Page 25 of Revenge of the Forgotten

After burning almost all of Stella to the ground, Marlena implemented new rules and elected new rulers, whom she gave the title praefectus, to help her control those who were still alive. Their roles and titles were a tiny reminder they were only governors under Marlena and would always answer to her, always be below her.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting the two of you to ride together.” Katrin dipped her head as a hello. “Meyer.”

Meyer nodded, not saying a word as he shooed her away from the door with a flick of his wrist so they could exit.

Bridger met Katrin’s gaze when he exited the vehicle, landing on a set of eyes the same dark color as his, her raven hair cut along her chin in a bob. “Hello, Mother.” He stood to his full height, adjusting his cape.

“I think I’ll go for a walk. I’ll see you at dinner,” Meyer said. As quickly as he’d exited the cab of their vehicle, Meyer disappeared into the garden of Marlena’s home, leaving Bridger alone with his mother.

Fucking prick.

Bridger shut the door behind him. The matte black military machine roared to life with black smoke puffing through the exhaust on top. Its four knobby tires meant for the rickety roads of the outlying territories grating against the clean cobblestone drive circling around the entrance of Marlena’s home.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, striding up to the grand entrance of the estate.

Katrin kept up to his pace, her long legs meeting him step for step. “Can’t a mother come see her only child? It’s been months.”

The look Bridger gave her was cold, his eyebrow shooting up as he waited for the real reason.

“Marlena invited me. She asked me to be here before the meeting. She sends her apologies for not being here upon your arrival.” Katrin clasped her hands together at the front of her body. Poised. Raised to follow from a young age.

Bridger rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to apologize for her. She doesn’t mean it anyway.” He was the only one who would outwardly say anything contentious about Marlena. She let him get away with it only because it helped build his image.

The angry, tortured, and fearful commander.

“Bridger,” his mother hissed in warning.

“Please don’t mock me by scolding me like a child. I’m not the boy I once was who could be easily swayed by your warnings.” The doors opened into the luxurious foyer. The home was made of the finest materials from all over the realm. It was the perfect gothic dream house with deep emerald greens popping through midnight black, met with dark woods from the forests of Demuto. The home was too big for Marlena alone, but thankfully, she had a staff big enough to run an entire city and keep it clean, filling the corridors with noise.

Marlena had it rebuilt after her attack decades ago, but underneath the new floorboards, there was a small dungeon with ten cells and the old bones of the original home; every leader’s home in Tolevarre included a small place to hold criminals for questioning and minor crimes.

The real criminals were locked away in Bridger’s homeland of Fortis—the land his mother now governed, despite it not being her birthplace.

Katrin was born a Viator, the original bloodline stemming from the dead god Mercury. She married Bridger’s father as a young girl to link the Viator and Dimico line together—for power.

Katrin disappeared, gone in the blink of an eye as they ascended the stairs and reappeared outside of the room Bridger and Meyer shared while in Aeris. The black smoke of her traveler’s power disappeared above her head.

Sometimes Bridger wished she would get stuck somewhere between time and space, never to return.

“I just don’t understand how she hasn’t taken a limb from you with the way you speak about her,” Katrin commented as they entered the shared living quarters. A fire flickered to life in the hearth upon their arrival, illuminating the common room in a soft glow.

Bridger crossed the room quickly, and prepared himself a drink at the bar cart fully stocked with all of his and Meyer’s favorites. He swirled the dark liquid before taking a sip. “In case you’ve forgotten, she spent two years of my life torturing me. I think she knows better than to cross that line again if she likes me where I am.”

Katrin sighed, gliding over to her son. “Let’s not talk about that.” Her almost-black irises bored into Bridger’s—he was a spitting image of the Viator line, but his powers were all Dimico. “You look tired. Are you not sleeping?” She reached out with her perfectly manicured hand and straightened the cape on his shoulders—the same design her husband wore during the entirety of their marriage.

Bridger’s uniform was made of a tight material meant to withstand high blows, fire, or any other power that could harm him and was stronger than leather by tenfold. All the soldier’s uniforms were made in the same style.

Bridger’s accessories set him apart from the rest. His cape wrapped around his shoulders, clasped into place with the gold Dimico insignia: a shield with an arrow stuck through both ends. Every original family had one as a tribute to the god their bloodline and abilities derived from. The material of the cape met the tops of his boots. It fluttered around his ankles as he stiffened like a board at his mother’s touch.

“Sleeping as much as the commander of an army can,” he said, taking an extra long swig of the drink in his short glass.

Katrin continued to fuss over Bridger, picking off a piece of lint from his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Bridger’s muscles wound tighter the longer his mother stood near him.

“Can’t have the commander of our army walking around in an untidy uniform. I always used to get on your father about it. He would come in covered in dirt, soot, whatever he’d gotten into that day and think he could just parade around the rest of the night in filth. You have to remember people are always watching you.”

He took a step back when he finally had enough of her preening. “Good advice. Thanks.” Bridger didn’t care for pleasantries when it came to Katrin. “It was a long trip, Mother. I’d like to rest up a bit before dinner.” He unclipped his cape and draped it over the back of a chair by the crackling fire.

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