If you’ve spent time exploring this website about ‘The Lost Guardian of Malta’, chances are the name ‘Ceti’ now lingers in your mind like the scent of sea salt after a swim in the Mediterranean. But who is he, really? And how did the author, Steven Bogaerts, come up with him?
Mirroring Malta
Interviewer: Let’s start with the question on everyone’s mind—who is Ceti, really?
Steven Bogaerts: That’s a beautiful question, and also the hardest. Ceti isn’t just a character. He’s a fracture point in identity, a question disguised as a boy. When I first imagined him, he was darting through the streets of Paceville, totally at home and completely invisible. But the more I explored who he was, the more I realized—he’s not a person so much as a mirror.
Interviewer: A mirror of what?
Steven Bogaerts: Of Malta. He’s an orphan raised by streets older than memory, surviving in a landscape where history and nightlife collide. You could strip away every plot point of the book, and Ceti would still stand. Because he is the story.
Interviewer: You mention Malta. The island is almost a character itself. How conscious was that decision?
Steven Bogaerts: Very. Malta is often used as a cinematic backdrop—epic temples, sun-bleached fortresses—but rarely as a beating heart. I wanted Malta to shape Ceti the way geography shapes geology. He has layers. Erosion. Hidden chambers. Even his silence is Maltese—stoic, watchful, deeply historical.
Ceti, myth and modernity
Interviewer: And his name—Ceti. It’s unusual. Can you talk about where that came from?
Steven Bogaerts: Ah, now we’re getting into it. The name Ceti is loaded. On the surface, it sounds sleek, modern, even futuristic. But peel it back, and you hit Seti—the Egyptian name. And behind that, the god Seth or Set, a figure of chaos, of borders, of transition. He wasn’t just destruction—he was protection too. He guarded Ra’s solar barque from Apophis, the chaos serpent, every night. That paradox fascinated me. Ceti is the same: danger and shield. Lost and guardian.
Interviewer: So Ceti is… a kind of modern Seti?
Steven Bogaerts: Exactly. He’s not just a boy on the run. He’s myth and modernity entangled. He’s part relic, part ripple. There’s this moment in the book when another character tells him, “You’re named after a god who stood at the edge of the world and dared it to swallow him.” That’s what Ceti does. He walks edges—of cultures, of identity, of time.
Interviewer: That’s a lot for one character. How did you keep him grounded?
Steven Bogaerts: By writing him like a stray. That sounds harsh, but it’s true. Ceti is thin, fast, wiry—he survives on instinct. His body remembers rooftops more than beds. He’s not a muscle-bound superhero; he’s functional. His beauty is incidental, like a well-worn knife. And emotionally? He’s armored. Not cold—just deeply cautious. His trauma isn’t his personality, but it’s in every footstep.
Interviewer: Was that psychological realism intentional?
Steven Bogaerts: Always. We’re used to characters who process trauma loudly, with monologues or breakdowns. Ceti doesn’t have that luxury. He’s too busy staying invisible. But you feel his depth—in how he touches old stones, how he pauses in catacombs, how he remembers details nobody else would. He’s observant, but not for show. It’s survival. And beneath that? A hunger for connection that he can barely admit to himself.
Eerily familiar
= WARNING: This part contains some (very) mild spoilers =
Interviewer: A lot of readers say Ceti feels eerily familiar, like someone they know—or once were.
Steven Bogaerts: That’s the goal. Especially for readers in their late 20s, 30s or 40s—this generation that was promised clarity and got chaos instead. We’re trained to look confident, but we’re constantly excavating our own meaning. Ceti lives in that excavation. He’s what happens when the world forgets you, and you decide to remember yourself anyway.
Interviewer: Very small spoiler, there’s a moment in the story where Ceti literally descends beneath Malta. Is that symbolic?
Steven Bogaerts: Completely. That descent is a rebirth. And Malta—real Malta—is layered like that: modern streets above, prehistoric temples below. The deeper Ceti goes, the more he touches not just history, but his own origin. He’s not just discovering secrets about the world—he’s confronting what he is. That’s where the mythology fuses with the personal. The line between relic and identity dissolves.
Interviewer: Without spoiling too much, what do you want readers to feel by the end of the book?
Steven Bogaerts: Like they’ve just brushed against something ancient and electric. I want them to feel like they know Ceti—not just as a character, but as a part of themselves. I want them to walk through a ruin, or a club, or a dusty museum and think, What else are we missing? Who else is hiding in plain sight?
Interviewer: So for readers who haven’t opened the book yet—what’s the one thing you’d say?
Steven Bogaerts: Don’t expect answers. Expect more. Because this isn’t just a story about a boy named Ceti.
It’s about the hidden part of… you.
Thirsty for more?
If this conversation has stirred your curiosity—if you’ve ever felt the pull of ancient places, the thrill of hidden truths, or the quiet ache of not quite belonging—then The Lost Guardian of Malta isn’t just a book for you, it’s a journey you need to take. Through Ceti’s eyes, Malta transforms from a sunlit postcard into a living, breathing mystery—a place where mythology, memory, and modern danger collide beneath the surface.
This isn’t just a story about relics or rituals. It’s about identity, survival, and what it means to be the keeper of something the world has forgotten. If you’re looking for a novel that blends cinematic pacing with deep emotional resonance—and leaves you thinking long after the last page—The Lost Guardian of Malta is waiting.
