“Ah, there you are,” a tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair said, moving to stand before him. The man looked at him for a long moment. “I’m Simon Barton-Drew, master of the sect. This isn’t quite how I’d hoped to meet you. My apologies for the restraints but, for the time being, they are necessary. I assume Trevor is dead?” he inquired politely.

“Trevor lives,” Dageus said, modulating his voice carefully. He would betray no sign of his inner conflict to the man. “Unlike your Order, the Keltar do not take life without cause.” No matter how much he would have liked to.

Simon circled the stone column. “Nor do we. All we’ve done was necessary to serve the purpose of restoring our rightful powers. To fulfill our destiny.”

“They were never your rightful powers. They were given by the Tuatha Dé and they were the Tuatha Dé’s to reclaim when it became evident man would abuse them.”

Simon gave a short bark of laughter. “Thus speaks the man who broke his own oaths. See it as you wish. No matter, you will lead us.”

“I will never fulfill the Prophecy.”

“Ah, so you know of it. I wondered if you did. When did you find out? Did Trevor tell you? Not that I blame him, for I know what you’re capable of. It’s all here.” He swept an arm behind him, at piles of manuscripts and texts stacked carefully on dozens of shelves. “All that the Draghar can do. All they will teach us. The power to move through space and time, the power to open the realms.”

“The Draghar you worship nearly destroyed the world once, trying to open the realms. What makes you think that once they’re free, they won’t again?”

“Why destroy the world when they can rule it?” Simon countered. “I believe we can determine what went wrong the last time they tried to go after the Tuatha Dé. Our world is far more advanced now than it was then. And there are so many faithful followers waiting to welcome them.”

“What makes you think they have any intention of becoming part of your little Order? Why would they remain with you?” Dageus goaded.

“What do you mean?” The briefest flicker of unease flashed across the man’s lean face.

“If they can travel through time, what is there to prevent them from returning to their own century? What do you think they want more than anything?”

“To reclaim their power. A chance to live again, to rule again. To take their rightful place in the world.”