To the Victor

He had become used to having regular visitors. More than he had in the century or few he had been in charge of the waypoint. Perhaps it had been a mistake to be more welcoming to this particular group of survivors, but after so long, loneliness setting was inevitable. Especially following the painful loss that all keepers had suffered.

The man now known as Locke suppressed a small shudder as he remembered that particular event. Those inducted in the mysteries of Janus as Keepers of Waypoints used to be able to commune with each other, a sort of mass trance that let them speak together. It was useful for ensuring that others remained strong or sharing news and warnings. And then there had been the agony of burning as five waypoints were simultaneously attacked whilst the keepers were distracted. No warning, no chance to fight back, just the agonising clawing terror as they burnt alive together. And now, they did not meet as they once did. Instead, they relied on their keys and guardians to keep them informed. Fear had laced itself too deep in the keepers to let them risk it again. But there were too few keys and guardians now. And they served only a handful of the Waypoints that the Mysteries of Janus supported.

Locke sighed as that reminded him of his own guardian. Kay had made their way to Dundee to see to the Keeper there. Something had happened, something that worried the gangrel deeply. He was lucky that unlike a number of other keepers he was not as… specialised in his diet as others. He was even luckier that the kindred that sought to reclaim Edinburgh offered gifts and tithes to him and his Waypoint. Not many did. Far too many in fact took advantage of the Waypoints and its keepers and just assumed that it would always be there. They were the ones that were first to run when a Waypoint was threatened. The first to run when they caught a whiff that their own city might fall. Were he more concerned with the dealings of those not part of Janus, then he might have something to say for such crass and greedy layabouts.

But he had left that life behind long ago. Forced at the point of a stake to give himself to the Cult of Janus as a keeper so that he would be bound from ‘interfering’ with the city he had once taken pride in. That city had long fallen, that legacy turned to dust even before the Hunters wiped them out bit by bit. It wasn’t his concern anymore.

All that mattered was keeping his Waypoint alive and functional. He had no other concerns that mattered to him. Oh yes, he was intrigued at the young Toreador’s offer to host a gathering of their blood here, but in his heart he knew that such a thing would be more of a knife to him than a healing effort. It would be a test of his own resolve, to see if he was truly dedicated to the cult or if some small piece of loyalty to his old clan still lingered.

Perhaps it would be a good thing if the kindred that he had taken care of in this Waypoint lived their own lives for a time, allowing him to recentre himself and spend some time in contemplation. He had been given some new books to read after all.

He had all the time he could want.