Paragon

⊰❉⊱ 58 ⊰❉⊱

The heated breeze filled the dark interior with curious scents.

But none as curious and timeless as the faint vanilla hues emanating from the oldest being currently walking the earth sat carelessly ahead. He listened to low music in a language I couldn't understand with those silver aviators masking his emotion.

I was not just on edge. I was damn right vulnerable in a metal box with a founder.

I shifted in my seat and wished I had my duffle bag within reach, not in the trunk... not that bullets would stop him. It may just piss him off–

"Fletcher." He cut through my thoughts and I snapped my eyes to his sunglasses in the rear view mirror, "–Have you ever come across this dialect?"

I listened to the deep timbre and obscure way the language wove itself. Not Middle Eastern nor African. I wouldn't say South American and it certainly was nothing of Europe.

"If I had to guess, I'd likely be wrong." I deadpanned, tearing my eyes off those glasses that hardly needed to watch the road. 

We darted through Lagos and quickly away from my ticket back to Quinn. The structures rapidly became haphazard and varying in sheets of metal than stone. I had to wonder how long it would take to reach our mountain coordinates or if he truly wanted to kill time to analyse me. 

"But if you had to guess..." He drawled, teasing the 'had' a little too much for safe conversation.

"East Asia, I suppose."

"You suppose rather closely." He encouraged, "–Do you have ties to the far east?" He quipped curiously. Not predatory or calculating as many elders were... But he was beyond those games.

So, I answered honestly.

"I lived in Japan for a time. I found it... quite peaceful." I made sure not to mention that I planned to return.

That wicked grin returned in full force. "Oh, I must agree, Fletcher. Mortal discipline and respect lies on that island and rarely finds itself in other territories."

Two things he valued if his tone were anything to go by. Good to know. Disrespect this man–founder–being–you likely meet your end.

"The food isn't bad either." I quipped, scanning a woman selling coconuts under a stall before she was lost in blurring faces in the streets.

"Which kind?" He asked simply.

I didn't meet his gaze for that question. I simply thought of Aiko and her homely square of land and waiting soup. The people of her village with ready bows of respect and cautious optimism whenever I shadowed the streets.

"The mortal kind." I lied lightly, continuing to watch the streets. If I could at least play the partial part of a monster perhaps I'd make it out of this assignment alive.

He didn't comment on it.

It was the last thing he said for the next fifteen minutes until we pulled into a walled compound with an excessive number of armed guards at every angle. They knew the plate and opened the gates to us without even the need for lowered windows–mortals were so careless.

But we drove straight past the large stone building which I noted had several long range satellite receivers upon its roof. Likely a mortal-Paragon military establishment. Or a private firm as they often preferred.

As we rounded the structure, his intention presented itself.

Four helicopters sat upon a large landing bay with their rotors already spinning.