His eyes already glued on her chest, lips parted with an urge to say more, it took an effort but wisely he
closed it, turning his vision straight ahead, “You are normally really talkative Clarebella, just like
Julliette.”
She smirked at him her eyes flattering sarcastically, “Now you are comparing me to some mystery girl,
named after the famous Juliet? What’s next?”
He didn’t face her, but she could see the curve of his lips as he spoke, “Her name is Julliette, not Juliet,
she is family, we’re here.”
She stopped in her tracks, and stood in front of a very large castle, with gold beams near its entrance.
The outside door was marked in blood with an unknown language, apart from it being the largest
Castle on the road, its exterior was like all the other castles, wrapped in gold and marble. Clare was
confused as a knot twisted in her stomach, “Where are we?”
“Draikens residence.”
Clare’s nerves instantly went on red alert, “NO one told me I was going visiting.” She raised her voice
accusatory in her tone, “Let alone meeting my family.”
The thought of meeting her mother’s family, Her family, after all this time was beyond nerve-wracking,
more so because she had no idea who she was, or what she was doing, let alone what to say, did they
know about her amnesia. Her mind riddled with meaningless questions.
“What are we doing here, why? did Nathan tell you to bring me here?”
“RELAX, they your family, and they’ve been expecting you, your mother actually called them a while
back.”
Clare’s eyebrows furrowed, darkening the green. She faced the door, lifted her hand to knock, but
Kalbreal opened it, “Don’t, it’s rude to knock, ALL Draiken are welcome.”
“What’s the blood on the door?”
“It’s not blood, it's sytna, the mark of birth, your cousin had a son this morning.” He walked into the
castle. Clare followed obediently like a wounded puppy, not allowed to touch its master.
The Draiken castle was different on the inside. No open planned entrance like the Moonstone’s, but
instead a long narrow hallway. She passed half a dozen of doors on either side of her already, but
Kalbreal went further down. Her boots crunched on the emerald carpet, as she hurried down the
lengthy walkway.
Kalbreal kept his pace a few feet ahead of her, his steps purposeful, as though he walked this path
numerous times, which he probably did. He didn’t stop until he opened the fifteenth door on the right,
and disappeared into it.
She followed him, not having any other option, and stopped dead by what she was seeing- a large
crowd of people, staring at them both, some completely awestruck.
All the people in the room continued to go about their business after a few minutes when Kalbreal
cleared his throat, and only then did she step closer to him to whispering, “Who are all these people.”
“Your family,” He laughed, “There’s no need to be nervous Clarebella.”
A man walked toward them from the crowd skilfully, as he manoeuvred his way through the people,
some with using hand signals, or by a bare touch of their shoulders.
She tried to recognize these people. Some looked different, with ash blonde hair, and others Asian
skinned, but there were some, including a little girl, hiding between a woman’s legs, that she somehow
felt connected to. The room was emptied of furniture, no chairs OR curtains, just an open room, with at
least fifty people gathered in a circle.
Eyes pausing on the man who approached, her wide smile showing no sign of the turmoil which battled
within her. He wore a charcoaled and mixture of grey, leathered pants, that was matte, with loops of
leather, laddering right down to his ankle, where three hunter knives rested.
The powdery grey t-shirt with boots and empty weapon strapping’s on the top, didn’t camouflage the
drops of blood that tattooed his neck. He could’ve easily been mistaken for a man in his mid to late
thirties, but by what Clare knew about the Lightwatchers, it was most certainly the late forties.
He took out his hand which Clare held without hesitation, “The names Zartieal Draiken.” His Scottish
accent was completely out of sorts with his physical description, “I’m Luela’s father.”
The man didn’t let her hand go, but she admitted to herself that she didn’t mind, not one bit. It was
comforting, something that she longed for, “I’m Clare, Franchesca’s daughter.” “We know who you are
child, you are ours, come now, meet your family.”
Kalbreal smiled at her when she looked at him for approval. She didn’t understand what she searched
his face for, but she got a nod as he followed next to her and Zartieal, making way to the crowd.
Zartieal hadn’t let her hand go, instead, he brought her closer to him and tucked it under his arm,
squeezing her fingers gently, giving her comfort. The other Lightwatchers smiled at her as they made
way for her to pass through to the other side, toward the fifty-foot window.
The room was much bigger than she calculated at first entry, and smelt of roses and saffron. Hands-on
her back, different, unfamiliar, touching her, patting her shoulder, she felt at home, relaxed, welcomed.
Zartieal only dislodged her when they approached a girl seated on a chair, the one single piece of
furniture in the room. The girl stared up at her, with a warm glow on her cheeks, and black downturned
eyes. Her hair was black with loose curls, open and flowing down the sides of the chair just over her
breast, not as long as Clare’s, but it looked thicker and was damp, like she’d just showered, and
slipped on the long white dress made of silk. Her tanned skin in complete contrast to Clare’s paled one
from her years in London.
Clare’s eyes dropped to the girl’s arms, as she saw something inside it- wrapped in a white woollen
blanket, was a baby.
She had this urge to run away, but a hand gripped her arm, holding her captive, it was an elderly
looking female in her sixties, but the tightness of her fingers on Clare’s arm was no sixty-year-old grip,
“He hasn’t received his name yet, still a wanderer.”
Clare looked at the lady, noting how tall she was for a grandma, her shoulders straight, posture -
perfect, and something oddly familiar about her, but Clare couldn’t make out what it was, “I’ve seen you
somewhere.” It came out more of an accusation than an observation.
“I’m your grandmother’s sister, Aniela, this is my first great-grandchild.” She said, pointing to the baby
nestled in its mother’s arms.
The ladies grip loosening around her arm. Clare stepped behind the chair and looked down at the baby,
whose eyes opened at Clare’s stare, “I thought newborns don’t open their eyes, he’s beautiful.”
“Our children are different.” The baby's mother’s voice was dry but soft, it suited her, “We’re born with
our eyes open, souls like those of Angels, it’s mostly why we are called Lightwatchers, because of the
Igori. Names Luela by the way.” She smiled at Clare and stood up. Handing Clare the baby so quickly,
Clare didn’t have a second to refuse or step back, not that she wanted to, she had experienced enough
death, let her experience life too.
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