A Lord In His Glass and Iron Tower

"So brother, where are you these days?" Her voice was silky down the phone line, but he wasn't impressed.
"How did you get this number?" A small, indulgent laugh, rattled about by poor reception, greeted his words.
"You know I like to keep tabs on my siblings, brother. So where are you?"
"No where you need to be."
"Aww. Still living with the rats then I take it. Scurrying about like them, playing at being ratty? Tell me, do you still go to all their funerals? Are you married now?" More laughter at his stony silence.
"That is precious! So you just hold onto her until she withers and dies, then toss her away and find a new one? You, the lord of your glass and iron tower? You amuse me so." Click.

Caedus didn't bother answering the mobile phone when it rang again. He wasn't married. But he had a good life, and he didn't want her ruining it. He had been happy with the way things were, with the Balance and Order. He had never wanted dominion over Man; he had stayed away from the conflict. But apparently being neutral was a punishable offence also. He found it ironic that of all his kin, he was the most successful. Sure, they had been powerful once, but they wouldn't move with the times, and they still had a terrible disdain for Man, which he considered unwarranted. They certainly were industrious creatures, men.

He turned to face the window, leaning against it slightly and looking out over the magnificent city view, skyscrapers splashing their neon ornaments across the darkness, light and shadow in constant battle. His clan's problem was that they couldn't admit that their supposed inferiors had bested them.
We're a dead race. If only we would die. His hand strayed almost unconsciously to brush his crow Marking. Nothing he could do would hide it, and trying to cut off his hand was both pointless and painful. Besides, it leant him an air of mystery that he used to his advantage; that and it complimented his usual dark Armani suit and black tie. It was a combination calculated to make him look dangerous, and it worked. He was comfortable, he was successful, and he was powerful. Good men and bad tried to court his favour, and he ruled his corporate kingdom with an iron fist. Ironic, indeed.

But the sea of his years ebbed and rose, and he wore a skin of time to hide his secret - that he had no time, and all the time in the world. He lived a thousand lives, and he died a thousand deaths, though all of them infinitesimal under the weight of each waking moment. Endlessly he built his empires, and endlessly they were destroyed. But what else was there to do? A shiver ran through his body as he thought of the void, that blissful dark place where nothingness ruled. No, there would be none of that.

He knew what some of his siblings did to ease their burden, and if his sister thought his actions were worthy of derision, then she obviously hadn't spoken to Niveus. At least he didn't debase himself by joining with men for money. Though he suspected why she really did it, which was somehow worse. She wasn't the only one who used humans to reach the void; but she was the only Firstborn to do so. Still, it called to him, that moment of clarity... The weight of his years bore down on him, filling him with weariness. He fought it off with some effort, then straightened away from the glass and sat back down at his desk. He would deny it. He would live, even if it meant he must live forever.