Prologue:

There was no doubt that they were being followed.

Entering a clearing surrounded by tall trees, a cloaked man calmly walked along the treeline under the light of the waning moon. In one arm, a young boy slept, his head resting on the man’s shoulder.

He had hoped that they had managed a clean escape. They had made it outside the city, and were halfway to the river where a boat was waiting to take them upstream. Unfortunately, he was sure that his chance to correct his mistake had vanished into the night.

No one in the castle should have noticed their absence yet, and if the guards had noticed anything, there would have been an alarm. The pursuers, then, must be someone else. He was certain now that they had been betrayed.

There was no other explanation. His escape route had been compromised. They would not make it to the river, or if they did, there would be others there waiting to stop them.

His mind cycled through faces as he tried to identify the one who had sold them out. Not that it mattered anymore. He had failed, and now he, and his young companion would die this night.

It should not have been this way. If he had turned over the young lord as he was supposed to, he would have been rewarded instead of hunted.

Instead, he had listened to his conscience. The problem was that he had done so too late.

As ordered, he had kidnapped the young lord, the very person he had sworn to protect. But instead of delivering the boy to the arranged location, he had instead smuggled him to this place, hoping that no one would be able to find them.

The young boy, the child he had guarded since his birth, was insufferable. Even at such a young age, he was entitled, arrogant, and boorish. He did little but play with his toys and play pranks on the servants. There was no sign that he had any interest in living up to his destiny.

He hated the horrible boy. He cursed his luck for ever having to meet such a miserable child. But he was still a child. That was how children act, after all. As soon as he had stolen the child and betrayed his duty, he had regretted ever considering it.

The man had already accepted the fact that he was in the wrong. He had kidnapped the young lord. He could have stopped this madness, but instead had followed along with the plan. Only then did he backtack.

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Things had become so convoluted, Everyone involved said one thing, but used their influence to push a different agenda. Factions and powerful organizations were vieing to take advantage of the situation.

Now, the man realized that he was alone, without any support at all.

If only he could have delivered the boy safely to Resistance. He might have had a chance of survival, and the young lord might have had a path to a peaceful life.

Instead, they would both die, and the cycle would continue.

He placed the boy down on a soft patch of ground under a large tree. Under the dim moonlight, three figures emerged from three different directions, converging at one spot in the center of the clearing.

Whoever they were, they were taking no chances.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the boy’s favorite toy and placed it in the hands of the sleeping child. It seemed only right to give the young lord this last, small kindness.

Then, he turned to face his pursuers. The three hooded figures, now standing as a unit in front of him.

He stood straight, arms out at his sides, palms forward, and two identical swords appeared, one in each hand.

Gripping the swords, he assumed the first position. It was useless, he knew, but he would die as he had hoped to live, despite falling short at the end, with the honor and pride of an Imperial guard.

His opponents simply stood there. No weapons apparent, though their hands remained covered under their cloaks.

The man spoke first.

“I will not allow you to take the young lord.”

A low, grave voice responded from the center figure,

“You cannot stop us.”

“But I must try. It is my duty and my honor.”

“You will fail, and duty and honor are meaningless to one such as you.”

Lowering his left hand, the man extended the sword held in his right. This was the Imperial duelist’s stance. He was a master, having trained his entire life.

As predicted, his skill, his conviction, his remorse, none of it made any difference.

A light breeze blew through the trees, and a leaf floated by in front of the man.

Suddenly, the leaf split in two. Without even a tremor, the two sides continued to ride the wind, separated but otherwise undisturbed.

The man fell. First, his head hit the ground, then moments later, his body crumpled into a pile in the dirt.

With that, two of the cloaked figures, the ones who stood on each side, walked past the remains of the man and picked up the sleeping boy.

Slung over the shoulder of one other the figures, they left the clearing, heading deeper into the trees.

While lifting the boy up, they failed to notice the toy slipping out of the hands of the boy, falling to the ground beside the tree. Not that it would matter.

The strange toy was out of place here. No one who saw it would recognize it, or understand what it was.

The small grey box, with some unusual decorative protrusions, had no obvious way to open it up and didn’t appear to contain anything at all.

It had unusual markings in a foreign script in several places on the outside, and while it appeared to be expertly crafted, it would draw little interest from any who might see it. In time, it would degrade and be buried in the dirt below the tree, as would the bones of the foolish man who had tried to defy destiny.

The words written on it were indecipherable, but to anyone familiar with the language, it would have been easily recognized. The dark indigo letters clearly spelling out

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