Japan, Ermengardis Headquarter, February 26, 2004, 6:00 PM (Feb. 26, 9:00 AM GMT +9:00)

James bent over one of the pictures of the coffins, taken a month before on the island of Telemny, during the week following the awakening of Glaucus and Ishara. He already had looked at them many times, in search of clues explaining the awakening of the two Great Ancients.

The two massive platinum coffins had been drawn from the ground, and then opened with the keys. The only problem was that those keys were supposedly destroyed for centuries, in order to prevent the monsters from escaping their coffins or being freed from their prison by some accomplices. Now, the awakening of Ishara and Glaucus brought the evidence that the keys still existed, and some ill-intentioned people had used them to open the coffins.

James raised his head and crossed his arms on his chest, a line of concern marking his face. It was clear for him that Apollo had not opened these coffins by himself. He had certainly hired somebody, maybe one of his guards, or even somebody outside the Sanctuary of Olympia, somebody who knew the existence of the keys, who had found them and, more important, who knew how to use them.

Perhaps, a former soldier of the army of Marius?

But the most urgent topics was now to find out if this person had the other keys, opening the still inviolate coffins...

“They have just arrived, James… They are on the guest rooms…” announced Eleny, coming in the dark office without making any noise.

James caught the remote control close to the pictures and switched on the large 16/9 screen that decorated a whole side of the office’s wall. The screen ignited on two blond men who beard a striking resemblance to each other. Both of them were throwing curious glances around them, obviously perplexed to find themselves there.

“Tell Sorrento to lead them to their apartments, and then to bring them to their two friends.”

“Do you want him to organize a meeting with them?”

James looked at her, slightly hesitant.

“No, no need to repeat several times the same explanations. I will see them when they are all arrived.”

“Canon, do you think that Sorrento told us the truth?” asked Saga, who was observing a painting hanged up on the wall. He had the feeling that he had already seen this somewhere… These large sunflowers planted in a blue vase...

“Yes… I think so. He’s never been the type of guys telling lies. And why would he tell us such a story!? ” answered Canon, rubbing his temples, a light grimace of pain on the face.

“You’re right… It is so incredible that I’ve the feeling that fiction had become reality…” whispered Saga, still pensive in front of the sunflowers’ painting.

The door opened on the so-called Sorrento, a relaxed smile posted on his face.

“I am so sorry you had to wait a so long time. I will guide you to your apartments, and after I suggest we visit some people I am sure you will be happy to meet again…”

“Really? Who?” questioned Canon.

“If I tell you that won’t be a surprise anymore…”

“Don’t take offense, but we are a little bored with surprises…”said ironically Saga.

“Aiolia and Aldebaran.”

“What!???”

The two brothers exclaimed both together.

Sorrento shook the head and crossed the arms.

“They arrived yesterday evening…”

France, Paris, February 26, 2004, 1:30 PM (Feb. 26, 10:30 AM GMT +3:00)

 Pitie Salle Petriere Hospital

Camus washed his face with fresh waters, in the hope that it would ease the pain that had been attacking his brain since the morning. Water streamed on his face, causing a pleasant feeling of freshness, and almost made him forget this cursed headache.

Camus reopened the eyes and observed the face reflected in the mirror.

His face... No, not exactly, although the resemblance was perfect, with the “previous himself”... Just like him, Gabriel had the hair of a curious brown red color, this one Camus had always hated and hidden under a splendid emerald blue. Like the majority of the saints of the sanctuary, he used to dye his hairs in an uncommon color. That was just a way to emphasize their differences with common people.

Of course, there were some small differences between him and Gabriel.

The face of Gabriel had a cooler expression. Serious, but less cold than the face of Camus. Gabriel had never learnt or tried to hide his emotions, like Camus used to do. Sadness, joy... Small riddles at the corner of the sapphire blue eyes were here to testify it.

Camus turned around and looked at the luggage on the bed. Gabriel’s stuff: gray or black trousers, sweaters and shirts in the same tone. No, there was some blue, also!

Finally, they had almost the same tastes regarding colors clothing. A small detail that could make things more acceptable…

Camus came to the bed, and picked the passport, with a Bordeaux wine red binding where was written in gold characters: French Republic.

Camus opened the passport, a gesture that he had repeated many times, and red:

“Name: Gabriel de Riveau, born on February 7, 1975, in Paris, 14th district. Height: 6’1 feet..”

Same face, same stature, almost the same voice, same day of birth... How is this possible?

Camus closed the passport, slightly shivering of anguish. He turned around and saw his reflection in the mirror. And once again, arose in his head the same question he had asked himself several times since his return:

Who am I now? Camus or Gabriel?

Spain, Airport of Barcelona, February 26, 2004, 1:30 PM (Feb. 26, 11:30 AM GMT +2:00)

“Drink some water!”

“Thank you!”

Shura took the water bottle that Alphonso held to him and drank a sip. Then he applied the bottle against his face, in the hope that the freshness of the bottle could relieve the pain welling up in his head.

“The same headache as usual?” asked Alphonso.

Shura nodded, enjoying the sensation of the fresh plastic cooling down his burning head.

“However your last scanner did not show anything abnormal. It’s certainly due to the ritual…”

Shura raised the head and threw a glance to Alphonso. He was looking at Shura with a worried expression on the face, like a doctor in front of his patient.

“I am okay; don’t look at me like that… You look like as if you would send me back to the hospital!”

“Perhaps this is a little too early to leave for a so long journey!?” commented Alphonso.

“No! No! I am okay… I already feel better, look!”

Shura rose, as driven by a spring. And had to hold his head with his hands to ease the pain created by this “exercise”.

“I see, yes, I see…”

Alphonso shook the head with reprobation.

“Passengers for the flight to Paris Roissy Charles of Gaulle are asked to proceed to embarkation, Gate 35!”announced a female voice in the loudspeaker.

“It’s for us!” exclaimed Shura, catching his coat and walking as quickly as possible in the direction of Gate 35.

His headache was so strong that he couldn’t see very well around him. But he didn’t want to show it. Knowing Alphonso, he would immediately bring him back to the hospital if he learned how much he was feeling bad now.

Alphonso was a young and nice guy, but tending to be alarmed very quickly. He had come to see Shura at the hospital everyday, since the “beginning”. The first days of his hospitalization, a young woman had also come. Then an old doctor had joined the two young people. After three weeks, the professor and the young woman had left, and Alphonso had taken full-time his function of "baby-sitter".

There were not other words to describe his service. At the beginning, it had bothered Shura. But they had finally got along together. Alphonso had told him many things on the events in Spain and in the world, enabling Shura to fill in the gap caused by seventeen years of death. Unfortunately Alphonso knew very little thing about the Order of Ermengardis. And even less on the Sanctuary and what had happened to Athena.

That was a pity, because it was the Order of Ermengardis, and not the Sanctuary, which was repatriating Shura for a far away destination in Asia.

Italy, Airport Venice Marco Polo, February 26, 2004, 1:40 PM (Feb. 26, 11:40 AM GMT +2:00)

“Angelo! Are you okay?” asked Inspector Tognazzi, coming in the toilets.

He stopped behind Angelo, who leant against the edge of a wash-hand basin, painfully rubbing his temple.

“What’s happening to you, figlio-mio¹, another headache?”

Angelo looked up at his traveling companion.

“Oh, nothing… I drank too much yesterday…” he said, smiling slightly, trying to hide the pain.

Tognazzi placed his hand on the shoulder of Angelo. He looked at the pale face, and the eyes encircled in black by the lack of sleep

“You didn’t drink anything, neither yesterday evening… Nor at noon… Now, come, they have started the boarding… The plane will take off without us!”

Tognazzi pushed Angelo towards the exit. The young man didn’t try to resist at all…

“I hope that they will get you on your feet again, the people at the headquarters of the Order! You look exhausted, figlio-mio!”

Angelo couldn’t help himself smiling in front of this new mark of affection that the old inspector showed him.

Inspector Tognazzi had come to visit him at the hospital everyday. At the beginning, Angelo hadn’t pay attention to him. Besides, he wasn’t paying attention to anything. He had spent the first two weeks to sleep, or when he was awaken, let his mind buried into the memories from the past of the feared and hated Cancer Saint, the well-named Death Mask. One day, Tognazzi had found him crying, after he had reached the conclusion that he had completely wasted his life. Tognazzi had tried to comfort it, but Angelo had insulted him, asking him to go away and to leave him alone.

It is at this time that Tognazzi had pronounced these terrible words:

“Lorenzo died for you. So that you return to life. Try to be worthy of his sacrifice.”

Angelo hadn’t found any word to answer. The following day, Tognazzi had returned, and Angelo had given him his most sincere apologizes.

Then the days had passed. Angelo had finally been able to leave his bed, and had started rehabilitation. One day, Tognazzi had come with a big box in the hands. A gift: a hairstyle trousseau of a famous brand.

Angelo had remained perplexed.

Tognazzi had just answered:

“With that, you will be able to comb your hairs like a porcupine!!”

And they had just laughed together.

At their arrival in the aircraft, Angelo and Tognazzi ran past the last ticket and passport control. Just 10 minutes before takeoff.... A hostess checked their tickets and guided them until their seats. She wished them an excellent flight, and made her most beautiful smile to Angelo, who had collapsed on his seat, and was massaging his temples. The pain was raging again.

“Angelo, you could at least return a smile to this beautiful young woman… And it’s why you are still single at your age! If it’s not a pity, with the face of seducer you have!” grumbled Tognazzi while hanging his safety belt.

This comment drew a laugh to Angelo. He looked at Tognazzi who was now selecting a newspaper among those that a hostess showed him. He would have never thought to meet such a nice person. Somebody who can finally treat him like a son...

Angelo drove back this thought, in order to avoid pouring in sentimentalism – which was not typically of him - and sinking in painful memories of his past of killer. He preferred to remind what he had seen during these last few days. Mid-February, Tognazzi had received a notice stating that the repatriation of Angelo would take place on February 26. With the approval of the doctors, the old inspector had thus planned in haste a one-week trip across Italy, in order to show his young compatriot some of the major city of his homeland before he flies away for the far away Asia. They had visited Roma, Milan and finally, Venice.

A brand new experience for Angelo. At the time he was Death Mask, he had known only the worst area of Palermo, the poor villages surviving on the slopes of Mount Etna, and the Sanctuary... Of course, his missions had brought him in several countries. But only the mission – killing opponents of the pope - had been important...  He had never paid attention to anything else than his duty of first killer of the Sanctuary…

Angelo sighed. He didn’t want to leave neither the old inspector, nor this new life that he had just foreseen…

Paris, Hospital of Pitie Salle Petriere, February 26, 2004, 3:10 PM (Feb. 26, 0:10 PM +3:00)

“Mister de Riveau, please have a seat. Miss Liancourt will arrive soon.”

Camus nodded silently. His headache got worst as he heard the name of the man he was usurping the body and the identity. He caught a newspaper on the coffee table in front of him, and realized that it was a women’s newspaper. Camus remembered that his mother was used to buy this newspaper at the only kiosk of his native village, on the other side of the street, two minutes from their home, every Saturday mornings.

This memory, was it him or Gabriel’s?

Camus shook the head, as if he wanted to drive out this thought. He started to turn the pages frantically.

“I didn’t know that you were interested in feminine fashion!” exclaimed a familiar voice behind him.

He looked up, surprised, and found himself face to face with Ambre. She was smiling at him, her emerald green eyes riveted on him.

Camus felt he was turning as red as a lobster. Another reaction inherited from Gabriel...

Amber had taken care on him since the “beginning”. She had spoken to him about what had happened to him, how she had found him and rescued him. About the world, outside the walls of the hospital, who had changed so much in seventeen years. Always with humor and hope...

When she was close to him, Camus was always feeling better. Human again, and alive.

She was like his sun... The one who had saved him, and was insufflating to him the will of living... He should tell her one-day all that she was inspiring to him. As soon as himself would know who he had really become.

Camus beat eyelids, like drawn from a dream. He’s mind had gone blank few minutes, once again.

“Camus, are you listening to me?” asked Ambre.

“Yes?!”

“Your luggages are in the trunk of the taxi. We have to leave for the airport now!” said Ambre, losing a little patience.

“I’m coming!”

Camus got up slowly and looked at the walls of the hospital without nostalgia. Finally, he was leaving this place!

Japan, Tokyo-Narita Airport, February 26, 2004, 8:30 PM (Feb. 26, 11:30 AM GMT +9:00)

Sion, Dohko and Shakka were following the blond woman without saying a word. She had introduced herself as their guide in charge of their repatriation.

Thetis was her name.

Their reunion had taken place six hours before, in the hall of Hong-Kong Airport. Sion had arrived first, coming right from a private clinic of Midlevel², taken there by one of his "guardian angel", a young intern from the clinic he had been cured.

They had waited almost half an hour, and then Dohko had showed up, escorted by a young Chinese, certainly his “guardian angel”.

Dohko had approached, and Sion had felt his tears rolling on his cheeks. The Impossible, the Unthinkable, the Incredible was happening under their eyes!

They had soon fallen into the arms of each other, crying, and laughing both at the same time, hardly believing that it was really happening.

And they had almost succeeded in coming over their emotions when HE had appeared. Shakka. Tall, thin, pale, his half-long hairs falling over his shoulders. His large eyes opened, contemplating with astonishment the activity of this huge airport. He was escorted by this very beautiful woman, also blonde, with a cold expression on her face.

Both had joined the group of Dohko and Sion, and their two guardian angels.

Shakka hadn’t said anything. He had just felt in the arms of his companions, speechless.

Now, their emotion was falling down. On the aircraft, the three men questioned Thetis about the Sanctuary, the Gold clothes, Athena, the reason of their "return". She had answered the best as possible, telling the story of Ermengardis, from the creation to their resurrection. And explained that from now on, they were a part of the Order of Ermengardis.

So much incredible information had blown out the curiosity of the three men and they were now following their guide, completely at lost with what to do or what to think.

“Thetis… Where do we go?” asked Sion.

“To the headquarters of the Order of Ermengardis.”

Thetis quickened her step, obviously in hurry to leave the never-ending corridors of the airport.

“Is the Headquarter of the Order in Japan?” whispered Shakka, a little surprised that a country of Asia was selected to shelter the nerve centre of an order, created in Europe almost thousand years ago.

“Be patient…You will know some more in a few minutes…” added the beautiful blond without throwing them a glance.

She pushed the door that closed the exit of the corridor. It opened, revealing a track where a helicopter was waiting, propeller already rotating, ready to take off.

Thetis turned around towards the three men.

“Ready to board?”

France, Paris Roissy-Charles of Gaulle Airport, February 26, 2004, 4:30 PM (Feb. 26. 3:30 PM GMT +3:00)

It took more than one hour to the taxi to arrive at the airport, the Parisian ring-road being passably jammed. Camus looked at the landscape of Paris, flat, urbanized, so sad under this gray sky of the end of February. He remembered he had come to Paris only once, when he was three or four years old, with his mother, to see an aunt, or a person of her family. He could hardly remember this trip, except the ride on the carousel which his mother had offered him, on a place with a fountain.

Once again, Camus wondered whether it was his past, or the memory of Gabriel.

“Camus, are you OK? Have you listened to what I said?” asked Ambre, who passed her hand in front of his eyes, to check if he was still in his thoughts.

Camus beat lashes, and looked around him, almost surprised to find himself in the hall of the Air terminal 2F.

“Yes… I mean… I think so…”

Camus was not sure at all.

“Always away with the fairies… I think you should have a rest in the plane… Sleep…”sighed Ambre.

Camus would have liked to tell her that he was fine, and very happy to be there with her. But obviously, he would be difficult to fool anybody on his mental health. Ambre, as well as himself.

“Are we going to check-in?” he asked, to change the subject of their conversation.

“No, we’re waiting your traveling companions. You didn’t listen to what I said a few minutes ago, did you?” 

“My traveling companions?”

Camus stared at her in amazement. Could it be that his peers were alive? Ambre had never spoken about that until now. She had never mentioned anything about Athena, the Sanctuary or the other saints. Just few words about the Order of Ermengardis.

“Did the other Gold Saints come back to life?”

Ambre smiled to him:

“You all came back to life!”

Camus felt his heart sinking… in an ocean of hope. The emotion made him stagger and he had to catch the back of the seat in front of him. Fortunately Ambre was looking in another direction, and didn’t witness his weakness.

Camus looked and looked around him, in search of a familiar face that he finally discovered, five minutes later, far away in the crowd. He had no pain to recognize this tall man, his powerful shoulders, his fine face, and his black and stiff hair. His black coat was accentuating the paleness of his skin. The images of their last battle in the Sanctuary reemerged in the memory of Camus. Shura, Saga and himself, together as one entity, striking Shaka, then Aiolia, Mu and Milo, with the ultimate and forbidden attack of Athena.

Shaka, Aiolia, Mu... and Milo. Were they really alive?

Shura and the young man who escorted him stopped in front of Camus and Ambre. Shura looked in the direction of Camus, hesitating between bursting in tears, smiling or doing both at the same time.

“Miss Ambre Liancourt?”

“Yes.”

“Hello, I am Alphonso Martinez… I brought you Shura, as per the request of the Order.”

“Thank you. I take over you, dear Alphonso. In any case, congratulation for your zeal! You will certainly become an active member of our network!”

A smile of satisfaction lit up the face of Alphonso.

“Thank you, thank you very much!”

Alphonso turned around to Shura, who was still looking at Camus, completely at lost with what to do and to think. A feeling obviously shared by Camus.

“Shura! Time to say good-bye!”

“Sorry…What!?…”

Shura seemed to emerge from a dream.

“Shura, I come back to Barcelona, by the next plane… I only came to bring you here…”

“Oh yes! I mean, It was... quick! ”

Shura would have liked to be more pleasant and grateful, but he was completely lost. Fortunately, Alphonso seemed to have understood it. He hugged him friendly, waved his hand to Camus and Ambre, and walked away, in the direction of the departure hall.

“Good, only one to pick and we can go. He shouldn’t be far away... I think the plane from Venice arrived one hour ago. Stay here, I’m going to check.”

Ambre walked away from Shura and Camus, took her cell phone and dialed a number.

Shura and Camus were looking at each other, wondering if this scene was real, or another illusion created by their sick mind. Was it real? Was it really their reunion?

The face of Shura relaxed gradually, until a smile came to shine it. He reduced the distance between Camus and himself, and gave him a gentle hug, before vigorously clasping him in his arms. Camus had always hated this kind of overflow of feelings, especially if front of people he didn’t know. But today, he was too happy to find his former companion in misfortune, and forgot to protest.

He embraced Shura in return...

Tears were rolling on the cheeks of the two men.

Amber couldn’t help smiling at the scene.

“Wait until the third one shows up… We’ll have a flood in the hall of the airport!” she chuckled.

Her cell phone spit the notes of her favorite music.

“Hello! Yes! ... Yes! We are in terminal 2, between the kiosk and the check-in bank number 34...  Yes, we’re waiting you!” answered Ambre.

She hung up again and turned towards Shura and Camus. They were now talking, faces definitely glowing with happiness, drying their tears.

“Maybe I should ask for floor cloths…”

It didn’t take ten minutes before Angelo showed up, flanked by Tognazzi. Camus and Shura looked at him intensely, while the distance between Angelo and them was decreasing. The face of Death Mask was almost as pale as theirs, and was the only clear color on him, contrasting with his anthracite grey clothes and his brown hair, so familiarly drawn up on his head.

Angelo approached, and slightly lowered his head, as an expression of concern folded on his face. He and Tognazzi stopped in front of Ambre.

Shura and Camus walk closer as well. Their heart was beating strongly enough to break their chests. Their peer had never been an engaging man, neither considering nor honest. But never mind, he had to face the same destiny as them, and that was enough for Camus and Shura to forget the past.

Feeling their glance on him, Death Mask lowered even more his eyes, and looked definitely worried.

“Death Mask!”

Tognazzi pointed an accusing index in the direction of Shura, who had just pronounced these words.

“It’s not his name anymore... It’s Angelo now!” he said solemnly.

Angelo smiled, and finally dared to look at his former companions, surprised by the reaction of Tognazzi.

“Buon Giornoi³!” slipped Angelo, waving at them softly.

“Thank you Inspector Tognazzi … You’ve been extremely diligent in this business!” thanked Ambre.

She held out her hand to Tognazzi, who shook it with a smile.

“Take care of figlio miglio!…” said Tognazzi in a mixture of English and Italian.

Angelo felt his throat drying out.

“Lo promettò!⁴” answered Ambre, returning him his smile.

Tognazzi turned to Angelo, and before the young man could react, took him in his arms.

“Ciao! Trasmetta the notizie! ⁵”

Angelo remained the arms dangling a few seconds, and then hugged the one who considered him like a son, and who he almost considered as a father.

“Ciao! Ritornerò a Napoli. Si vediamo ancora! ⁶” whispered Angelo.

Camus and Shura were looking at the scene, astonished. Death Mask had never paid any feeling or signs of affection towards anybody when he was the Gold Saint of Cancer.

Angelo and Tognazzi ended up their good-bye by another father-to-son like hug. Their eyes were shining.

Tognazzi sighed, then turned his back to the group.

“Good bye, I have to go now. Ciao!”

Angelo turned toward Camus and Shura. His blue eyes were invaded with tears, which he was trying to retain the best he could. He breathed a good puff of air to drive out his emotion. He only succeeded in appearing more pathetic, like a child about to burst in tears.

“Ok, you two. Time to scream… The worst killer of the Sanctuary is back!”

Waste of time and effort. Angelo had hardly finished his declamation, that Shura and Camus crushed him in their arms. Embrace that Angelo returned without complaints.

All three were now crying in the arms of each other’s.

“I can’t believe it… I was not sentimental like that!” sighed Angelo.

“Me neither…” reassured Camus, drying a tear.

Ambre was looking at the scene, a hand on the hip, the other holding her cell phone, and was making her best to not burst in laugh. Especially when she looked at the astonished or amused face of the other passengers.

Her phone biped again. She picked up immediately

“Yes? .... Shina? ... Oh! Everything is fine. Very well… I can tell you that such a scene, you can’t see it everyday!”

Notes:

1. "my son", in Italian

2. Midlevel: one of the districts of the Island of Hong-Kong.

3. "Hello" in Italian.

4. "I promise it", in Italian

5. "Send news", in Italian.

6. "I will return in Naples. We’ll meet again.” in Italian.

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