Temporal Rift - Part IV

[Dominator / Mortimer]

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“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy
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Thursday 7th March 2019 - 2.16pm
Location; Residence of Horacio Mortimer, Totton, Southampton, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom

Streaks of lightning rip the blackened sky into pieces. Torrential rain impacts the bay window with such force that it is as if Mother Nature herself is attempting break into Horacio’s resides through every glass pane, roof tile and brick that forms the property’s exterior. The occupant watches the spectacle from the most central point of the bay window with his hands clasped behind his back accompanied by an unimpressed look on his face. No matter how hard the weather attempts to taunt him, he is unrelenting, stoical and still.

His timing, as always, was to perfection. A little over half an hour before the current time, he had returned from a mandatory visit to the local library, returning a series of books in place of others that replace them. Having placed them carefully in alphabetical order on a free shelf amongst one of the many bookcases bordering the walls, save for the very first in his anthology that sits patiently on his mahogany desk, the first rumble of thunder had rolled in from afar at that moment of completion.

Not two weeks ago, the surface of the ground had been laced by snow. Days later, the sun had melted it away and the country had a chance to bask in temperatures rivalling those of the summer. And now, perhaps consequentially, it had resulted in this sudden raging storm. Nevertheless, the lightshow being cast from the heavens serves as nothing but a deterrent against Horacio’s task. Even now, he is still transfixed on sifting through various pieces of paraphernalia that has been accrued by Harley. Few pieces hold any actual worth towards Horacio’s purpose for acting as a curator of Amy’s belongings, yet there is the odd diamond in the rough that he is able to place in a pile that isn’t marked as ‘Rubbish.’

Given the lack of interruption he receives whilst divulging himself in such organisational matters as this in such serene environs, in such solitude, it is no wonder that he considers this private study of his to be his own personal sanctuary. Despite the countless clocks hanging on the walls, he opts to consult his wristwatch to gauge the current time. He lets out a profanity in the most subtle of soft undertones.

As if sensing his annoyance, that which he had been waiting for arrives in the loudest of manners. A slam of the front door accompanies a rumble of thunder. He can hear the rubber of wet shoe soles squeak and scream against the floors external to that of the room in which he is in currently. With an uncomfortable huff, the only female within ’The Watchmen’ makes her sodden entrance. Excess rainwater drips from her long black cloak that she makes no attempt to remove, instead allowing the droplets of water gathered on the leather to form a puddle on the wooden flooring at her feet.

“You could have at least taken your shoes off,” Horacio rolls his eyes, rifling through one of his drawers in search of something that might be able to absorb some of the moisture before it can percolate the wood.

“And make myself even later?” Dolores grunts, lowering her hood and running her hands through her hair in a bid to make herself appear more presentable. Horacio can only screw up his face as he notices the filthy footprints that she has left in her wake, knowing there is no immediate solution without delaying proceedings even further.

“I hope you’ve brought me some good news,” Horacio says, slowly stepping away from the window and around the corner of the desk to approach the female Watchman, stopping only briefly to stare at a photograph mounted in a frame for a brief moment, running his finger across the outer rim as he walks by. “I could use some, given Matthew and Marx’ recent exploits.”

“Oh,” Dolores exclaims with a slight giggle. “So they didn’t do so well then?”

“I’ll explain momentarily,” Horacio prompts for Dolores to deliver her own status report. “But first, if you would be so kind as to indulge me.”

“Well, Dominic has informed me that he will be meeting you today,” she declares with a sense of accomplishment. “I‘ve already provided him with reasonable times within your schedule where there is at least some scope to talk things over.”

“Did he provide any indication as to when that may be?” Horacio frowns, checking his watch once again as if the check the windows of time that he could potentially be available, wondering if this had been reflected by Dolores to The Zenith. Dolores flaps her arms in a shrug of sorts, her sleeves slap against her sides sending another shower of raindrops onto the floor.

“I’m afraid not,” Dolores replies. “So anyway, Matthew and Marx,” she excitedly tries to move the conversation along, as if taking great delight in her peers’ shortcomings. “What happened there?” Horacio shakes his head, skulking back towards his desk and taking a seat on the red leather chair behind it.

“Lately, times have been as turbulent as the weather,” he says as he adjusts the chair’s position until he is comfortable. “After seemingly falling off the grid, Matthew and Marx had finally reported back to Horacio. Surprisingly, it had transpired that they had managed to find Hangtown; a seemingly impossible feat. Whether their discovery had been made through forensic levels of fine investigation or through sheer dumb luck, they had indeed accomplished the mission that I had set for them. Unfortunately, the details of their venture had been vague, at best.”

“Vague how?” Dolores tilts her head out of intrigue.

“For some reason unbeknownst to them, their recollection of what had transpired in Hangtown had been hazy; border-lining that of the subconscious scars left behind at the back of one’s mind after a powerful and vivid dream,” Horacio strokes his chin with his fingertips. “It was this level of misplaced reality that has forced my hand.” Dolores instantly looks regretful. Any glee she took in hearing of their plight has since turned into concern.

“Forced you hand?” Dolores creases her brow. “Please don’t tell me you’ve done anything rash.” Horacio does not respond immediately

“The future is uncertain, but the end is always near,” he says aloof. This only draws Dolores’ trepidation further to the surface. She plants her hands on the desk vigorously.

“Horacio!” Dolores implores. “Where are Matthew and Marx now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Horacio replies. “I have decided that their usefulness, along with Harley’s, has expired. As such, I have informed them that their services as Watchmen are no longer required.” Dolores looks aghast by this revelation.

“You’ve disbanded The Watchmen without telling me!?” Dolores shrieks. “Why!?”

“Because you are the only one out of the four of you that actually manages to hold any credibility to The Chronological Order,” Horacio answers callously. “Matthew and Marx were both bumbling buffoons. And I have been questioning Harley’s loyalty for weeks now.”

“He got you all the evidence that you asked of him, didn’t he?” comes the retort from Dolores. “I can’t believe that you would make such a big decision without me. I would have thought you’d possess a little more respect for me rather than to go behind my back, or at the very least ask me for my opinion on the matter.”

“What’s done is done,” Horacio unflinchingly replies. “Trying to keep track of all four of you simultaneously proved to be too time-consuming a matter to warrant it‘s continuation,” he tries to inject an extra dose of justification into his decision. “Also, it will detract from causing Dominic any further distractions. If Dominic is as furious as you say he is, then I should really focus on rebuilding the bridges that I have burned.”

“You’ve just sacked Dominic’s friends,” Dolores snaps back. “I don’t think you’ve got any more bridges left to burn. Matthew is one of his best friends. They grew up in the wrestling business together. The same can be said about Harley. And I know that he and Marx haven’t known each for as long, but they’ve become close in recent months. To turn them away will surely act as another reason for Dominic to remain with The Dillingers.

“Then we don’t tell him. Simple as that,” Horacio says.

“Great, so more lies,” Dolores shakes her head in dismay. “It’s no wonder he doesn’t trust you.”

“Look, it isn’t as though I’ve blacklisted them from The Chronological Order,” Horacio rebuts. “I have simply informed them that I will not require them to carry out the commitments of a Watchman. They are still part of our ranks and I am sure that, should the situation arise, they would jump at the chance to help out their old friend once again.” Dolores falls silent. She cannot believe how abrasive Horacio can be, despite knowing him for longer than seemingly anyone, The Zenith included. “Now, if we are quite done bickering,” Horacio smirks, “I have another assignment for you.”

“More legwork for me, then,” Dolores frowns. Horacio hands her a slip of paper that outlines the key points of her next task.

“Considering that Matthew and Marx could not recall the events of their little excursion to Hangtown,” he groans, “I have found myself in need of something from within. What I need from you is to find a means of repossessing it. Again, I do not expect you to get it yourself. It remains hidden deep within Hangtown and given the bout of amnesia suffered from those two oafs, we will need to be a little more tactful this time. You’ll find all the information you need on that sheet of paper.” Dolores glares at Horacio. His callousness literally knows no bounds. She motions to leave, another deep boom of thunder rocks the building as if the skies themselves are expressing their scorn towards Mortimer. Slowly, she slips the piece of paper into her jacket and throws her hood over her head. She slowly walks around the desk, leaning down so that her face comes mere inches away from Horacio’s.

“Next time, consult me before you go ahead and make such important decisions,” she warns.

“Yes, dear,” Mortimer grins sheepishly. Their lips meet for a few seconds, a continuation of the wave of emotion that the duo shared almost a month ago. Clearly, there is still a chance for their relationship to blossom into something more beautiful as the spring begins to take over from the winter. Dolores slowly leaves the way she came. The puddle that was on the floor has started to spread across the floor. She stops to examine it, wondering if there might be something outside of the study that could assist in mopping it up before it causes any damage to the flooring. As she exists the room, she lets out a surprised gasp. Horacio looks up at Dolores. She looks back at him, wide-eyed, almost nervously. She waves cheekily before quickly scampering off.

Though returning to the duties he had suspended during Dolores’ intervention, he does so whilst staying on high alert. He hears every delicate footstep tap against the floorboards, the clicking and clunking of the mechanism that allows the opening of the front door and the subsequent slam that, despite being performed gently, is still capable of shaking the clocks that feel the effects of the vibration through the walls. This grand finale finishes the crescendo that Horacio had been listening to, yet he still pauses for an additional five seconds to let the moment pass before uttering four simple words to prove that the proverbial wool has not been pulled over his eyes.

“I know you’re there.”

An amused snort comes from outside of the study. Ducking beneath the lower door frame, the colossal figure of The Zenith himself makes his entrance. Fresh from a return journey from Hangtown, no doubt. It is difficult to tell what length of time had passed since his arrival, as well as how much of the exchange between Horacio and Dolores he had heard. Horacio gets to his feet and looks back outside. Whilst the rain is not falling as ferociously, the wind is still blowing the trees and hedges in every which direction as if it is trying to pull them out of the soil.

“Well, isn’t this an interesting turn of events,” Dominic grins, an expression that is gone unnoticed by Horacio. The leverage that he has sought over The Chronological Order’s founder has eluded him for seemingly months on end. Now, in this moment, at long last, he holds it in his gloved hand. “I cannot say that I am surprised. This is exactly what I would expect from you.”

“I’m assuming you’ve heard all you need to hear?” Horacio states, hoping that he need not waste his breath.

“And then some!” Dominic answers with a chuckle born of countless reservations. “I’ve had my suspicions all along that this Dolores figure was an imposter. Even your best laid plans require more thought,” Dominic says insultingly. “During a trip to Hangtown, May decided to try and follow me. She told me all about how you had assigned her to try and help me get over Amy’s death through the similarity in her appearance. I left her in my dust. Or, so she thought. I merely ventured deeper into the fog, knowing that there would be no way for her to follow me further. She must have thought that I was out of earshot when she said it, but that’s when I happened to hear her faintly say…”

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to lie to you like this…”

Horacio glances at The Zenith out of the corner of his eye, perturbed by his powers of deduction. All of his hard work to keep his plan under wraps had been foiled.

“I decided to take matters into my own hands,” Dominic continues, slowly making his way further and further into the study. “I asked a favour of Ruth. I asked her to see if there was any mention of May Trenton in any of Amy’s family history. Do you know what she found? Nothing. That’s right. No mention of a twin, or even another sibling aside from Marx. So I relayed her with the information that this ‘May’ girl claimed to be the Fourth Watchmen, saying she was the very first under your tutelage. Ruth obtained a copy of all members of The Chronological Order that have joined our cause within the last three years, when May said she was first introduced. As such, the very first name that was listed in chronological order was a woman by the name of Dolores Aurelian.”

That would have been the case. Horacio recalls creating a document that lists every current member as of 2015 onwards. Given that his first official member was Dolores, it would only make sense that she would appear at the very bottom, or top, depending on which way one looks at it.

“Damn those Dillingers,” Mortimer curses under his breath, keeping his back turned on The Temporal King as he coughs out his gripe. Of course, ’The Watchmen’ were not the only individuals who were to watch proceedings unfold from afar. Ruth Dillinger had been keeping a watchful eye over The Order’s dealings long before he had conspired with Dolores to return Dominic’s focus solely to the fulfill the obligations that Mortimer had set out for him as part of their initial mutual agreement. To have discounted the notion that Ruth may somehow have gotten involved was a mistake befitting an amateur. He is kicking himself on the inside.

“It was only by sheer coincidence that May got in contact with me earlier today I told her that I would be coming over,” The Temporal King proudly elaborates over his masterful plan further. “She even whittled off a list of times that you would and wouldn’t be here. Considering you would be heading to the library between 1pm and 1.45pm and that ‘May’s’ scheduled appointment was at 2.15pm, all I had to do was let myself in and wait for half an hour. When I heard you come in and head straight to your private study, I knew there was no chance of me getting caught out. Unlike some.”

Horacio’s grimace only lasts another four to five seconds before he meanders back towards the desk, already dismissing the turn of events.

“Then I suppose there is no point in denying it,” Horacio says with a certain casualness about his voice. The only remorse within him is that which relates to the red-handed manner in which the truth has come to a head. Unapologetically, he siphons the various piles of organised paperwork into a large black bin bag. Rather than placing them delicately, he literally shoves each pile erratically; weeks of laborious work coming undone at his own hand. Once his desk is cleared, Horacio brushes the palms of his hands briskly against each other as if washing his hands of the whole situation.

Having paced around the room in the meantime, Dominic comes to a stop at the periphery of the newly vacant desk, sitting gently on its edge. The sturdy construction of the mahogany table easily supports his weight as The Zenith leans forward to rest his forearms against his knees. He tips his head towards the floor. Like water pouring from a jug, all of the words that he has been saving at the back of his mind begins to seep towards the front. His breathing becomes heavier.

“I have just one question for you,” Dominic mutters. Horacio anticipates a full blown tirade that would ultimately air each and every one of his client’s grievances. However, to his surprise, the question he asks serves this purpose, but The Zenith is able to condense it into the most simple and bluntest of terms.

“Why?”

This could be perceived in a countless number of ways, yet Horacio knows exactly what sentiments Dominic is questioning. Having listened to Dolores’ explanation of how The Zenith loathes the constant deceit, Horacio picks a clock on the wall at random and uses it to pinpoint the exact time, calculating roughly how long it will take him to provide ample rationalization for his actions.

“Before I tell you, allow me a question of my own,” Horacio says with a subtle grin. “Which sect do you consider your devotion to be more prominent within? The Chronological Order? Or The Black Hand?” This question made little sense. Whilst sharing established connections to both groups, Dominic had diligently separated an equal amount of time and effort between both divisions. The Chronological Order had tended to favour promotion, whilst his time spent in Hangtown allowed Dominic to discover himself as a form of leisure.

“You should know that I only escape to Hangtown to escape your lies,” Dominic scowls. “The Order has done great things for me, but at what cost? The death of my would-be wife? A daughter I raised as my own who isn’t even mine? Constant deceit and subsequent second-guessing. I’ve told you before, Horacio. I’m through with being a pawn in whatever sick little game you’re playing.”

“You could accuse The Dillingers of using you as a pawn more so that I,” Horacio attempts to lay the blame elsewhere. “The affiliation between The Chronological Order and The Black Hand is one that transcends any period of time that you can imagine. The Dillingers share the bloodline of the founding fathers of The Black Hand. In similar circumstances, I too possess the heritage of the man within The Black Hand who planted to seeds from which The Chronological Order would sprout.”

“I don’t think I quite understand how that makes me a factor. You are the one with the link, not me. If I am guilty, it is only by association.”

“Your progress as part of The Chronological Order has been more than lucrative,” Horacio begins. “Prior to seeing things the way I do, you were floundering in a world that was travelling at a faster speed than you could keep up with. Your wrestling career had become stagnant. Your success was minimal. But I could see past all of that. I saw the potential deep within you. And I knew how to extract it.”

“Get to the point,” Dominic snarls impatiently.

“Like any great athlete, there will be bidding wars made by external entities that want to use your likeness for their own benefit. Be it an offer from another team for a higher wage, a company offering a sponsorship deal, merchandising firms looking to make a profit from selling products based on your success… or a faction looking to seek a new recruit to join their ranks with the knowledge that it will make them nigh upon unstoppable.” He pauses for a moment, the grimace returning to his face. “Or maybe to use you as a weapon against those who oppose them.”

It made perfect sense that Dominator would have been such a fine recruit into The Black Hand. They are clearly an elite sect that only a handful of people know the true inner workings of. Even Dominic did not even have an inkling as to the ‘true‘ nature of The Dillingers‘ prodigy. Even Stormm had been a member at one point, prior to a hiatus that effectively rendered him useless for their needs. Whether his departure was mutual or forced, the fact remains that there is no place for weaklings within a group where only the mightiest thrive. Especially given the nature of happens behind the scenes in Hangtown…

Albeit, Dominic had been allied with The Dillingers for nigh upon nine months, officially being invited by Phinehas Grimm himself on June 23rd 2018, and subsequently joining on that same night. The two of the them were bonded by the blood of Johnny Matthews that they spilled on that night. That night served as an instant shift in power back in The Zenith’s favour.

A mere two weeks earlier, Grimm himself had defeated Dominator in singles competition, the first of only two men to accomplish such a feat. It was on that night also that Johnny Matthews had sealed his doom. Ironically, Stormm’s estranged brother-in-law has not been seen in a wrestling capacity in Pure Class Wrestling since The Zenith sent him packing at Return To Glory IX. It was the manner in which he was so grossly deceived by his negligence that made him opt for ‘retirement.’

He wasn't just going to retire because he knew he was at his wit's end, nor when he suddenly realised just how outclassed he was. He retired because he knew that he wouldn't be capable of chewing his own food or even satisfying his own lover thanks to the crippling condition that The Zenith would leave him in.

A case could be made for the outcome of Stormm’s most recent encounter with The Hangtown Horror. Perhaps Phinehas still held that slither of ‘respect’ for him, which could have been what held him back. Not to discount Grimm’s efforts, of course. In contrast, the ‘respect’ that The Zenith is not bound from the bonds of brotherhood that Stormm and Grimm once held.

Yes. There is ‘respect’ present in this situation. Not much of it, mind you. A mere crumb. But a desperate man will take what he is given.

And much like Matthews before him, Stormm has also taken the liberty of attempting to reinventing himself. By immersing himself in shadows. It takes a long time to accept the light that resides in one's heart, but it can take but mere seconds to lose yourself to the shadows. It is all too easy. What Stormm has effectively done, by allowing himself to fall into the darkness, he has taken the easy way out. Rather than seek out new light when he sees his own fading, he has taken that which is right in front of him. In the eyes of The Zenith, it simply proves his theory about the reigning North American Champion.

He is on borrowed time.

“So what if The Black Hand wanted me to join them for my capabilities?” Dominic huffs. “They have treated me with more respect and hospitality than you ever have. An enemy of Grimm’s is an enemy of mine. But we both have the level of respect for each other not to intervene in one another’s business unless we specifically need it. And I would say that we are both perfectly capable of handling our own affairs. So that renders your point about using me as a ‘weapon’ null and void.”

“That’s only because you don’t know who their true enemies are,” Horacio smirks to himself, amused by just how little The Zenith understands. “I’m not talking about Stormm or Seromine or any of his underlings.”

“Then who are you talking about?” Dominic bolts upright, throwing his arms out to the side. Horacio stoops his head downwards, looking at The Temporal King over the rims of his spectacles. “What… you!?” he barks in disbelief. Horacio lets out a smile, relieved that Dominic had finally been able to grasp the concept he had been attempting to convey all along.

“I’m a descendant of the man who betrayed The Black Hand by forming The Chronological Order all those centuries ago,” Horacio explains. “The Black Hand did not approve of the formation of The Chronological Order for a specific reason. All this time, I have been scouring every text book, every newspaper article, every piece of literature that I can find to try and determine what this reasoning was. Of course, I have been unsuccessful in my ventures. In fact, there is only one known textbook in existence that I believe… no… that I know will answer this question for me.”

“The Book of The Black Hand,“ Dominic thinks aloud. As if these words are cursed, another dazzling burst of lighting shoots through the sky accompanied by a deafening blast of thunder from the heavens, so much so that it shakes the entire property. Dominic and Horacio feel the vibrations of the thunder surge through their chests, as though they were being resuscitated by Mother Nature’s very own defibrillator. The Zenith is unmoved by this. Horacio, on the other hand, look visibly affronted by such a rude interruption caused from the explosion amongst the firmament.

“Precisely,“ Horacio nods, recomposing himself by standing up straight and adjusting his tie. “Even now, evidently, The Black Hand are keeping a close eye on me and what I am doing. So, for what other purpose would The Dillingers have for wanting you to become part of their ranks?” Dominic remains rightfully unconvinced. “They don’t want me getting my hands anywhere near that book. They most likely believe that you may be attempting to obtain it on my behalf. That could be why they are offering you so much support; to keep your mind occupied against such an idea.”

“But I’m not going after the book,” Dominic protests. “And surely, if I were to turn against you, I would have done it a long time ago.” The latter of these statements instils a sense of elation within Horacio. Conflicted, Dominic lifts himself back up and plants his hands behind him, leaning back and arching his head towards the ceiling, letting all of his thoughts return to the back of his mind. “There is no doubt that both The Chronological Order and The Black Hand have both influenced me. And to answer your question earlier; which of the two is more prominent. The answer is that both are as significant to me as the other. That is why, even in spite of all of the lies, I am still willing to be a part of The Chronological Order. After all, if The Black Hand are coming after you, then at least I can somewhat vouch for you.”

“Why would you do that? After all that I’ve done?” Horacio says, stunned that Dominic would even entertain the idea of giving him a second chance, never mind so willingly. It was almost too easy.

“I heard you say earlier that you want to rebuild the bridges that you’ve burned,” Dominic replies. “And I thought to myself that if the two of us can coexist, then we should at least attempt to get you back on side with The Dillingers. I know you have your differences, but times have changed.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t quite as simple a matter as you may think,” Horacio says glumly, walking back to the window to witness the ongoing storm pound the landscape. “I am not strictly concerned for your wellbeing around them. You have their trust; a hard commodity to come by, indeed. However, I sense that Phinehas would rather I didn’t exist. As for Ruth… well, I’m sure that harpy is after my blood.”

“Quick question. Who is this?” Dominic asks out of the blue. Horacio turns around, only to see that Dominic is holding the picture frame that had been stood on his desk. Dominic is examining the picture down to the finest detail; an old photograph that must be near thirty years old that has slowly faded over time due to exposure to the elements. It is hard to distinguish the depictions amongst the shine from the beige photo, but there appears to be a very old man alongside a very small boy stood outside the front a newer version of the very building in which they are sat. The child must be no older than four years old, whereas the elderly fellow must be in his late sixties or early seventies. Both of them wear flat caps and spectacles. The older gentleman is garbed in a suit that is of similar design to that currently donned by Horacio himself.

At first, Horacio looks mortified at the fact that Dominic has even laid his eyes upon the keepsake. He stops himself from snatching the picture and instead relents to the fact that he might as well provide an explanation of sorts. Upon realising that he is going to be telling this story for the first time, it brings a smile to his face.

“That’s a picture of two of the most important people in the world,” Horacio says. “The older chap there is my grandfather. He was the last person to lead The Chronological Order before was kil…” he suddenly cuts himself off, suddenly remembering why he negated the idea of sharing this with anybody before. It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' At this moment in time, Horacio did not agree. The wounds remained. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covered them with scar tissue and the pain lessened. But it is never gone.

“Horacio?” Dominic tries to snap him back into reality. It is no use. Horacio has fallen deathly silent. Without a word, Horacio slowly pulls the picture out of Dominic’s hands and moves around the back of the desk, placing the picture in one of the drawers.

“The future is uncertain, but the end is always near,” Horacio repeats a line had spoken in the presence of Dolores. It seems to have been launched out of nowhere, catching Dominic complete unawares. “That’s something that he used to say to me all the time.” His smile returns, only very slightly as he reminisces over something a little more light hearted, even though the message itself sounds rather ominous. It does not take long for the smile to fade again. “You know what The Black Hand is capable of?” Horacio says warningly. “I don’t mean the team of you and Grimm, or even the likes of Sadistic for that matter. I mean The Black Hand that the rest of the world doesn’t see… that the rest of the world doesn’t want to see.” Horacio’s voice has suddenly become much more serious. For the first time since Dominator’s arrival, Horacio genuinely sounds nervous.

“I know,” Dominic says calmly with a deep intake of breath. “I have seen plenty of harrowing things in my time. Slowly but surely, Ruth and Phinehas are introducing me to the inner workings. Not face-to-face, but in graphic enough detail to prepare me for such a time.”

“If you’re going to give chase down that rabbit hole, you’d best be prepared to become stuck in the shadows,” Horacio presages. The Zenith lets out a wicked grin.

“A common misconception about shadows is that they are the embodiments of pure darkness,” Dominic purrs. “A shadow cannot exist without light shining against whatever barricade is placed in between.”

Indeed, Stormm is just such an individual. He wants to embrace the shadows, yet still lives in the light. In stark contrast, Dominator and The Chronological Order only attempt to shine a light over the world, yet they are perceived as agents of darkness. It is the inability of others when attempting differentiate The Chronological Order as martyrs or pariahs that creates such a mixed reaction. It is one mankind’s most basic instincts; to fear something that they cannot understand. With fear comes resentment. With resentment comes backlash. It is what makes The Order’s vision that much more arduous a task to make a reality. Arduous? Yes. Achievable? A definite yes.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Horacio nods in reference to Dominic’s statement. “Of course, time itself is equally capable of casting a shadow. Not everything in this world can be segregated into black and white, light and dark, good and evil and so on. There is no need to choose which side of the spectrum you fall under. Not when you can live on the median; the very plain in which time has set it’s course.”

“Is that not considered as living in the present?” Dominic curls the corner of his top lip upwards. “You know, stop living in the past and such?” Horacio lets out a contented smile, acknowledging the shrewdness in his protégé’s observation. He proudly lifts his hand and clasps it on top of the giant’s shoulders in an act of praise.

“You’re right,” Horacio grins, looking towards the bay window. A stream of dazzling light has started to pour into the room. The impact of rain has finally surrendered. Where the lightning had been tearing through the clouds several minutes ago, the electrical surges have now been replaced by rays of creeping sunshine clawing through small breaks in the cloud, growing bigger and bigger with every passing second. “All storms peter out eventually,” Horacio beams as grandly as the cascading sunlight that penetrates the thunderclouds. “By weathering that storm, you are rewarded with shimmering gold.”

As Dominic stares out of the window watching the storm clouds break apart under the immense strength of the sun, Horacio motions back to his desk, sliding open the drawer and lifting out the photograph of his grandfather. He stares at it longingly, remembering the fondness of the short time of his life that he had shared with his hero as he places the picture frame back in it’s rightful place.