When push came to shove, the word ‘guardians’ was a rather loose term in the backdrop of the impending invasion Paragon Maylin’s explanation was rather illuminating when it came to that bit — all they cared about was combat ability and utility. To Aziz, this was rather unfortunate, but the needs of the many usually had a nasty tendency to outweigh the hopes of the few.

Guardians, murderers, whatever.

The interior of the tower was empty as he strode in. In the centre was a grey monolith, one that was around five metres tall. There was a glass screen embedded in the four sides of the monolith, in a way that reminded him of the Display artefacts, but that was it. There were no words or videos or anything on them.

Just a patch of grey and nothing else. Of course, once more and more people started to arrive, this place would become lively, but other than the oddball Paragons that were dispossessed of their home and the troops dispatched here, there really weren’t many people one would consider experts around the Heaven-cleaving Fortress.

“So, how do I register?” Aziz asked.

“Well, normally there’ll be a kind old man standing around here,” Paragon Maylin replied. “But he’s not here today for some reason.”

“Old men, eh?” Aziz thought back to a rumour he’d heard about a year or so ago, during lunch. Someone — he couldn’t quite remember who — was talking about how the old people of Orb just seemed to know every other old person for some reason.

“Maybe he has a lunch meetup with his friends,” Aziz replied. “Who knows?”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Rumour has it that the elderly of Orb all know each other, after all,” said Aziz, parroting the words in his memory. He wasn’t sure if it referred to just their appearances — Lords and Paragons usually looked really young — or if it referred to their overall age, but it probably did make sense in a way.

He hadn’t quite forgotten the old man at the Solaris Museum too.

“I’m around three hundred years old,” said Paragon Maylin. “Why am I not included in this gathering of seniors?”

“You’re asking a thirty-something soldier that?” Aziz rolled his eyes. “And I’m supposed to know? How did you even arrive at that conclusion?”

“You did seem knowledgeable enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Aziz drifted away from Paragon Maylin, turning to examine the interior of the tower closely. Other than the giant monolith in the centre, there were also lots of pictures hung around the walls. He wasn’t too sure what these pictures were for, but they were all full of abstract art that he didn’t quite understand.

“Looks like no one’s here, though.”

Paragon Maylin grunted. “Well, you’ll just need to come back on another day.”

“I’ll do just that,” Aziz replied. “Thank you for showing me around.”

“It’s nothing much, and—”

“Little mortal!” A booming voice interrupted her words. “Are you trying to hook up with the loveliest angel of our group?”

Aziz turned to the entrance. Abele had appeared there, his eyes somewhat bloodshot. Stepping a few steps towards Aziz, Abele jabbed a finger at his chest. “Give me a reason to not castrate you, and—”

The colonel winced as Maylin smacked him onto the ground, her face slightly red. “Watch your words, idiot!”

“But he was trying to flirt with you!”

“No, he wasn’t. And even if he was, what’s it got to do with you?” Maylin pulled him up into a standing position. “You’re in no position to dictate my love life or anything.”

“But—”

Glancing at the squabbling duo, Aziz rubbed his head and sighed. “I get a feeling that getting him to hang out with us is going to be a lot harder than you think, Maylin.”

“I can solve that problem easily,” Maylin replied. “Abele, hear my orders.”

The Paragon froze up immediately.

“See?” Maylin smiled at Aziz, and then turned back to Abele. “You’re going to hang out with Aziz, his commanding officer and Minister Eventide until such time that I deem your behaviour and views as acceptable and civilised. The use of violence and offensive words are forbidden, and I will assess you personally every evening to gauge your improvements. Am I clear?”

Abele nodded. “Yes…”

The confusion in his eyes faded away a moment later. “Wait, Maylin! What do you mean by this?”

“What I mean by this is that you have a very bad attitude towards mortals in general. Therefore, I must humble you by letting you follow the brightest minds of the Republic. Be thankful for their cooperation,” Maylin replied. “Oh, and no intimidation is allowed.”

“But they’re—”

“No complaints either. This policy takes effect tomorrow. I expect you to be on the best behaviour as a Paragon and as an ambassador of our late Lord.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Maylin clapped her hands twice. “Enjoy the rest of the day however you deem fit. Be at the canteen at seven tomorrow, or else.”

“Aziz?”

Another voice came from the entrance, and everyone turned to look at the newcomers. Marie and Eventide were standing at the entrance, their eyes focused on the shuddering Abele.

“Just in time,” said Maylin. “Marshal Marie, Minister Eventide, I’ll be attaching this useless subordinate of mine to you for the next few days. You are free to ask him to run errands for you and things. I have no request, other than constant interaction with Abele.”

The two blinked.

“Why would you want us to do that?” Eventide asked.

“We intend to foster cooperation with you mortals, but as the saying goes, the strength of a chain is that of its weakest link,” Maylin replied. “Abele here is our weakest link, and we’ll like to change that.”

“I see, I see.” Eventide nodded. “Very well. Marie, Aziz, you two are to take care of our guest.”

Marie blanched. “Minister?! We are on an operation!”

“Excellent. Show him just how efficient the elite of the Republic is.” He turned to Maylin. “Shall we discuss the specifics of the attachment?”

“Yes, let’s.”

The two swept out, leaving Marie and Aziz alone with a shocked Abele.