The serenity of the sunset, with its rich tapestry of colours, offered a striking contrast to the turmoil that churned within me. Standing at the edge of Glenelg Jetty, I found myself caught between the breathtaking beauty of the world and the complex web of emotions and duties that bound me. The tranquility of the scene before me, where the sky seemed to bleed into the sea in a symphony of colours, was a poignant reminder of the world's indifference to human strife and joy alike.

The soothing rhythm of the waves against the jetty served as a balm to my unsettled spirit, yet the peace offered by nature felt fleeting. The gentle caress of the breeze, carrying with it the salt and whispers of the sea, spoke to a part of me that longed for simplicity and clarity. Yet, the anticipation of Jeremiah's arrival, thick and palpable as the early evening mist, rendered me unable to fully surrender to the moment's peace.

As Jeremiah's voice broke through my contemplation, a mix of relief and tension coursed through me. Turning to face him, I was struck by the sight of his approach, his figure a dark silhouette against the dimming glow of the day. The weariness and resolve etched on his face spoke volumes, a reflection of the myriad challenges we faced, the decisions that lay heavily on our shoulders.

Our embrace was a moment of solace and strength. It was a silent acknowledgment of the burdens we bore, the choices we had made, and the uncertain path that lay ahead. In that embrace, the complexities of our situation seemed both magnified and momentarily alleviated, a paradox that underscored the depth of our Guardian connection.

"It's good to see you again," Jeremiah spoke, his deep voice carrying a touch of melancholy that echoed the struggles etched into the lines on his face. The setting sun cast long shadows across his worn features, highlighting the burdens of a life spent battling the encroaching darkness of our era.

"Likewise, Jeremiah," I replied, my voice steady yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. I studied his features for the subtle nuances that hinted at the toll our turbulent world had taken on him. The way his eyes seemed to carry a storm within them, the slight downturn of his mouth that spoke volumes of his internal battles. "How have you been?" I inquired, my gaze locked onto his, attempting to decipher the state of his mind beneath the façade.

He sighed wearily, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of Clivilius itself. "Surviving, Cody. That's all we can do in these troubled times," he said, his eyes scanning the horizon, as if seeking answers in the blur of fiery oranges and cool blues.

Nodding in shared understanding, I acknowledged the pervasive struggle that surrounded us. Clivilius was in turmoil. Even the remotest settlements, like my own Belkeep, were not immune to the upheaval that gripped the world. The sense of impending doom was palpable, a thick cloud that hung over us, tainting every breath with the taste of fear.

"Jeremiah, there's something I need to tell you," I began cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper. The air felt heavier, as if the very atmosphere was bracing itself for my confession. I was aware that my revelation might not sit well with my Guardian Atum, a man who had seen more of the world's darkness than I.

His eyes focused on mine, a mix of curiosity and concern swirling within them. "What is it, Cody?" he asked, his tone steady yet revealing an underlying tension.

Taking a deep breath, the words felt like lead on my tongue, but I knew they needed to be said. "I went to Killerton Enterprises again," I admitted, my voice steady yet filled with a hint of defiance. I watched for his reaction, the flicker of worry, the subtle tightening of his jaw.

Jeremiah's eyes narrowed, worry flickering across his face like shadows cast by an unseen flame. "You went there? Are you insane?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and a hint of incredulity. It wasn't just the words but the way he said them, a mixture of fear and frustration, as if he was battling his own demons while trying to shield me from mine.

"I had to, Jeremiah," I said, the conviction in my voice masking the turmoil that raged within me.

"And what of Luke? Did you find him? Did he go with you?" Jeremiah's questions cascaded, each one revealing the depth of his worry.

I shook my head, the movement slow. "No, I went alone," I confessed softly, my eyes diverting downward as I carried the weight of my choices. The admission felt like a betrayal, not just to Jeremiah but to myself. I had ventured into the lion's den completely alone.

"So you've not given the access card to Luke?" Jeremiah pressed for an explanation, his gaze piercing, searching for the truth beneath my words.

My face scrunched as I hesitated, the internal conflict evident. "No," I admitted softly. The word hung in the air between us, heavy and filled with implications.

"What else aren't you telling me, Cody?" Jeremiah urged for more information, his voice a mix of concern and demand for transparency. His intuition was sharp; he could sense there was more to my story, layers that I had yet to unveil.

"The access card got taken from me. I think they knew I was coming," I confessed in a hurried voice, the words tumbling out as I finally allowed myself to confront the reality of my situation. The realisation that my movements had been anticipated, possibly monitored, was a chilling thought.

Jeremiah's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm surprised they didn't execute you for it."

I chuckled softly at Jeremiah's dramatic leap, but my demeanour turned sombre quickly. "There's more you need to know," I said, my voice steady as I prepared to recount my recent experiences at the underground facility. The chamber of countless Portal Keys, the existence of the Guardian Order, portal blocking technology, and the secret solitary access room—it all poured out of me in a flood of words, a deluge of revelations that I had barely begun to process myself.

As I spoke, I observed the emotions playing across Jeremiah's face—surprise, disbelief, and finally, a deep sense of understanding settled in his eyes. It was like watching a storm brew over a once calm sea, the tranquility replaced by a tempest of realisation and unanswered questions.

Jeremiah's muttered disbelief hung in the air, the weight of the unspoken revelation settling between us like a shroud. The twilight around us seemed to deepen, casting long shadows that mirrored the darkening of Jeremiah's expression. "I can't believe it," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of years of unwavering trust. His voice, usually so firm and authoritative, now held a tremor of vulnerability. "All this time, and not once did Zenobias ever mention to me anything about the existence of a Guardian Order."

"To be honest, that does surprise me," I replied, the shock of the newfound knowledge reverberating through my thoughts. "I know the two of you are close."

"We were close," Jeremiah corrected, his voice barely above a whisper. A deep sadness etched lines across his once-stoic face, adding years to his appearance in mere moments. The fading light of day cast his features into relief, highlighting the grief that seemed to consume him.

"What do you mean, were?" I hesitated, the question hanging in the air, an unspoken fear lingering between us. The pause felt like an eternity, a chasm opening up that threatened to swallow us whole.

Jeremiah's eyes closed, a sigh escaping his lips. It was a sound of resignation, of a man coming to terms with a loss so profound it threatened to unmoor him. "She passed away a few days ago, not long after I met you." The words fell like stones into the stillness, each one a painful testament to the transient nature of our existence in this tumultuous world.

The news hit me like a physical blow, a wave of sorrow mingled with shock. Zenobias, the indomitable force, a beacon of wisdom and strength, gone? It seemed inconceivable. Jeremiah, the unshakeable Guardian Atum, now looked diminished, a figure of mourning shrouded in the twilight's gloom.

"What happened?" I asked, the words carrying the weight of an unspoken grief that settled in the caverns of my heart. There was a silence that seemed to stretch between us, a bridge over which the sombre truth would soon pass. Jeremiah's tales of Zenobias had painted her as an ethereal Guardian, a beacon of grace and intellect. Yet, our encounters had been scarce, leaving me with only fleeting glimpses of the profound aura that clung to her being, a presence so impactful yet so intangible, like the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

"Shrapnel wound from an explosion," Jeremiah answered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the fading light around us. The words tore me from the reflections on the aged woman who had now departed from our world. The revelation struck like a bitter wind, leaving me frozen in disbelief. The demise of such a remarkable Guardian felt inconceivable, a harsh reminder of the brutal reality of a world engulfed in chaos. It was a blow, not just to the heart but to the very fabric of what I believed invincible.

"Come on, Cody, you know Syria is at war," Jeremiah interjected, his voice cutting through the fog of sorrow that clouded my thoughts. His words were a firm nudge back to reality, a reminder of the turmoil that ravaged lands far and near.

My brow softened, acknowledging the harsh truth laid bare. Syria, like much of the world, was a battleground, and the Guardians faced the perils of conflict head-on. The reality of Zenobias's fate, an acknowledgement to the dangers we all faced, settled heavily within me, a sombre note in the symphony of our existence.

Seeking refuge, I attempted to shift the conversation, yearning for a respite from the harsh truths that gripped us. "But now we do know there's a Guardian Order, it changes everything," I said, the words carrying a note of hope as I sought to redirect the dialogue to a more optimistic path. There was a lightness in my attempt to steer us away from the shadow of loss, an effort to find solace in the revelation that had shaken me. The existence of the Guardian Order, shrouded in secrecy, now promised a beacon of light in the enveloping darkness. It was a shift in perspective, a pivot towards the possibility that in the knowledge of this Order lay the potential to reshape our battle-scarred reality.

Jeremiah's gaze intensified, the gravity of his words hanging heavily in the air like a dense fog that refused to lift. "I think it's time that you complete your Guardian group, Cody," he declared, his resolve casting a firm shadow over my attempts to regain control over the discussion.

"I know," I admitted, a sense of urgency creeping into my voice. The words felt heavy on my tongue, laden with the realisation of the task ahead. "I'm working on preparing Gladys. But it's become a little complicated now that I know her involvement with Luke."

Jeremiah's brow furrowed in contemplation as he absorbed the complexity of the situation. "How so?" he inquired, his curiosity unwavering. The simplicity of his question belied the depth of understanding he sought.

"Luke's been asking her for help to gather supplies, and I've been encouraging her to assist him. We can't let Luke's settlement fail," I explained, the dilemma unfolding before Jeremiah like a delicate tapestry. Each thread represented a decision, a choice that could alter the fabric of our future.

"Agreed," Jeremiah nodded solemnly. "Any ideas for the second Guardian?"

"Not yet," I replied, uncertainty casting a shadow over my expression as I shook my head.

"Don't take too long," Jeremiah cautioned, his words echoing with the urgency of a ticking clock. The admonition, though gentle, was a clarion call to action, a reminder that time was a luxury I could ill afford.

I frowned, torn between the necessity of swift action and the unshakable feeling that Gladys wasn’t fully prepared for the weight of Guardian responsibilities. The delicate balance of time and readiness lingered, casting a shadow over the path ahead.

"We can't stay hidden anymore. The Guardians are isolated and scattered, and I think it's time that changes," I insisted, my voice firm, resolute, echoing across the space between us like a manifesto against the darkness that sought to consume us. The distant hum of waves crashing against the shore provided an ominous underscore to our deliberations, a natural symphony that seemed to underscore the intensity of our conversation.

Jeremiah raised a hand, a gesture as if warding off the urgency of my proposition, his movements deliberate, measured. "Hold on a sec," he interjected. "I don't think we should rush into anything here. It's a precarious and dangerous situation." His voice was a calm counterpoint to my fervour, a reminder of the caution with which we must tread.

My gaze drifted to the distant horizon, the sea's expanse echoing the vastness of the challenges that lay before us. "I have a contact who can help us," I divulged, my words cutting through the ambient sounds of the evening, offering a sliver of hope amidst the enveloping gloom.

Frowning, Jeremiah reluctantly motioned for me to continue, his silhouette outlined against the backdrop of a darkening sky.

"Amber," I revealed, her name resonating like a whispered promise carried away by the ocean breeze. The mention of her name felt like casting a stone into still waters, the ripples yet unseen but inevitable.

Jeremiah's expression remained unchanged. "I've not heard of her."

"I first met her several years ago in London. She helped me to escape the ambush at Killerton Enterprises yesterday. She's a Guardian too. She was there with others in her group... Josh and Nathan, I think their names were. They said something about having stolen some blueprints."

"This is all new to me," Jeremiah admitted. "Do you have any idea what these blueprints are?"

"I've not got a clue," I confessed with a helpless shrug.

"Are you sure she will help us?" Jeremiah probed further, a thread of skepticism weaving through his cautious tone.

I hesitated, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore serving as a backdrop to my contemplation. "I don't actually know how to contact her," I admitted, laying bare the vulnerability in my plan.

"Some contact then," Jeremiah quipped, a soft chuckle breaking the serious undertones.

I scowled, the corners of my eyes narrowing at his straightforward assessment. Yet, deep down, I knew he was right. Amber's potential assistance held little value if I couldn't bridge the gap of communication. However, beneath the frustration and the fear, a spark of determination flickered to life. "But," I began, the word hanging in the air, pregnant with possibilities.

"I think you and I should meet with Luke first," Jeremiah suggested, redirecting the course of our conversation before it delved into deeper uncertainties.

"And tell him—" I started, the question trailing off as I attempted to grasp the extent of what we'd reveal to Luke. But Jeremiah cut me off abruptly, his interjection steering our dialogue down a path I hadn't anticipated.

"But there's someone else I need to meet with first. Someone that I hope can shed some more light on this Guardian Order." The seriousness with which he spoke, the weight of each word, hinted at the importance of this unnamed individual in the larger puzzle we were attempting to piece together.

Surprise etched my features. "Who's this mysterious contact?" I probed, the words echoing against the night's embrace.

"An old contact from many years ago," Jeremiah revealed, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia, a hint of sorrow mingling with the resolve. "We haven't spoken for a long time, but I do know that she was quite close with Zenobias. I'll ask around about this Amber person of yours too."

A small scowl crept across my face, my features tightening with displeasure. Jeremiah taking the lead with my information irked me, stirring a mix of pride and annoyance within. Yet, I had learned, through grudging experience, that arguing with his resolute determination proved a futile endeavour. His methods, though sometimes abrasive, were born of a deep-seated commitment to Clivilius.

Suddenly, Jeremiah stood tall, a figure of resolve and unwavering purpose. His shoulders squared, he spoke decisively, a clear command cutting through the uncertainty that had begun to settle around us. "You've got two weeks to get Gladys and your second Guardian sorted. I'll gather intel, and we'll reconvene here to decide our next steps."

I nodded in acceptance, the weight of the situation settling over me like a heavy cloak. "That sounds reasonable enough. Two weeks it is."

Jeremiah gripped my forearms, squeezing tightly, a gesture that felt like an anchor in the tumultuous sea of uncertainties that surrounded us. The air seemed to hold its breath, a silent witness of the moment as he uttered a final plea. "Be careful, my friend," he urged, genuine concern gleaming in his eyes.

"You too, Jeremiah," I replied, my voice carrying through the breeze like a whispered oath, imbued with the weight of promises unspoken and the depth of our shared resolve. "Light the fire." The words felt symbolic, more than a mere farewell—a call to action, a reminder of the purpose that drove us, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

His face softened, a fleeting connection in the shadows, a momentary bridge between the worlds of light and darkness we navigated. "Share the light," he responded, his words a reverberation of our shared mission, an echo of the bond that united us. It was a reminder that, though our paths might diverge, our purpose remained intertwined.

As Jeremiah's figure melded into the dwindling crowd, moving towards the shore, a new plan began to crystallise in my mind. The ambient noise of the crowd, a distant murmur against the backdrop of the crashing waves, provided a soundtrack to my contemplations. Jeremiah was right about Gladys; she needed an extra layer of protection, a safeguard against the unpredictable tides of fate that threatened to engulf us.

The evening held its breath as I mulled over the risks and vulnerabilities, a complex tapestry unfolding in the recesses of my thoughts. The strategy that began to take shape was one of caution and foresight, a chess move in a game where the stakes were as high as the very fate of our worlds. At least it would offer Gladys an escape route from any situation, a lifeline in the tumultuous seas we navigated, as long as she stayed far from the looming shadows of Killerton Enterprises—a silent addition that echoed through the night, the recent events etched fresh in my memory.