Though many years have passed, that night remains vivid. I remember his death with perfect clarity. The jeweled dagger. Black blade. Bone handle. The one I drove through his chest.
An act of obedience.
An act of love.
A promise made in faith.
It’s what steadies me when hope begins to fade. A secret yearning I hold in my heart as time travels ever forward. That I will see him again, and pride for me will shine in his eyes when I do all he has instructed and am finally permitted to follow him into the afterlife.
It is a hope I carry still. And with each dose of the elixir, I remember and renew the vows I made—to him, to our order, to the purpose he set before me.
All reminders of why I cannot fail and must stay the course.
When the elixir wanes, there are signs.
My true coloring returns—dark hair, the bronze coloring of my skin blooms back to life, even the veins beneath transform from translucent to dark blue. If I delay too long, the aging begins. Not all at once, but faster than it should.
The worst part, though, is the cravings.
The elixir binds more than flesh. It calls to the mind, and the need for it becomes a constant whisper, a weight pressing against thought and will alike.
As its power wanes, strength and dexterity leave me. My body grows sluggish and heavy, and my thoughts cloud over. I become altogether unsteady and vulnerable. Because of this, I carry small reserves on my person. Emergency doses. Touched only when necessary. When in dire need, and my greater supply remains hidden and out of reach.
Supplies that are finite.
Limited.
Much like my time here.
Now that one Horseman walks among humanity, the others will soon follow.
I do not know when, only that they will come.
It’s a balance I’m forced to maintain, and also the reason I cannot reveal myself too soon. The divine weapons must stay beyond their reach. And the elixir will only grant me so much time to see to their end. So when I strike, it needs to be at a precise moment that will give me the best chance of sending all four back to Heaven.
Which means, for now, I stay hidden.
I wait.
I watch.
I study Pollock's movements, while keeping an ear to the ground about the whereabouts of the others. And every day I prepare myself for their arrival—no matter how many minds are lost while I remain idle.
After all, my mission is not to save the many. It is to ensure humanity endures.
All I have to do… is kill the Horsemen before they lay waste to the world and everyone in it.
Pollock
Year 2266
The White Witch has returned.
I first sensed her among the people some years ago, though at the time it was only a distant awareness. It had been impossible to zero in on her location due to the outpouring of emotions from the souls surrounding me, which had formed a kaleidoscope of positive and negative energy. She had been merely one among many who remained suspicious of my true aims.
But later, as I drew more into my thrall and my empathic abilities expanded, I was able to pinpoint her general whereabouts. Not who she was—only that I sensed she was female. Her feminine outrage rang out like an off-key harp string, plucked at the end of an ominous song of war.
Now I can easily find her within the crowd and hear an echo of her thoughts. Little whispers on the wind, as it were.
