The first rays of dawn crept through the mansion's windows, casting long shadows across Samael's room.
He lay in his bed, exactly as he had been before his nocturnal excursion - his grace having erased all evidence of his departure and return.
The security logs showed nothing unusual. Camera feeds in the mansion displayed uninterrupted footage of him sleeping. Camera's outside never caught him.
Even his phone's GPS data indicated it had remained stationary all night.
Perfect alibis.
Across the room, Cassandra stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, consciousness returning with the trained awareness of someone who rarely truly relaxed. But something was different this morning.
She felt... rested. Truly rested, in a way she hadn't experienced since... well, ever.
No nightmares had plagued her sleep, no memories of her father's training had haunted her dreams. Just peaceful darkness.
Her gaze shifted to Samael's seemingly sleeping form. She knew something was off - her instincts were screaming it - but she couldn't pin down what.
The security systems as she checked them showed nothing unusual, and yet...
The quality of her sleep bothered her. She never slept this well, not even in the most secure locations.
And while sharing a room with her charge might explain feeling safer, this was different. This felt... supernatural.
She thought about Samael's unknown abilities she'd been notified about, the ones he'd demonstrated that had earned him this relative freedom.
Could he have done something? But if he had, would she truly not have noticed?
Samael "woke" shortly after, stretching. His gaze fell on Cassandra, who was already dressed and checking her phone.
'Breakfast?' she signed.
"Starving," he replied, noting how she was already moving toward the door. "The kitchen staff should be-"
'I cook,' she signed firmly, cutting him off.
"You cook?" His eyebrow raised slightly.
'Trust no one with your food,' she explained, her movements precise. 'Part of training.'
"Ah," Samael's lips quirked. "Poisoning concerns. How delightfully paranoid."
Twenty minutes later, he sat at the breakfast nook - the formal dining room deemed too exposed - watching Cassandra move through the kitchen. The guards had been positioned outside, though their presence remained palpable.
She prepared everything herself, from the fresh-squeezed orange juice to the perfectly poached eggs. Her movements were precise, almost surgical, as she tested each ingredient before use.
"You know," Samael commented, watching her plate his breakfast, "most bodyguards have someone just taste the food after it's made."
'Not enough,' she signed after setting down his plate. 'Need to control whole process.'
The breakfast was excellent - professional quality that spoke of extensive training. As he ate, Samael considered his plans for the day.
"We should explore the city," he said, cutting into his eggs. "Get a feel for my new... hunting grounds."
Cassandra paused in her own eating. 'Dangerous.'
"Again, that's rather the point of Gotham, isn't it?" His smile held a hint of something darker. "Besides, I should know what cesspool I'll be studying in."
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An hour later, they moved through Gotham's streets like royalty - which, in a way, they were.
The security detail maintained perfect formation while trying to appear casual, a difficult balance in a city where obvious protection often invited challenge.
But something interesting happened. Or rather, didn't happen.
The usual predators of Gotham's streets - the muggers, the gangbangers, the opportunistic thieves - took one look at their group and deliberately found somewhere else to be.
It wasn't just the guards that deterred them. It was the way Samael and Cassandra moved, a confidence that instead of arrogance spoke of people too dangerous to touch because of how casual it appeared.
Even in Gotham, there were rules. People who walked these streets like they owned them, surrounded by professional security but not hiding behind them - those weren't marks. Those were players.
"You know," Samael commented as they passed through Crime Alley - intentional, he's bored and wants to show fearlessness to the true players watching, wanting to drag some out towards him to play with, while deter some other ones -
where a group of thugs suddenly found fascinating business elsewhere, "I'm almost disappointed. I expected at least one idiot to try something."
'Not idiots,' Cassandra signed. 'Survivors.'
"Shame. It would have been entertaining." His tone was light, but there was an edge to his humor that made even Cassandra glance at him.
They visited the major landmarks - the ones acceptable for someone of Samael's status. Wayne Tower loomed in the distance, a testament to old money and older power.
Through his senses, he could feel the building's darkness, its foundations reaching deep into Gotham's cursed earth.
The Gotham Museum of Art displayed its gothic grandeur, though Samael was more interested in the ancient artifacts hidden in its basement than the paintings above.
He could sense dark magic there, sleeping behind security systems both mundane - modern - and mystical - old.
The University campus sprawled across its designated territory, already feeling like a fortress within a fortress.
Students hurried between buildings, their faces showing the particular strain of studying in a city where homework wasn't the deadliest deadline.
'Like it?' Cassandra signed as they paused at a high-end café, their security taking positions while maintaining their invisible wall between their charges and the public.
"It's exactly as horrifically fascinating as I expected," Samael replied, sipping his espresso. "Though I do wonder about the architecture. Did everyone just collectively decide that gargoyles were mandatory, or was there a city ordinance?"
'Protection,' Cassandra signed, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely joking. 'Old families believed they kept evil out.'
"Did they now?" Samael's eyes gleamed with amusement.
From the café, they continued their tour of Gotham's upper echelons.
The Financial District gleamed with deceptive brightness, its modern glass towers a stark contrast to the gothic architecture surrounding them.
Even here, shadows seemed deeper than they should be.
"Interesting contrast," Samael mused, watching bankers hurry past in expensive suits. "All this shiny modernism, but underneath..." He trailed off.
'Same everywhere,' Cassandra signed. 'Just prettier here.'
They passed several high-end boutiques, where staff tried very hard not to stare at the young unknown rich heir and his entourage.
Samael noted with amusement how quickly "closed" signs turned to "open" as they approached.
"The vultures are circling," he commented dryly as another shop owner practically pressed against their window in anticipation. "Should we disappoint them?"
Cassandra's lips twitched slightly. 'Your choice. But need new clothes anyway.'
"Oh? Planning to expand your wardrobe beyond tactical gear?"
'For you,' she signed. 'Can't wear same three suits to university.'
"I could," he replied with a smirk. "It would make quite a statement."
They entered one of the more exclusive establishments, where the manager nearly tripped over himself in his haste to greet them.
The security team smoothly positioned themselves throughout the store, their presence making the other customers suddenly remember urgent appointments elsewhere.
As Samael allowed himself to be guided through various selections - all while maintaining an air of aristocratic boredom - he observed the city's pulse through the store's windows.
Gotham was different in daylight, but not better. The darkness just hid better, lurking in plain sight behind designer labels and platinum cards.
It really was a bit annoying, so much darkness, when he was the Lightbringer. He had half a mind to burn away all the dark magic around Gotham so thoroughly that it would take an entire year for it to return to this state.
Though he knew he shouldn't and therefore won't, not worth causing his skin irritation by exerting his vessel.
'Something wrong?' Cassandra signed, noticing his distant expression.
"Just thinking," he replied. "About masks. This city wears so many of them."
She studied him for a moment, then signed, 'Speaking from experience?'
Samael's smile was sharp enough to cut. "Aren't we all?"
The boutique visit concluded with several purchases - all black or dark colors, with subtle touches of red. Samael had a certain aesthetic to maintain, after all.
As they exited, something caught his attention. Not a physical presence, but a spiritual one - a dark current flowing beneath the street, pulsing with ancient malice. The remnants of Barbatos's influence, perhaps, or something else, hellish maybe?
It would be quite interesting if a demon sought him, the imp wasn't up to his standard to take blood of after all.
'Food?' Cassandra signed.
After a moment of silence, appreciating the irony of her statement - since after all, demons were in a way food for him, he replied,
"Why not? Though I assume you'll want to inspect the kitchen first?"
She nodded seriously, though there was a hint of something almost playful in her expression. 'Always.'
They chose a restaurant that catered to Gotham's elite - the kind of place where the real price wasn't on the menu, and reservations were usually made months in advance.
The maître d' took one look at them and immediately found a table.
Their security detail integrated seamlessly into the dining room, maintaining their protective formation while appearing to be normal patrons.
Cassandra disappeared briefly to inspect the kitchen, returning with a slight nod of approval.
"I do hope you didn't terrorize the chef too badly," Samael commented as she sat down.
'Professional,' she signed. 'Understood necessity.'
"Of course they did. This is Gotham - I imagine they're used to paranoid diners."
As they ate, Samael observed the other patrons. Old money, new money, and blood money all mingled here, each table its own little drama of power and pretense.
He could sense the darkness in some of them - not supernatural, just the ordinary human kind. The kind that made deals in back rooms and signed death warrants over dessert.
"You know what's fascinating?" he mused, cutting into his perfectly prepared steak. "Everyone here thinks they're a player. The real game is so far above their heads they can't even see it."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed slightly. 'Dangerous thinking.'
"Oh?" His smile was innocent but his eyes gleamed. "And what makes you say that?"
'Same look,' she signed after a moment's consideration. 'As your father.'
Samael's laugh drew several glances from nearby tables. "Now that," he said as he finished a sip from his drink, "is quite the compliment."
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
I know things are pretty slow still, but well, I gotta still establish things before we get to more plot progression, since plot is made by the characters personality, plot follows them, they don't follow the plot.
Also, question, am I being... I don't know, too vague in my chapters? I've been trying to be more concise in how much I explain and describe things in POVs, but somethings seem to be misunderstood.
Do you guys want an explanation on how archangels are? Since I've been getting the feeling, it's not really understood. Perhaps because they've not watched Supernatural?
Do tell me if you want that, well I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)