The call was dull and pulsing, as if he’d been struck in his chest. The call, no, the plea of his world burned under his skin and in his mind as he sat across from his brother, trying to rationalize how exactly he was going to manage a family with his lover, Yvaine. Marlo had told him it would not be like that time with Aurora, his world would not demand the blood of it’s senshi, the blood of a child for the sake of power. Castor, Elzo, knew this was true but still- he’d made the choice. Sure, he’d failed to carry it out, but he nearly had slain his own daughter, a baby, all for the sake of power. He’d killed before. He’d kill again. Yet killing his own child?
He almost had, and there was no escaping that cold gripping fact of what he’d nearly done.

Marlo kept telling him, it would be different. Yvaine loved him- something he’d tried to gently push away by asking for an open relationship. He’d hoped that she might seek someone else, fall in love with another and leave him as she should have. But she loved him. And in his own pride and arrogance he loved her and kept pulling her back when his heart felt she’d gone too far. They were in love and she’d purified- to leave behind her old live, to escape chaos. And she had a whole new chance, a new opportunity.
Still, she loved him and he loved her.

It was by far the most painful thing- to know this beautiful and wonderful woman loved him, was going to be having his child, and all he could do was shake in raw fear that somehow, he’d fail them. The fear of his yet unborn child dragged his heart down. Yvaine was so kind and loving and she’s be a wonderful mother- But he and his family? Marlo was great. Supportive, helpful- he’d gone to the ultrasound when Elzo couldn’t face her still. When he’d been a coward. Castor and Elzo both feared what a child would mean.

And it was the sudden keen and sharp awareness in his chest that called out to something in him. The fear of death, of an innocent life lost that had him stand, pen in hand. Marlo was confused, but a look sent the senshi of frost into a mask of understanding. Castor’s world called him, more often than Elzo would ever like to admit. But the call couldn’t be ignored. Without a word, their conversation left open and with no clear answer. Powering up, the rush of cold air sending his breath as a misty white, Castor felt the call all the more strongly. Something wasn’t right on his world. Something needed his attention.

The first thing he noticed as he arrived on his home was that the temple he’d arrived to was not one near the capital. It was well kept and more alarming- it had clear signs of a recent visitor of a more humanoid inclination. It couldn’t have been an alien- his world would have repelled them, or he’d have been called to defend his home. But the marks in the snow were human enough and the debris of burned fires was new. Not to mention there had been work done on the temple itself. Support beams raised, walls re-enforced.

He’d been called here for a reason, with purpose- but Castor couldn’t see what. The sound of metal boots on stone echoed in the empty temple halls, and he no longer could ask his world for guidance. No pull to an artifact. No memories. Nothing his world had called him and Castor had no clue as to why- only that there had been a danger. Death was coming and yet he felt no threat, sensed nothing.

A muffled sound, a soft crying further into the temple. Behind two ironwood doors, sealed by a lock.
Castor froze at the memory, the name. Lacedeamon. The Usurper. Lukas. The despot knight turned betrayer and traitor. Forsaken, cast out. He’d joined Castor’s world so long ago, born when Castor had been seeking to expand them empire. The son of the King elect- never born to rule, only to advise. To aid. To serve. The role of Knight taken to give him power, he’d sought a relic of power, he’d gathered people under him, whispering in shadows of a world free of a senshi’s rule. He’d made an army in shadows. He’d taken the crown from his father, the people falling to his charms and lies- and then when Castor had returned.

Castor’s memory flashed in red. Death. Slain by a man who should have been his ally, his friend. This place was his temple. This was his domain.

Castor’s blood ran cold. Lacedeamon was reborn. Laceadeamon, the knight who had been born to serve, lived to destroy him. The doors remained locked, and a rage grew in Castor. He had a child on the way, a life, a future that he had to protect. A world he would rebuild. He’d face the knight, and do what needed to be done. The door smashed open, Heaven’s fury destroying that which stood in it’s path. Cold wind followed the prince as he arrived to the temple’s sanctum, ready to kill the knight who’s soul sought the destruction of his own.

Castor saw no knight, but rather the face of his niece, blue eyes red with tears, black hair tangled from sleep, and skin pale from the cold. The Prince of Hail was frozen as he knew why his world had called to him.

Lacedaemon was reborn- and he had begun his plan to slay the prince.
His own son.