studied her face, quickly picking up on slightly different details than memory imparted. The resemblance was uncanny – the curve of her jaw, the way her hair framed her face, even the slight tilt of her head as she waited for their response. They could be sisters.

Ever the charismatic leader, even the Ascendancy graciously acknowledged the receipt of the glass. “Thank you,” he said and promptly turned his attention back to Scion, the oddity of the moment put to the back of his mind.

He was on top of the world, walking into the party with his stunning wife on his arm. As they entered, he twisted her arm and placed a delicate kiss on the back of her hand, smiling up at her as he did. The gesture of affection was the sort of thing his father would deride, and as soon as he realized Scion was nearby, Maksim resumed their previous posture as smooth as he could.

He shook Grigori’s hand, tightening his grip as firm as he could. These displays were exhausting, but Maksim fell into the façade of masculinity like a habit.

“Grigori. Mm, you look good.” He said of the other man’s appearance, only to realize that the compliment wasn’t the sort of thing he should say to his brother-in-law. He covered the slip of the tongue quickly. “You must have a hot date. You’ll show her a good time, I’m sure.” He smirked.

He curiously studied her reaction to the whisper, following her line of sight just as she followed Grigori’s. He waited until after Grigori left to inquire. “Who is that?” He leaned close, eager to comprehend the drama unfolding.

“That’s Dima’s ex,” she replied. “A french girl named Noémi. It wasn’t a smooth break-up.” The look in her eye said that the story was riddled with drama. Maksim pursed his lips, brows lifting. She was beautiful but did not hold a flame to Alina.

“In…ter…es…ting…” And he scanned the room, hoping not to miss a thing.

He shook Daniil’s hand, grasping with the firm grip of a swordsman. “That’s a nice grip, you have there, Daniil. You sure you’re a lawyer and not a ninja?” A swift swing smacked him on the shoulder. It was “friendly.” Probably only hurt a little.

Zixin nodded along as if he was listening to Daniil’s droning voice (droning Danny; hah), but really, he was looking at the way Sofia’s dress clung to her curves. The red silk hovered like lingerie, and his lips were slowly pulling into an appreciative curl the longer he watched. “Of course I kept my promise,” he spoke quietly to her even while Daniil was still droning.

But his amma raised him to be a polite guest. He soon turned back to Daniil, speaking over the end of his final words like plugging a leak in a boat. “Thank you for the condolences, friend. My dearest Auntie Yun is greatly missed… Oh! Where are my manners?” His attention suddenly drank in the luscious Elena, upon whose hand he mimed a kiss. “Your date is correct. How can we dwell on sorrows when there is so much to celebrate.” His eyes held hers until she swallowed and turned away. If she played a part, she did well. Zixin approved Daniil’s choice.

A snap of the fingers summoned a waitress as drinks were being passed in anticipation of a toast. Handing one to Sofia, he turned her aside to speak only for her. “Fuck him but she’s hideous.” He stifled a laugh, adding, “or maybe it’s just you’re standing too close to her.” He smiled a knowing smile. If anyone could make an obscenely corny compliment work, it was Zixin Kao.

Raffe blinked when Kristian’s hand reached out. He’d worked plenty of places where you had to keep an eye out for that sort of thing, but it took him by surprise in the middle of a ballroom. He didn’t move away, but he suddenly felt like a bug behind glass. The man said something about auras; the words washed over him, but for now at least all he felt was punctured by the attention. He’d come here for Noémi, but in that moment all he wanted to do was turn around and walk away from it all. Kristian poked at an open wound, and it only reminded him how numb his reactions were. The affability of his expression slipped, the smile vanished. He felt hollow inside. A cry for help, Kristian called it. But it wasn’t. Raffe wanted no help.

“It wasn’t ripped,” he said. The men had continued talking around him, like the doctors at Paragon. He didn’t listen to what they said, understanding that this was well-meaning, yet in the glitz of a world where the Ascendancy himself was a casually invited guest – a world aeons away from the one Raffe had always inhabited – it felt like rich men’s idle amusement. “He took it when he left. A broken heart is my affliction, and there’s no help for that.” His gaze had drifted, not with the haze of bad memory, but like the settle of sediment. He owed no explanation to strangers, and while he offered it anyway, it was with disconnect. If there was a plea, it was to let the matter drop, rather than be used for pitiful sport.

Xander shook his head. "No, I've seen broken hearts.This is nothing like that. And that love you lost. Fate says she's not done with it yet. I'll show you the difference."

Xander pulled out his wallet and picked a song from the playlist. "Imagine this is a heart break." He let the song play under whatever was playing in the ballroom as it was. He couldn't explain it any other way, there were no words. When Kristian was satisfied, he flipped to the darkest song one he could find. "And this is what I see in you. It's not lost love. It's going to chase me in my sleep."

Xander stepped away from Raffe with a smile. "I'm sorry about your loss, but this ain't that. I know that. And I don't know much about the things I see, but I know that. I'm sorry. Truly. I don't know why I've said what I did. But it doesn't do me any good to harbor that information."

Brandon registered a brief moment of surprise when he looked at her. For a second Nesrin felt gratified, but it was quickly replaced with scepticism over its meaning. The uncertain feeling in her chest calcified – truth was immaterial, as was his recollection of the past, or how he might frame the encounter. Anyone would be mystified by the uncanny spectre of a living dream, and she could not be sure she even had the details right – or that it was something he would remember after more than twenty years. The moment slipped away and Nesrin did nothing to stop it. Yet as he thanked her and turned back to the conversation, she caught the warm and lingering curiosity of the Indian woman’s gaze. There had been nothing significant to witness in the exchange, yet as Nesrin watched she leaned close to Scion Marveet and whispered something in his ear. It had all the casual flourish of lovers’ intimacy, and perhaps that’s all it was, but instinct tapped a cold warning on the inside of Nesrin’s skull.

She didn’t favour a scene. She valued the freedom of anonymity too much to risk it no matter what the Asquiths truly intended. But a secret only had worth if you controlled it, and Nesrin wasn’t wasteful with the currency. Her heart beat hard with the possible implication.

Konstantin dinged his glass then, and as hush and the attention of the ballroom descended upon their little gathering, he made a show of excusing himself from the Ascendancy’s company before heading towards and climbing halfway up the grand staircase. He was a languid and comfortable orator, soft-spoken in the manner of a man who had never needed to raise his voice to be heard. As he welcomed his guests – taking the time to publicly thank Nikolai Brandon for celebrating alongside them tonight – and then began his doting speech for the woman he had spent forty years of his life with, Nesrin considered her options.

Haste wasn’t what she had planned, haste was never what she planned, but this was as close to privacy as opportunity would ever likely afford her. Just being here had taken precision, and she couldn’t guarantee another chance like it should the dreams prove a fruitless suggestion. Nor did she intend to be beholden to the Asquith’s machinations. Konstantin Vasiliev’s speech was probably the only time all night people wouldn’t be clamouring for the Ascendancy’s attention, for such was the rarity of unfettered access to the man who ruled half the world. Nesrin watched him a moment longer before she shifted to stand closer at his shoulder. “She was my mother,” she said. Her voice was pitched for him alone, accent soft with a cadence far outside the Custody. When he looked, he would find her looking back. She wanted to see the truth of his reaction. “She never told me who you were. She never told me if you even knew.”

Colette tipped a shoulder with playful sheepishness. Adrian’s tease flirted with mockery, but Colette didn’t mind. She preferred people to underestimate her — when she kept true to the aura of a society girl, she found that she navigated those seas a little more smoothly. Plus, it was more fun.

To Adrian’s point, she did wonder about the politics at play here. Certainly, there were events that the President of the United States might attend, but a Sitting President was often too busy with official matters to do a lot of socializing. Once they were out of office, that was practically all they did, and it was quite a show of social fortitude to be friends with former presidents.

This was the CCD and the Ascendancy wasn’t the president. Colette knew all about how the government was officially run — with Patrons and Spheres and Privileges and all the power weaving in and out of them — but as far as she could tell, it didn’t seem like many of those people were here… Well, except one. Peering through the shoulders, she recognized the face of Patron Tarasovich, but other than him, she didn’t see anyone officially “government”.

“No, two!” She said to herself upon witnessing the arrival of Privilege Sulteev. He was a short man who stood as if he was two feet taller. His expression was formal and subdued even as he greeted his extended family members. She could see some resemblance now they were side by side.

Which led her to question how the power in Moscow actually worked. The Vasilievs were not a part of government, yet Edita Konstantin’s uncle was one of the most powerful members in the CCD.

Then Konstantin ascended the stairs to begin his toast. Meanwhile, Colette was in rapt attention over everything he did beforehand. The way he graciously referenced Nikolai Brandon and other esteemed guests before even addressing his wife. Then the Ascendancy’s nod in return, acknowledging the acknowledgement. It was almost as if this wasn’t government politics. It was like being amid a king and his court.

Only, the king was far more powerful than the title implied and the court was far more dangerous than the movies made it out to be.

Colette sipped her champagne, making sure to stand near to Adrian. She was genuinely curious to witness his reaction to the scene unfolding around them, as she wondered what part, however small, he played in all this.

Upon releasing from the handshake with Konstantin, he pat the man on the shoulder in a good-mannered send off and was ascending the stairs when Valentin arrived. The man was one of Nikolai’s earliest supporters for the presidency and invested heavily into the road to Moscow. Nigh on thirty years later and Valentin was as familiar a face as they came for Nikolai. Yet even after all this time, the man was still severe in the most social of moments, and the glance he exchanged with Scion was not overlooked. Nikolai and he shook hands and shared a few words over his family’s celebration as the waitress delivered a flute just in time for attention to generally settle on their host.

The momentary attention that Konstantin directed toward the Ascendancy was met with humble pride. He nodded in acknowledgement, even barking back a few words that spoke to the friendly ease between the two men, then settled into the quietude that followed.

He almost thought he imagined the voice; nor did the identity of the ‘she’ in question come into focus. His attention remained steadfast upon the stairs, but an astute onlooker might notice the sudden shadow to his expression that appeared when he was deep in contemplation.

Unlike the impression that Noémi might have received, Nikolai shared many lovers over the decades. Shallow interludes they were but never undertaken without consideration. Rare were the occurrences under the influence of alcohol, and as such, no memories were clouded with the haze of passion unrecalled. Rare also were the women that occupied his thoughts long after their time together had passed.

Mariam was one of those rare people. She was part of the press corp accompanying him circumventing the world following the formation of the Ascendant Soviet Union. The first thing he noticed about her was the way she lit up when she smiled, and the second was how she lit up even brighter when she trapped him in a corner of logic. While flying to India, he asked her to play a game of chess, and the rest was history.

He all but tuned out Konstantin’s doting over his wife, though he continued to watch and nod at requisite moments. Meanwhile, he considered his options. He could ignore the waitress, declare her behavior as inappropriate and have her banished from Moscow, send someone to investigate this claim on his behalf, have her detained and interrogated, or he could simply talk to her.

None of which were scenarios he wanted to deal with tonight, but the mere prospect that he had a child tugged at the desire to understand the circumstances of their existence. No child of his should be a mere waitress, but he was the Ascendancy, and relational claims were nothing new. Tests would be easy enough to confirm, either way, but unlike all previous conspirators, he actually knew Mariam, and this woman looked so like her, he did not doubt this was Mariam’s offspring.

But he hadn’t heard of Mariam for decades. She could easily have advanced to motherhood, and a grandiose story based on her days in the Ascendancy’s press corps to explain an absentee father was fathomable.

He raised his glass in toast as the speech came to its climax and fluidly moved away from the waitress where none would be the wiser that anything unusual took place.

He did, however, still have a mechanism in place to inquire about women that took his interest. Not that this was one such situation, but it was as smooth a cover as any. A few minutes following his departure, someone approached Nesrin, instructing her where and when to present herself for a little chat.

Jensen immediately recognized someone who didn’t want to be helped.

The dismissiveness of problems as extreme, either no big deal or unsolvable, withdrawal from social life at best and sheer isolation at worst, and most telling was the firm avoidance that when pressed churned sadness to anger were some of the commonalities among resistance that weighed on Jensen’s heart the moment he saw it in Raffe. 

Kristian tried, bless him, he really tried to reach through that darkness and offer a hand up. Jensen appreciated the effort, and nodded in acceptance when the effort showed itself to be futile. However, Jensen knew the only way to reach someone in that state was through pure empathy and persistence and to let them know that should they become ready, hope was waiting to be shared.

He should take a dose of his own medicine, he thought, ashamed.

Still, regardless, he felt a kinship with Raffe that he hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t attraction, which was an emotion that he was thus far hesitant to acknowledge in himself, but the ache to help was only growing stronger. It felt like watching a best friend hurling toward a terrible end that he was powerless to halt.

“I’m sorry we bothered you. We can talk about something else..” A shared look gently urged Kristian to do the same. “I like your name, Raffe. Is it short for something?” Changing the subject was a long-shot, but he wanted the conversation to continue without adding undue pressure. He shared a simple smile with Noemi, including her in the conversation.

It was about then that the hosts of the event rang their glasses with the sweet sound of attention requested. Everyone turned toward the stairs, Jensen included, which was when he glimpsed Maksim nearby, and he swallowed nervously.