Re: No. 26: Damian W & 'Leena B'
Skepticism such as it existed in Leena did not so much as occur to Damian. She was his sister, and he accepted that. Though, it was not difficult to understand why. Raised the way he was, told what he was to believe, told not to question, excised into life only ten years ago, he lacked some of the tools that might make him wonder at the assertion, as potentially world-upsetting as it was. However, this was not the case. He was taught the importance of blood. It had the unyielding weight of iron, of ancestry shared, ancient and incumbent and expectant. For some, this might have made them more leery. For Damian, it forced a shim of respect that was otherwise hard-earned. And, if she was his elder, and she wanted the position he currently held, she could fight him for it. It was what he had had to do with Timothy. He knew, however, blood or no, he would not lose.
He did not understand the need for lower volume when the young woman whispered her answer at him. If she was weak, it was her mother's blood. He rolled his eyes. "Where else then?"
Leena made no comment about Mother, as Damian had expected. He slipped his free hand into his pocket for warmth. He ought not to have, but he missed the sand he'd grown up around, the warmth. Even in the bowels of the tombs, where deprivation was the only boon, he could find comfort.—Some part of his mind reminded him his comfort was beyond unimportant and he killed the longing in himself with the irreducible complexity of a mousetrap, bar fracturing the spinal cord of a rodent or nostalgia alike.
"I grew up with Grandfather and Mother in Egypt," he told Leena without inflection of sentimentality.—Perhaps he would have divulged more information about his past, but the birth of that tower from the womb of darkness was enough to make the topic, momentarily, meaningless. He clicked the flashlight off without arguing for once. He could kill anyone who tried to do them harm, but he said nothing.
On his sister's heels, he too stepped closer to the erection (a word he used without awareness). He attempted to ascertain the geological age of the stones that made it up, but the discovery of the door derailed him and he followed Leena without any inkling of fear. His curiosity was present, but it was muted. Stairs inside he could see winding upward like ribbon. Instead of waiting, growing rather tired of simply trailing after Leena, he pushed by with his chin up and began up the stairs. They could have scaled from the outside, but Damian did not fear anything that might find them. "Come along," he told his sister.
There was a door not too far up, a break in the spiral. Light pearled underneath and around the frame in yellow fingers. It passed to black, as if someone stood, interrupting the stream of gold, and passed by. It had the potential to be interesting.