Forty Years Ago
Alone on a high mountain top stood a man. He was not tall, nor short, neither big nor small. He was not distinguishable from anyone else. His face was plain with no facial hair. His eyes people remembered even though they tried to forget. They were a flat steel gray, a killer’s eyes, ice-cold. Most people that established eye contact with him found themselves needed elsewhere.  

Fixier surveyed the valley. Dry mountains surrounded the valley. No vegetation grew on any of them. Lush forest covered the valley bottom, and in the center was a village. This greenery was unusual since they were in the middle of the dessert. Nothing else grew or lived nearby for a hundred miles. This valley was special. It housed the only known living species of Rakshasan. Others existed scattered throughout the world, but none as large as this village.

A tall woman wrapped in a black cloak from head to toe approached Fixier.

Fixier studied her. Under the cowl she had jet black hair and ruby eyes. Strapped across her back were two swords. She wore leather garments with a belt that carried a few daggers and other items half-hidden. She did not move with the same grace as older members of her clan. Fixier figured she was not yet even a hundred. A newbie by any standards, expendable. Either way, he did not care. Dista always had someone watch the deed when she needed him.

When she caught up to him, she held out her hand in greeting. Fixier forced eye contact with her, to see what she could handle. Her blood-red eyes fixed on his steel grays, and she broke the connection. She looked anywhere else but at him. She quivered as a shiver traveled her spine.

Fixier grabbed her hand and shook it, squeezing too tight for her comfort. “You must be one of Dista’s.”

“Yes, I am Rocsa.” She pulled back, wincing at his touch. A brief electrical spark ignited when she let go.

He smiled an evil grimace. Even vampires cowered in his presence. “You may watch me work. Know that I do not tolerate interference of any kind. If you have questions, they must wait until we are at a breaking point or finished. I am not your teacher or your friend. Remember those words as though your long life depended on it.”

Rocsa’s eyes fixated on his chest. “I am here to watch and report. I will follow your orders. Your reputation precedes you. I do not wish to become another statistic.” 

“Good. You may just survive long enough to live another day.”

Featured Image created by C.D. Lombardi.