The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Fight He Wanted

Despite second-guessing his decision for the last three days, Storm intended to remain indifferent at Kitara’s appearance, to hide any hint of his disdain behind a carefully neutral mask.

So when her aura crashed into him with all the subtlety of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, the unexpected power of it nearly brought him to his knees. His breath caught as it flooded his senses.

Her aura eclipsed everything, every sensation: bright, sharp, crystalline. In that moment, Storm’s awareness shrank to nothing more than the lithe immortal entering the room.

She wore tactical pants and a midriff-baring tee beneath a casual, loose button-up. Her pale blonde hair was pulled back in a braid. Despite her deceptively relaxed posture, he knew she was one of the deadliest immortals in the AIDO and despised her all the more for it. Even if the impact of her dazzling aura had momentarily turned his world upside-down.

Either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the tension crackling in the room, the Commander gestured in Storm’s direction. “Kitara, this is Major Avensäel, your new handler. Major, this is Kitara Vakrenade.”

He introduced them as if they hadn’t heard of each other before. Like they didn’t know one contributed to destroying the family of the other.

Once again, Storm considered refusing this entire assignment.

And once again, his father’s fierce blue eyes came to mind. The High Councilor’s determination to keep Storm out of the field irritated him more than the resounding aura of an immortal he despised.

He managed a stiff nod. “Kitara.”

“Major.” The reply was quick and detached.

Unfazed by the frosty exchange, the Commander continued. “I know this arrangement is unorthodox, but I expect nothing less than professionalism and cooperation.”

Storm didn’t know whether it was a rebuke or a warning.

Kitara hadn’t looked away yet. The vibrant green of her eyes burned with intensity, unwavering, as if she searched for something hidden deep within him. Whatever thoughts spun through her head, she hid them well.

Because Sleepers lied for a living.

And now he would too.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Kenric said. His calm words belied the tension still hanging heavily in the room. With a final nod at Storm, he exited, his heavy footfalls echoing down the hallway as the door closed quietly behind him.

Kitara and Storm studied each other for a long moment, neither willing to break the loaded silence.

In the end, it wasn’t necessary.

The crystalline monitor on Kenric’s mahogany desk flickered to life, displaying the AIDO’s griffin crest. The change drew Kitara’s attention, and she finally broke his gaze. Storm couldn’t help his sharp exhale. Her eyes were like bottomless pools of emerald, and he’d been drowning.

A woman with short purple hair appeared on the screen. “Kitara. Major Avensäel.”

Storm’s brow furrowed, not recognizing the immortal.

Kitara, however, had no such trouble. “Saoirse,” she replied easily.

Either Saoirse could read Storm’s confusion or anticipated it, because she addressed him first. “Major Avensäel, my name is Saoirse. You won’t have heard of me, but I am the High Sleeper.”

Storm blinked in surprise. He’d known a High Sleeper existed—every profession in the AIDO had a representative on the High Council—but he hadn’t expected an introduction. “It’s an honor, Councilor.”

She waved him off. “Saoirse is fine. I prefer not to use that title in case of any…slip-ups. You understand.”

“Of course.”

“Kitara, how was your travel?”

“Uneventful. Thanks for arranging it.”

Storm glanced sideways at her. Only the High Council knew the identity of the High Sleeper—their safety relied on it. From what little he knew of the Sleeper profession, agents didn’t even know her identity. So how did Kitara?

Saoirse dismissed Kitara’s gratitude with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No trouble at all. It’s the least I could do.”

A silent understanding passed between the two women, leaving Storm feeling like an outsider.

Saoirse gestured for them to take seats in the room. “You’ll replace a tablet there on the desk for your use, though the assignment details have been sent via encrypted delivery to both your personal devices for later study.”

As the two of them took seats in office chairs before the monitor, Kitara snagged the tablet with a nod. Storm couldn’t bring himself to lean over Kitara’s shoulder to view the screen, instead focusing on the High Sleeper.

“Now that you’re both here, I can share the…extenuating circumstances behind your assignment. On the tablet, you’ll replace Landon’s file. Careful, though. It isn’t pretty.”

“It never is,” Kitara murmured.

Her low voice held an air of seductive power, a razor blade dripping with honey, hinting at secrets and danger. Storm could imagine enemies baring all their secrets at the sound of that voice. Even he, almost unable to tolerate occupying the same space, felt the alluring caress of it.

“Landon—our former Sleeper—wasn’t just killed,” Saoirse explained as Kitara swiped through information on the tablet. “He was butchered, then dumped just outside headquarters’ perimeter for us to replace.”

They both looked up, staring in shock. “What?”

Leaving a double-agent’s corpse in such a blatant place sent an explicit message: headquarters’ location—successfully hidden from humans and immortals alike for half a millennium—was no longer a secret.

“How did they replace us?” Kitara asked.

“It’s unclear,” Saoirse admitted. “We didn’t have any reason to think Landon was compromised. He’d been in and out for…stars, decades.”

Kitara remained impassive as she skimmed the file, her expression giving nothing away as she silently handed the device to Storm for him to review.

Words failed to adequately capture the true horror lurking within the file. Storm throttled down his revulsion at the report, which included photos, of how the previous Sleeper was tortured and killed.

Valëtyrians’ angel-like bodies did not age, sicken, or die of natural causes, and most possessed rapid healing skills if wounded. Still, while difficult, they could still be—and in the case of Sleepers, nearly always were—killed by enemies.

The grotesque mutilation of Landon’s nearly unbreakable body meant someone possessing an uncanny knowledge of his anatomy intentionally inflicted the most pain and damage possible.

Storm quickly swiped the images away. “Do we know who’s responsible?” he asked, earning himself a sidelong glance from the Sleeper. He ignored her.

“Someone in Ostragarn for sure, but the who…” Saoirse ran a hand through her short purple hair. “That’s the bigger question.”

Enemies of Valëtyria used the icy dead realm as a home base for their operations, though their power structure remained in a near-permanent state of leaderless chaos.

Kitara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Was there a demand? Anything?”

“Nothing. No warning, no demands, nothing.” Saoirse laced her fingers together on her desk. “But we know one thing for certain: someone capable of this kind of disfigurement needs to be found and neutralized—quickly.”

“So we need to replace the person responsible,” Kitara mused. “What do we have to go on?”

Saoirse nodded at Storm. “There’s another file list after Landon’s. We only have an alias: an immortal called ‘the Maker,’” she replied. “He’s said to be the most well-connected immortal in Ostragarn, but no one knows his true identity. We think he’s responsible, considering his coordinated efforts against us in the past, but this is…more brutality than he’s displayed before.”

Storm glanced through the next set of data, which revealed scant information about the immortal’s identity, but contained quite a few documents regarding his exploits. His eyes widened. “He gained control of the AIDO in Tokyo?”

Kitara frowned when Saoirse nodded in response. “Temporarily, about a year or two ago. We had to scrub the whole place after we took it back, and there’s still legislation pending about whether to demolish it and start over.”

Storm swiped through a few more pages, his expression growing increasingly incredulous. “The Czech Republic, France, Bolivia…”

“Guy gets around,” Kitara noted as Storm handed the tablet back to her for her review.

“He single-handedly dismantled an entire Sleeper network on America’s west coast once, too. And yet, no one has any idea who he is.” Saoirse squared her shoulders. “The assignment is this: replace and apprehend him. If we can’t do that, then sabotage whatever they’re doing in whatever way you can. Major, you’ll be driving Kitara to her new flat in the city after the shift change. Kitara, Robert will be by shortly to modify your arrival data, and your things should be delivered by tonight. You’ll need to go up as soon as possible.”

Kitara nodded. “Where am I headed?”

“A stretch of Ostragonian establishments nicknamed ‘fâșia întunecată,’ or ‘the dark strip,’” Saoirse replied. “Your flat is a few kilometers from there. You shouldn’t have any trouble infiltrating as a Fallen.”

Storm shot Kitara a sideways glance.

There was one way Valëtyrians could become almost mortal: commit a crime so heinous, the High Council had no choice but to condemn them and cast them out.

Kitara’s mother belonged to the ranks of those damned beings, so while Kitara had not Fallen herself, tainted blood ran through her veins.

Storm scowled at the thought.

The most egregious of criminals were violently, genetically stripped of their immortal durability and exiled from Valëtyrian society. These “Fallen” could continue to live long, even ageless lives…if they refrained from drawing upon the power that made them supernatural. If they didn’t, using those abilities without their former immortal constitution would kill them.

“What’s the Fallen to Valorn ratio there?” Kitara asked, either unaware of or ignoring Storm’s blackening mood.

“High,” Saoirse replied. “We haven’t had a Fall in a few decades—you may be the first they’ve seen in a while.”

“Can’t pretend to be a local from nearby then,” Kitara mused, almost to herself.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, no.”

Once cast out of Valëtyria, the Fallen’s exile inevitably led them to Ostragarn. There they learned that consuming blood—mortal and immortal alike—temporarily bolstered their damaged immortality, thus avoiding death if they accessed their former abilities. But the act came at a cost, further damaging their genes and devolving them into the black-winged Valorn.

Fallen maintained a shred of implied neutrality. Valorn did not, typically settling in Ostragarn.

“Counc—Saoirse,” Storm corrected himself, “what do I after dropping her off?”

“You’ll remain in headquarters,” Saoirse replied, “and behave as you normally do. Your status serves as an excellent deflection for what you’ll really be doing, which is to stand by as Kitara’s point of contact. You’ll research any questions she has or information she needs, send supplies or personnel as needed, and in extreme cases, be responsible for exfiltration if she’s compromised. Though” —her gaze flickered to the younger Sleeper— “I don’t anticipate that will be an issue.”

The subtle praise brought some color to Kitara’s cheeks, but she acknowledged the compliment with only a nod.

“To that effect,” Saoirse continued, “you’ll have a small support team. Now, these individuals won’t know all the details of your assignment, but with as little information as we have about the Maker specifically, it may become necessary to conduct research. You’ll have a Historian assigned to assist with any such research, whose clearance has been raised to the appropriate level to assist with this task.”

Kitara straightened in her chair. “What about the Commander?”

“He knows roughly where you’ll be located, but we’d prefer to keep the circle of informed immortals small, for security reasons.”

“And if I have questions?” Storm asked.

Saoirse regarded him for a long moment. “I’ll admit, your involvement was not one I foresaw originally. The handler role requires its fair share of critical thinking and sometimes working without all the information. I’d recommend you defer to Kitara when you can.”

The thought made Storm’s gut churn. “And when I can’t?”

“Then your father or the Commander may be able to assist. But I’ll be frank, Major, it’s best not to involve outsiders if it can be helped. Can you handle that?”

The room went very still as the High Sleeper and Kitara waited for his answer.

“Of course,” Storm said after a beat.

“Good. Now, I’ve got to run, but all information we have to this point is available in the packets you’ve been sent. The Commander should be back shortly with the others, then you can proceed into the city.”

“Understood,” Kitara said. “We won’t let you down.”

Saoirse’s gaze was steady through the monitor. “I know you won’t,” she said, and the video conference ended.