CHAPTER SIX HUNDRED-TWELVE
Up ahead, warm yellow light spilled from a room or hall.
“Maybe the Goddesses are waiting for me there.” As soon as he said them, he knew that his words were not true.
He was truly alone for this phase of the quest.
“Oh Blane,” Nelson whispered. “I…”
His mind flooded with the joys of his current life — the light falling on Blane’s face, Mack and Wyn’s open love and laughter, Hedone in her cupid form, and Tres, the younger brother he never knew he needed. His work friends were more like family than friends. Hanging out with his father at the art museum, eating mussels and too much wine at some ridiculously priced restaurant, and… He smiled as image after memory reminded him of how much waited for him at home.
That is if he ever got done with this bullshit.
He gritted his teeth. His mother had given her life for him. His father had fought all of his life so that Nelson could live a free life unencumbered by this history. His father was right this moment fighting for his life.
This was something he simply had to do.
He was born for this moment. He pushed aside his panic and went down the hallway to the room. He paused at the doorway before stepping into the room.
He wasn’t sure how he knew what it was, but he knew that he was smelling ancient magic. His hand instinctively went to the talisman that Bestat had given him.
It was still hanging around his neck. Relief coursed through him.
He was still protected.
He took another step and the door behind him disappeared. He turned to look at where he’d come from. The door had been replaced by the same block wall.
“I was born for this,” Nelson whispered to himself.
He walked forward. The room around him transformed into a medium sized chapel. Ancient wooden benches appeared at either side of the aisle Nelson happened to be walking down.
Nelson squinted. There was a man kneeling at the front of this chapel.
In fact, the front of this chapel appeared to be a kind of altar to… He wasn’t sure.
As he walked forward, the scene in front of him became more clear. The kneeling man was wearing Templar garb similar to what Nelson was wearing. To the side, there was another man — younger, maybe a teenager. He held the sword of Jacques de Molay point down against the stone floor. This man was fit, strong. He looked like…
“Papa?” Nelson whispered to the man standing to the side.
Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…
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