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A ring of celebration rang out over the Banquet Hall of the Templars ancestral home. Scores of world-weary agents and soldiers gathered under the same roof to ignore the world, to allow them to cherish a mere moment of peace.
Dmitri looked down his table, one of many arranged in four columns down the hall. The Templar leadership at the head of the proceedings. Usually, he would join them, but he valued the company he had over the hierarchy.
To his left sat a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. Tris brushed hair behind her ear as her companions across the table invoked a hearty laugh from the older agent.
Dmitri looked over to his and his companion’s wards. His ward, Kayleigh, was in the middle of telling an overly dramatic tale from her most recent mission to South America. Her short brown hair trembled with enthusiasm as she roused merriment from the table.
His companions’ ward, Samuel, nursed his ale and sporadically commented on Kayleigh’s tale, his deadpan sense of humour increasing the impact of her story.
The younger Bee gulped his ale, the traditional Templar brew fighting the anima in his blood for control of his body. He sat back, content with his mild intoxication and his newfound family in the order.
“Wait, this doesn’t seem right.” A disembodied voice called out in the back of Dmitri’s mind. The sound of a record scratch cut through his vision as the screen stunted to a pause.
“What the hell is this?” Dmitri accused the voice as he gestured angrily to the screen that showed the scene.
“Something that could be. Don’t think about it too much, Chuck.” The screen started to rewind, the image running back to the present day.