Chronicles of Hunter

Chapter 1

The Consort Prince glanced down upon the shattered remnants of the drone he’d just killed. A brittle section of an ebony bone was left unscathed from the briefest of battles. It was all he needed. With this final piece, the invocation would have enough energy to smash through the barrier. An obstacle that had kept his brethren, and himself confined for countless ages. Imprisoned for such a length of time now that the time before the barrier appeared to be a myth. The only benefit being they now they understood they were not alone in this universe, a much greater power lived and the Prince had spent centuries examining it.

Searching the sky, his gaze fell upon the pulsing bright green paths of power that formed the barrier on their home-world, no longer as compelling as they had been. Every moment, more of the Brethren's’ power was being funneled towards its elimination. The robed ones must no longer be watching over the enforcement of the barrier if they had allowed it to go this long without redress, perhaps reasoning that the Brethren would never have the skill to escape.

Pain is what they would soon learn. Reams of blood would flow within the universe as the forces of The Brethren plundered each planet. The Regent Queens' might would have them all bowing. He thought back to the age before the attack by the combined forces of the Robed Ones and the monstrous Dark One. Centuries ago, they had shown up and slaughtered them for no reason. This time The Brethren would be the aggressors showing no sympathy.

An angry roar left his throat at the image of the times. The united strength of the four was like an imps' when measured to the Dark Ones', whose energy poured like magma from within.

The only useful thing that had come out of the unjust battle and captivity being the time they'd given him to examine the above origin of energy.

Where once he’d been happy with his wish to become the most dominant Brethren on this world, now he’d set his sights higher. The power above has taught me the way, he thought to himself. Only one tiny barrier now held him from subduing endless worlds, planting himself as their overlord.

While the barrier above kept the Brethren sealed within this world, it also opened him to the potential energy that could be used. For an entire century, he’d been sending his consciousness out into space, searching for a weak spot, a place to establish the base of his new command. Somewhere not under the continuous scrutiny of the Robed ones, home to someone powerful he could exploit to crush the confines of the barrier. Over time, his patience had won, allowing him to find the perfect one. A vulnerable young girl of immense power, born on a small remote planet, undetected and unknowing her potential. The Consort Prince directed his will and sent the first nightmares her way. With no one to guide her, his confidence was high she would open the portal, allowing The Brethren to re-enter space. Taking their self-appointed place as Masters.

Focusing on the bone he drew its dormant strength and inhaled it into his lungs, enjoying the familiar surge of power that the Queen had once used to anoint him with a single touch. Enough power he could now reach out over time and space to the one spot he saw the barrier was at its thinnest.

All beings in the universe would suffer at the might of The Brethren. Fear and submission their only choice.

Chapter 2

Smoke drifted through the room tracing lazy arcs around the dull halogen lights. Joe’s Bar was no more distinguished than any of the thousands found around every city in the world. Gloomy, drab and smelling of booze. A few shabby stools placed overlooking mock mahogany benches from which the barkeep would pour drinks to the needy hearts seeking to drown out their suffering.

Being mid-afternoon on a Wednesday assured that there was a handful of individuals around, three in this specific bar, cradling their own drinks and maintaining their own counsel. The television set hanging on the wall silent and tuned in to some daytime show which no one was paying mind to, background imagery on the pretense of entertainment without the noisy chatter. Unlike when there was a sports game on the tube. Then the sound would be turned up to appease the mob of fans that would drift down to revel in a few suds whilst encouraging their favorite team.

Hunter threw back his shot of bourbon and drained the last of his beer, signaling the bartender to pour him another. Within a couple of hours, the bar would swell up with its normal clientele. The ‘after-workers’ as Hunter had defined them in one of his best-selling novels. These were people whose lives bore little in the way of true living. Ordinary everyday people who worked their nine-to-five jobs every single day and would then slip into Joe’s on the way home for a quick beer before dealing with their average night-time routines.

Although Hunter was a best-selling writer of countless novels and admired by millions around the world, he envied the after-workers and their ways of life. They woke every day at the same time, did the same routines, working at the same place day in, day out and drifted back home where they ended up the night slumbering through a good eight hours of sleep.

Sleep. How we missed it.

Ever since Hunter could recall, he had not slept straight through the night. It was either a night time full of bizarre dreams that left him sweating, horrified, ecstatic and sometimes forlorn or a bleak nothingness like he would tonight when he would drink himself into a stupor. He felt like a fraud. He wasn’t an author that came up with ideas, working long, hard hours at creating a storyline for his novels but rather someone who just detailed the peculiar realities of his dreams which felt more real than when he was awake. Those very dreams allowing him to develop into the ultimate author with tales covering every type of genre. No one knew what type of work he would come up with next, least of all, Hunter himself.

When the craziness had first taken his night’s hostage, Hunter tried every remedy for it he could. Every doctor he'd gone to telling him the same thing, there was no such thing as too much dreaming. Everybody averaged the same time. Some would remember them, others didn’t. It was probably more the case of him being awakened at the time he was in the REM stage of sleeping where the dreams occur. Heeding their advice, he tried everything he could think of to get himself tired, trying to fall asleep the way others did.

Nothing seemed to work.

There was no relief from the relentless stream of dreams he confronted every night on turning in. These dreams were so realistic that soon he confused them with reality. Things he felt had taken place in actual life were just figments and parts of greater stories from within his own tormented mind at night. That’s when Hunter started to journal some of the night-time chaos. Perhaps it was nothing more than his subconscious trying to deliver some information to him.

It wasn’t long before he realized the dreams all formed individual parts of a greater storyline. Stories he turned into novels making him a fortune. People assumed he was a literary prodigy when in fact he was doing nothing but recording his dreams. The only problem being he had found himself not being able to distinguish them from reality until one day he drank himself into unconsciousness.

That night, the dreams receded to nothing.

At least not that he could recall. He hadn’t slept through but rather drunk himself into a virtual coma. The hangover the following morning the most ruthless he'd encountered. Better than nothing, he thought to himself, far better than not being able to sleep.

From that day on, this was his new normal. With nothing on his calendar, and occasionally even when full, he would relax at whichever bar he could and drink himself into oblivion. Unless he needed to draft a new story or find a new chapter for his latest work. All that would be required was for him to not drink, bringing the dreams once more without fail.

Hitting it pretty hard today, the bartender said pouring Hunter another shot of bourbon, Even for you. Ever'thing aright? he continued in his strong southern drawl.

Everything's sweet mate. Just another day in paradise. Looking forward to a nice little dinner and some sleep. Feel like some Chinese tonight. Maybe some nice Kung Pao Chicken. Hunter responded, throwing back the drink and placing a hundred dollar bill on the counter. Keep the change, he added ignoring the knowing look that had materialized on the bartender's face. Something he'd become familiar with over the last couple of years.

Ah well, Hunter thought to himself as he shrugged on his raincoat preparing himself for the wintry streets, Time to look for a new place to drink.

He had turned into an authority on interpreting the slight nuances of the different bartenders over time. Hell, he’d become an expert on the way of life of alcoholics, full stop. The subtle looks in the eyes of the barkeep or waitress when you called for another drink, the shift in the way they put a glass in front of you or the not-so-subtle questioning on how much you had drunk all pointing to the conclusion that it was time find another watering hole. That one basic query from the barkeep the opening wedge that would seek to delve further into why he was drinking so much and that was not a place Hunter was happy to discuss with anyone, let alone a waiter or bartender.

Simpler to find a new place to drink.

This time he would try to discover three or four different places and spread out his drinking among them. Maybe if they saw his face once or twice weekly they wouldn’t be so meddlesome. Tomorrow's issue. Tonight, his only concern was heading over to Kim’s Place to get himself some dinner and on the way, stopping off at the liquor shop for a new bottle of Jim Beam. At least he could afford to be a drunk with great taste and get clobbered on bourbon rather than having to swill down a bad $5 cask wine.

His latest novel had been turned over to his publisher earlier in the day and for the next few weeks at least, he was looking forward to holding hands with the nothingness that being an alcoholic allowed him. Only sobering up when there was a demand to look normal for his agent.

With those thoughts, he pulled up the collar of his leather coat and headed down the rain-soaked street towards Kim’s and his much-awaited Kung Pao chicken dinner.

*~*

The Kraxus shrugged its shoulders to ease its cramped muscles. It had forgotten the intensity of this travel, having its full body ripped apart into billions of individual pieces and hurled through time and space. Reforming again at the destination. Centuries since the last occurrence yet it only seemed like yesterday. It knelt in the rainstorm, raising its snout to assure that it was safe.

Unlike most of his Brethren, the Kraxus was a skilled warrior. It also had an extremely evolved sense of self-preservation, animal impulses and a higher level of intelligence than the lesser Brethren. All this, with the extra ability to alter its shape into any other being, made it the ideal soldier for the Consort Prince, and the clear option for the required mission. The Prince Consort would have exhausted itself considerably after spending so much of its elemental force in opening enough of a rift to give the Kraxus a way through to this forgotten planet. No doubt this also played into why it had been chosen. The attack on a crippled Prince Consort would have been immediate allowing it to take the position as the most dominant of The Brethren.

Nobody knew what its true form looked like apart from its own twin and it reveled in the fact. More often than not, the Kraxus would appear as it now stood. Six feet four inches tall, sleek black fur covering a torso that most body-builders would kill for. Its haunches more muscled than a stallion's and just as strong. In its present form, the head looked like a skull with a thin veneer of crimson skin. Hairless and human-like.

The Kraxus searched its surroundings. The dark alley cluttered with garbage taking flight before the howling wind as it coursed its way through the streets. He felt at home. An abused world taken for granted. After countless lifetimes within the Barrier, the different smells were exhilarating. Quivering with excitement, it sniffed out the power, assessing the winds to see how much was available in this world. The Brethren didn't have their own innate energy. They slaughtered and gained from other beings.

His eyes narrowed as a whiff of power moved over him, almost stumbling when a second aura fell upon it. In the distance, he felt two beings filled with an energy that the Kraxus had not known for centuries, not since the time of the battle with the dreaded robed ones. Confusion distorted his features for a moment as its maw grew into a cynical leer. Not only had The Brethren formed a way out of the Barrier but once he exploited the power he was feeling, he would be untouchable and the Prince Consort would die. The Prince would certainly have his own plans as did the Kraxus.

Sniffing the air he recalculated. With that much energy, he could take the Queen Regent as his own and turn into the new ruler of The Brethren and the rest of the universe.

He inhaled, the air on this planet was becoming toxic. Just the way the Kraxus liked it. The same underlying current of darkness as his own planet. This one, however, retained a slight tinge of a much lighter power. Breathable but not comfortable. He would need to take refuge for a few days and harness his power. Somewhere dark and moist place that would allow him to hide and gather himself. He would need as much energy as possible to survive the forces he had felt. One of those he would keep for himself, the other ensnared as requested. The Prince Consort would not know any different until he acted. Enough time was available to set traps of his own whilst looking out for ambushes.

With a mighty surge of his hindquarters, the Kraxus bound forth between the dark puddles of inky blackness surrounding the city, moving towards the two forces and shelter for a few days, positive in his own skill to achieve the tasks given.

*~*

Ren sat on the edge of Bonnie’s bed hugging her until the tears subsided a little. Her daughters’ nightmares were slowly getting worse with each passing night. Each nightmare, more pronounced and detailed with the passing nights.

The dreams had started a couple of months earlier with less frequency and early on she considered them to be nothing other than plain nightmares. Every child went through them.

Their frequency had increased to the where this week alone, Bonnie had woken up shouting in the darkness every single night. Somehow they had traversed the point between normal nightmare and something more sinister. Ren felt it deep within her as only a mother can. An inner voice alerting her to danger, a danger that seemed concentrated on her little eight-year-old.

Shhh. It’s Okay Bonnie. It was only a dream. Nobody can hurt you. she soothed, rocking back and forth willing her own calm onto her daughter.

He’s coming mum. Bonnie whispered The bad devil in my dream. He looked at me and said my name. He was in the light now. I could see him this time.

Nightmares can be like that, my darling, she whispered they always know the worst things we fear. But always remember, they’re just dreams and a dream can’t hurt you. Ever. Even less so when I’m around, and I’ll always be around for you.

A whispered sob escaped Bonnie as she looked at met her mother's eyes, This is something different mum. The bad devil he isn’t alone. He’s just the one that’s in charge. There are millions of them, but none as bad as him.

Dreams baby. Just dreams. Ren replied, There’s never any reason to worry about them. Ignoring every bit of expert advice, she added Come and sleep the rest of the night in my bed baby. I won’t let anything ever hurt you.

I know mum but the devil is really scary, even if it’s only a dream. He’s the Consort Prince, and he really wants to free his regent Queen.

‘Consort Prince? Regent Queen?’ thought Ren to herself. ‘Just what the Hell is happening to my little girl? And where is she getting this stuff from?’

The stunned Watcher stood unseen in the corner of the room.

The young girl Bonnie, had come to his notice a few months ago alerted by an aural presence like nothing seen before; Her presence making the combined aural power of The Council itself look like a flickering candle next to the brilliance of a supernova. This would have to be reported and yet, he hesitated and kept a silent vigil, unwilling to report the matter back as he should have. Rampant thoughts went through his mind.

What would The Council make of this and how would they react?

Chapter 3

The five elders forming The Council sat upon a silver-colored marble pedestal which floated on an orange-colored ether. Specialized invitations the only way to gain access to their realm.

A realm secret amongst The Watchers alone. One never troubled.

They had taken on the burden of being the interpreters of the will of D'HarmaSan centuries ago. The ultimate mediators.

Elite watchers that excelled in their duties to bring peace and harmonious integration throughout the universe. Never swaying in their interpretation and ultimate judgements.

Each member was mind-linked to the others, individual auras shining for the others to see. Every thought and memory available to the rest. This ensured that there would be no ulterior motives lying behind the actions of any individual who sat on The Council as decreed by Luxfer centuries earlier.

The murder of D’HarmaSan occurred millennia ago at the hands of The Brethren. No one else apart from The Council knew of this. She had taken on the form of an ethereal being, almost mythical. Someone to have faith in with no physical proof of her existence. Much like the primitive religions that evolved in the younger species when they were feeling their way towards enlightenment. Every single planet in existence worked its way through this process, much like a young person works their way through puberty.

They glanced down as one at the floating ether, willing the pentagram of rift into growth, the only gateway to the circle.

The pulsing, orange-colored ether below their feet moved in a lazy pattern until a solid pentagram materialized inside it.

The portal stood open.

Glowing lines of power took form and the Watchers who awaited would soon have access to the rift and would flow through from wherever they stood, to reappear within the Circle.

A younger species was approaching the point of enlightenment. The critical point in its growth. All future possibilities for this planet forked out ahead. One path would lead it down chaos, destruction, war and terror. The other enlightenment.

Of the original Watchers hand-picked and trained by Luxfer, no written records existed but legends whispered stated that they were taken out of time itself and studied with him for thirty cycles in hand-to-hand combat mixed in with the ability to manipulate life forces for either incapacitation or healing. From that day on, they formed The Five. Their first act: to find, train and choose the next lot of watchers.

Whenever a Watcher would fall or reached the end of their life-cycle, a new Watcher would be chosen from amongst those already in Black, a long and arduous training program ensuring that only the best of the best became fully fledged Watchers.

From the time they were ready, each watcher would be sent out to different parts, to preserve order and guide other cultures towards enlightenment. They would also keep a lookout for other potential Watchers that could be prepared in their ways and to ensure the younger species were observed and reported on to The Council.

All continued well at the start. The Watchers continued doing what they'd been told by Luxfer. Over time, differences emerged.

Watchers from different sectors took it upon themselves to be absolute judge, jury and executioners.

Their power shifted inwards and rather a few of them had considered themselves Gods over their own territories.

*~*

The Watcher remained cross-legged in meditating in front of the entry portal to The Council, centering himself.

Dressed in the long flowing black dolman that all Watchers wore. A light flowing robe that woven from a special material that allowed it to absorb the aural power of its wearer, granting them the ability to manipulate it with ease.

He still remembered the day, almost thirty cycles ago that he had been awarded the dolman upon completion of his training.

Twenty cycles of constant striving in mastering the mysteries of aural battle. Hundreds were chosen to train every cycle, most would fail. All the others chosen alongside him had failed to reach the demands. In his twenty cycles of study, he had only seen three presented, in the thirty cycles since - another five.

Being awarded Elite of the Elite status was not something accomplished daily and even though it went against his training, he felt pride when he thought about it. Remembering to find his center as soon as he caught himself.

The Council would notice otherwise.

Most of his brother Watchers brought in potentials for training regularly. In thirty cycles though, he had found none worthy of the training. He worried sometimes at this. Was he flawed in his training and incapable of seeing the potential in others? Was his pride too large to admit that there may be others more capable than him out there? Others who would need training in the ancient ways? He was sure it was one of the main reasons he had set aside to look after the younger species on planets in the most remote regions of the universe. There was never any aural power to speak of on any of these and he would not be expected to bring in any potentials.

Thoughts went through his mind as he waited, ‘But now I've stumbled upon a girl. This tiny thing, surrounded by an aural presence and power the likes of which I have never beheld. A young wisp that has the capacity to destroy worlds and entire universes with just a thought. And she is unaware of the power she has, living on a speck of a planet in a universe that was treading dangerously close to taking the path of chaos. A species that The Council would soon determine too dangerous to allow to continue to evolve and would destroy it if their historical actions were anything to go by. Maybe things will be different with this one once they hear my report.’

The portal hummed as the Council poured their power into it, signaling the opening would soon grant him access. He sighed and closed his eyes again, looking for his center, knowing he had about two minutes before being transported through the rift to report his findings.

Would they trust his judgement and believe in the things he was about to report?

Old doubts coursed through his mind anew, of The Council itself. Apart from Julian, he didn't trust them. Over time, he saw them as another group of power-greedy individuals, setting aside the task that Nexus had charged them with when it served them.

Everything was now gray where once only black and white existed. ‘No use worrying about it, better to just report what I have seen and let them decide on a course of action. No doubt, I'll just be moved on from this planet and shunted off to another to watch.’

But he still couldn't get the young girl out of his thoughts. Something different was going on there. She was something different.

The problem was that he couldn't decide if that was good or not.

*~*

The Council members looked at each other with something akin to dismay. The Watcher reporting this day had been one of their favorites at the time he'd been elevated to the Black. The inherent ability that flowed from him was overwhelming.

Thirty years with nothing of use from such talent. The debate had raged.

What is the use of having a Watcher who doesn't achieve? Elder Micah asked once again. There are plenty of others ready to don the Dolman. Perhaps it's time we replace him.

Elgar rolled his eyes, Once again we ride this Merry-Go-Round Micah. Never in our history has the Council stripped a Watcher of the Black. They either go down in battle or get to the end of their life-cycle. We cannot set a precedent when we are uncertain of what will take place. That one simple act has many differing future probabilities. None more certain than the next. No, this action is not something we can take lightly. We could never reach a consensus on this matter.

That's because Julian has always refrained on the matter. His choice to not decide is what keeps him in the Black.

The most junior member of the Council, Julian kept his face blank knowing the others could read his aura and see his true feelings, regardless.

He had mentored and trained the Watcher in question from the beginning. A Watcher who had held more potential than any other recorded. His aural battle performances had no peer, his readings of aural power beyond any other in existence to date, and yet, with all this innate talent he still failed to prove himself worthy of the Black.

His talents for guiding younger species in the right direction still hinted at his power, only one of those under his guidance had come close to annihilation, due to his quiet and invisible influence. He was naturally gifted and Julian was unwilling to just let that talent go to waste and be destroyed as The Council was wont to do.

Besides, his Master had different plans.

Perhaps with this report, he would see the end of his days as a Watcher and if The Council had its way, the end of his own life-cycle with it.

Nothing else would be acceptable.

If word got out that a Watcher had been stripped of the black, there would be no knowing what the ripple effects throughout the universe would be. Better to end his life and announce a mighty battle in which the Watcher had fallen. A battle the Council would have to engineer. This wouldn't be the first time they'd acted like this, with no one the wiser.

Chapter 4

Hunter sat back in the oversized black leather chair in Ren’s office, trying to get comfortable. The constant thrumming in his head was like an old friend now. A willing price he paid for dreamless sleep. Eye drops covered up the redness in the whites of his eyes and with enough breath mints in his pocket, he was ready to slip into the sober personality he had developed over the years. Few people would ever know he was hung over, almost all the time.

Sitting on the other side of the desk however, was Ren. One of the few individuals in the world that would see his true state if not the underlying reason for it. She assumed he was just another talented lowlife who wasn’t thankful for the gifts handed to him. A gift that others would murder for. Is how she had put it to him once and you squander it away like a little kid throwing a tantrum!

Kill for? Hell, I’d give it away for free! In fact, I’ll give them everything I own with it! Hunter thought to himself once again. If doing so would just set me free to live a life of my own, without the dreams, reluctant to confess to Ren just why he drank himself stupid every night.

The new novel is absolutely brilliant Hunter, Ren stated without a doubt, another best-seller on your hands. I truly do not understand how you come up with these stories. How you can go from writing an epic, set during a World War and then follow it up with something from a fantasy angle. Not to mention the three horror books. I’ve just never come across any other writer that has that type of capacity and imagination in them. Well done!

Hunters’ eyes followed Ren as she moved around the mahogany desk in front of him.

Dressed in a men’s white business shirt tucked into a tight black mini-dress finished with heeled, black leather boots that went up to just below her knees, she was absolutely gorgeous and every man’s eyes would follow her wherever she went. Not that she ever dressed to impress anyone other than herself. The make-up that was flawless on her was just slightly off today though and failed to mask the fact she had had a very late night. Lucky her, and double lucky for whoever the guy was! Hunter thought to himself wishing he was as normal as everyone else. Perhaps he would have even had enough courage to ask her out if that was the case. Probably not.

With a start, he realized that he had not been paying attention to Ren. Lost in his own wandering, scattered thoughts as he stared at her oval, mocha colored face, deep blue eyes and her short cropped brown hair, layered with hints of purple and red highlights. Sorry Ren, he muttered Got lost in my own world for a minute. What did you say?

Ren smiled, Your own world? I think that you’ve actually got a whole new universe that you live in most of the time, Hunter. One small world is not enough for that imagination of yours.

Hunter watched as Ren’s smile lit up her entire face. Those smiles were few these days unlike when they had first met. Back then, she was always smiling. Regaling him with the little fascinating things that her daughter had been up to. Now that he thought about it further, Hunter realized that she hadn’t even mentioned her daughter the last few times that they’d caught up and that sleepless look on her face had developed over recent times. Something was not 100% in Ren’s world and he missed the normal-ness of those little stories. Somehow they had always made him feel good, more human and less the outsider that knew himself to be.

Plenty of weirdness in this one world Ren, no need to add an entirely new universe to my play-list.

Ren’s smile deepened, reaching her eyes, What I was saying before you went off on your mental walkabout, was that I’ve had another offer from Smitty and his crew again. The same as the last few only with a bigger cheque attached this time.

Smitty, aka Jonathan Smith IV, was the current heir and owner of Virtual Productions. They had bought the rights to the last 3 of Hunters books and turned them into Hollywood blockbusters that had made the studio hundreds of millions of dollars. Every single time though, Smitty and his crew had wanted Hunter to come on board as a Creative Consultant, with a very hefty pay-check to go along with it. Each time, they’d been disappointed when he had declined.

It’s bad enough that I had to live through all those moments, good and bad. There’s no way in Hell that I will ever recreate it for the silver screen and the adoring fans, Hunter had thought to himself never going to happen! He hadn’t even bothered watching any of the releases. Regardless of how persistent Smitty and his group of high-powered execs were. In fact, Hunter had declined even meeting with them, allowing Ren to handle absolutely every detail of the process.

Whatever you decide Ren, he told her Same details as the last though. Not interested in doing anything with it. They can buy the rights and make whatever they want with the script. I’ll leave it totally to you.

That’s what I figured you’d say but as your agent, I have to let you know about all the offers, regardless. Smitty doubled his offer this time for your services. A cool 5 million dollars.

They could offer ten times that and the answer would still be no, Ren. There’s literally not enough money in the world to make it happen. No need to pester me with the details. If you need the extra money from your commission, then just double what you charge me now. I don’t need all that much anyways.

Ren laughed loud, a belly laugh that had tears running down her cheeks I might just take you up on that Hunter. In the meantime, I’ll let Smitty know your answer. Who knows? He might even double it again. He probably thinks he can get even more mileage and profit if your name is associated the next movie. reaching for the phone as it rang on her desk.

*~*

Wisps of smoke arose from the kneeling Watchers' form as he emerged. Clear gold metallic colors swirled outwards-the color of full spiritual energy and awakening. Few had ever attained such perfection, reinforcing their belief that something would have to be done about this particular Watcher soon.

Keeping their linked thoughts to themselves, they looked upon the Watcher and spoke directly into his mind, We see that this planet is yet to change its course Watcher. It's as clear in your aura as you are before us. But yet, we also sense something that isn't quite clear. A confusion within you. Something that needs to be discussed. What is it?

The Watcher raised his head and looked to Micah, hesitating, I've witnessed something... strange. Something that will needs to further investigation.

The expression of The Five didn't waver, but The Watcher was more powerful than even they guessed. He could clearly read each individual members aura even though they had a shield woven around them that should have stopped him. It was a little something he had kept to himself, unwilling to share the information with anyone else. It was also one of the main reasons he didn't truly trust them. The thoughts they put forth to him when he was reporting held very little in common with what he read in each of their auras. Only Julian's aura resembled something akin to what The Watcher believed an aura of a Council member should be.

The bright pink of pure lust and coveting, mingled with the controlling orange dominating the other four Council members all pointed to hidden agendas. Games being played. Games The Council was supposed to be above. All decisions decreed by The Council should be above reproach and yet, their auras spoke the truth to him.

A truth they would not be able to deny if they knew he could see them.

A young girl, he continued, A tiny little thing, showed power a few months ago.

Power is never seen on a planet that has yet to reach enlightenment Watcher. Are you absolutely sure about this?

Julian interjected, A little girl you say? Someone who shows promise of power in an as yet unenlightened species? Are you sure?

Completely sure, Councilor. At first, it was only a small snippet of power. But something happened recently. That small snippet has somehow transformed. The connections within her colors have morphed. She blends them all, without thought.

Her aura is the brightest I've seen. It dwarfs anything else before it, he finished, watching the Five's auras from the corners of his eyes to better understand and gauge their feelings. Their colors filled with shock and disbelief, every single one of them including Julian. Even the usual demeanor on their faces fell for a moment before they reasserted control over themselves. It didn't take someone as talented as he was in reading to know that there was a