This will be adjunct to my other primary works.

That's all.

--

--

--

“We are entering dark times once more,” his uncle said, flatly, “just as that madman of a prophet had foreseen.”

The man's back was facing his nephew. He was staring, sadly, yet with countenance, out the window.

--

He was one of the only living creatures in existence who was immune to the Grand Master's unspeakable power.

But he was a weak man.

Physical weakness paired with a seemingly emaciated physique were both defects which ran strong through the Wallace family bloodline; they were so prominent, in fact, that such traits did not dilute over multiple generations even the slightest bit.

--

His personal study was dimly lit; the sun had almost completely disappeared, now crouching behind the mountains and turning them darker than dark should appear.

A lazy, orange glow seemed to be all that remained of what had been broad daylight only hours before. It radiated unspeakable somnolence.

You would have reacted to this aura like every other mortal had; I feel more than ready for bed, you would have thought, but it's not late enough yet.

--

That feeling of forced ambivalence. Drowsiness you brought upon yourself without lifting a finger; drowsiness that you welcome with open arms, then suddenly feel wrong about and unwelcoming of.

--

You try, desperately, to cast it aside, but find it one of the hardest self-induced challenges of all time.

--

It's just like jet-lag. Exactly like it, only hypnotic. Your biological clock throws itself out of whack.

--

Garth, a boy adopted into a human family at age four, felt exactly this.

He was only eight years old, and naïve, even for his age.

His red chao, dozing off on the floor, was equally inexperienced.

--

The young feline didn't understand what his uncle, a human belonging to a frail heritage, meant.

Garth was lazily sprawled out on the brown, leather couch. His right hand swayed sluggishly back and forth as it hung freely over the edge.

--

That hypnotic, solar aura left him half-asleep. His eyes half-closed, he seemed to experience short dream sequences while still conscious of his surroundings.

Each time, he would violently shake his head to keep awake. It was only seven. He didn't want to sleep yet. Something about it just wasn't right.

Normally an active child, Garth was among the crowd who considered sleeping during the day a waste of precious time best spent doing trivial things.

--

His uncle held behind his back a dusty, age-abused, red, hardcover book of some sort. With the hand which grasped the book, he tapped it continuously against his other palm at a consistent pace.

--

That, aside from the sound of the softly-ticking clock, was all that could be heard in the study.

--

Tap, tap, tap.

--

The cat broke the silence with an innocent question.

“Uncle Cadoc, what's a prophet?” Garth muttered tiredly, his eyes still half-closed.

--

“Prophets,” Cadoc said, still staring blankly out the window, “are individuals who claim to possess the ability to see into the future.”

He continued, “They are often very troubled men, ostracized by society and miserable with their own obsessions.”

--

“So prophet people are fortune-tellers?” Garth asked naïvely.

“You could say that,” the human replied, “you could very well say that.”

--

A long pause. It seemed to stretch on forever, but it lasted only a minute or so.

--

Silence broken.

--

“Uncle Cadoc, what are 'dark times'?” the boy asked, “is it when the sun doesn't come out for awhile?”

“And is a madman a person who's really angry all the time?”

--

“Not at all,” Cadoc replied, “but, you may be too young still to understand.”

--

Thirty seconds passed.

--

“Uncle Cadoc,” Garth slurred, “what's that book you have all about?”

Cadoc was surprisingly patient with his nephew's habit of nagging.

“It is a book of truths,” he replied simply, “it tells a tale of anguish, sorrow, defeat, slaughter, evil, and eventual triumph. Only, it is a true story.”

Garth knew not the meaning of almost every word his uncle had just used to describe the old book.

--

“Uncle Cadoc, does that book have any pictures inside?” the cat asked immaturely.

“It does not,” the human replied, “it lacks illustration. The madman published his artwork separately, often in the form of murals and such.”

--

“Well, then I don't really wanna read that book, then,” Garth said, almost like a brat.

He was anything but bratty in nature, though.

--

“That is fine,” Cadoc replied, “you are far too young to comprehend, nay, endure the secrets this piece of literature holds.”

“What types of secrets?” Garth asked, now sitting up, “can it say the secret to finding the answer to my math homework?”

--

Cadoc's countenance crept into a slight smirk.

He rarely smiled. All the time he devoted to researching chemistry and alchemy, in addition to how much he invested in his more personal projects, left him a stressed man.

He was rather seclusive and anti-social, and few knew him outside of his immediate family and research colleagues.

He was a rather weak-willed and emotionally-stressed chemistry professor.

His emotions in particular.

--

“No, Garth,” he responded, “it holds secrets not meant for mortal eyes.”

“Doesn't mortal mean people who die?” the cat asked naïvely.

--

“Yes, it does,” strangely, he seemed to be holding back strong, baleful emotions.

“Then doesn't that mean you die if you read that book or something? Wait, that makes no sense...” he underwent a rare moment of logical realization just then.

His red chao, Zero, was making near-silent snoring noises. The chao stopped momentarily as it sluggishly rolled over from its back onto its side, then continued with its deep breathing.

--

“You will not die if you read it,” Cadoc said, “but, you shouldn't look through its musty pages. It is a sad tale, and only a few chosen individuals may so much as learn its secrets, or read through it, for that matter.”

--

The sun was all but gone now. A brown-coned lamp was the room's new light source.

“But if it's a true story, why do only a few people know about it?” Garth asked, “is it one of those top-secret books?”

He was undergoing a flash of “brilliant” reasoning rarely observed in his character.

--

Five minutes transpired.

Cadoc was the one to break the pause this time.

--

He sighed, heavily.

“Yes, you could very well say that,” he said flatly, “only a few trusted individuals may read it.”

--

“But Uncle Cadoc, why are you allowed to read it if only the army people can read it?” Garth had a habit of associating the “government” directly with “the army people”. Very typical for his age.

--

“Not even officials of the Guardian Units of the Nations are permitted access to this book,” Cadoc replied, “only the president, GUN's top generals, myself, your...father, and a few others may.”

--

“But why?” Garth asked, “if only the president and the army generals are supposed to know about it, why do you and Artemis?”

--

Cadoc's hands seemed to tremble slightly as they hung behind his back. He never wanted to hear utterance of Artemis' name.

--

“My brother and I were children when this book was written,” Cadoc said, rather hesitantly yet patiently, “we were also at the very center of the events that transpired. The events which resulted in the book I hold now.”

--

Garth didn't quite understand what was so special about that.

Finally, his uncle turned away from the window for the first time since he had entered the room hours before.

Putting the book on the sill, he took off his glasses and cleaned them before replacing them over his eyes.

--

“It looks as though your mother is back from her latest archaeological expedition,” he said. He had seen her from out the window.

--

“It is getting late,” picking up the forbidden book, he walked in the direction of the door.

“Your mother is waiting.”

--

As Cadoc walked past him, Garth stole a quick glimpse at that forbidden book's cover.

--

The Doomsday Clock: The True War To End All Wars

--

A war book? He'd seen plenty of those in the study before.

What profoundly shocked the young cat, though, was the ancient book's subtitle, printed in small text beneath the title.

--

A Tale Beginning 3037 That Shall Continue Until Universal Extinction

--

Garth was dumbfounded.

3037? That was, like, 4,000 years ago or something! He thought.