Bastion held more manners in the breast pocket of his long blazer than the rest of the coven had combined. Never missing a beat to say “Please” and “Thank you,” Bastion spent most of his human life living quietly on a farm with his parents, doing whatever he could to assist them. He was the very definition of a polite, proper young man. His worst vice was a love for fine tobacco. He was a simple man; he said little, but he heard much and missed nothing.
Then, disease struck. Smallpox. Their small town of Rotterdam stood no chance against such an epidemic. It struck so suddenly and spread so terrifyingly fast that the villagers began acting out of fear and turned on one another. With families tearing themselves apart and friends turning one another away, the streets became unsafe. Quarantine became the only option to avoid the disease as well as the violence, but Bastion refused to leave his parents. Inevitably, they fell ill. He tended them dutifully for days until he, too, felt the sickness take hold. Still he toiled on, comforting his parents and caring for them until his body grew too weak to continue. He lay where he collapsed on the floor, feverish and aching, unable to move as his parents succumbed to the hellish disease.
He didn’t know who the man was who entered the small farm house, or why he chose him. Somehow, through the fog of his pain and exhaustion, Bastion could hear the man approaching before he could see him. He heard a voice in his sore, pounding head, calling his name. And when it was done, when the burning sensation that filled his body finally ceased, he could hear… everything. Everyone. Their words, their breaths, their thoughts, their deepest desires and their darkest fears. The pain faded from his body and as his mind cleared of the fever it was filled with the sounds of human life: a raging, overwhelming cacophony of emotions. And for the next two hundred and fifty years, it continued.