Fragmented

A beautifully macabre atmosphere ladened the grand square of the capital. Vile things that had once masqueraded the nation claiming to be human beings ornamented the area in a grim display - seven bodies of varying sizes charred beyond recognition. There was a subtle sway in their dangle from their bound wrists. Allowing the scent of the damned to be carried by the very breeze that brushed through them.

The windchimes of warning, as Cassian had come to refer to the weekly scene.

It was his responsibility to oversee the public executions of these people. Of these things. Their humanity was all but lost to whatever corroded and corrupted the premise of what they were, or at least, what they had once been. Cassian felt a personal catharsis ebb and flow through him as he studied the success of his conquest. By burning the filth from the world and leaving what remained charred and disfigured, he also provided the men, women, and children lost to their disease a gateway to redemption on the other side. No longer did they crusade the world as wicked creatures, no. They have ascended to the land of eternal slumber beyond our own - a world Cassian feverishly lusts to climb to upon the completion of his righteous mission.

Black boots beat down in a determined rhythm against the cemented ground as Cassian strode through the lull in the city’s bustle. Collections of people grew scarcer as evening began to taint the purity of the light of day. A forbidding reminder of the darkness that has come to plague the reborn nation of New Babylon.

The few individuals making their last rounds before the curfew went into effect ensured a safe distance from Cassian’s marching figure - carefully averting their gazes so as to not gather any unwarranted attention from the Commanding Officer of the Sovereign’s Guard. It was rare to glimpse the Commander in his glorified black military-grade uniform alone, the surname ‘Iorwerth’ stitched into the front with a thread of the purest shade of white. In truth, Cassian had simply desired a short margin of time to admire the nation cleansed of the seven bodies that had tainted the population’s purity only a short time ago. It served well to assure not only himself of the righteous mission he had sworn himself to nearly a decade ago, but to assure those tainted by filth dwelling among the shadows of the nation that purity will prevail.

“The Sovereign requests an audience with you in the conference room.”

The otherwise lone Commander stood just outside of the barracks built onto the property of the nation’s leader - a necessary precaution for the Sovereign’s Guard to be stationed so closely. Cassian vividly recalled the decree of the first Sovereign to establish a variety of sub-branches for men and women in arms in the earliest days of New Babylon. The Guardsmen of the Sovereign, the Internal Forces Divisions, External Forces Divisions, and several more sub-groups of the military. The armed forces and its several divisions of occupation make it the largest job force in the nation. Those familiar with the prior construction of the armed forces would know the ghost of the former military’s structure is the backbone of New Babylon’s forces - at least in terms of subtly mirroring ranks and training.

His gaze strayed briefly to the horizon in remembrance of the abundance of changes big and small that briskly swallowed the nation, and made way for the beginning of a new era. Though, at the very least, Cassian had found the first Sovereign’s presence tolerable in comparison to the woman who’s recently declared herself leader of the nation.

“I see,” Cassian replied coolly, though a trace of vexation lingered in his jaw. A light breeze ruffled the blond’s hair, his eyes sweeping towards the servant in a gesture of acknowledgment. In a single fell swoop, the servant offered a bow and turned to scamper onward to his next menial task.

It never ceased to occupy his thoughts of how the patterned floor that was now the pathway to the conference room might have once looked just several years before. The grand manor he walked through with haste was erected with the skeleton of what had once been the ‘White House’ of the nation before. The Sovereign had wanted to construct this land’s saving grace upon the ashes of the nation before - setting fire to the building this once was had been his first action upon being officially sworn to power.

A testament to the founding of New Babylon.

Passing beneath the grand archway that housed the doors to the room he was summoned to, a single push of his arms against the doors threw them open - albeit not dramatic enough to coax a chorus of gasps from anyone else potentially fluttering around the space. Clearly, the Sovereign had dismissed the guards that should have been stationed both outside of the doors and within the white-walled room. Cassian never enjoyed his completely private audiences with the newly sworn-in leader, and it seemed to be shaping up to be one of those strictly private meets.

“Commander Iorwerth, what a pleasant surprise.” The Sovereign lifted her voice in a chirp, faux astonishment seeping into her tone while her azure orbs tethered themselves to his figure. The Sovereign, Elaine, sat atop her marble pedestal; aegean blue textiles littering the chair to flaunt the woman’s opulence. The glorified chair, referred to as the Sovereign’s throne, sat upon a platform that stretched from either side of the room. Providing enough space should she invite people to be seated beside her. The venue was high enough to warrant steps to ascend to the top, though not nearly enough to make the climb longer than a mere few seconds.

Cassian took it upon himself to venture further into the room, providing the Sovereign with a forced buckle of his legs in an ode of respect to the woman of supreme power before he straightened his posture once more. The Sovereign’s pleased laugh echoed off of the room’s walls following the act. “You summoned me?” The Commander phrased it as a question, though they both knew it was meant to be interpreted as a forward statement. Vague pleasantries and pointless exchanges of small talk were never Cassian’s forte anyway.

“I did,” she replied in loose acknowledgment, flicking her wrist as a gesture for Cassian to obey her demand to step forward. Begrudgingly, he heeded to the Sovereign’s request. “Good,” she barked sweetly, Cassian’s feet stopping mere inches from the platform that Elaine directly sat looking over. Their eyes tethered in a tension that proved to be taut - yet neither recoiled from the stare. Elaine fell further back into the throne, allowing her head to ever-so-slightly tip its way into her dainty hand. The aftermath resulted in her long, auburn-tinted tresses spilling over the shoulder her leaning head favored. “I’ve called a gathering of the nation’s Elites to attend a social conference for the nation’s eight-year anniversary.”

The Commander’s expression gave way to no surprise, replying in a neutral manner. “As could be expected.”

“Are you calling me predictable?” She questioned, raised a brow - before dramatizing a hearty laugh and dismissively waving her free hand. “A joke, of course,” she said, as if it had been funny. “Yes, yes - the gathering is always highly anticipated for the Elites. Of course, more so this year than others,” she replied, the purse of her lips leaving the weight of the words she left unspoken suspending in the air above them.

They would surely be eager to pry in person about the harrowing assassination of her father six months prior, the disownment and failed execution of her twin counterpart, and presumably pine for her favor. Cassian personally understood very little of the quarterly meets hosted within this manor - it was his duty to ensure and maintain tight security. However, not he, nor his Guardsmen were permitted real entrance to within the manor. Naturally, he assumed they purposefully poured deafening music from within the manor to the outside amid these events to thwart calculated eavesdropping of any degree. However, even that, at least in Cassian’s opinion, was a greatly inadequate privacy measure.

“Of course.” Cassian parroted, keeping his gaze level with the Sovereign before him. “Is that all?” It seemed a rather pointless briefing to make so private - pointless if anyone knew Elaine less than he did. Unfortunately, perhaps twenty-seven years’ worth of living granted him extensive intuition into reading into people’s subtleties. Or worse, he’s just simply known Elaine for far longer and far too well than either of them would ever care to admit.

“Not exactly,” she drew out as her lips curved upward. “I’d be delighted if you took the time to investigate the recently widowed woman of the Inner Sanctum, Olivia Dugress,” Elaine spoke this woman’s name with such reserved malice that Cassian could have sworn the temperature dropped a degree. “She seems to be… displaying unseemly qualities.” She took a calculated pause, allowing the burnt embers that were her eyes to study Cassian with dark amusement. “I simply figured someone so closely affiliated with the same filthy qualities, you would be able to keep this investigation - and whichever actions may be required to take - between us.”

Cassian became acutely aware of his own heartbeat. It’s persistent beat, beat, beat, pumping a toxic strain of self-loathing through his veins.

His stoicism externally failed in allowing even a brief waver in his composure, his hands clasping behind his back in accordance with a confident yet subtle incline of his head. “I understand.” The control in his voice diluted his bitterness.

“Lovely,” Elaine piped with satisfaction, raising her head from her hand in exchange for a leg gracefully crossing over the other. “I knew you would.” She smiled. One sheathing a despicable entertainment for the matter. “You’re excused now, Commander Iorwerth,” she decreed, her figure faintly shifting forward as Cassian offered a nod of obliged respect. “And Cassian? Don’t disappoint me.” She cooed sweetly, albeit the fire still lit in her eyes warned him of the severity to her words. For just a mere second he allowed a glimmer of the hatred he caged for himself, and all those afflicted with his blasphemous strain of illness, to seep itself in his stare back at the Sovereign - before he relinquished his soul-piercing gaze and briskly exited to proceed back to the barracks.

Night descended too quickly for Cassian’s liking. His stride across the manor’s front courtyard was silent - his gaze briefly flickering to various Guardsmen making their rounds, engaging in menial chatter as they carried out their duties. The Commander himself only ever spoke briefly - usually only when absolutely necessary with his men. It’s not as if he felt his title glorified him to a status that meant speaking with his Guardsmen was beneath him. It was quite the opposite.

He felt far too beneath them. Far too beneath everyone. Like a hollow cavity decorated with a breath of life believable enough to be considered a human being.

‘Wielders’ as his cursed kind has come to be known, though by the grace of Elaine, his truth is a carefully concealed secret between them. The ungodly strain of toxicity that had plagued the population of the world, at the very least, was the foundation for the rise of New Babylon - the regime was a beacon in a time so unsettling. For Cassian most of all. His purity, his dignity having been stripped away by bearing the curse of a Wielder - capable of dark arts no human should be enabled to possess. Yet the birth of the new nation blessed him with an opportunity to fulfill what must surely be his purpose. Being the executioner of all Wielders, and cleansing the land of impurity one corrupted soul at a time.

“Commander,” a voice of purpose vocalized from the dim light breaching the doorway to the barracks, silhouetting a man starkly shorter than Cassian himself, by three inches at the very least. Considering he was a formidable few inches above six feet - most men of average height appeared nearly dwarfed in Cassian’s presence. “Private Iorwerth has not yet returned for the night watch’s roll call.”

Cassian feigned from rolling his eyes. Not at the Guardsmen before him though. At the lack of proper conduct from his younger brother. “I’ll personally tend to the matter,” Cassian spoke, and that was all the fellow Guardsman needed in order to mark the sheet clipped to his board, before questing on with required roll call with the various other Guardsmen in, and spaced around, the barracks.

A brief walk within the barracks only further made the evident absence of his brother painfully clear. It was too quiet here for his little brother to be here at all. It was one, out of the millions of ways, they were each other’s polar opposites. Where Cassian’s hair was a shorter, faded blond, his brother Vesper’s was a rich brown. Cassian was a shade of pale that barely surpassed as healthy, while Vesper’s own complexion was a lighter, smooth olive. Cassian was more aware of everyone’s variabilities in both personality and especially appearance from his own though. He was careful to present himself as respectable in demeanor and appearance for the sake of preserving whatever shred of dignity he had left - though he found it difficult to ever meet his gaze in the mirror as of late.

Ten minutes.

Cassian decided as he paced back in a subtly irritated manner that his brother had ten minutes to make his appearance or risk Cassian himself taking a brief leave to collect him from the bakery he knew Vesper had a troubling fondness for.

The pastries aren’t that delightful.