Swanda froze so suddenly that Theresa felt it even without looking at him. Still, she turned.

"Are you expecting someone?" she asked, but the look of terror on his face told her that he was not.

Swanda shook his head very slowly. "Are you?"

"No," she answered.

The moment the word left her lips, Swanda was already moving. Abandoning the barely touched pasta in front of him, he moved away from his chair like a man attacked.

"Leave the dishes, dear," he said very quickly. A slight touch of tenor slipped into his voice that was usually closer to a baritone even though it wasn't deep enough to be one. "The dishes can wait."

Theresa obliged, placing the pot gently into the sink to reduce the possibility of making any sound. The television in the living room was switched off so no one would know that someone was actually home from the sounds.

"The kids," Swanda said, moving quietly out of the kitchen. "Where are they?"

Moving a lock of blonde hair away from her face with her hand, she stared at him. What is he doing?

"The kids, dear," Swanda repeated, voice firm to hold her attention. "Where are they?"

Theresa shook her head, dispelling her confusion. It took her a moment before she pointed to the ceiling above them. "In their room."

"Go to them," Swanda commanded.

"What of you?" Theresa was already moving towards the stairs. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to see who's there?"

Theresa paled. "But—"

"The kids!" Swanda hissed, cutting her off. "Protect your kids and leave me to handle this."

Theresa had always known a day like this would come, yet she had ignored it, lived in the moment. Now trouble was knocking on their door.

Swanda was almost at the door when Theresa ran up the stairs. The only thing on her mind was a simple prayer.

Please be safe, Swan.

…

Deoti stood outside the door to the house, waiting impatiently.

When Aurora had told her the reason for the request, she had lost her mind. Someone had tried to sell out Melmarc to a ring of people who trafficked human parts—someone Melmarc was supposed to trust and work with.

Her rage had been unbridled. She had found Fendor and had him send her straight to Brooklyn. Then she had gone on a rampage.

In truth, she had gone a little too far. Most of the people who had died hadn't deserved to die, at least not for the purpose of her presence here. They all deserved to die for other reasons, none of which had to do with Melmarc.

Still, they had died because they had not possessed the answer that she required.

Then she had found Navari.

Navari had not hesitated to sing the details of everything that he knew, and he was the only one that knew enough. David Swanda was nothing but scum. He had at least eight safe houses in the city where he hid when things got too bad.

He was scum that deserved nothing but death. What kind of man made good and innocent single mothers fall in love with him just so that he could hide out in their homes and play house when things got bad in the back alleys?

When she had discovered, she'd taken a day or two to clear her head and calm herself. It was one thing to kill gangsters who lived lives that were detrimental to others. It was another for innocent civilians to be caught in the crosshairs.

Now this was the fourth house she'd found.

You really need to see a therapist about this thing with Mel, she told herself.

Her obsession over Melmarc as if he was her own child was very unhealthy. She would die for him, and while that sounded like a good thing, it was not. He was not her son, simply the good son of a man she had once had a simple crush on.

As she waited for an answer at the door, she promised herself that she would see a therapist. She would find a way to be nothing more than a father's teammate to Melmarc. She'd once offered her situation in a hypothetical manner to a friend who'd studied psychology. The friend's response had been simple.

"You sure you don't want a kid?" she had asked. "You know, settle down and all that."

Deoti had been sure that she did not. Apparently, in her friend's loosest interpretation of the situation. Deoti was feeling very very motherly and had—for lack of a better word—chosen Melmarc as her son.

Shaking her head, Deoti banished the thoughts. She was messed up, she knew it. But she refused to believe that she was that messed up.

You just slaughtered your way through a group of gangsters just because one guy almost got him killed. Sounds very messed up to me.

Her thoughts ate away her patience. Her peace of mind and calm left her like terrified birds at the drop of a stone.

Deoti kicked the door in, shattering it at the hinges, and stepped into the house.

"Swanda!" she barked, turning her head to the side just in time to spot the man she was looking for making his way out the window.

David Swanda paused and their eyes locked. He did not know who she was or why she was after him, but it was clear that he knew that she was after him.

"You won't take him!" a shrill voice shrieked from the stair case that led up.

Deoti turned just in time to find a woman standing with a gun in her hand. She held it aimed at her. Deoti took everything in in the blink of an eye. The size of the handgun. The way the woman held it. Her stance.

She came to an easy conclusion. The woman did not know how to use the gun. The moment she pulled the trigger, it would throw her aim off.

"Madam, please don't—"

The lady pulled the trigger and Deoti reacted immediately. She took a very generous step to the side and darted for the stairs.

The gunshot exploded in the entire room in a thunderous boom. It shook the air as Deoti crossed the distance between her and the woman. With one hand, she snatched the gun, aiming it to the ground. With the other, she caught the woman by the neck.

"You won't… hurt him," the woman choked out.

Deoti frowned. Her anger boiled and her grip squeezed. She stopped herself before she broke the woman's neck.

"Pathetic," she muttered, before swinging the woman into the wall.

Her head struck the wall and Deoti released her. The lady fell to the ground, unconscious.

Turning her head to the window, Deoti was not surprised to find David gone.

She just could not catch a break.

…

David Swanda dived out the window, ignoring the gunshot as Theresa fired at the intruder. All he could think of was the fact that this house was a bust. That was one safe house he could no longer count on. It was safe to assume that he could no longer count on the others. If the woman had found him here, then she would also be aware of the others.

FUCK!

What could he possibly have done to deserve this? He was sure the Romanians had nothing to do with it. He was still in their good graces even though the last person they'd sent had gone into a portal and disappeared.

He shook his head, dispelling the thought. He had other things he had to deal with. Escape was first.

Survive is second.

He turned and ran. Three steps in, he came to an abrupt halt.

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"It's been a while," a voice called out.

David froze at the sight of Naymond waving at him from across the street, smiling as if they were the oldest friends. The man was dressed in one of his three-piece suits. It was beige, complete with an equally ugly beige hat.

"No." David shook his head, refusing to believe what he was seeing.

His legs obeyed him immediately and he turned and ran.

Three steps in, his neck slammed into something. Instead of being thrown back, he was stuck in place.

"Found you."

The voice was female, but David didn't get to see the face as the air left his lungs and the light fell from his eyes, slipping him into unconsciousness.

The last thing he felt was a heavy dread at the sound of the voice. There was just something in it. An emptiness that was full. Like stepping into an empty room that had been abandoned for years but somehow understanding that terrible things had once taken place in it.

Now it was his turn to experience them.

What… he thought, as his world went black, did I do to deserve this?

....

Madness had no expression, but Dorthna had an odd sense that the man was not happy with what he was hearing.

"Be kind and explain," Madness said, as if Dorthna had not just said that he would.

"The Oaths of Life tend to be the oldest Oaths in whatever world they are in," Dorthna said, allowing his eyes settle on the strand of Melmarc's hair on the bed. "They live through generations recording things, mostly the lives of the Oaths that they experience. In some eras these Oaths are believed to be immortal, living only until they are killed, they are not."

"He seemed long lived," Madness pointed out.

Dorthna shrugged. "They tend to seem that way because they are," he agreed. "But most Oaths of Life who are not killed die of natural causes around the ripe age of five thousand. Some live longer but that is in the same way some humans die at seventy-five and some reach a hundred."

"So he is not yet five thousand years old," Madness said.

It was always so much fun when the Oath used words in a sentence they implied that he was thinking about something yet did not look or sound thoughtful at all.

"He is not."

"Then there has been three generations of Oaths in the last five thousand years."

"It is not unheard of." Dorthna pursed his lips in thought. "You can usually get Oaths spamming their titles every few hundred years, actually."

"So is he a protector?" Madness asked.

"Protector is a far fetched word." Dorthna wagged a finger at him. "But to explain that, I need to disillusion you of a false belief that you Oaths have."

Madness nodded.

"Not all Oaths have a choice," Dorthna said simply, adjusting on his bed, legs still crossed beneath him.

"I know," Madness said simply. "I did not have a choice."

"But the others did," Dorthna pointed out. "Did they not?"

Madness paused. He opened his mouth then closed it. "They did."

"Good. And you have always thought yours special. Have you not?"

"Different," Madness corrected. "Different is not always special."

"That is true, it is not." Dorthna nodded. "Now, I will tell you of a few more Oaths that do not get to choose. One is currently walking in your world and the other is not. The Oath of Humanity does not get to choose to become an Oath. They simply become one. They do not have the luxury of choice."

"Humanity is here," Madness said, matter-of-fact.

Dorthna nodded. "Humanity is," he confirmed. "Then there is the Oath of Change. Your world does not have this Oath, and you have no idea how lucky you all are for that."

"Why?"

"Because your Oath-hood is closely related to Change. But yours is better. You cannot rely on Change on account of what Change is."

Madness said nothing, so Dorthna continued. "Change cannot give you their word because they can change tomorrow. Change can fight tooth and nail to save your life, risking even their own, only to change their mind once it is done and kill you. Why? Because they changed. It is the most powerful Oath, adapting even in fights and changing how they fight. If you see an Oath of Change among your ranks, pray to your God."

Madness nodded. "I understand."

Good, Dorthna thought.

Personally, if an Oath of Change turned up right now, he would have to deal with suppressing the urge to find them and kill them. Change was the most dangerous potential threat to the [August Intruder] on account of its unpredictability, and he didn't think he was willing to allow Melmarc die to such a type of threat. Not with the most recent updates in the boy's life.

"Now, on to Melchizedek," Dorthna continued.

"You said he is and is not," Madness pointed out.

"I did. And the reason is because Melchizedek is a name and a title. After living for a period of time, Melchizedek found a way to move freely across worlds without the help of a portal. He is perhaps one of four people capable of such a feat." Dorthna sighed. He was once one of those four people. Now, he could not survive the impact of performing such an action. His existence could not handle it. "When he learnt of such a way, he left his world. However, Salem—his world—did not wish for him to go. To deal with that, he appointed the strongest of them after him to rule."

"He did not fear that the person would become cruel in their power?" Madness asked.

Dorthna laughed heartily. The very thought of it was hilarious.

"When a volcano erupts," he began, "and there are no Gifted living near it, what do the normal humans present do?"

"They leave."

"Can they plan a contingency that will keep them alive if they stay?" Dorthna asked. "I should let you know that they have no technology to aid them."

Madness shook his head. "They cannot. They must leave to live."

"That is what it means to do what Melchizedek does not like if you are not strong enough to leave your world at will," Dorthna said with a shrug. "Should he ever return and find out that you have done what you know you should not have done, your punishment will be… less than humane."

"How often does he return home?"

"Whenever he wants. For whatever reason he wants." Dorthna sighed. He didn't like talking about the Priest of Old. "So those who lead his world are always very cautious."

"He is not from here," Madness said.

Dorthna nodded. "He is not."

"But we have a person that carries his title."

"You do."

"Because he travels through worlds."

"Correct."

"Then he has been in ours."

Dorthna nodded gently. "There is no world in the wider cosmos with any acceptable level of civilization that he has not walked upon, Madness. Know this."

"What brought him to this world?"

"The same thing that has taken him to other worlds." Dorthna shrugged. "The truth is that when he left his world, whatever he experienced, he got bored and went looking for other worlds. One thing I can tell you is that every world he has stepped upon has gained an Oath of Life. He ordains priests on each world and creates a Salem there. Then he leaves."

"A pope unto himself," Madness muttered.

Dorthna smiled at that. "In a catholic church that spans far beyond worlds and into the cosmos. Apt, really."

"Does he have a hand in the catholic church?"

Dorthna laughed once more. It was always interesting how, even in his madness, Madness looked out for the catholic church. He was so enamored by it, enwrapped in it. It continued to amuse Dorthna how despite how much he loved and devoted himself to the church, he still allowed his son keep a pet demon regardless of the possible outcome at the time.

Did he think that if God allowed it, then it was somehow his God's will? Dorthna wondered. Then again, there was always the possibility that he had simply done it because his wife had asked it of him.

After all, he loved her even in madness.

"I do not know," Dorthna said, answering Madness' question. "I always just assume that it is safe to believe he has a hand in anything religious or spiritual. The Aztec. The Vikings. The Egyptians. If they have a pantheon they believe in and follow, I just assume Melchizedek had something to do with it. It serves me best."

"What makes him so special?"

Dorthna cocked his head to the side at the question. Was the Oath of Madness investigating? Oaths of Madness never took this level of interest in anything.

So, why?

"He is the first priest," Dorthna answered easily. "Isn't that obvious?"

Madness shook his head. "I know the bible. He is not the first priest, simply the oldest one alive. There were priests before him."

Dorthna narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you trying to make an enemy of the 'oldest priest alive', Madness?"

Madness shook his head. "I am not."

"Oh. Then that's simple. Let me make this clear. He is not the first priest." Dorthna leaned forward, looked into Madness' eyes from across the distance. "He is the first [Priest]."

"The first of the class."

"Yes." Dorthna sat back up straight. "It wasn't even offered to him. He just willed it upon himself. He is the reason priesthood is a class. Interesting man, that one."

"And why is he going from world to world creating more Salems?"

"You know, I asked him that once," Dorthna tapped his cheek in reminiscence. "He gave me the most interesting answer."

"What was the answer?"

"He said he was doing it because he can."

"Was that the truth?"

"I'm no Oath of Madness, Madness." Dorthna waved Madness' words aside with a gesture. "Your dissonant trait is not a trait of mine."

"But you have the answer to my question."

"I do."

"Was it the truth?"

"Half of it," Dorthna answered. "The other half of it was something more proper. He was doing it because he was gathering an army. Perhaps it would be better to say that he is gathering an army."

"Why?"

Dorthna cocked a brow at that. "Because he can?"

"What is the purpose of the army?"

To that question, Dorthna smiled. Every being in the cosmos and wider known Existence that knew of Melchizedek and his countless Salems had asked themselves that question. Even the armies he was gathering asked themselves that question. There were orders and institutions that had dedicated their entire existence to the gathering of information regarding Melchizedek just so that they can find the answer to that question.

Everyone wanted to know the reason for the existence of the largest army in Existence. An army that does not move or interfere in any wars that do not affect them directly.

"That," Dorthna said, still smiling, "is the third oldest secret in Existence."

"And do you know it?"

"I used to. I have chosen to forget it."

Madness got up from his place on the ground. "If you knew it, would you tell me?"

"Some things, Madness, you do not want to know," Dorthna said. "But, to answer your question, no. I remember enough of the essence of it that I know that I would not."

Madness nodded in understanding. "Why?"

"Because you are a village of non-Gifted, living at the foot of a mountain." Dorthna offered him no comforting smile. "You are not powerful enough to know. Neither is the woman who chose you."

"Will we ever be?"

Dorthna shook his head. "No."

Madness nodded, as if he had made peace with that truth. There was one more question, though. Dorthna could see it in the Oath's empty eyes.

"What of the sons the woman who chose me birthed?"

There it is, Dorthna thought. The only thing that could pierce beyond the Madness of the Oath. Love and care for his family. The only reason the Oath of Madness had asked so many questions about Melchizedek was to know what kind of threat the priest was to his family.

For them, such a devout man would even make an enemy of his God.

Dorthna knew Madness would not like his answer.

"If they live long enough," he said. "Then the both of them will."

Madness sighed deeply. "Is this inevitable?"

Inevitable? Dorthna almost laughed. Madness knew words, but he always used the simplest versions, going as far as to use phrases instead of words. But here he was.

"It is inevitable," Dorthna answered. "Very much so."

Madness left without a word. He opened the door, stepped out, then closed it behind him.

Dorthna watched him go in silence, knowing that he had just given the Oath of Madness a new purpose. Madness had just made a decision. He had decided to usurp truth.

He was not strong enough to know and Dorthna had just told him that he would never be. But his sons would. And Madness would not allow his children to go through such things alone.

How did he know all this? It was simple. He had seen it in Madness' eyes as the Oath had left him.

Within eyes that had been empty for most of his Oath-hood, Dorthna had finally seen something.

He had seen madness.

He smiled at that. It seems he is ready to let go.

"Now this world," he muttered to himself, "will know madness."

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