The Angaran Chronicles: A False Legacy by Ben Agar (little readers .TXT) 📖

finger. 'Ahh yes. There it is. You have potential, Arken. It was a shame; I wished we could have sired those people. Would have been great, we could have used more bodies, more vampires for when we finally break the dimensional barrier and start the real war against the Jaroai. But they knew far too much. There are secrets in this world, or worlds, to be precise, that mustn't be known. Secrets we were created to protect.'

 

'I...I don't understand,' said Arken.

 

'No, young Arken,' said Garron and his huge hand began to reach for Arken's head. 'And I am afraid that you never will.'

 

 

Year: 2500 AHV

Age: Late Industria Era

Country: The Republic of Hamar

 

 

Arken sat in the interview room, straightening his note papers on the desk. He fingered and thumbed his eyes and blinked up at the light hanging overhead. With a sigh, he took the speaker horn.

 

'The next interviewee, please,' he said. This was the sixth today, and thankfully the last.

 

He glanced at the notes, knowing that he should check the interviewee's CV and profile, but he couldn't be bothered. She was a one-human vampire, that was all he could remember.

 

A few seconds later, the door opened, and she stepped in, and Arken had to fight the urge to drop his jaw.

 

Like all vampires, she was beyond pale. Her long, pitch-black hair was immaculate, straight as straight and fell well past her slender shoulders. It wasn't just her intoxicating beauty that took him off guard, but she reminded him of Salria, the priestess of Jaroai who'd been his lover during his tenure as king, the priestess who'd been appointed to be his "supervisor" more than a century and a half ago. He was quite the womaniser back then. Like father like son, Arken supposed. Arken was just one of many, many bastard children sired across Hamar, and perhaps beyond, by king Frelkson.

 

'HeadHunter, Arken?' she said, pausing in the entranceway.

 

Finding himself struggling for words, Arken could only motion for her to sit.

 

She nodded and walked in. The sound of her red high heels on the concrete floor seemed to echo, resonate with sensuality, confidence. Across every millimetre of her, she appeared the stereotypical seductive vampire.

 

Arken said nothing, electing to shuffle his papers, regretting now not looking at her C.V. He perused it, then noticed she'd started to smile at him.

 

Arken frowned. "What are you smiling about?"

 

'Oh, nothing. I just can't believe I'm in the same room with the famous Arken.'

 

Arken fought back a sigh. He didn't feel "famous."

 

'So...Dalitti-'

 

'I'm sorry, it's just in Valandri we've heard so much about you. The former king of Hamar. The only...the only-'

 

Arken's hands clenched his hands into fists, with such strength his nails dug into his palms they and drew blood. 'The only what?'

 

Dalitti's smile fled from her, full red lips. 'I uhh the only Hunter in history to kill a Jaroai single-handed. You know? Was it in a small town in Everdeen? Around 2387 or 2388 AHV? Don't you remember?'

 

Arken's fist smashed on the table, causing Dalitti to flinch. 'Of course, I remember! But it isn't relevant to this interview.'

 

Dalitti didn't reply; she just gaped in shock.

 

Arken did remember it, he remembered all of it, how disgusting and eldritch it was, how it summoned its Shalazquai slaves and had them slaughter all the innocent townsfolk, how he failed to protect them.

 

But there was something else, something deep in his subconscious that made him rage whenever anyone brought it up. Arken didn't know why, but something was just off about the memories, something, subtly strange. Ever since it'd happened, Arken couldn't even start to understand why. There was also something else which put him on edge. The memories they were perfect, too perfect. It'd been decades since he'd defeated that Jaroai but it all came back with a clarity which even memories only a few years old didn't hold. Hell, even memories a few weeks old didn't compare. It was as though, as though...Were they manufactured? Not real?

 

Arken shook away that train of thought, exhaled and calmed himself. Such a thing wasn't possible; there was no form of magic which could be used to manipulate memories. A ridiculous notion. 'My apologies, Dalitti. Let us start again.'

 

Dalitti frowned then seemed to find her confidence.

 

'Well, okay then,' tilting her head aside. Showing her neck was a sign Arken knew it was one of the ways women show attraction. 'Head Hunter Arken?'

Arken forced a smile; he hoped it didn't seem too fake.

 

'Good to meet you, Dalitti. Let's get started, what made you leave Valandri for Hamar?'

 

Imprint

Publication Date: 08-22-2019

All Rights Reserved