February 8, 1988

Do accept my apologies; I've neglected to notate time as I write, until now. What kind of journal would this be, if I omitted dates? I could hardly call myself a competent author - not that I ever have considered myself that.

In fact, I'm surprised you're still reading this. You enjoy my jaded musings?

One man's trash, another's treasure, perhaps…

I shall give only a brief progress report, and then I'd like to bring us back to my childhood forest. It's been a monotonous, snowy two days of searching and spying with Elyon, and I am quite eager to banish the thought of her from my mind, at least for one evening.

This morning I infiltrated the home of a Professor Dean Collins, who - according to Elyon - is a history instructor to Wilhelmina Vandom, leader of the Veil's guardians. Interestingly, this man is also involved with Will's single mother - thus, young Miss Vandom harbors quite a bit of animosity towards him.

He will be an excellent challenge for my camouflage skills.

In my experience, if one is aiming for subtlety, the most effective way to weaken a person is to fill them with confusion and anger. What better way to do so, than to sever the relationships of the people around them.

Will's teacher, and potential stepfather, is a perfect tool to instill a good amount of fear in her.

I set my royal student to work, searching for more details of Miss Vandom's life - and more candidates for impersonation. Elyon is not the devious type - she is only sixteen, after all, still full of fantasies and daydreams - but I do detect an undertone of anger in her. There is no doubt that she is willing to attack this Guardian, who causes her brother Phobos so much grief and frustration.

Out of necessity, I shall closely monitor Elyon's progress. This little magician is not an imbecile, but still not as bright as her brother - at least, not in the common-sense category.

Oh, if I had known that an employment under Phobos meant that I'd be tutoring teenage girls…

Not that she is useless, of course. Her firsthand knowledge of Earth - and of the five Guardians, at that - is worth more than gold. While she lacks the finesse to take on drastic shapeshifting endeavors, she naturally possesses the mannerisms of an Earthling… which mannerisms I had to work at imitating.

Yes, this peevish human student of mine had only one valuable skill to teach me: how to act like a peevish human.

Ah, if you, reader, happen to be human, note that I do not consider all humans irritable and irrational. I know at least a few of them that are actually quite patient, and caring …

…Actually, I can only think of one, and that is my adoptive mother. Of course, she is not truly human, although she became quite good at fooling the rest of the world that she was.

Full of aliens, this world is…

Why, it seems I've gotten on a tangent again. My mind is a disjointed creature; do forgive me.

Well, I hunted Phoebus down again, after the dust settled and the clan recovered from the sword fight. It was simply an errand of business. I needed to conquer that human creature, before one of my clan mates killed him, or before he left on a ship back for home.

Not that the word "retreat"was anywhere in the humans' vocabulary. Naturally, they would rather return the attack.

Ultimatums are useless.

"Retreat, or we'll kill you." This was our implicit declaration to them. A sound proposition, if you'd ask me. Firm, unmoving, yet providing room for a… less fatal option.

Their reply to that was an ultimatum of their own, which I could describe as something to the effect of: "To hell with you."

At the midnight hour, two nights after our first victory, the twenty living souls left of them would bring rain upon us. The rain would be made of steel-alloy arrows, flying man-sized boulders, and airborne swords.

We would be grossly unprepared.

Yes, I knew the attack was coming. I'd seen the great piles of boulders and sharpened metal in their camp when I'd searched for Phoebus, simply for the pleasure of spilling his blood.

Revenge was a new sensation, a coursing feeling of… lightning.

The euphoria of tracking his scent through the night-dark trees lasted only one minute, for a snake-skinned finger poked my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks.

It was Balek.

This brother of mine was not an adventurous creature. He had his rare impulses, but usually, he preferred to eat and sleep. So, I found myself shocked that it wasn't Neytak, the warrior of our family, or Reyulk, who loved the trees almost as much as I did, but Balek.

He wanted, of all things, to seethe water-wizard. After days of listening to my stories, the curiosity was apparently too much for him. Although I hated his intrusion, I couldn't bring myself to argue with that.

But… I still hated his intrusion.

"Go away, Balek," I commanded him.

"Make me." He laughed, which caused me nearly to claw his nose off. I quite doubt how exactly I kept myself composed.

"This isn't your kill," I growled. "It's mine."

"You told me he almost drowned you just by looking at you," he guffawed. "Don't you want somebody to back you up, little lizard?"

I clocked him upon the head, and he replied by throwing me in the direction of my chase. "C'mon, show me this Feebles guy. I wanna see him."

"You'll slow me down," I spat.

"I'm not sorry," he said quite honestly.

There was no getting rid of him. I huffed, turned around, and continued towards the magician's scent. "And his name's Phoebus."

"Uh-huh." A few moments later: "So… why do you care about pronouncing the name of something you're about to kill?"

I frankly do not know the answer to that.

Phoebus was on the shore, surrounded by dead and wounded humans. I still remember the image: seawater filling in the gaps between thirty corpses, half-covering them with moonlit liquid and then receding back into the tide, while the other men softly went about burying their comrades, readying their ammunition…

He was kneeling and trembling.

"I'll lure him out?" Balek suggested in my ear.

"Not yet…" I wanted to watch him. See the way he moved; see if he would cast any more enchantments, if I could get one last glimpse of his magic before he died...

Phoebus pulled a small dagger from his belt.

Had he sensed us? We backed away and hid beneath a bush, ready to grab him if he wandered off. "Come on," I whispered to him. "Come here."

He stood up, said something to the men gathering corpses, and went into the water. It was a slow, calculated movement, he gently dipped the dagger into the saltwater and then into a casualty, drawing blood… and pressing his hand into the wound, eyes squeezed shut in concentration…

What the devil, I remember thinking. He's going to revive them…

He was silent for a very long time, swaying slightly and leaning over the corpse.

In a sudden flash of frustration, the Prince yelled out and wrenched his hand from the body, flinging the dagger into the water.

"I can't," he cried, grabbing his arms. "I… I can't."

And... there was only a pitiful silence. His comrades glanced at him, then lowered their eyes and continued on with their business… like drones.

Balek looked at me. "What... did he say?" he whispered.

"He can't."

"Can't... what?"

"He can't revive them." I turned around. "We're done here."

"Huh?" He stared at me, muscles tensing. "Why, Kedrayk?"

"I don't want to kill him anymore."

I'd said it too loudly.

Phoebus looked me straight in the eyes, shouted something, and flexed his palm. The dagger shot through the air and pierced the tree bark, missing my head by nine inches.

"Run, Balek."

He, of course, found that idea ridiculous, and he burst forward, hissing at the magician like the idiot that he was; an idiot with a death wish. I screamed at him and grabbed his arm, but a poison-spiked arrow was already deep in his chest.

Balek coughed, sputtered, and fell to the ground.

... He was dead.

"You demons," I thundered, shifting to a hunter's stance. "You demons!"

Phoebus sauntered towards me unarmed, holding his hand out towards the other men. They lowered their bows, and did not attack me. I then knew he had some sort of authority, for this was the second time that they had dutifully obeyed the command of a mere boy...

The last time, however, he'd ordered them to shoot at me. When would he make up his mind? Did he want me dead or alive?

He accelerated in his stride. His mouth was covered by the air mask, but I saw enough anger in his eyes. The magician bellowed, "Hello, little dragon! Came to attack me again, did you?"

Why, yes. I lunged for his throat, and I was able to twist it only slightly before he pressed both palms into my ribcage; the shockwave was heartless, the pain incredible. I landed upon my back.

He stepped on my left arm, paralyzed my right arm with magic. He leaned down and looked at me with those alien, blue eyes.

I wanted to die.

He studied me silently, evaluating his prey. He yanked his dagger from the tree, and pressed it against my neck. The tip of it kissed into my skin.

"Get out," he hissed; his eyes flickered towards the forest. "Send this message. You don't leave, we attack tomorrow. Understand me?"

I knew only the word Attack and the words Get out, but that was more than enough. "Yes."

His hand trembled. He snarled again: "Get. Out."

Then he stepped away, and sheathed his dagger.