THE DISCIPLES

Victor Thorne finishes his morning rituals feeling renewed, the weight of the miserable dream washing away. He then joined Marcus and Steele at the breakfast table, the morning light casting a warm glow over the scene. As he took a sip of Marcus's expertly brewed coffee, he noticed a change in the air; Steele's yesterday's intensity had given way to a serene calmness, and Marcus moved with a newfound ease. The silence was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding among the men, a shared respite before the day's challenges in the mist-veiled city of Brasswick.

"Seems you've gotten comfortable with Mr. Steele," Victor commented, noting the relaxed atmosphere. Marcus looked at Steele and simply replied, "He's a decent guy when sober, but I'll keep an eye on him in case he wants to try anything funny again. " Steele didn't replied anything. He drank the hot coffee silently. Thorne noticed Steele's real appearance in daylight and without the black coat. Steele had a mix of dirty brown and blonde hair framing a face etched with wisdom and scars. He was skinnier and have Piercing blue eyes, shadowed by a furrowed brow, hinted at a mind burdened by past sins.

" So...Mr steele... can you tell me why did you send me that letter?!" Thorne asked Steele directly. With a casual smirk, Steele replied, "I've been sober all morning, and I still don't recall sending any letters i swear. " Thorne turned to Marcus, his brow furrowed in confusion. Marcus responded with a shrug, "He's been denying it since he woke up. It seems he might actually be telling the truth afterall."

"If it wasn't you, then who could craft such a detailed letter with valuable information, using your name and even knowing your whereabouts?" Thorne pressed Steele for answers.

Steele paused, considering the question. "I'm as clueless as you are. All I know for certain is that I didn't send it," he said firmly. "You're welcome to compare the handwriting."

"It's a typewritten letter," Marcus interjected, dismissing the possibility.

Steele shrugged off the concern and returned to his coffee, the rich aroma momentarily overpowering the room's tension. "Well, that's a mystery for another time, It could be one of my enemies . I can't say. ," he murmured, letting the warmth of the cup seep into his hands. Thorne still can sense he's not letting all his thoughts out.

" Mr Steele, in that case we're sorry for the mix-up. Feel free to leave after you've finished eating," Thorne said with remorse.

Marcus couldn't hide his disapproval. "Apologizing to him? He was after our lives yesterday!"

Exhaling deeply, Steele interjected, "Look, I regret the incident, but killing you wasn't my goal. I just needed to draw some blood to drive you away. I already knew that i can't directly harm Mr Thorne without his blood after sensing his sheer strength. I already recognized him from the start, that's why i didn't wanted to deal with you fellas but I swear, I had nothing to do with that letter." His tone was apologetic, seeking to clear the air.

Marcus's response was terse, "Yeah, whatever." Steele offered no comeback, and a hush fell over the breakfast table. Steele seemed to find solace in the meal and the rare company, a comfort he hadn't felt in some time. Even after the plates were cleared, he lingered, idly scratching his stubbled chin, lost in thought. Thorne was engrossed in the day's news on the paper, while Marcus busied himself with cleaning up.

Breaking the silence, Steele looked up. "Was it also mentioned in the letter that I was his disciple?" he asked.

Without looking up from his newspaper, Thorne replied, "Yes, it was."

Steele's curiosity was evident. "Do you know anything about him?" he asked.

Thorne and Marcus both paused, giving Steele their full attention. "I don't have personal knowledge of him," Thorne began, his voice raised , "but his name came up often during my time in the military. The tales were many, though it's difficult to discern the fact from the fiction ." His eyes narrowed slightly as he turned the conversation back to Steele. "And you? Were you actually his disciple?"

"I was his disciple," Steele admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of reverence and regret. "But let's not delve into that. His existence is as enigmatic to me as his absence. He also granted me this power, which now feels more like a curse than a gift."

Thorne nodded, acknowledging the heavy shroud of Steele's past without pressing further. Thorne somehow can relate with him. "It's alright. No need to share if you're not ready," he said, offering a silent gesture of support.

Steele returned the nod, a silent thank you for the understanding. Marcus, ever direct, cut to the chase. "Then what brings you to Brasswick City?" he asked.

Steele's gaze was straightforward, his answer devoid of hesitation. "For the Ascension event, of course," he stated.

" Know anything specific about the Ascension event...?" Thorne inquired.

Steele nodded. " More than most," he replied succinctly.

"Enlighten us, then. Consider it compensation for the trouble you caused yesterday , Will you? " Thorne offered.

Steele leaned in closer, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. "Promise me this stays between us," he said, his eyes locking with Thorne's. Thorne gave a firm nod, a silent vow of confidentiality. Steele pulled out a cigarette, the flick of the lighter punctuating the quiet room. "You mind?" he asked, though it was less of a question and more of a courtesy. Thorne's response was a reluctant allowance for this one time.

Turning his attention to Marcus, Steele's voice carried a hint of intrigue. "Marcus, how did you come to learn about the Ascension event?" Marcus told him his meeting with Thorne at the church and how he become a good personal assistant ever since that. Steele's lips curled into a half-smile. "So, you weren't invited to the event," he mused aloud.

"Invited?" Thorne and Marcus echoed, their confusion mirroring each other.

"Yes, invited," Steele affirmed, his tone laced with a knowing edge. "Everyone who's come to Brasswick for the Ascension was invited in some manner. It wasn't by chance or coincidence. They were selected, handpicked by those orchestrating the event. The rich, the poor—they didn't stumble upon the knowledge on their own. It was fed to them, cloaked in secrecy and deception. They didn't choose to be here; they were chosen. And not everyone accepted the call, but many were tempted, especially when they saw the military, even the Chief Commander, aligning with the event. It lends a certain… legitimacy."

Thorne cut in, his question sharp. "So the letter sent to me, you're saying it was orchestrated by them?"

Steele took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his words. "Perhaps," he said, the smoke veiling the uncertainty in his eyes.

Marcus's voice carried a tinge of alarm. "Wait, so does this mean I'm an outcast?"

Steele exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating as he considered Marcus's concern.

Steele's response came with a pause. "It's not about being an outcast," he began, his voice steady. "People who know about the Ascension tend to keep it under wraps. There's a limited number of place , and it's a human nature is to covet what others don't have. But secrets are like shadows; they grow longer and eventually get noticed. Some spill the beans, and that's how outsiders like you, Marcus, get wind of it, but even so They'll let you in and anyone who comes for ascension event but once you enter you can't leave until the event is over , though why they do it is anyone's guess."

Thorne chimed in, connecting the dots. "So the old man driver knowing about it…"

"Could be just such a spill," Steele agreed, nodding.

Thorne's eyes narrowed. "So, is this all a setup? A trap?"

Steele took a slow drag from his cigarette . "No, not a trap. The Ascension is exactly what they say—a fresh start. But since it's my first time here too, I'm as in the dark about their ultimate aims as you are."

" So how did they invited you then? Mr steele? "

Steele's voice was a low rumble, filled with the echoes of a past he seldom revisited. "I've been invited to the Ascension event thrice. The first two times, I refused. But this third time, the man orchestrating it all came to me personally. My life's been devoid of direction lately, so I accepted," he explained, his words slow, as if he was choosing them carefully from a sea of thoughts.

Thorne's curiosity was palpable. "The man behind it all? the old geezer with the round hat and the grand white mustache plastered on all the Ascension posters and notices ?"

A wry smile tugged at Steele's lips. "He's nothing but a Dummy. "

"How do you know him then, if he's hiding behind a facade? " Thorne probed further, sensing the gravity of Steele's acquaintance with the shadowy figure.

Steele stood, his silhouette framed against the window, the light casting long shadows across the room. "He was once a friend, and more importantly, he was AD's most esteemed disciple," he said, his gaze fixed on something beyond the glass pane.

"AD?" Thorne repeated, the name unfamiliar yet heavy with implication.

Steele's nod was almost imperceptible. "Our master. He left with a promise to return after gathering more disciples through out the whole wordl by sharing his teachings and ideology. vowing a new world and a new meaning to life. I can't say how many he has now, but aside from the one who invited me, there's another disciple I know well—a name that evokes fear and honour in the hearts of many in this country. "

"Who is it?!.." Thorne and Marcus asked simultaneously.

In the heart of the royal palace, a hall stood as a testament to the kingdom's wealth and grandeur. Bathed in the warm glow of torchlight, the chamber was a vision of opulence, with every inch adorned in gold and diamonds. Majestic sculptures of past rulers and deities lined the walls, each a masterpiece of golden artistry, their bases encircled by scriptures written in a script that shimmered like the morning sun.

The air was filled with the gentle sound of water from the fountains, intricately designed to resemble the mythical creatures of lore, their streams catching the light and casting prismatic splendors across the polished marble floor. The ceiling above was a vast fresco, depicting the kingdom's most triumphant and tragic moments, a colorful narrative painted by the most skilled artisans of the age.

At the center of this splendor sat a table of such craftsmanship it could only be described as regal. Around it, five kings from lands near and far were seated, their robes a cascade of rich fabrics and jewels, their crowns a subtle hint of the power they wielded. They spoke in low, reverent tones, discussing matters.

They were awaiting the sixth king, the host of this grand convocation.

As the five kings sat in hushed reverence, the grand hall's atmosphere tensed with the creak of the massive golden gate at its end. Intricate dragon motifs seemed to writhe and dance as the gate swung open, revealing not the king as expected, but the silhouette of the royal commander. The man who's above the chief commander, who's only answerable to the king. His entrance commanded an immediate, palpable silence, punctuated only by the echoing cadence of his footsteps.

Descending from the shadows, the royal commander's figure emerged, a towering presence that dwarfed even the grandeur of the hall. His physique was imposing, a testament to countless battles and victories. His face, clean-shaven and youthful, bore a smile that welcomed the kings yet carried an undercurrent of mockery, a subtle challenge to their authority.

His eyes, crystalline and piercing, surveyed the room with a gaze that seemed to see through the very walls of the palace. His long, pure white hair cascaded down his back, catching the light in such a way that it appeared to be threaded with strands of red fire.

Adorned in a pristine white military uniform, exclusive to the royal bloodline, he exuded an air of regal command. The cape that flowed behind him was of the finest red silk, embroidered with golden threads that told tales of valor and conquest.

As he took his place at the table, occupying the chair reserved for the sixth king, a shift was felt throughout the room. His presence, though not royal by birth, seemed to carry a weight that rivaled, if not surpassed, that of the king himself. This was no mere military leader, this was the man who had once been the disciple of the AD and the strongest soldier.

To be continued.