Part I
“The news is out,” the Warden announces, when he pushes his round body through the window. “They are on their way,” he presses on the urgency of the matter by puffing out his chest.
“It’s expected. Their attack is as much a tradition as it is a personal challenge to me.” Though not dismissive, the Voice remains calm.
“But they will be here any moment now.” The Warden jumps up, a raucous cry escaping him.
Such a loss of control is rare and the Warden tries to salvage his blunder by balancing his entire weight on one foot to regain the appearance of being in charge. The gesture, however, is already betrayed by his outburst.
As always, he blames the slip-up on the vague response from the Voice. He deeply resents that the Voice always seems so elusive, unlike any of its predecessors. For this vile quality of the Voice, the Warden has sworn to be on guard at all costs.
“I have the key secured in the outskirt of the Pocket of Origination,” the Voice continues. “It is enclosed in a bookcase, hidden from the intruders.” The statement is amplified to indicate that the Voice has suddenly turned around. “The sun is getting ready to rise, and you should get going.”
Immediately the Warden recognizes it as an order issued from behind the curtain, a velvet divider that drapes from ceiling to floor, separating him from the Voice.
“We will be on our way,” the Warden responds. But he only shifts his weight from one leg to another, swaying his hefty body without actually moving it.
He has one more thing to say, “Mind you that we have to do whatever it takes to prevent them from finding out that which should be kept as a secret.”
With the last sentence, he glides back to the window and jumps. In a poof, his round body shrink. Two wings stretch out from his neck and he transforms into something completely different.
Once transformed, the Warden is greeted by his entourage. Together they fly into the far distance. Behind the clouds etched against the murky sky, all of them vanish without a trace.
“It’s expected. Their attack is as much a tradition as it is a personal challenge to me.” Though not dismissive, the Voice remains calm.
“But they will be here any moment now.” The Warden jumps up, a raucous cry escaping him.
Such a loss of control is rare and the Warden tries to salvage his blunder by balancing his entire weight on one foot to regain the appearance of being in charge. The gesture, however, is already betrayed by his outburst.
As always, he blames the slip-up on the vague response from the Voice. He deeply resents that the Voice always seems so elusive, unlike any of its predecessors. For this vile quality of the Voice, the Warden has sworn to be on guard at all costs.
“I have the key secured in the outskirt of the Pocket of Origination,” the Voice continues. “It is enclosed in a bookcase, hidden from the intruders.” The statement is amplified to indicate that the Voice has suddenly turned around. “The sun is getting ready to rise, and you should get going.”
Immediately the Warden recognizes it as an order issued from behind the curtain, a velvet divider that drapes from ceiling to floor, separating him from the Voice.
“We will be on our way,” the Warden responds. But he only shifts his weight from one leg to another, swaying his hefty body without actually moving it.
He has one more thing to say, “Mind you that we have to do whatever it takes to prevent them from finding out that which should be kept as a secret.”
With the last sentence, he glides back to the window and jumps. In a poof, his round body shrink. Two wings stretch out from his neck and he transforms into something completely different.
Once transformed, the Warden is greeted by his entourage. Together they fly into the far distance. Behind the clouds etched against the murky sky, all of them vanish without a trace.
