Hey guys,

I've been away awhile. RL has been a burden for me for quite some time. Coupled with this, I have been attempting to edit RE. However, as some of you have undoubtedly expected, this is a cancellation notice. There are many reasons for the cancellation. Foremost, I completely strayed from the reason I wrote this series. Can you believe that I tried to write a happy, light-hearted series?

o.o

That was the first problem as this series almost immediate turned into a tragic, depressing series. Further, I found the genre of VR limiting in the realism it could portray. During my editing, I tried to alter this construct to fit what I wanted to say; however, it never worked. Therefore, I started the series over to give you guys a better story. I did not like the end result though. So, I come here telling you that the story was not up to my standard and, therefore, I will no longer publish it.

I am presently working on a story I put aside for RE actually. I've been working on this book for the last three years and hopefully I can finish it in the next year or two. When I do, I will publish the beta version here as a complete novel. So, if any of you remember me by then, I'll have something for you. Also, if I get bored, I will probably publish something that take a little, but not too much, of my time here. Keep a lookout.

Below, I have put what I currently have for the re-done version. If you guys have any questions about how RE was supposed to end (in the VR version), PM me. I don't like to give spoilers unless they are asked for.

Thanks for all your support guys.

Coarse shouts echoed throughout the valley as sword clashed against sword. The blood-red rock of the cliffs loomed high in the unnaturally dark sky.The carrion were highlighted as they swooped across a sky streaked with fire. Their black wings flapped in the breeze, speckled by the blood of their prey, as they cawed delightedly.

Their prey still lived as of yet. But not for long. Even now, they cut each other down with iron and magic. Hate filled their eyes as they ravaged each other to bits. All the carrion had to do was wait.

However,one man in particular had no plans to die this day. Sweat beaded Agnor’s brow as he tore through the Delbalien’s cuirass. His sword felt heavy in his hand as he yanked it out of the vile beast’s belly with a squelch. As it crumpled to the ground, it grasped for Agnor in a frantic last attempt to survive. He ignored it.

He could never come to rationalize the races of the Beasts as humane. They were barbarous creatures who ate their own. Some could be reasoned with though, in Agnor’s book, they were dullards of the highest order. Both sided used them as grunts in this war. Fodder to distract the enemy while the real soldiers planned maneuvers.

He walked past in a silent disregard as the Delbalien howled in pain. Blood, the color of midnight, oozed out of its many wounds. Thick, almost oblong, ligaments extended from its core in a manner that bespoke an unnatural aura.

That had been the way of it.

Agnor sighed as he wiped the grime and muck from his once-fine cloak.

Craggy rocks dotted the outskirts of a valley colored the deep-red of blood. Shadow hid its true nature though. The sun, once a bastion of the Overlord, had been masked for days by the Enemy.

Darkness reigned in the valley of blood. Darkness. Cries. Pain. And heroes. Heroes on both sides.

Agnor raised his sword. A mocking salute to the one who watched. Silence met him. The biting wind wafted the strong, coppery scent of blood his way to remind him of his true purpose.

A hero of the Overlord. A Ganshei. A dog of the Overlord.

Once, he would have given a battle-cry. A call for victory. A denouncement of the enemy. But, that was long ago. He had a purpose then.

Agnor strode farther into the valley with grim determination. Lines still held on both sides as men with shields clashed in small-knit groups. His own men were farther afield near the other side of the valley. Their black banner covered by a crescent moon and crossed by an axe inlaid with a single golden star flew high and mighty above the rest of the banners.

Or at least, to Agnor’s mind it did. He felt pride in calling them his men. In reality, they were from Nilancor. A place Agnor had the luck to call home. A gift, the King had called it, when he sent his youngest son and a thousand men along with Agnor on this bastard of journey. Thirteen years it had been. But, during that time, Agnor had grown close with the men under his command. His thoughts remained distracted as he walked far behind his own lines towards the banner that beckoned him home.

Agnor never made it that far, however. A squad of soldiers, clad in the dark blues-and-greens of the Enemy broke through the line and rushed at him. Their faces were masks of eager disregard for their own lives. Twelve in all, they held their swords extended as if they wished to impale him before he had the chance to even defend himself.

Most did not make it more than three steps before they were cut down by the men they had just bypassed. Only three remained as they tore after him like rabid wolves.

Agnor, surprised, leapt back and threw up a wall of air to defend against the blows that would surely come. He was almost not in time. Just as he raised the wall, the men reached the invisible barricade. WIth a thud, their swords broke against the wall and turned them away from Agnor.

Agnor never gave them a chance to recover. With a swift motion, he struck out with his mighty greatsword and impaled the leather-clad man in front of him. The man crumpled, his lifeforce gone. Pale pink organs slapped wetly onto the ground below. As he kicked the man out of his way, Agnor lept onto the second man as he though an arm around the third man. Both men grunted as they fell to the earth. With a roar, he called Fire Elemental Magic from both of his fists at the same time. Fire rushed down his arms towards both of the men whose eyes became wide with fear. As the fire reached them, Agnor heard a soft hiss as their skin began to boil followed quickly by their keening screams. He kept at it until both men were charred beyond recognition.

Did they really think rushing a Ganshei behind enemy lines would end well?

Disdain marred his face as he walked on. Such lowly men. There was no honor in what they had done. A Ganshei was a Ganshei because he stood alone on the battlefield.

Arrogance.

Guilt.

Some said he held too much of one and lacked the other. Others, they said he was as humble as a newborn sheep and as honorable as the Overlord himself.

The Overlord, honorable?

Agnor had to laugh at that.

If he were truly honorable, Agnor would have been freed eons ago.

Time after time, he had been called to fulfill his oath.

Life after life.

This was only another. Another life, another death.

Agnor smiled. It was a sick, sardonic twisting of his mouth.

Bitterness.

Once, he lived for the glory of his men. Once, he believed it was power.

Agnor reached his men with little pomposity or grandeur. He simply walked among them. They greeted him as one would an old friend. An old friend you respected above all others. Their swords remained clean, he saw, as he looked among them. So few remained. His heart sunk at the memories. Only a tenth of their number survived until this day. A preposterous number. But, it was true. The Overlord demanded much and this war was never ending.

They still thought they would live through this. Hope still remained on most of their faces. They believed in him. Agnor wished he was of the same mind. Hope was a fancy none with his experiences could ever entertain.

Still, Agnor would not decry his men their comforts.

He leaned his head back and shouted over the tumult below, “We fight for glory this day. All of you, from the meanest peasant to the richest lord know of our cause. The Enemy has broken free of his shackles and challenges our ruler, our leader, our God.”

Agnor felt himself cringe inside at his words .They were childish. Nieve in the extreme. And yet, he spoke them. He spoke them to comfort men whom he had spent years in the saddle with. He fought battle-upon-battle with them.

There was Gaishu Mak, the First Lord of Nilancor. The son to the king. Jham of the River. The one who was known the continent over as the most proficient Balakki. There were others. Many others. Most were dead now. Agnor felt his heart wrench at the thought and he had trouble keeping his composure as he looked down at the many empty spots in his army’s ranks.

“We fight…” Agnor felt his throat constrict. He could not speak more praises of the Overlord. Agnor felt a snarl form as his face as he thought of the one who started this eons long war. If only he allowed him to leave, the sundering of Thantos would never have occurred.

Agnor cleared his throat and said, subdued, “Think of your loved ones this day. For, I pray, this will be the last. We can not stand another.”

As Agnor turned to the valley below, he saw glimpses of hard faces sag with weary acceptance at his words. It had been a long time for all of them since they had seen home. Thirteen years for this latest conflict. These men lived through it day-in-and-day out.

Pain rose, almost visible, from the valley below as men clashed with each other. Blood spilled on both sides as the two armies broke against each other like waves against the shore. Zalkali, spirits formed by the Overlord, stood tall above the battle. With giant serpentine appendages, they formed Ice Elemental Magic and hurled it at the valley below.

Shards of ice exploded on the surface of the valley creating craters the size of whole platoons. Men threw themselves out of the way of those shards in a panic; however, a few were unlucky enough to be caught in the blasts. Their cries echoed up the hill-side and sent shivers down Agnor’s spine. Even after so many deaths, he feared it so. Darkness. Loneliness. Pain.

The tightly formed lines of the enemy army began to retreat as the Zalkali took the charge. As he was about to turn back, a cloaked shape jumped with an explosive force from the maelstrom below towards one of Zalkali.

A thin shape extended from the figure as it soared towards the Zalkali. The Zalkali was no fool. As it retreated and accidently stepped on some of the Overlord’s men, it raised its arms in defense and prepared its magics.

A shockwave of lighting emanated from it as it slashed at the figure with arrow-like precision. Somehow, the figure evaded every single one of the Zalkali’s arms as it darted between the blue-tinged appendages.

In mere seconds, the cloaked-figure was only feet from the Zalkali’s almost humanoid face. With a motion even Agnor did not see, the figure swung its sword through the lower-half of the Zalkali’s face with a strength that bellied its stature.

Light emanated from the wound as if it were the missing sun itself. The Zalkali let out a piteous, almost muted, moan as its face crumpled in on itself. It tottered back a single step before its legs gave way and it keeled over onto the valley below.

Men, horses, and war-engines were flattened without a moment’s notice. Agnor, though, payed no attention to them. His attention was fixed upon the figure hovering in mid-air.

Teshipal. The Light of the People. But, these days, she was known by another name. Vorain. The Damned One.

She was the first to leave the Overlord. Agnor’s heart sunk into the familiar pit of despair as he saw her once again. She was another reason he hated and feared the Overlord.

But that was neither here nor there. They would not fight this day nor any other day.

There were others he could choose this day.

The day wore on. More perished as the two forces fought with vigor. Unity was only held by purpose. Different peoples and different races joined together to fight for their beliefs. Some even fought on both sides. Brother fought brother and son fought father.

Agnor, though, was alone. Alone except Teshipal.

He fought on with a heavy heart as he led his men deeper into the enemy ranks. Hundreds died by his blade and magic. To no avail.

His thoughts were like the scattered winds as he drove forth.

One of the ten Ganshei perished.

A flash of light, a small-portion of the Overlord’s power, reached towards the heavens, and announced for all to see, the departure of a hero from this world. A great, groaning roar rippled through the thousands-upon-thousands of soldiers on the side of the Enemy.

In the back of his mind, Agnor vaguely wondered who it was. As he fought a particularly devilish Sonaran, its tusks dripping with gore, the others flashed into his mind.

Tebor. The Protector. The strongest sword the Overlord had to offer to his people. Surely he would not have fallen this day. Agnor could not think of a time Tebor fell for any purpose other than age.

Runhail. The Forgotten. The least among the Ganshei. But, he was one who had the potential for greatness. In some of his lives, that had been the case. In others, no more than a whisper reached the faithful of his return.

Has he fallen? Trouble brews in the east if he has.

Agnor grunted in pain as the Sonaran cut deeply into his side. Red tinged the Sonarans’ sword and a snarl formed around his tusks. But, there was fear in the man’s eyes. Bright blue and watery, they held none of the animosity expressed upon his face.

A twinge of regret coarsed through Agnor as he struck the man down. A flick of his wrist and another died.

How many was that now? Ten-thousand?

He’d lost count over his many lives. The Overlord was the director and he, the puppet.

“My lord,” Gaishu called out in alarm as he strode up to Agnor, a sword slick with blood at his side.

His once handsome face was marred with the scars of their journey. A twisting at the lips exposed chipped teeth and a purple mass on his cheekbone showed a place where, even the Balakki, could not heal.

“My lord,” Gaishu repeated. “Are you injured?” His face held none of the arrogance that had masked it in his youth. It was replaced by a swagger born of experience. Long years in the saddle gave him a lean body and naturally straight back.

“Gai,” Agnor said in a rough grunt, “I am fine. Perfectly fine.” Agnor coughed hoarsely around the last word and he almost dropped his sword as pain swept throughout his body. Even the Overlord had to obey the rules. His heroes were not immune from the perils of mortality.

Balance.

Everything had an opposite.

Simple, and yet, so complex.

Pain.

Joy.

Agnor had felt more of one than another in his many lives. But, this was the last. It had to be the last.

He heard the scuff of boots behind him and he turned, hand on his side to face his men. If this were any other day, his eyes would have widened in shock at their paltry status. Less then three-score remained. A lesser army would have broken hours ago but his stayed with him.

For that, he felt pride. But, there was also a seed of guilt in his breast. If he had not led them here, none would have fallen this day. They do not have the Overlord’s mark to chain them to this world. Their spirits would have found whatever lay beyond be it salvation or torment.

Agnor’s mood was lifted, albeit in a partial manner, when Jham extricated himself from the mass of men. A bloody bandage covered the space where his right arm used to be and he walked with an obvious limp. His coarse hair covered most of his lineage. But, a hint of his beaked nose and protuberant cheekbones showed his Alathi ancestry.

As Jham saw Agnor’s state, his eyes brightened with a fervent light and he straightened noticeably.

“My lord,” he rasped, as he limped over. There was an almost imperceptible grimace on his face as he attempted to hide his pain.

“Let me heal you. I have some strength left.”

Agnor felt a smile come to his lips. Jham was always like that. Loyal to a fault and stubborn to boot. Perhaps that is why he, above all others, learned the secrets of the the Path of Order. The hardest Path to follow and the one that provided the most gains.

Agnor relented with a grunt as Jham hobbled over and pressed both hands against his side. A wave of peace washed over Agnor as Jham’s began his work. If he looked down, he would have seen the muscle knit together, the blood wash away, and the wound close as if it had never been.

With a gasp, Jham sank to his knees. His stump of an arm sagged in it’s makeshift sleeve and he almost keeled over. But, he was caught by two of the men. One was a bannerman. The tattered remnants of Agnor’s banner shafted onto a pole under his arm.

As the bannerman hoisted Jham to his feet, the banner teetered in its place clamped below the bannerman’s arm and fell to the ground with a thump. All stared at it. Even Agnor.

The fall of a banner was a bad sign. The worst of signs. Not that there had been any luck thrown Agnor’s way this day.

“For the love of…” Gai growled. When he wanted to, he could menace with the best of them. His wide face, scarred beyond belief, was a fright to look at when he put it to good use. “Pick that bloody thing up. Right now!”

The bannerman hastily obeyed as he left Jham in the care of the of the other man who hoisted him across his back.

As the bannerman picked it up, Agnor saw the banner’s state. Red clay, almost the color of blood, clung to the banner like a second skin. The white crescent of a moon was stained red. A shiver ran through Agnor as he looked at the thing.

Death awaited.

Not just him but all his men. Agnor could see all his men understood by their faces. Pale and ashen they were. White-knuckled grips held staves and swords as they averted their gazes from the banner in an all-too-calm manner.

Below, the fighting still raged. And it would continue to rage until the two masters of this world decided otherwise. The two armies, now shells of themselves, waded through the blood of the valley to hack away at their counterparts. Balakki on both sides assisted with magic that caused chaos in the ranks.

A rumble of thunder broke overhead. Agnor looked up and saw what he never expected. What no one expected. It felt as if they lay in the eye of the storm. Clouds broiled above. Their churning mass flickered between black and white as if they were unsure whether they held rain or not. In another circumstance, another time, Agnor would have fled from the sight. Those clouds sparked fear and hatred in him so profound it left him slack-jawed and weak-willed at the very sight.

But, today was different. It had to be different.

The Overlord had come. The fast moving clouds swirled and edified around the peaks of the valley. No body could contain this great creature. Clouds were his body. Clouds and force.

Thunder rumbled again and most of Agnor’s men looked up in wonderment. Clouds, as black as night, emerged from the south. Like a roiling mass they were. He had come. Like a great wave they surged forth across the landscape and towards the white mass of the Overlord. The ground shook as the clouds crashed together in momentous force. Many of Agnor’s men and those below fell to their knees, unable to stand the force.

Agnor payed them no mind. All his thoughts were focused upon the two forces above. Hope bloomed in his heart. Hope and dismay. The signs pointed to his death this day and they were never wrong. In the many lives he lived, not once had he found a sign of import to deceive him in any meaningful way. Not ones as clear as that.

Did that mean the Enemy would win, at last? He would gain the freedom he sought. At what cost?

Agnor tightened his fists as the clouds roiled above.

A flash of light emanated from the valley below and streaked towards the clouds above. Agnor felt shock roll through him as the army of the Enemy advanced. Another Ganshei dead. Two dead in one day. It was inconceivable. Only eight remained now. Eight of the Ganshei. Those who were proclaimed heroes of the Overlord. To defend, to protect. They had their mission. And their chains. Spit back into the world to fight the good fight and die the good death. Ballads were written of their lives. But what lives were those?

Agnor knew for a fact Roshan never once had a wife nor Tebor a people to call his own. Agnor had been lucky on both counts. Not that they matter much anymore. Both had been taken from him in one way or another. Teshipal left and his own people, Agnor touched the somewhat bullish cheekbones of his face that bristled with a coarse beard and frowned. His own people were long gone from this world. Their age had come and past. It was fitting, really, that he was known as the executioner of the Overlord when, he in fact, destroyed his own people.

The Enemy’s army advanced as the ground rumbled with the clash of the two powerful beings. Their banners flapped in the breeze and a war cry emanated from their ranks as they were spurred on by their master’s arrival. No, not their master.

Their leader. He held no bonds except those freely given. It showed in the men who followed him. Even bloodied, they held their heads high as they freely walked into the maw of the Overlord’s army.

Larger by far, it crumpled like tin foiling under the weight of the charge. It was a paper army. Only the chains of the Overlord held it together and by the images projected from the clouds above, those chains were splintering apart. The dark swirl of the Enemy bit and snapped at the mass that was the Overlord from every side. It was to the point where the white expanse of clouds were surrounded on all sides by the ever growing dusky-scape of the Enemy.

Leather creaked as Gai walked up to him, a scowl on his face. He looked down at the battlefield below and said with a snort, “Bloody maggots. Still fighin’ when the real dogs have arrived. Can’t they see our task’s done.”

Agnor looked down as well. There was little that could be done now. WIth two Ganshei dead and the Enemy’s arrival, the Enemy’s army held a high moral this day. Even if the Overlord’s army wished to retreat, there was nowhere to go. Not this time.

A peel of thunder broke through the pearly-white clouds above. Wind howled through the valley and send shivers down Agnor’s back.

Balance take me. What was that?

The wind felt....wrong. Unearthly. He looked around and saw his men shifting uneasily behind him as Jham bandaged their many wounds.

Lighting split the Overlord’s mass above. Black, tinged with red, it was. It split his clouds like a seam and showed the blackness above. It reminded Agnor of the only time he had seen pure Balance at work. For that was what it was.

Balance. The purest form of life.

To be that strong in the Balance, it was a feat none but a being on the scale of the Overlord or the Enemy could achieve.

Agnor pushed and a bright ball of fire appeared in his hand. The flames licked the tips of his fingers and, almost immediately, he felt a chill crawl up from his arm. With a growl, he clenched his fist and snuffed the fire out. If he had continued any longer, the heat of his body would have decreased until he was a cold husk.

That was his limit. A paltry ball of fire. Fear and wonderment stalked his thoughts as he looked up at the two powerful beings.

Gai stood at his side with a slack jawed expression. Shock lined his face as he gripped his sword in a white-knuckled grip.

The Overlord’s form, split down the middle, flowed in two separate directions underneath the black mass that was the Enemy. He fled. There was no other word for it. Light, as suddenly as it appeared, left the valley. All that remained was the shadow of the Enemy.

Roars of triumph emanated from the Enemey’s army as the began to pulverize the shocked and bewildered Overlord’s army.

It was not easy to see your God defeated. When one was on a pedestal that high, their failures were your failures. Agnor could not but help feel a profound sense of emotion as the Overlord fled the field.

A mixture of joy and sorrow washed through him as he looked upon the Overlord’s army being routed below. The thousands upon thousands of banners that had flown this day had fallen. Light speckled the sky as more and more Ganshei fell.

This was his chance to break the chains that held him. That thought was foremost in his mind as he turned to his men whose pallor was little better than those of the men below. It saddened him that the others would not live through this; however, they were satisfied in their use as tools. They saw it as an honor.

Even if the Overlord could ever recover, Agnor did not know how he could, split in two like that by the Balance, he would be far weaker than before this battle. The Enemy was victorious. That much was clear.

Agnor cared not. He cared about his own freedom, the safety of his men, and...Teshipal. He looked back at the valley below. If he concentrated, he could feel her presence even this far away.He felt her rage, her brutality, and her….delight in taking the lives.

Agnor broke the connection. Nothing had changed. That old feeling of bitterness welled in him for an instance before he shut that emotion down as well. There were more pressing matters at hand.

With Gai at his side, he walked up to the the men.

“We’re leaving.” Agnor said in a crisp voice that brooked no argument.

The men, all fifty-or-so, looked up with expression that ranged from surprise to relief. Few, if any, wanted to stay and participate in the massacre below.

Agnor felt a tug on his shoulder and, as he turned, he saw Gai’s hand on his shoulder. With a jerk of his head, Gai led Agnor back over to the outcropping of rock over the valley. He looked back over the ledge and saw the result of the Overlord’s defeat. Although little time had passed, the cohesion of the Overlord’s army had completely disintegrated. Small bands of warriors, separated by their nations and banners, fought against masses of soldiers that routed them without mercy.

“What is it Gai?” Agnor said. There was a hint of anger in his voice as he looked down at the man.

He better have a good reason for interrupting me. Shadow take me, he knows how foolish it is to allow the men to see any indecision among the officers.

Gai licked his lips nervously. He knew Agnor too well not to know the thoughts behind that brooding glare.

“My lord, where will we go?” Gai said in his hoarse rasp. “The Enemy has been freed and claims victory on the field this day.”

As if to punctuate his words, thunder rumbled from the dark clouds above where the Enemy resided.

“Anywhere but here.” Agnor said gruffly. “The Overlord is dead, or at least gone. The Enemy reigns.”

“But the other Ganshei, they will have a plan…”

“Without the Overlord to guide us, we will go our separate ways. It has always been thus.” Agnor said as half-turned towards the valley below.

More like bind us together. All have different values, different strengths. I doubt I would be able to stand to be in the same room as Tebor without the Overlord demanding it of me. Now that he has retreated, Shadow take me, I can’t even feel him!

The Overlord’s presence had vanished. Agnor could always feel the Overlord in the corner of his mind guiding him and controlling him.

Gai’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “But, my lord, we cannot allow the Enemy to claim victory. Not complete, anyway.” Gai said as he grimaced down at the rout below.

“Some might decide to gather an army to face down the Enemy.” Agnor said reluctantly. He had already made his decision. He, and those who would follow him, would leave this blasted valley and seek a final peace in a land distant from here. It had been a dream of his. One, half-remembered, but never forgotten.

Though, he felt he owed it to Gai to see if there was any hope for the Overlord’s army to ride once again,

Agnor closed his eyes and felt for the souls of those who called themselves hero’s. So few remained. Only three. He felt a sense of startlement at that. Their backs pressed together, they fought off a horde of soldiers with magic and the limited control each had over the Balance. Fire met water and air met earth. The ground was cleaved in two as they carved their enemies bloody but more continued to come. Savage faces filled with eager dreams met them as they cut down their soldiers. One who killed a Ganshei would be risen up above the rest of the Enemy’s followers. Perhaps, he could even become a duke or a king.

A new world order would rise. Those kingdoms protected by the Overlord would fall in a matter of months. The armies that protected them died on the field this day. The hope that had glimmered in Agnor’s heart when the day began was gone. It was replaced with an acceptance of his fate. It was not the worst fate. The worst would have been more of the same. More battles, more deaths, and more rebirths.

Agnor thought back to his banner caked with mud. It was not he who died, but the Ganshei themselves. The symbol of the Overlord was cast down as surely as he was. Agnor felt in within himself. The Ganshei were no more. He was the last and with the Overlord defeated he would be the last until he rose again. Perhaps, by that time, the Overlord would have new strings to draw upon and his soul could finally be allowed to rest.

In this case, he had a chance for freedom. A chance to build a life away from war, away from pain. His heart, though, looked upon his brethren as they fell to the enemy. Swords cut through Tebor as he let out a blast of wind so strong it could be seen with the naked eyes. The others fell as well. Kunar was split in two by Tepishal herself. There was a grin of triumph on her face as she killed her former friend. Bahari fell to a mighty axe from a nameless soldier-Too tired to lift his own sword, he succumbed to his death without a whimper.

They were all dead now. He was the only one left.

“They are all dead. The Overlord’s army will not rise again. Not unless the Overlord himself returns.” Angor said gruffly as he opened his eyes. Gai stared at him uncomprehendingly. A look of fear passed across his eyes as if he had just seen his fate. And perhaps he had. His God defeated and the Ganshei dead. All that remained was Agnor.

“And we’re going to flee? Bloody flee?” Gai raised his hands in disgust. “You’re a bloody Ganshei and we’re going to leave the remnants of our army to be mauled by wolves.”

“They aren’t sheep Gai.” Agnor said dryly. He could see that Gai was about to respond heatedly so Agnor raised up a hand in forestallment.

“We can not do anything for them.The Enemy sits above, watching like a king on his throne. If we so much as dare interfere, we would be dead before we reached the base of the valley.”

Agnor began to walk back towards the men who were already hefting packs on shoulders. As he walked, he called back over his shoulder, “Even then, we have too few of number to make any difference. If you want to go back, it’s your choice.”

Agnor meant it as a statement that only had one logical answer. Yet, Gai took it seriously. After a moment, he shook his head and followed after Agnor and the few soldiers that remained.

That day became to be known in history as the rebirth of mankind. The Exalt, as he is known to some, and the Enemy as he is known to others, broke the chains that bound the living to their creator and their prisoner. For, he was one in the same. Mankind, naive to their limitations, did not know they were prisoners until shown by the Exalt what freedom truly was. Sometimes, it takes a leader to set others on the right course.

CHAPTER 1

Again and again, the world was torn asunder. Heroes reborn with the ages died and lived again. But, as in all things, the winds of time bring change. Flowers bloom where lava once flowed. Races, which once walked the earth, lay buried in books. The forces that once raged, subsided. Though peace reigns, it is always the forerunner to war. Balance calls for two sides of a coin. It is only a matter of time until the coin flips.

In a small, wooded land covered by a heavy rain and forgotten in the histories, a coin of particular significance stood on it’s edge.

Akain Rashak ran through the tumbleweed, headless of the mud that splattered across his only pair of cotton-britches. They were of fashion, too. It had been a special occasion this day. A day for joy and merrymaking.

Rain cascaded down from the lofty tree-tops above. With a grunt, Akain tugged the hood of his cloak over the top of his balding head. Two ivory horns peeked out of the thin wisps of hair and shadowed a smooth face, gray-green eyes, and a haunted expression that seemed to overshadow any other emotion.

He was a big man. Not stocky by any means. Tough like leather. Working in the fields did that to you. Akain had no complaints though. He had been happy. All that changed with the dawning of the Relicmoon yesterday.

A soft mewing came from under his cloak as he ran. The sound could barely be heard over the swift pad of his feet and the crackle of twigs. Careful not to look at it, he hefted the bundle in his arm. It felt soft and warm in his hand, and yet, it was the cause of his distress.

Love and hate. Emotions at the opposite end of the spectrum. But, for the bundle, he felt both. There was fear as well. For the bundle and for himself. Even his knowledge of what lay contained inside the bundle could send him to the gallows. The Village Council brooked no regard when it came to heresy.

He ran on. Fear pushed him forward at a reckless pace. Rain pelted him and the muck that covered the ground began to seep through his tough, leather boots. An audible squelch punctuated each step he took.

He was sure he had been seen as he passed the village fareway. Only one place existed beyond the forest and it was forbidden to all. His heart pounded faster as he ran with the bundle in the crook of his arm. Sweat cascaded down his face as he heaved heavy breath after heavy breath. It felt as if his entire life was crumbling around him.

He ran with a reckless pace. Few options remained to him. So few. And to think, on this day of all days.

It was not long before the trees thinned. Their leafy branches receded to show a thin cottage on top of a winding hill. Akain’s breath came in ragged gasps as he clutched the bundle in his cloak ever the tighter. A small squeak emanated from the bundle as he squeezed it.

Akain closed his eyes in shame but he did not slow his pell mell pace towards the cottage.

May chains bind me. Akain thought, as he berated his cowardice. He was torn inside. This day, of all days, warred with his mind like a broken sieve. All that he believed, all that he knew... He could not throw that away for happenstance. Happenstance that had caused more grief than pleasure already.

Emotion ran amok within him as he opened his eyes, lifted his sodden cloak, and looked at the bundle for the first time. Swaddled in white linen, a pale newborn lay sound asleep. Pale skin brushed with a mop of pale blond hair and bright blue eyes. Akain heard all newborns had those traits. It took time for the hair and eyes to change while the horns would not grow in until his second decade in this world.

If he survives that long.

Akain had slowed his pace to crawl without realizing it. Rain fell in intermittent intervals as the clouds seem to divide overhead to finally give some peace to this night. In his arms, the small newborn stretched in his sleep as he curled a small fist.

His son.

Love bloomed in his heart as he looked upon his long cherished dream. How he had wished for this. He reached with his free hand to touch the boy. As he did so, the child turned in his sleep, a slight smile on his face.

As if he was just bitten by a viper, Akain whipped his hand back. Anger and pain rocked him back on his feet as he remembered his purpose this night. He covered the child and that thing up with his cloak as he trudged on.

Made of brick, the cottage was somewhat rundown with a large window placed in its side. Dim light glowed through the window. Only a slight shadow marred the bright patch outlined on the grassy hillside as a figure moved around inside the cottage.

Akain approached, wary. There was a reason this cottage was isolated from the village. The person within...Akain shivered. He thought about retreating as he looked behind him at the dense thicket of forest behind him.

It looked like a solid wall of black in the night. Owls hooted mournfully and a handful of crickets chirped as a gust of wind, wet with the passing rain, blew over the hill.

But no. He could not retreat now. There were two choices in front of him.

Light take me, I have Vorain’s luck, Akain cursed to himself. Sweat percolated on his brow as his mind raced. He stood stock still in front of the window, his hands balled into fists, unable to journey forth or leave.

If he left, he would undoubtedly be hanged but perhaps that was better than being associated with her. That alone might get him hanged no matter if she could cure the boy. And if she couldn’t…

Akain felt a shiver of fear run through him at the thought.

In a harsh moment of disregard, Akain ground his teeth and strode through the short grass and knocked twice on the cedar door. As he waited, he breathed in the fresh scent of the wood and looked around at the small ornamentations placed outside the entrance to the cottage.

Two small, wicker baskets lay empty at the base of the steps. On the door itself, a clove of holly hung as if in welcome.

Akain heard the shuffle of feet inside and nearly bolted at the sound. He ground his teeth in annoyance. Wasn’t it enough that he came here in the first place? Did the cursed fool have to scare him half to death as well? Hadn’t he been through enough this night.

Exalt, protect him, he had. For one who knew nothing but the fields, this night held a litany of unique occurrences in his life. Occurrences he desired with all his heart to have flipped the other way.

“Tai,” Akain said in a soft murmur. A chord of sadness echoed in his voice as he spoke her name. How many hours had it been? Not too many. The Relicmoon had been waning then.

A soft gurgle emanated from his son once again.

He would have to deal with that later. Once this was complete, whatever way that was, he would have the time then. Yes, then he would have time.

The door opened with a soft squeak and light flooded Akain’s vision. He squinted in the brightness as a woman stepped in front of him, a small frown mixed with concern and consternation on her face.

“What do you want?” Her voice had a tight tenor to it unlike that found in the village where soft, almost relaxed, speech was the norm.

Akain could not respond. Sweat trickled down his shoulder blades as fear clamped his mouth shut. The human woman in front of him was short in nature. Her brown, almost blonde hair, curled behind wide ears and an ovular, freckled face that fell only a little short of beauty. That frown, though. Akain knew that frown to send greater men than he scurrying for the brushes.

“Well, what is it?” There was a snap to her voice now as she looked up at him with slanted eyes full of annoyance. “Who are you by-and-by to come to my home at this late hour? You’re Ventros. Those horns give you away as nothing else could.”

Her gaze lifted to where the peaks of his horns hidden were hidden behind the doorframe.

Akain felt the warmth of his child as the newborn turned in the crook of his arm. His voice caught in his throat as emotion welled up in him.

“I am...Akain, my lady Delain,” he said, hesitant. He was unsure how to address her. Few spoke to her with any regularity. None that Akain knew well enough to ask the proper way to address this woman.

“I have a farm down the mountain some ways from the village.”

Delain sighed as she saw the pained, somewhat manic expression on his face. He was sure by this point that more than rain covered its expanse.

“Well, come in then. Can’t have a guest stand in the elements.”

As he entered, ducking his head under the low frame, she turned toward the shadowed hallway and said, “Come. Come. I have some tea on the broiler.”

Delain turned into the what appeared to be a small kitchen on the far end of the corridor and he could hear the rattle of pots and pans as she rummaged around. With the child clutched in his arms, he stood awkwardly in the hallway for a long moment. It was odd here. Dim light from glass candles hid more than it showed. No paintings decorated the plaster walls nor rugs strewn across the wooden floor.

It was bare as a newborn. Yet, remarkably clean all the same. Akain could not see a speck of dust in the place.

He felt himself relax almost unwillingly in the muggy cottage. His mind felt calmer than it had been in hours. Tiredness began to creep into his mind as he leaned against a bare wall. It had been long since he slept. Already, before this all happened, he spent the entire night up with Tai. Sleep would come soon whether he willed it or not.

Akain clutched at his child as he felt his eyelids begin to droop.

I must remember. Chains break and curdle in the wind, I am tired.

Akain rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. A decision needed to be made soon. He was worn out emotionally and physically.

The sound of footsteps, along with the waft of spice, announced Delain’s return. Two pewter mugs sat steaming on top of a wooden tray she lofted above herself with a single hand. With the other, she beckoned silently for him to follow her into an alcove even farther down the hall.

Reluctantly, he did so. He shook his head as annoyance colored his face. She took her time, she did. Exalt only knew what she would do if the matter was not serious.

Make me wait a year, that would be what, Akain thought with a scowl.

He followed her into a small room lit by a wicker candle perched high on its pedestal. This room was as bare as all the others except a table lined by four chairs. A vase, filled with a few white roses, sat on the surface.

As Delain placed the tray on the table and sat, Akain hovered over the table, unwilling to sit and talk like nothing was the matter. By the frown on her face, she did not like his decision at all.

She made that clear as she said, “Decisions cannot be made all in a rush. Whatever you came here for, it was not healing. I know those types. They don’t want to be seen by Gohram and have word of their illness spread across the village in a matter of hours. You don’t have that look nor do you live in the village so it would not matter either way. Come and sit.”

She made the last sentence sound like an order with a harshness Akain did not know she possessed. Fear of who she was, more than anything, made him pull out a chair and sit. He was careful to keep the newborn tucked securely under his cloak as he did so.

It might have been easier to just shove the child in her face and see how she would react; however, Akain feared what she might do. If one saw that thing on his arm, they might very well do what he tried to do. And, they could succeed where he failed. A thrill of fear coursed through him at the thought.

He could not allow that to happen. Too much had occurred already. That path lay in another direction. A direction that would haunt his nightmares for years to come but one, he hoped, that would never enter reality. That was if he escaped the near-certain fate that awaited him back in the village.

Akain sat stiff-backed and tight-lipped as Delain sipped on her tea with lips pursed against the scalding liquid. She looked over her mug and said dryly, “Mind you, I didn’t poison the tea.”

Akain was not comforted by the assurance. Who this woman was….who she represented, he had no wish to drink something one of them made.

When he budged not an inch, the corner of Delain’s lip curled in a wry smile and she set her cup down with a clank.

“Now then, as pleasantries seem to have been forgotten by you,” she said pointedly, “let us begin. Why, in the Exalt’s name, did you run half-blind through the country-side and what looks like half the night to see me? I thought you people had better sense.”

Akain let the jab go by as he looked down at his cloak. Under it, all his problems lay. If she could fix what ailed his family, he cared not her attitude. With a measured hand, he lifted his child from under his cloak with a rustle of cloth.

“This,” Akain said, his voice tight with emotion, “is my son.”

The boy’s wispy blonde hair fell over his eyes and he wiggled in discomfort as Akain lifted him up for Delain to see. She stood with an obvious frown. It was as if he was at fault for not showing the child before she asked.

Akain felt a grimace appear on his face as he looked at the woman. The Nakein. He nearly shivered at the title. An organization almost as ancient as the Orders of old, the Nakein transcended races, borders, and cultures. Stories said they were forged in the Rebirth as a weight to the Orders belt. No one really knew if that was the case nor did they care to find out.

As it was, the Nakein had a reputation that was not wholly pleasant. Their hands could be found in almost every war, treaty, and exchange dating back to the Rebirth. Some said, loudly in Recam’s case every time Akain stopped by on Market Day, the Nakein were leeches on the free men and women of Thantos. The took but never gave. Everything they offered had a price. A price too great for the cost by half. People in the village said, with smirks on their faces, only an idiot would ask a Nakein for help. Though, Akain could not help but notice in the years with lean crops and slim-pickings on Market Day, less and less of the folk in the village had much to say on the subject. When the subject invariably came up, those in question hung their heads in shame or found a quick exit from the conversation.

Desperation.

Akain nearly swallowed his tongue at what he was prepared to offer this woman. His decision was made. As she rounded the table, he stood, offering his small child to the woman.

“What is wrong with him? If he needs healing…” She made it sound like a threat as she took the boy from Akain and held him in her two thin arms.

Hesitation crossed Akain’s face as he stood awkwardly in front of her. She would see soon enough. Exalt protect him, it would be better not to voice it. When he remained silent, Delain looked up with sharp eyes.

“Well?”

Impatience colored her voice as she gripped the child closer to her breast.

A lump seemed to have formed in Akain’s throat. Just then, she reminded him so much of Tai. So protective, so loving, and yet, as stubborn as a mule that one. But no. He shook his head. Tai was gone and Delain was not her. Not by a long shot.

“His arm. I had nowhere else to turn,” Akain wrasped. Fear, tinged with sadness, colored his voice as he prepared himself for what was to come. This was it. Either she could help or she could not. He closed his weary eyes and waited for the inevitable.

It did not take long. After only a few moments, a sharp intake of breath met his ears followed by the soft cry of a child.

He opened his eyes with a snap. The scene in front of him was not what he expected. There was no revolution or pain. Delain held his son’s arm in her hand, her mouth half-open in surprise, but her eyes held the truth of it.

A light had bloomed behind her hazel eyes. A brightness Akain had not know was missing began to shine forth as luminescent as the Relicmoon.

“Do you know...well of course you do,” Delain said as she straightened and composed herself.

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Well, What do you want me to do about this?” She said as she pointed at that thing on his son’s bicep. Even this far away, Akain could see the blackened veins that formed an image. An image ancient but not forgotten. How could it be with Eddhan, the local Canja, shoving it in their faces every Market Day.

Just below the collarbone, the image of the Overlord, the Jailer himself, laced itself up his son’s arm.

Below a rising sun, something that had been lost after the Rebirth, a coiled snake, its scales shadowed to a perfect glaze, ate its own tail. A hint of blood could be seen dripping from the snake’s mouth as one slanted eye touched all who looked upon it.

Akain could not help but shiver. He prayed to the Exalt that whatever this was, it could be removed from his son. This image had already taken his wife. It could not take his son too.

“Remove it or cover it,” Akain said hastily. Balance be turned, whatever she could do to fix this, he would take it and the consequences be damned.

“Whatever you can do to fix it, I will pay, I promise.”

Akain moved forward in a shambling lurch as he extended his hands in a gesture he knew not head or tail of. It mattered not, though.

Dealin took a step back, his child in her arms, and a frown on her smooth face.

“Take a seat Akain. You need to listen, and you need to listen clear.”

Her voice held an edge to it as if she was hovering between outrage and excitement. When he ignored her command, she flicked her free hand out with a snap. It was as if the air had turned solid. As much as he resisted, he was pushed farther and farther from Delain until his back leaned against the chair he just vacated.

“Now sit,” Delain commanded. With another sharp motion, he felt as if each of his knees weighed as much as a full cask of mead. He grunted as he was forced into his chair. But, he was in no position to complain.

Even as he felt the weight rise from his legs, fear kept him seated. Above all else, what set the Nakein apart from all others, except the Canja, was the use of the Elements. It was said, if the Nakein wanted to, they could rule the world with that power of theirs. The only thing stopping them was the Canjacan. Not that they would be any better at ruling the world. Probably worse with all their rules and religious talk. It was just easier if common folk, like himself, avoided both parties.

But, that could no longer be the case. He had chosen. Frankly, it was his only choice. To save his son, he gave up everything that remained. Akain was sure old Tabrin Manos had seen him bolt this way like a startled Colt. By the time he returned, word would have spread from that old gossip monger and the village would no doubt demand his head. Even Delain here, if she wanted to, could do nothing about it. The Village Council ruled affairs here and they followed the Creed religiously.

“Now,” Delain said as she sat herself, thankfully at the far end of the table, “Let us speak like civilized people. There is no begging in my house. If I wanted to speak to a beggar, I would go to Gailan or Salkorth.”

Her face twisted at those two unfamiliar words. However, she gave Akain no time to mull over them as she talked right past them.

“First off, I must tell you, I cannot rid your son of this mark.”

“What?” Akain heard his chair clatter to the floor as he stood. His hands coiled into fists as anger bloomed in him like a thorny flower. It tore at his soul as he towered over Dealin, his fear forgotten. She could not...would not...help him and his son. All of this was pointless.

Bitterness colored his words as he said, “Why not?”

A soft smile full of sympathy crossed her face. It helped little to assuage his mood. His life had turned on its head too often this day. It was as if he found himself floating in a river to find a sudden waterfall in the middle of it. Today was the drop. And he fell far.

“It is impossible to change what one of the two decreed. So long, have they been away from this world, I think most have forgotten how it was.”

As she spoke, she cradled his child in her arms and soothingly traced the mark on his shoulder.

“Little can be done at this point. Perhaps, if I was there at the birth, something may have been possible. Doubtful though.” She mused as if this was a triviality.

Akain let out a sharp bark of laughter. He was on the edge of panic.

“Nothing, you say! My son is going to be gutted before his first name day and you say nothing can be done.”

He let out another barking laugh. This was too much for him to handle. He gripped the back of the wooden chair with a white-knuckled grip as he leaned over the table.

“Akain...where is your wife?” By the way her face pinched as she said it, he knew, by his reaction, she understood her error.

“Tai,” he murmured. Grief was evident in his voice as he gripped the chair even tighter. Akain felt a cracking under his fingertips as the chair splintered. He ignored the sharp pinpricks of pain as he became consumed by his grief. Too tired to care, he wept openly in the cottage. Tears trailed down his face as he gasped, “She died...birthing him and now, you are saying, I’ll lose him too.”

With a rough swipe of his arm, he wiped the tears away and said, “If you cannot help, I’ll be leaving now. Thank you for your time.”

As he shambled around the table, blinded by his tears, Delain said soothingly, like she was trying to calm a startled horse, “Akain, sit back down. I am...sorry for your loss but you need to listen and listen good.”

Headless of her words, he continued to shamble toward her. Fear pricked the back of his mind but he ignored it. It was dangerous to face a Nakein but what did he have to lose now? Delain just told him he had lost everything. Perhaps he could send his son far away to a place where they knew little of the Overlord. For him, it was too late.

As he approached, Delain’s face held a mask of calm as she rose herself.

Straight-backed, she faced Akain head on.

I must look a mad man to her, Akain thought in a delirious daze. Tears continued to run down his face as she walked in a haphazard fashion towards his child. Anger roiled with the pain in him to create an amalgamation of emotion that threatened to destroy his very soul. An image flashed through his mind of his child, his boy. Love bloomed in a heart so weary, so torn from this night of pain.

And then, that image. That image of the Overlord. So vile, so vibrant upon his son. It was a part of him and it was something Akain could never love. Everything he knew opposed that symbol. His life was lead to achieve the very epitome of freedom. He loved the Exalt like his father and his father’s father had before him. The chained one put his mark upon his son. What did that mean? Was he fated to serve the Overlord or did he already? That was the truth of it. The truth Akain had been running from and, in desperation, came to Delain to cure. But, she could not.

“My son,” Akain cried out. He could go no farther. With a sound like a wounded wolf, he collapsed in a heap to the wooden floor.

He heard shuffling footsteps followed by a warm hand on his shoulder. Delain’s voice soon followed.

“Akain, the world cries out for balance. The Canjaca hold one end of the rope but the other end is loose. Sometimes,” Delain sighed as she crouched down. Akain could feel her hot breath in his ear. “Sometimes, the world tries to right itself no matter what we do.”

Akain said nothing as he curled himself in a ball. Sorrow began to shroud his mind like a thick, woolen cloak. It shielded him from her words in a way he could not understand. He was neither happy nor sad for that occurrence. It just was.

Akain did not know what made him say it nor why he chose that moment to speak. It was as if a hand dragged his thoughts out of his mind and pushed them through his gullet.

“Take him,” he rasped. His voice was no louder than a whisper. “Take him!” This time, it was near a shout.

With a sudden jolt, Akain rose to his feet, shrugging of Delain’s hand. Her face was a mixture of shock and was that longing? It did not matter. The decision had finally been made. Not a decision he had come in with but a decision he was resigned to now.

“You want me to take your son?”

Akain could hear her thoughts as plain as day.

“He is my price,” Akain said as he pointed a quivering finger at the boy in her arms.

“Make sure he lives and you can...you can have him.” His voice nearly broke at the last.

There was no chance for him to live. He would not, could not leave his people. The only piece of land he owned was his farm. Without it, he and his son would be beggars in truth. In a month, maybe two months time, one or both of them would be dead out there in the harsh wilderness. Little civilization existed close to the village. The Ventros were an isolated people with isolated problems. There was no chance they would survive if together but if his son remained, protected by a Nakein…

Delain closed her eyes.

“Take your son...this is unexpected to say the least. I agree to this price with the greatest reluctance. It is not a welcome sight to see a father departed from a son but when that child…”

She looked down at the the boy, more specifically the symbol carved into his veins. That light was back in her eyes.

She agreed. Thank the Exalt, himself.

“Can I hold him one last time, before I go.”

This was it. The price had been paid. The debt would be settled. A grim smile touched Delain’s lips as she handed the boy over. He felt heavier in Akain’s arms than before. During this whole conversation, the boy never woke. A smile came to Akain’s lips at that. He would grow into a solid lad.

Solid and strong. Not like his father. His father, a weak, instinctive man, who begged for scraps from his betters’ table. No, he would not be his father. “Rajac, I shall name you. I hope you find peace in your life my son. May your birth not hold a candle to your life.”

With that, he kissed Rajac’s forehead and passed him back to Delain. A sad smile touched her lips but he could see more than a kindling of that light behind her eyes. He found himself unnerved by it even more as she led him to the door. Yet, the price was already paid and her promise was what he required. With a heavy heart, Akain Rashak left the small cottage on the outskirts of the village.

The next day, accompanied by the rise of the Relicmoon, Jintail Bainal found Akain Rashak with his wrists slashed on the cobbled stones of the empty market. No one knew why or how Akain found himself dead in the market square. When a few men went over to his farm to investigate, they found his wife dead from childbirth. A cry rose in the village. Many thought murder most foul had been committed. Fear of a murderer in their midst made neighbor wary of neighbor. That first

Market Day after the Rashak’s deaths, few people dared turn up to sell their goods. Tensions became so bad, the Village Council had to intervene.

For weeks, the Village Council investigated the Rashak’s death and their missing, presumed dead, newborn. As time went by and nothing was found, the villagers began to forget about the whole matter. However, the story came up from time to time during Market Day when some of the older folk spoke regretfully of how such a good family could be murdered without a culprit being found.

None thought to ask old Tabrin Manos his opinion on the matter. But, in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered. On the night in question, old Tabrin was deep in his cups when he saw a dark shape sprint through the thick forest. It could have been Akain Rashak. Could have been. He seemed to be heading to that meddler’s cottage, directly against the Creed itself. But, by the time he woke up with a nasty hangover the next morning, he had forgotten the matter entirely.

As for the boy, he passed out of memory quicker than his parents. His death, already presumed, became a reality in the villagers’ eyes. None suspected he lived not five miles from them in a small cottage owned by the Nakein, Delain.

CHAPTER 2

Balance blossomed the world like a flower in spring rain. It made whole what was and what will become. Above all, two sides remain. One vies for control, the other, freedom. Separated, they remain. But, time is an enemy none can overcome. The time of conflict approaches. All peoples heed this call! Rise up and declare your allegiance! For no man, woman, or child can stay out of this struggle. All will impact the world’s future in some way or another. It is up to you to choose your fate.

~ From Unknown, Passage from the Song of Challenge, circa 3558 A.G.

Delain grimaced to herself as the carriage grated over a particularly nasty divot in the rode. The boy in her arms gave a sharp cry as his peaceful slumber was interrupted by the motion. As she tightened the swadling around the child, he opened his light brown eyes.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind for her and the child. Her child now. Surprise and an overabundance of joy had colored that first week until word of the child’s father had reached her. Delain knew the man had been troubled from the moment she laid eyes upon him. Most who came to her were in some manner.

The child continued to cry as she rocked him back and forth in her arms. The trundle of the carriage sent jolt after jolt up her back as she sat on the pallet that had been set out for her and the child in the small interior of the carriage. The only light came from a small wicker candle enclosed in a glass case. No windows dotted the walls and the front of the enclosure held a slat that could be opened, but judging by their driver, Palkath’s demeanor, she doubted it would be opened unless for an emergency.

Though, bandits in the Western Territories would come as no surprise, Delain thought, concerned. They were the broken lands. Lands without governance. War was the norm and peace an unusual occurrence. Kankur, the Ventros’ village, was one of those occurrences. Sheltered away in the Broken Chain, the tallest mountains known to man, Kankur was isolated from the rest of the Western Territories.

Or, so she thought.

As she pulled out a leather packet from the folds of her skirts, a cold alacrity consumed her. Akain dead in the Kankur Market. She shivered as she pulled the woolen synch from the packet to reveal a variety of dried fruits.

She had expected something to occur after that frightful, life changing meeting with that man. But not that. Surely, not that. Delain had been sure his reasons for giving up his son were due to the Creed and His symbol. It was natural to fear the Overlord in this day and age. She brooked no anger towards Akain for what he did to his son. In his mind, he had lost everything that day.

But, that was not the reason she accepted his offer.

Balance is called a sick man’s game by the greedy and a fair one by the wise.

His price had been fair. In fact, she might have been greedy in accepting. As a Nakein, she was not allowed to marry or birth a child of her own. The dream she had kept since she had been named ages ago lay forgotten in a dusty corner of her mind. And, to think, she received what she desired for ages. A child of her own. Even after she followed the Principles, this would not be welcomed by the Circle. Delain knew she would be questioned when she returned, if she returned, to Jintara.

She sighed as she separated the food in her hand. Still, guilt formed in her breast at the thought of Akain. She took what was not rightfully hers from a desperate man. It weighed on her mind heavily that first night. Delain even considered returning the child to Akain that very next day.

But it was not to be. Akain’s death had changed much.

Damn the Canjaca and their bloody Creed.

She tried to hide her sneer as she fed bits of the small fruit to Rajac. His crying abated as he greedily began to suck down the sweet bits of food from her fingers.

That hateful peace of doctrine conjured by the Canjaca. Only fools and sycophants followed it. Kankur, isolated as it was, followed in in their naivety. How had she chosen to settle her practice in such a place?

I wanted isolation. Removal from the bloody politics of the south. I was such a fool.

It was not always that way. She had arrived a good five or so years before the Canjaca ever decided to send one of their Canja to that backwards village. Before, the people feared her. It was only natural. Rumor begot rumor to the point where the entire world believed the Nakein were something akin to the Mother herself.

But, they still came. They received her poultices, herbs, and if they were in dire need of it, she would heal them with Elemental Magic. That all changed after that fool Eddhan arrived. The villagers greeted him with all the pomp and ceremony he demanded after he lavished them with trinkets he brought from the southern cities. In no time at all, he wormed his way into their hearts and tainted them with the Canjacan’s ridiculous rhetoric.

Delain began to receive hate and ridicule from her once-customers as the Nakein took on a reputation found so common in the isolated villages of Thantos. The result was the same as well. The Creed, as the Canjacan called their civil doctrine, was signed by the Village Council effectively restricting Delain from Kankur.

That had been the last of it. By the time Akain approached her, she had already considered leaving the small village. Akain was just another in a long line oppressed by what the Canjacan called freedom. Desperation made them come to her even though they knew the ramifications for requesting her aid. In every case, she did what she could. A few still visited her regularly. She trusted on them to dissuade the Village Council from hanging any poor souls.

It had worked up until now.

Akain’s death had shocked her to her core.

She thought no one in the village knew of Akain’s visit. There had been no talk or even rumors of Akain traveling to her cottage that night. Delain came to the realization that Eddhand watched her and her visitors without her knowledge. Her skin crawled at the memory. In the weeks afterward, she sat tensely in her cottage as an ever growing dread began to consume her joyous mood.

This had happened before. Not to her but to many of her Brothers and Sisters. The Canjaca vied for domination all over the world. Slowly, but surely, they attempted to weed out the Nakein and any other organization be it the fragmented Orders or the Galancat that could challenge their authority. First, those who remained steadfast in their loyalty to the Nakein were removed. Only when the Nakein’s support was removed, the local Canja would publicly execute the Nakein usually to the cheers of the region’s citizens.

They weren’t always successful. In most cases, the failed; however, in the small, isolated villages that populated the countryside, the coin almost always flipped their way.

Ignorance.

It was both the clay they molded into righteous obstinacy and the tool they used to obliterate all who stood in their path.

When Akain was found dead without anyone in the village the wiser, she suspected but did not know. Even then, she began to pack her things and called for a carriage from Gibr.

One month for her message to arrive and another for a carriage to return. In that time, events proved her fear. Akain’s murderer was never found. Delain was almost sure Eddhand made the Village Council cease the investigation before a conclusion could be reached.

She never saw Eddhand’s watchers but she knew they were there. Hiding. It was all she could do not to bolt down the mountainside with Rajac in tow. She waited, impatient and unnerved, for her scheduled departure.

By the time the carriage arrived at her doorstep, she had been ready to leave a week-past. Bundling her meager supplies and Rajac into the the contraption, they set off without a backwards glance.

She shivered inwardly as Rajac she patted his small head. Her warm caress seemed to smooth the child as he turned inward, against her stomach, and curled himself into a ball. Even with everything, she could not help but smile at the child.

This journey had been long. Perhaps too long for such a small child. Their belongings were strewn across the floor of the carriage in haphazard manner that bespoke their uncomfortable living situation.

Thankfully, this was the end of this forsaken journey. They had stopped at every forested way station, protected by the half-dozen mercenary guards the carriage driver hired, for weeks on end. All that would be over soon.

The clammer of Gibr was evident through the walls of the carriage as the mixture of the sweet scents of the markets and the rankness of the city met her headlong in a rush. Delain was surprised when she felt a surge of comfort as they rolled into the city. Stress that had been coiled tightly behind her eyes began to relax somewhat as they entered the familiar setting.

Gibr, the largest city in the Western Territories this side of the Broken Chain.

The carriage came to a grating stop that felt all too sudden to Delain. Her stomach roiled at the motion; however, thankfully, Rajac did not wake, clutched to her breast as he was. She would have had words to Palkath in any case.

But, as she saw his chagrined expression as he ducked low and retrieved her things from the under-carriage, she could not find the energy. This journey had been long. Too long in her opinion. As she rose and stepped out into the bright light of the Relicmoon, a few of the guards entered after her to collect the tidbits she had left behind.

It was good of them to do their duty without goading. She had found all too often that the concept of honor only remained in books. These men, wherever Palkath found them, seemed to at least have dregs of it.

She felt a smile touch her lips as she hefted Rajac in her arms. It was simliar to her arrival in Jintara as a girl and as Kankur as one of the named. A new place, a new life. Her past worries were just that.

Almost as sudden as her smile appeared, it vanished. New worries would come and she doubted, this time, all her past worries would stay there. The Canjaca might not know about Rajac and what it meant. She surely did not. But, she did know, that symbol and its presence on the child would bring chaos and strife.

“My lady,” a gruff voice rose as if out of the ether. She nearly jumped as she turned on Palkath, his face a mixture of consternation and worry. The bustle of the street past by the carriage like water against rock. Shops lined the streets like seashells on the beach while men and women, mostly human, strolled in and out of them like ants in a hovel.

I STOPPED HERE. I FOUND MYSELF BORED WITH THIS CHAPTER AND FOUND YOU GUYS WOULD LIKELY BE AS WELL.

Peace out.