The First Age

 
They moved indoors without rushing. Scion Marveet never rushed.
 
The boy planted himself like human body-armor in front of him. Scion touched him on the arm to nudge him aside, annoyed. But no curdled comment accompanied the gesture.
 
Until he saw who was involved.
 
Guests moved themselves aside for the daggers on Scion’s face.
 
The only one who could stop him was already there. Ascendancy commanded the situation, and although he stared in disapproval of the scene caused by Jaxen and the woman he brought tonight. She was injured. Red stained Jaxen’s shirt.  Another guest, a young male who defensively flashed credentials, was led away. There was more to this scene than accident suggested.
 
Jaxen was at the heart of it.
 
What happened next genuinely painted Scion with the colors of awe.
 
He had no idea such powers were possible. With a touch, Oriena’s injuries melted into oblivion. Jensen addressed them, and Scion witnessed the kicking of the wasp nest, for they swarmed.

Where would they take him? What aptitude did the Custody have to safely hold someone with their brutal gifts? Ori's gaze followed the cop's retreat, at least until the press of bodies closed the gap and stole her view. Then only Ascendancy filled her vision, and her attention found another outlet before the sneer could sting her expression.

Her bloody fingers eased their grip on Jaxen's shirt front as another ducked to take his place. Petty vengeance, and one she'd be disappointed not to suffer in like kind before the evening finished. She didn't doubt it would annoy him; he was the vainest man she'd ever met, though rather than stoke the flames with a twisted glance her wide gaze set instead to the stranger come to her aid. It didn't escape her attention that he sought another's permission to help her, like her sex made her property; fortunate then that she was for now content to play the lamb.

Though the platitudes were meaningless. What did he think he could do?

Then Ascendancy's directive cut a chill command. Kind as it was she visibly flinched from the cupped palm Jensen placed around her arm. Her muscles corded tight, and for a moment it was a caged predator he touched, not a frightened woman. The cadence of his accent, the soft words, did not console her. Only macabre curiosity kept her still. 

Heat bloomed.

It eased through her like the warmth of a bath after a hard sparring session, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. The wrench in her shoulder melted to nothing; the tightness in her chest at every breath eased like a vise released. Each hard earned vent of frustration, erased. The flat line of his mouth suggested he was not ignorant of the violation. She did not care what he thought.

When it was done she accepted the help to her feet; used the moment to study him unabashed. The earnestness of his words amused her husk of a heart; just the sort of beatific soul that might linger over bruises on a pretty girl. Jensen would turn to ash in hands like Oriena's. She squeezed his grip in acknowledgement of her thanks, but purposefully shied away from the question. Her hands broke free and she shrugged away his words before he turned to capture the crowd. "God is dead."

Jensen basked in the adulation, and Ori was glad to ease from the spotlight before it included her part in the spectacle. She ran a palm smoothly over her cheek, almost expecting the sharp bite of pain. But it did not come. She turned to find Jaxen, wondering if he'd yet noticed the deathly attention of his father's disapproval. "All this blood." The flicker of a sly smile. "I'm feeling quite faint. Come and help me clean up?" 

The man didn't seem to appreciate being guarded, though he said nothing. Nox walked behind him through the crowd. There he found Cruz and he draped an arm around him as he recognized the man kneeling with the woman. Holy fuck! Did he get her name? He hadn't been out of the hospital long, he'd remembered he was a reborn god then. The power that had come to him without any problems. Breaking his block essentially. He was grateful for the man and her, for helping him find his way to Aria.

A small smile spread across his lips and the man holding her he recognized. They had just met, he was the one who helped him after Aria. A reborn god himself. Jaxen... something. He looked at the man he'd followed and his disgusted look then he looked back at Jaxen. His smile grew. There was a small family resemblance, but that look Nox knew... disapproval, Jaxen's father. He'd have to ask Cruz later.

Jensen healed the girl and Nox watched with interest. The way they wove together, the way everything melded together and the body's injuries healed. He knew he wasn't skilled in anything helpful but watching it was mesmerizing. He wondered what it could do. Dane had killed with it. Done something similar. Nox filed it away, it wasn't something he could understand now, but later... Cruz looked like a child who'd just stumbled upon his christmas presents.

The name Ivan Sarkozy quickly filled his head as it passed among the Nine. Jay only watched his departure, flanked by Dominions, peripherally. Nothing as severe as a frown touched his lips, but he was attentive. The room buzzed like a kicked beehive, one that only took a moment’s spark to turn angry. With nothing less than a dozen other channelers around, Jay was hardly concerned. But that did little to ease the discomfort growing in his gut.
 
Left. Right. His gaze swept the attendees. Monitored body language. Hands. Even searched faces for the signs of power roaring through their bodies. It was hard to hide that emotion. It darkened every man’s face with shadowy pleasure every time he witnessed it. Jay didn’t know if it was possible to hide one’s ability to channel. But in a world where he could wield magic and blow up bad guys with his mind, he sure as shit assumed anything was possible.
 
That man from the hall was poised like a snake waiting for prey to just cross its path. When his gaze slid to the one at his side, Jay paled. Not possible. He licked his lips and planted himself just to make sure he didn’t fall over from shock.
 
The man was dressed in the same tuxedo as all the others, although every bloody finger dripped with more ostentatious jewels than most of the women at the ball. That was saying something, too. The tiaras and earrings floating about cost more than some small nations. Jay thought his heart might stop.
 
He knew everything about this man. Everything. The day that Jay murdered his brother, he knew what the man ate for breakfast. Zacarías Secada Amengual was one of the most dangerous drug lords in the western hemisphere. Here he was, dancing in the shadow of the Ascendancy.
 
What was more worrisome, Amengual was staring straight back at him.
 
He knows who I am.
 
He leaned to Natalie, ”We have to get Jensen and get out of here, now. The words weren’t as shaky as he expected his voice to sound.
 
Then the power flooded the room. Noise buzzed his ear. Jensen was channeling. Healing. Jay could barely rip his gaze from Amengual, like the man might initiate a battle here and now. Though, honestly, Jay would welcome a down-and-out fight. That, he could defend. That he could neutralize.
 
Amengual wasn’t here to fight. He was here to deal. If his fingers now dipped into the heart of the CCD, his power had grown exponentially in the last year. That meant the last year was for nothing. Killing Amengual’s brother, taking down the cartel. Jay’s unhonorable discharge. It meant nothing. They cut off the head of a monster and something worse took its place.
 
He swallowed. He’d have to think about Amengual later. Ryker’s place in all this was another piece to this dangerous puzzle.
 
Jay didn’t gape with awe over Jensen. He knew what the man was capable. Problem was, everyone else did too.
 
He cursed to himself, ripped the attention aside, and hurried toward Jensen.
 
The guests grew bolder, braver. Jay let the power fill him to the brim and used a rope of it to snag Jensen’s attention toward him. The rope rotated into a funnel as he saw Nox do once.
 
“Brother, someone far more deserving than these need you,” He spoke over their heads, knowing the plea in his voice would touch the preacher’s ear as though Jay stood there pouring out his heart.

Ryker watched with pure curiosity. And Carpenter’s reaction almost made him smile. He was right. This was the one that Amengual had a bounty on, a bounty that Ryker was more than ready to cash in on. Funds be damned. The cash was a perk. The trust, however, purchased from this arrangement was worth its weight in gold.
 
Although Ryker wasn’t opposed to actual gold. Figurative gold, anyway.
 
The Dominion moved on. Ryker and their mutual friend remained as they were.
 
Zacarías nodded in approval. “I do not know how you orchestrate these things, Ryker.” The shared secrets between them were palpable. He made a call, native language rattling at lightning speed. Ryker shrugged and sank back into guests, just another face in the crowd.

She sank into the shadows of a world faded from sight. In Nikolai's arms, Evelyn didn’t care. She was nearly breathless even as the air rushed her cheeks with each step. The music entranced her to him. The blazing blue eyes like twin fires, those that haunted her entire life, drew her in. Everything beyond turned to dust.
 
He danced like he had done this before. She wasn’t so silly as to think he’d saved all experiences in life for her. He was in his sixties. Balls and parties decorated the Kremlin yearly. Of course he knew how to dance. The closest thing she could compare was her own high school prom, glorious as it was. Queen Evelyn sparkled like a jewel in Aberdeen High School that night.
 
The scream pricked their serene bubble. Evelyn jumped, but Nik was quick to steady. She was content to stay near him until he ordered her to retreat.
 
Her brows pinched low. The poor guard had no chance at stopping her. She moved past him with a sweep of the hand and held her head high as though traversing her own throne room. Foolish analogy though it was, the expectancy writ her cheeks to marble worked. None stopped her.
 
Despite her best effort, the sight of blood provoked a gasp quickly stifled. A warmth connected them – herself to the injured woman. She was divinely beautiful. Evelyn felt plain alongside her. Another silly notion stuffed into the back of her mind. The oddity was the familiarity. It was almost sisterly, like a shared scent of sisterhood twined them together as surely as the bonds of actual blood. She was another channeler.
 
She was about to tell Nikolai when someone she thought long dead reappeared.
 
Then her jaw actually dropped. The Jensen James. She knew his face almost as much as she knew Nikolai’s. Another girlhood crush, though she was probably only a few years younger than he. Jensen, this calm, sweet, noble man was a celebrity of all things good and right to her.
 
Her fingers instinctively went to her neck. Sophia told her the cross was out of place alongside the ballgown, but Evelyn needed that symbol more than Sophia could ever know. Then the most glorious thing happened. It was like the light of God actually beamed from Jensen’s body. Evelyn wanted to cry with the beauty of it. This was what the world needed.  She couldn’t agree with Jensen’s proclamation any more fervently than if she had proclaimed it herself.
 
She swept into the Texan’s presence. ”Pastor, please if I can-. A whisper, barely heard if not for the light of God that filled her. The cross was warm against her chest. If it hadn’t been for the light, she may not have caught Jay’s message.
 
She saw him some distance away, blocked by those vying for the pastor’s attention. His sister waited on her deathbed.
 
”Pastor, please if you would come with me. I beg of you?”

He didn't answer the question, though some small part of her had not expected him to. Attention like that rarely came from a place of welcome, and Jay only lied to himself. Her gaze blinked back up when he spoke. Nothing in his voice betrayed him, but there was a new gravity to the words that forged steel in her spine. As the scene ahead erupted he moved with an urgency she couldn't keep pace with even if she'd wanted to. Their window with Jensen narrowed the larger the crowd grew, though it seemed to her it was the scrutiny that set coals beneath his feet. 

He hadn't answered the question, but she had her answer anyway. 

Jay could handle Jensen without her help. The pastor's voice soared, though she could no longer see him through those jostling for a view. But that new black uniform would help part the seas to give Jay a path, and maybe a louder voice. Her attention wavered. The bejewelled man turned away, phone pressed to his ear, while the second man began to mist away into the other guests. Amidah had always scolded Natalie for teaching the Jasiri girls defiance in place of strength, but walking away now only put her at a disadvantage. If a target had in some way been painted, she refused to ignore it, nor to remain impartial. 

She didn't know the connections that strung tension through Jay's muscles with a glance, and she would not pry into secrets he did not give freely. But it didn't stop her shouldering squarely to the threat. She'd trusted Jay blindly before, despite the sins he weighted against himself. Though he might not thank the directness of her action now it would not be unexpected in hindsight. Her mother was going to take a dismal view of the whole sorry evening once the tale of tonight's bargains made its way to her ears. When she asked Natalie to network, it was doubtful she intended the courting of enemies. 

She threaded a path after the scarred man, careful of her foot, which by now felt more like fire than she cared to admit. Mindful too that scant moments were all she had to play with, though it was all she needed. Her presence alone was the statement. That Jay did not stand alone.

"Too shy to make an introduction?" She'd studied him from a distance but he loomed taller up close. Her pale gaze emptied of judgement, though it was difficult not to recall Evelyn's reaction to this man. "You have interesting friends." Both of them. She measured what little she knew against his reaction, then offered her hand. A modicum of politeness, though she was all marble stillness. "Natalie." 

Jaxen shifted when Jensen took a knee before Oriena. He barely understood the American, whose slow drawl was like speaking through a scarf muffed around the mouth. He was keenly aware of the laser-like focus of Scion upon the back of his head, but if the twin beams of hatred were going to affect him, it would have done so decades ago. His father wouldn’t cross him yet. Scion made promises that Jaxen was confident would not be unmade.
 
Jensen’s palms laid upon Oriena, and the inkling of protectiveness that bubbled surprised even him. He’d never been one to be possessive of women. There were simply too many out there to bother wasting the energy on any given one. Oriena was different though. Like secrets shared, he cautiously watched Jensen attempt to insert himself into their restrictive, dark world by slipping into hers.
 
The immensity of what happened next swept all such petty thoughts aside. Power bristled on his senses like sandpaper skidding upon skin. It was the most complex weave of the ancient power Jaxen ever beheld. He’d not bore witness to the channeling feats by Ascendany in the Red Square, and the immensity of that power eclipsed Jensen’s, but the two experiences were almost incomparable. Jensen’s was not raw, dominating power, although certainly such strength did not go unnoticed. It was shocking to sense it from someone with so unthreatening an appearance.
 
The artistry in the weaves was what Jaxen spied. If the human body were so easy to injure, it was infinitely more difficult to put back together.
 
There was no need to probe Jensen for more details. Jaxen knew he would never be able to duplicate the feat even if he mastered all that the ancient power offered. His own gifts lay elsewhere. Oriena could speak to that.
 
He smirked when her attacker was led away. Infinitely curious as to where such a path ended, but Jaxen let it go for now.
 
Instead, he helped Oriena away, knowing full well the woman was more than capable of walking on her own two feet.
 
Once out of earshot, he pinned her down. “I had no idea you were so religious, Ori,” he smirked. “Did you kill God or did he just die of old age?”  He laughed and planted himself in front of a mirror, studying the smear of red upon his shirt.
 
A moment’s concentration summoned the Ancient Power. With it, he watched himself in the mirror, getting used to the need to invert the paths while watching his own reflection. Soon, red bubbles floated from his clothes. They glopped together into one red orb.
 
He thought about depositing it on Oriena. Given that it was hers to start with.

Ryker paid bland attention to the source of the power blazing nearby. An impressive well of the power, to be sure. There was little point in direct comparison, though. Power without intelligence was not a threat that concerned him.
 
At least, not unless it addressed him directly.
 
Instead, something far more innocuous found him.
 
She was gorgeous. Skin the color of the moon. Golden strands to slip through his fingers. Spindly arms and a wide mouth. Hunger curled his lips back into a smile. He remembered her, of course, from the hallway. She had Ascendancy’s attention for a few minutes, meaning she was someone more than another feckless guest.
 
Her comment was returned with a shrug. “Introductions between those two seemed unnecessary. Do you disagree, Natalie?”
 
His gaze settled upon her, studying the nuances of her expression. Half of her seemed fuzzed through the milky smudge that was half of his eyesight. Treatments existed for the deficiency in his eyesight, but like the scars on his face, Ryker did not want to strip himself of the ceaseless reminder. His face was the relic of his past, and the world would not be right again until vengeance was satisfied.
 
He towered over her diminutive frame: a cliff looming over the branches of a spindly aspen. His hand closed around hers, and he tugged the attached arm ever so slightly to draw her nearer just to feel the resistance. “Ryker.”

“My ankle has hurt for years,” a woman said as she lifted the hem of her dress, and modelled her designer stilettos.  Apparently the ankle wasn’t so painful as to impede her love for haute couture.   

“Allergies-“ When he explained that the llama hair couch in his spare living room made him sneeze, Jensen suggested avoiding llama-hair.

"Tooth ache-" The tooth that ached was from a diamond-studded cap over a middle tooth. Jensen didn’t even know that kind of procedure was possible.

“My shoulder has ached for three days.” Jensen regarded this particular complaint with more seriousness than the others.
“What happened?” He inquired, studying the arm.

The man explained how it rebounded when he punched a wall.
 
Jensen sighed.
 
Such was his state when the young lady found him. Recognition flashed her eyes. A fan, although he clearly did not evade the attention as he once had, he swallowed nervously none the less. Her plea caught him off-guard, as did her accent. The lilt of the northern US clipped her vowels short.
 
He nodded, ready to depart in her company, when a whisper from afar breathed into his ear. The ropes of their gifted powers mined a hole through the air, leading a trail back to its creator.
 
Jensen forced himself to remember to blink, but the tightness in his chest gripped uncomfortable. He could do nothing but nod, peel the paws from his arms, and join him.
 
The man wore the robes of those channeler soldiers yet, despite that, he trusted the earnestness of this soldier’s petition. “I’ll go with you. Who is it?”