He jumps and dances and spins, filled with excitement that not only is Mallian alive, but he has advanced his cause to the point where he is calling for the Kin to join him and rise. Thorn hoped that he would see this day, but never assumed it would happen. Deep down, deeper than he would ever admit to, he has always believed the craving for Ascent to be folly.

Its reality will be something very different.

“What’s up with you?” the man beside him asks. Thorn is in a small, scruffy bar in Boston, jigging at the counter and ignoring the many strange stares. He’s used to people staring. He might be the smallest man any of them have ever seen. Usually he lets the stares slide from him, because he’s Kin and he has to blend in to survive. Used to be that he was a kind Kin, too, but the years have bled that benevolence from him, and Mallian’s outlook and cause drew him back from a precipice that might have swallowed him up in blackness and depression. Just occasionally he returns the stare loaded with the full weight of his years, and his experiences, and his deadly rage.

From time to time he lets that rage fly, but only if he knows he won’t be caught.

Now his joy and rage combine. He dances some more, kicking over bar stools, knocking tables and spilling drinks. The man stands from his own stool and brushes both hands down his front, shaking them and splashing spilled beer to the ground.

“You freaky little fuck!” he says. He grabs up a bottle from the bar, smashes its neck, and comes for Thorn.

“Max, leave the little dude alone!” the barman says. He points at Thorn. “And you. Out.”

Thorn barely hears. His old heart hammers, stuttering now and then with age and alcohol abuse and emotional misuse, but the blood pulsing through his veins feels young, and he is filled with more energy and joy than he can remember for many decades.

He takes the bottle from the man’s hand and sticks it in his assailant’s eye. The man screams and Thorn laughs, jumping to one side, snatching up a broken wine glass, shoving its snapped stem into the man’s ear. The human’s scream changes tone, catching in his throat as he drops to his knees. Thorn spins and slams the flat of his hand against the protruding glass base. It cracks against the man’s ear.