MAKE READY THE FUTURE

Notes: An old piece I found and liked, DOMA might have been a filler arc but I ended up liking it a lot.

1975

It is strange, Dartz reflected, staring out over the stormy grey ocean, to think that an immortal can once again feel the press of time upon them...

Storm tossed waves pounded upon the cliff and crashed into the rocks hundreds of feet below. The sea, in all its fickle moods, had always calmed him; yet now there remained a deep-seated urgency within him, one not wholly of his own creation but undeniable nonetheless. The Orichalcos had been restless for the past decade and a half. He'd increased the rate at which he'd taken the souls of those tainted by darkness accordingly, but it seemed it had not been enough. Now he could glean only a single sentiment from the pulsing stone.

Something is coming. Be ready.

1977

It had taken two years of searching, crisscrossing Europe before he found what he was looking for. In his defense, the object of his search - or rather, the person - hadn't been born until only a few days ago, and thus Dartz took the wait in stride. Now he stood in a Parisian hospital, watching an infant slumber peacefully in a bassinet on the other side of the glass. Inches away from a fine down of blonde fuzz, the family and given names had written along with the birth weight. The boy had been born heavy, and quite an ordeal for the mother, he understood from the chatter of the nurses in the hallway.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" One of them approached him with a cheerful smile, the kind that came from seeing new life each day.

"No," Dartz answered, satisfied after seeing the child - no, seeing Raphael - in person. "No, thank you. Things are... quite acceptable for the time being."

1979

The Atlantean king skirted the broken glass littering the sidewalk, noting yet another storefront that had been destroyed by looters. The civil unrest in this area were growing worse, and he knew - with the calm certainty of someone who had witnessed every large-scale conflict of mankind - that it would become war, and soon. Dartz drew the hood of the brown cloak further down to conceal his features as he passed under the streetlights; one of the few on the block that hadn't yet been toppled.

Where? He demanded of the Orichalcos, and the stone pulsed back at him, guiding him down a darkened street. The buildings here were run down, some bearing damage from the fires which almost nightly raged from protesters swarming the streets.

A woman's agonized cry let him know he was in the right vicinity. He quickly located the source, keeping to the shadows while peering through a cracked window.

"Wait for the contraction to push," the midwife scolded, allowing the mother to squeeze her hand tightly. The pregnant woman bit back her screams, not wanting to attract the attention of the angry dissidents which roamed the city at night.

"Ready then? Very good... and... push now!"

The red-haired woman bore down obediently, and gave enough cry, although this one sounded both exhausted and triumphant at the same time, then sank back on the bed.

"Congratulations, my lord... you have a daughter. She and your wife are both doing very well. Would you like to see them?"

"Would you like to see him?" the midwife asked, wiping the infant clean and wrapping him in a towel. Dartz started slightly, having been unaware he'd slipped into his own memories for a brief instant, and refocused his attention on the scene inside, although with a lingering feeling of sorrow.

"A son?" the new mother murmured fondly.

The midwife, taking in the pale and delicate features of the baby, gave a wry smile. "So it seems," she answered.

"My son... Amelda," the red-haired woman said, sitting up to cradle the child.

Amelda, Dartz echoed silently, and smiled before turning away from the window.

1980

For a year he'd searched all over, but he'd found no sign of his third Warrior. So he expanded his quest, guided by the Orichalcos, to a different continent altogether. In the early morning hours, he found himself at the gate of a convent, staring down at a basket bearing a tiny infant. Startlingly blue eyes looked up at him, curiously, unaware of the peril that could befall him as he lay out here unprotected.

Dartz knelt and gently loosened the letter from its place, tucked between the child and the edge of the basket. Opening it, he read silently the contents, which had been written in a shaky hand.

Dear Mother Superior,
His name is Varon, and I need you to take care of him for us. As much as it pains us, we know that we cannot take care of a child right now, and we do not want him to suffer. I can only hope that giving our son into the service of God can help atone for our terrible sin of abandoning a child.

Dartz considered, and then carefully tore the letter, leaving only the first line to identify the boy - his name is Varon. The rest of the paper was crumpled and carried away with the wind. He replaced the modified letter, then tucked the blanket a little more securely around the child before moving on.