“What’s going on in a world filled with pain,

where’s the love for which we pray?
What’s going on when our children can’t play,

homeless can’t eat,
there’s got to be a better way.
What’s going on in the world today?

I’d rather be dead than to turn my head away.
We got this first world vision

too comfy to lift up our hands in the air

and cry for a switch.

I can’t be watching people die and watching people cry.
Let me break it down for a minute.

If there’s enough room here for you and me,

there’s plenty of room for some humanity.”

                        —Artists against Aids Worldwide                  

Seal of Fate – inevitable meeting

Chapter One

The air was humid, as one would expect of a Greek summer. Narrow streets wound around the small city like a maze. The hot and stuffy weather made it even stranger for a man to wear a hooded cloak like this one did. His cloak reached right down to the bare ground, dragging a small cloud of dust behind him. The dim light of the evening from the crescent moon made it hard to make out his carefully hidden face.

Suddenly, a group of children burst out from a neighbouring alley, breaking the silence and blocking the previously fairly vacant street.

“Please sir, spare us a few coins,” the oldest from the group begged with a pleading voice. The youngest, perhaps about three, ran unsteadily to the man and grabbed hold of his leg with tiny, bony fingers. All the others lifted their muddy faces to stare hopefully at the traveller.

He sighed heavily. A stray strand of his grey-blue hair spilled out of his hood as he searched in his pockets.

“Here, take this and go home. It’s late.” He placed a note into the open palm of the eldest child.

The child’s eyes widened as he snatched away the note, afraid that the stranger might reclaim his generosity. After all, it was rare to get anything from their little routine, not to mention such a great amount.

“Hey, let’s go. Ron, let go of the guy’s leg. He’s given us something.” The children turned back upon that order. Ron lagged behind, nearly falling over on his little short legs. A small girl, perhaps his sister, caught him just in time and carried him away.

“Thank you, Sir.” With that, they called over their shoulders and disappeared down the streets that they knew so well.

The traveller sighed sadly again. There were far too many children like these in this suffering world. It made him feel quite helpless to think there was not much more he could do. Or was there? If all goes well, if his plans succeed, then he could change the world…. What were the chances of that? He was against a Goddess. In fact, he was against the Goddess whom he vowed to serve with all the strength in his body and soul. However, he had already decided to take the risk a long time ago. Nor did he regret his choice, but wished with all his heart that he could have let the old Pope live. From his last words, it was now clear that Shion had seen through the Goddess too. However, Shion did not put up a fight for freedom. He simply saw the truth and gave up on life. Perhaps if he had expressed his ideas to the ancient leader, they could have worked together.

He shook himself from the memories. This was not the time to think about the past. He hurried down the bumpy lane. He was quite sure that no one was close by to notice his presence, but just to make sure…. He picked a dingy looking alley and pulled up his hood even further until it almost reached down to his nose.

It was dark and he was in a rush, so it was understandable that he did not see the girl who was half lying on the narrow alley. He nearly tripped over her as he squeezed between the shabby shelters on either side of the lane.

“Sorry Sir,” she groaned in a weak and feverish voice. She struggled to sit up and move out of his way.

“Sorry, lady, I didn’t see you there.” He was a little annoyed when he realised that the alley was not empty. Yet again, he will have to search for another place. When that flash of irritation was gone, he felt only compassion for the poor girl.

“Do you have a home, lady? You sound ill. Have you gone to see a doctor?”

“Why do you call me lady? No, I don’t. Yes, I’ve got a fever. And no, I haven’t seen a doctor. They charge far too much.” A thin, ghostly smile touched the corners of her chapped lips.

He dipped his hands into his pockets, searching for his purse, when he remembered that he had already given away all his money. He cursed under his breath. What else was there to do to help her?

“Why don’t you leave, Sir? My fever might be contagious.”

“And leave you here to die?”

“I’m ready to die.” There was bitterness in her voice. She should have died in an alley much like this one long ago. Instead, death took away one whom she had loved and left her in this lonely torture called life. Then, the cruel coldness had threatened to sear through her life source. Now, it was burning fever that boiled through her blood.

Watching her struggle, he reached a decision. There was a risk in taking her back, but he just could not leave her here to die when he could do something.

“Nonsense. You’re coming with me.”

“But….”

“No arguing.” He took out a mask from under his cloak, took a deep breath, and placed it over his face.

She watched in terror at the two gleaming red eyes on the mask. Her terrified mind saw two tentacles extended forward to claim her. She tried to scream at the approaching monster but it was too later. Her world spun around into darkness.

No one argued with the Pope. He was Athena’s representative on Earth. Of course his actions were right. No questions asked. The Pope developed a habit around five years ago. He would teleport himself away for a day and come back late in the evening. The first time that he told Azar about his intentions to go on a short trip, Azar had objected most strongly. The Pope was more than two hundred years old. His body was fragile. Going out on an unnecessary expedition was not the best way to preserve his health. Yet the Pope had insisted on going out, and no one went against the will of the Pope.

Azar never asked him what he did on his little trips. That was none of his business. He was only a servant, a failed candidate for a Cloth. Yet he felt curious about the unconscious girl. Why did he bring her here? She must be around eighteen, therefore far too old to train for a Cloth. Therefore the Pope must have wanted to help her out of his kindness. However, bringing her to the Sanctuary was not the best idea. After all, she would not be able to leave when she recovers.

The demon’s claws reached forward. Sharp talons sank into her flesh, ripping her apart. There was nothing she could do. She was nailed down as the nightmarish visions scotched her mind. Her lungs…. She gasped for air…. Her lungs were going to collapse and shatter like glass.

The demon vanished as suddenly as it came. Channels of fire lit up around her still form, seething through the hot air, blazing with redness towards the black stone ceiling. She struggled to be free from the flame that played across her tangled hair like a cobra dancing to the tune of Hell. Without warning, she found herself staring into face of the demon. It was there again, hovering right in front of her. Its twisted black flesh distorted into a taunting smile, exposing a set of sharp yellow fangs.

“Oh lord,” she prayed silently, “let it not end so.”

A burning claw closed around her neck. Her throat felt like an erupting volcano. With horror, she saw that she was suffocating. Thick, red, molten lava seeped around her, promising to encase her in its fiery mould. As the first trickle crept along her face, she realised that it was not lava, but thick, red, burning blood.

“You idiot!” Lachesis snatched away the scissors in her sister’s hand. “You can’t cut that thread. That’s the body of the Mystery Spirit, remember!” She was screaming hysterically at Atropos now.

“What are you doing, Atropos,” enquired a surprisingly calm Clotho. “I spent ages weaving that thread. Don’t go and cut it just because you feel like it.”

Atropos turned a very deep shade of red, her pale skin doing nothing to hide her blush.

“I’m so sorry. I got carried away and didn’t look carefully enough. I’ll be much more careful in the future. I promise I will.”

“Why does it have to be me?” Azar had asked with a certain panic in his voice.

“I mean, surely the blood of a Gold Saint is much better.”

Scorpio Gold Saint Milo had given him an annoyingly calm look.

“Ah, but you’re the only one who came with her. No Gold Saint came with you, so you’ll have to do.”

“But you are a …”

Too late, Milo had managed to grab hold of his right wrist and cut it with a red sharp nail on his index finger, collecting the stream of blood that spurted out with his other hand in a shiny goblet.

A quiet moan from the direction of the bed jolted Azar back to the present. The Scorpio Saint, who was staring at the other end of the room, whirled around to face the bed. He, too, must have heard the tiny noise. Of course, he was a Gold Saint. Their hearing was very sensitive.

The girl, whose name they have yet to find out, was lying somewhat more peacefully on Milo’s bed than before. There were still traces of Azar’s blood on her forehead, faintly showing the pattern that Milo had drawn to aid his healing two days ago. The thought of his own blood made him sick. Although he had gone through the training of a Saint, he was still secretly afraid of blood. What a coward he was! He made himself look at her square in the face.

“She looks better, doesn’t she,” Milo said with a certain pride.

“She’d better be after all that blood I had to contribute.” Although Azar was only the servant of the Kyoto, with no rank of Sainthood, he did not treat Milo as his superior, not even when he was a Gold Saints. Most of the time Milo did not mind.

“Have you got no faith in my healing skills, Azar?” Milo frowned a little and tilted his head to look at him. “The thing that troubles me is that the Pope specialises in healing although he was the only the brother of the old Aries Saint. If he asked Mu to heal her, it would be understandable. But in Mu’s absence, he handed this girl for me to heal. I wonder why. It is as if he were using her to test me.”

“I don’t question the Kyoto,” Azar replied rather stiffly. There was an awkward silence, broken by the sound of another soft moan. Her eyelids slowly lifted, revealing a pair of ocean-blue eyes. They seem to be as deep as the ocean, too. Azar straightened himself, pulling his gaze away before he drowned in them.

“It’s about time you woke up,” said Milo.

“Oh, sorry, have I overslept?” she asked in a crocking voice. The girl winced a little, cleared her throat, and looked around curiously.

“You’ve slept for about two and a half days.”

“Goodness. I didn’t mean to be so lazy. Sorry for the trouble I caused.” Her voice was now soft and musical. She sat up in the bed and stretched.

“Don’t worry about that. How are you feeling?”

“My head’s clear. The fever’s gone. What else…” she knitted her brow. Despite his friendliness, the one with the indigo hair did not look like the most trustworthy person in the world. From her experience on the streets, she recognised the look of the hunter in his eyes. Her intuition was warning her. He felt like a killer looking over his prey. The other one with short brown hair and strange hazel eyes with a glint of green looked fairly harmless. However, nothing is what it appears. She had to be very careful. She was secretly alert under her seemingly dazed appearance. Her eyes surveyed the room for all possible exits. Escape was not the best option now, especially when they did nothing to show any animosity. It was best to play along, at least for now.

“And I feel a bit hungry.” Seeing a small trace of a smile creep onto his face, she took the courage to say, “Actually, I’m starving.”

“Azar, get the girl some food! Oh, by the way, that’s Azar,” He informed her in a conversational tone, “I’m Milo. And you are?”

“Cyadoria.”

This was luxurious. She had never been in a Roman bath before. Actually, in her memory, she had never really had a warm bath before. The stream was the best there was. She plunged her face under the waves of warmth, feeling the dust and dirt leave her skin. Despite everything, she felt strangely uncomfortable inside. There she was, alone in the middle of this vast spa. There was nowhere for her to hide. The fact that she had no items of clothing on at the moment made her feel even more exposed to danger. It was probably silly, but from all the years wondering on the hazardous streets, her sense of trust had died. There were questions in her heart, torturing her mind with their presence.

Where was she?

The man named Milo had called this place Sanctuary. So did the masked man, whom she identified as the one who took her here in her fuzzy memory, and to whom this spa belongs. What is Sanctuary? It is just a name to her with no meanings attached. A sudden thought hit her, making her panic even more than before. Was this Sanctuary place even in Greece? They spoke Greek, but still…. The masked man had explained briefly that the means of transport was not natural when she inquired about the locations of this place in respect to her home alley. So it was possible that she was stuck in a totally alien country!

“… done, Scorpio Milo. I knew you could heal well.” The voice sounded rather hollow behind the mask. Azar paused at the entrance, not wanting to interrupt.

“Not nearly as well as you, your Greatness,” Milo replied with his ever-suspicious look.

“Well enough.” Then the Kyoto diverted the subject a little too quickly. “Azar, come in. I know you’re there.”

The ability to sense other people’s presence unnerved Azar immensely. However, it was something he had to live with when he was around the Pope and the Gold Saints.

“Your Greatness, I have got her some clean clothes from several female trainees. I have placed them outside the door to the spa and informed her about them. She said she was coming out very soon,” he reported rather formally.

“Well done to you too,” came the emotionless voice.

“I have also prepared a chamber for her near my room as you wished, your Greatness.”

A huge shadow swayed from a door leading to the living quarters of servants behind the Pope. Azar felt his blood turn to ice when he recognised the man, if that thing could be called a man, who was arriving. He clenched his fists, trying to control his emotions.

“Gigas,” said the Pope softly with a hint of annoyance without even turning. “Did I tell you to come?”

“No, Pope,” the great voice rumbled like thunder.

“Why don’t you leave then?”

A pair of pig-like eyes stared out behind a mop of needle-like hair. Gigas grumbled something unintelligible, then stamped a foot to the ground, causing a minor earthquake as he did so.

“Which part of my order didn’t you understand, Gigas?” All mildness vanished from the Kyoto’s voice. “I repeat. Leave. Now.”

Silence swallowed the atmosphere in the room as the two stared at each other. A little cough came from the corridor linking the spa to this part of the Pope’s House. Azar decided to say nothing. The cough grew louder. Still being ignored, the figure in the corridor started having a coughing fit. Finally, Milo turned his head in her direction.

“Err, your Greatness, I think someone’s finished bathing.”

The Kyoto tore his steely gaze away from the giant. He took a deep breath, melting some of the iciness in his voice.

“Come in.”

A hesitant figure drifted in. She was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt that was obviously too big for her, and a long sky-blue shirt that dragged on the floor. Her wet indigo hair was tangled. By a miracle, she managed to walk across the room to stop in front of the Pope without tripping over her borrowed skirt.

“Hi,” said a timid voice behind the mess of hair. Then she lifted her face to throw a slightly lopsided smile across the room. Her gaze stopped as it hit Gigas. Her eyes widened, her jaws dropped. Azar could just make out a cringe from the expressions on her face.

For some reason, her gaze seemed to make Gigas uncomfortable too. When the giant met her eyes, he backed towards the exit of the House. However, he managed to walk into the wall instead. A small strangling sound made Azar turn, only to see a stifled laugh on Milo’s face.

“Um, the door’s that way,” the girl pointed out to Gigas tentatively. “You did want to go through that door, didn’t you? I mean, forget what I said if you wanted to walk through the wall. No, I mean….”

Gigas disappeared through the door before she had a chance to finish. When she recovered and stopped gaping, she turned back to the Pope.

“I’m sorry to trouble you …but what was that?” This was too much for Milo, who started to chuckle aloud.

“A nasty little argument.”

“No, I mean the thing. You know, the living boulder with hair on it….”

“You mean Gigas?” There was amusement in the voice of the Pope, too. “Gigas is a servant of mine.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Did I offend him? I didn’t mean to. It’s just, he walked into the wall and I thought….” Azar saw the poor girl stumble on her words.

“You probably did offend him.” She paled at that. “But don’t worry. I wanted him to leave.” She let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Now, we need to get you a brush to sort out your hair.” Azar could not see the expression behind the mask, but the Kyoto was probably looking critically at Cyadoria.

“Azar, will you go and find her a hairbrush? Then, you have my permission to take her to town tomorrow for some new clothes that fit her.”

“Yes, your Greatness.” Azar hurried to the door and stopped. “Sorry, Kyoto. Ira would never let anyone borrow her brush. Mirabel would kill anyone who tries to borrow hers. Vera doesn’t have a brush, I don’t think. She uses a comb. Faye’s out again. I don’t know where she put hers. So may you write me another permission note to go into the female training camp where I may find a brush?”

“No need. Just go to Virgo Shaka. He is sure to have a brush and he is easier to find as well. He will definitely be in his temple,” Milo suggested.

“Good idea. Do that, Azar,” the Pope commanded. Azar nodded and vanished with amazing speed, Cyadoria noticed. She could not help but wonder what kind of man keeps a hairbrush. Surely a comb would do for most. She made a mental note of the name Virgo Shaka.

Her hair, now brushed out with the utmost care, was silky smooth. It was like a waterfall pouring in the inverse direction, Azar thought for the millionth time. The sky-blue shade darkened gradually as her hair tumbled down her back, ending in the shade of the deepest night sky.

“Haven’t we bought about enough?”

“If you think so,” Azar replied. “Why have you bought everything in blue, by the way?” he added curiously.

“Blue looks best on me. It goes with my eyes and hair.” Her hair was like a waterfall flying towards the sky. The white foam crushed skywards in a deadly rush. He was staring at her hair again. Azar kicked himself.

Cyadoria was feeling quite cheerful today. The visit to this little town quenched the worst of her fears. She was still in Greece. However, this island, she guessed it was an island by the strong smell of the sea, was not one she was familiar with. Maybe Azar would be more willing to tell her how she got here.

“Azar, will you explain what was meant by the ‘unnatural means’ that got me to this place?” He looked at her with a torn expression. She had already noticed how honest the brown-haired man was. This face never hid a single thread of his emotions. He really could be read like an open book.

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to. The Kyoto didn’t say you were ready to know.”

“He didn’t forbid you to say anything either,” she argued. She was already used to his company. Her timid front shown exclusively to strangers more or less vanished to him.

“Please,” she used her last weapon, giving him the innocent-little-girl look complete with fluttering eyelashes. He sighed and gave in.

“You asked for it so you’d better believe what I tell you.” She gave him a quick nod, eyes gleaming with expectation.

“Alright, the Pope teleported you.” She could not believe her ears.

“He did what?”

“Teleported you. You know, transport you from one place to another without normal means of transport.”

“Are you serious?” She had to ask despite the totally sincere expression on his oval face.

“Of course. That’s why your illness got worse. You were not used to being teleported, so you had teleport sickness on top of your fever.”

“What?”

“Teleport sickness. We all have it the first few times we get teleported. Cutting through space and time is a rather weird feeling.” She was still staring at him with disbelief.

“Who are you people? Warlocks?”

“No. They are Saints of Athena,” he said with a certain pride. “Milo is a Gold Saint, the highest rank of Saints. The Kyoto is the representative of Athena on Earth. He is the head of Sanctuary.”

“Are you a Saint too?” she asked, still feeling confused. His face dropped immediately. It was the wrong question to ask, but it was too late.

“No,” he said, biting his lower lip, “I tried to be, but failed.”

“Much better,” the Pope approved at the sight of new clothes that actually fit her. It was not that she was small, rather that most Saints, even female ones, were taller than normal people. A tight light blue shirt was rolled back comfortably at the sleeves. Her navy skirt was cut diagonally, reaching mid-calf on the left side, but only to above her knees on the right. She now wore black shoes instead of slippers, which was another improvement. They were round across the toes with heals that were not too high to be unpractical when walking.

“Azar, why don’t you introduce her to the servants and later, the Saints? She will be staying here for quite a while.”

“I have more or less recovered, dear Pope, so I won’t trouble you much longer.” She did not like being in debt to others.

Azar immediately looked meaningfully at the Pope seated on his throne, who in turn, stared back at him with two red gleaming orbs. Much to Cyadoria’s confusion, the Pope shook his head and replied softy, “Not yet.”

What went on between the two men? She heard the answer to the silent question but could not even start guessing at the question itself. Not yet what? Did he think she was not well enough to leave yet? Streams of questions flew through her head, yet there were no answers.

“Yes, your Greatness. I will introduce her to the others at once.” Azar’s voice cut through her thoughts. She was lead through the same corridor that she went down yesterday. After taking two turns to the left in between these grey walls, Azar decided to start a conversation. He hated silence and rather liked the sound of his own voice.

“Dear Pope?”

Cyadoria turned her head with some confusion, as usual. He had resented the girl rather irrationally because she caused him bloodshed. However, now that he had got to know her a little, he found that she was quite likeable. She was like a breath of fresh air in the midst of his repetitive dull life in Sanctuary.

“Sorry, I didn’t understand you question,” she replied in her lilting voice.

“I mean, why did you call the Pope ‘dear Pope’?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, everyone else calls him ‘your Greatness’,” he explained.

“I know, but that sounds so pompous. Since he’s the Pope, I originally thought I’d call him ‘Pope’. However, that sounds a bit too….” She searched for the right word. “A bit too distant. You know, just ‘Pope’ doesn’t sound too good. It’s like calling someone ‘person’.”

“True.” It did sound rather odd one its own.

“So I just added ‘dear’ in front of it. ‘Dear Pope’ sounds all right, doesn’t it,” she inquired, feeling a little worried now.

“Yes, of course it does. And I’m sure the Pope feels that it’s a nice change from being called ‘your Greatness’ all the time. I know I would.”

That brought a smile to her delicate face. He congratulated himself somewhat.