I look like a damn politician, Adrian MacAllen thought as he nearly glared at himself in the mirror, or rather, the uniform of the private school he attended. And I really hate politicians. The uniform, or suit, really, had all of the trappings of something that politicians the world overlooked for in a piece of visual power projection. A pair of polished dress shoes, a white button-down shirt, black suit pants with creases that could cut if necessary, a scarlet red tie that denoted his senior status at the school, and a black suit jacket. The school’s crest on the right breast pocket was the only deviation from the norm that one might expect. All he’d need to do would be to remove the crest, and he’d blend right in with the countless corporate drones, lawyers, bankers, and stockbrokers that swarmed Manhattan like flies on a carcass. But then, that was the idea. The Jameson Institute for Advanced Education was a place where the children of the wealthy, powerful, gifted, or well-connected were sent to polish their skills and make connections with other children of the powerful, wealthy, gifted, and well-connected. It was as much a political and business meet-and-greet as it was a school. Maybe even more so.

With a scowl that likely would have terrified anyone who saw it on his face, Adrian turned away from the mirror in his small, attached bathroom and faced the rest of his dorm room. It was a simple set up, with just a bed, bookshelf, and desk. Comfortable enough, to be sure, but to him, it felt more like a gilded cage than anything else. That was all officially over, though. He had graduated and was soon to head home. That thought alone lifted his spirits immensely.

A single plain black luggage bag, too small to justify wheels, was sitting open by the closed and locked door of the dorm. A new outfit was laid out on the stripped-down mattress beside a messenger bag that held the items he did not want in the luggage, and a garment bag for the suit. Without hesitation, Adrian removed the suit, put it in the garment bag, which was then placed in the luggage and closed his luggage. With the suit off, he took a moment to enjoy the feeling of being free, at least in part, from the get-up. It was liberating, in a way, to remove something he loathed.

Shaking himself off mentally after taking that moment of peace, Adrian rapidly replaced the suit with his preferred clothing choices. Jeans, long-sleeved undershirt, watch, hiking boots, and a dark green infantry sweater. He spent a short moment making sure the sweater’s collar was laying properly, both to avoid looking sloppy, and to keep the back of his neck warm. When he was finished, he picked up a single folder from the desk and opened it. Within, there was an unsigned enlistment contract for the United States Army. He spent a long moment looking at the contract, considered signing it for what might have been the hundredth time in the previous three days, then closed the folder and slipped it into the messenger bag. He slung the messenger bag over his shoulder, grabbed his luggage, and left the dorm room, bracing for an uncommonly cool autumn day in New York City. Usually, educational institutions had their major break and/or graduations in the early summer, but for some reason that Adrian had never quite figured out, the Education Institute, as the Jameson Institute for Advanced Education was called colloquially, performed them closer to the end of the summer, right on the cusp of the beginning of autumn. And in New York City, the weather was very quickly going from tolerable, to less so. Already, temperatures at night were flirting with numbers well below freezing, and several unseasonably cold and strong storms had already hit the city over the previous few weeks. All indications were promising a long, cold, and bitter winter for the city of New York.

Beginning to feel more like himself, rather than the mask he had been wearing for months at the Institute with every step he took away from the dorms, Adrian began heading toward the main gate, keeping to the less populated areas of the campus in the hopes of avoiding his classmates, most of whom were still with proud parents or other family members, or on their way to celebrate their graduation. The festive atmosphere was the perfect opportunity for him to leave without having to endure their presence any longer than was necessary.

He spotted a few small groups of people in and around the school’s central courtyard as he cut through the edges of it, the one place where he would have to risk contact to get out and clear. The area he was most likely to be spotted.

He moved carefully, but made certain to look like he was in a hurry, avoided eye contact, and took special care to stay out of the field of view of as many people as he could. He was nearly to the gate when a saccharine sweet voice called out, “Adrian, is that you?” A headache began forming in his skull just from hearing that voice. Jasmine Alderman, the self-styled ruler of the school. Of course, being the headmaster’s daughter on one hand, as well as the daughter of a massive pharmaceuticals company CEO on the other, it was not a stretch to say that she was, in fact, the unspoken ruler of the Institute. The problem was that, until graduating, they’d had multiple classes together over the course of the year, and she had spent much of that time trying to get a bead on Adrian, while he had spent just as much time avoiding the socialite’s attempts to rope him into her circle. He suspected her aim was primarily to get close to him with the intent of cozying up to his congresswoman mother, with the secondary intent likely being an attempt to rope him into a relationship to possibly solidify a deal between her family, their businesses, and his politically ambitious mother. Politics, rather than a genuine interest in him as an individual.

Knowing that he had no other recourse but to grin and bear it, else Jasmine, possibly her family, and then, later, his mother, make an issue of it, he plastered a civil, and fake, smile to his face and turned to greet his ambusher. She was an admittedly gorgeous young woman, with naturally straight auburn hair, refined facial features, and a trim, fit figure that was the result of years of cross country running. His issue with her stemmed from her conniving personality and thirst for power, not her looks.

“Jasmine,” he said politely, grimacing internally, “hello.”

“Where are you heading?” Jasmine asked, looking at his luggage while twirling a strand of her auburn hair around one dainty finger, which was capped by a perfectly manicured nail.

“I’m visiting some family in the Pacific Northwest, then I’ll likely head off to whatever university I end up deciding on,” Adrian decided to give her a bit of misinformation to keep her off his trail. He had no intention of going right into a University. It was most likely going to be Basic Training for him, but he had zero intention of informing her of that little tidbit. He felt it was unlikely she would understand why a person with, he would freely admit, literally every opportunity in the world laid out in front of them would choose nation, service, and sacrifice over power, prestige, and wealth. And it was a conversation he didn’t want to have with her in the first place.

“Really? Do you have any ideas for universities off the top of your head?” she asked in a faux interested tone, even adding the surprised widening of her eyes and a little gasp that she covered with the hand that had been twirling the lock of hair. He’d always wondered, privately, how the class valedictorian managed to pull off a convincing ‘oblivious and ditzy’ act, but she somehow managed it surprisingly well.

“Not really, no,” he answered, maintaining his polite façade, “At least, not yet.”

“Sooo…” she began, “isn’t the Pacific Northwest rather…” she drew the last syllable out, “rural? I’m a little surprised they have flights out that way.”

Adrian nodded at her question, keeping his expression as neutrally polite as possible, “It can be,” he began, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ gesture to force himself to loosen his rapidly tightening muscles, then took a long, quiet breath to calm himself, “But I like it. It’s a chance to get away from the city and the people. Not to mention,” he lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially, “the views are spectacular.”

Jasmine nodded once as she closed her eyes like she was trying to visualize what he was talking about. “I suppose you’re right, I’ve only been there once or twice for skiing trips with my family, so I never got to see many of those views,” she said as she opened her eyes. “I guess my idea to invite you to stay for a few days with me at our estate in Hawaii isn’t going to pan out then?”

He offered a polite smile as he said, “Unfortunately, that is correct. I have a flight to catch. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“That’s a pity,” Jasmine said, “I was hoping to see that impressive physique of yours again,” her eyes grew slightly heated as she stared at his torso. making him more than a little uncomfortable as he recalled that she had given him the same look when she’d stumbled upon him exercising shirtless in the wooded park attached to the campus.

Ever since he’d been enrolled, Adrian had made it a point to physically work himself to near exhaustion almost daily both as a means of blowing off steam, and to keep himself as calm as possible. She had walked in on him during one of those workout sessions. Though, he had a feeling she thought he stayed in shape as a means to look good for those around him, or perhaps to post pictures to one of the too-many-to-remember social media sites that he avoided like an infectious disease. In truth, he did it to keep himself grounded, to not lose sight of who he was and what he wanted while surrounded by snakes wearing human skin.

Keeping his thoughts and emotions from showing on his face, he gave her as polite a smile as he could manage while keeping his inner emotions as hidden as he could, then responded with, “Sorry to disappoint,” while he internally sighed in relief as she turned away, giving a little wave as she did. As she left, he looked around to ensure that there were no other ambushes waiting for him, then walked as quickly as he could without looking eager to the gate, where he hailed.

After placing his luggage in the trunk, he hopped in and asked for JFK International Airport. The traffic was light for a New York weekend, roughly walking speed through the thickest parts of it, so Adrian reached the airport with a good hour to spare before his flight after he checked in his luggage and went through security, which was only getting tighter and more troublesome as the world became less and less stable and threats to the U.S. increased both without and within.

For some reason, though, the guards seemed even more on edge than usual. Body armor was worn with extra magazines for rifles and sidearms attached to it, and weapons were held low, at the ready, and with a purpose that had been lacking in airport security the last time he’d flown. It felt less like a terminal in an international airport, and more like a semi-militarized airport that was expecting an attack. He felt a chill run up his spine at that thought, and began keeping track of his surroundings, recalling many of the lessons he’s learned at the feet of his SEAL uncle about situational awareness. He mentally marked potential threats, means of exit, paths to reach said exits, and locations to hide. Besides the armed guards, nobody stood out to him as an explicit threat, but even so, his sense of foreboding remained.

As he walked through the crowded airport toward his flight terminal, ticket in hand, he passed a booth selling international newspapers and magazines. There was a television showing a major news network sitting on the booth as well, probably for those who didn't care to read. He picked up a bit of what the talking heads were discussing over the clamor of the crowds and the general noise of a busy airport, “Mass disappearances… No pattern… U.N. and various world governments in a state of panic…”

Curious, he made his way through the crowd over to the stand. After a few minutes, he’d managed to catch up on what was going on. A few weeks before, mass disappearances had begun taking place all over the world. As of the most recent and accurate counts, the number of confirmed individuals was somewhere around 10,000. Although the analysts on the show were theorizing that it may have been much higher.

And with world tensions what they were from the energy crisis and gasoline rapidly approaching the $10.00 per gallon mark, an economic war that was ongoing between the U.S., Russia, China, and, to a lesser extent, even the U.N., nobody on the world stage was in a diplomatic mood. There was also the matter of a rapidly shrinking birth rate that none of the ‘experts’ could figure out, and the general state of decay of the balance of power that came from just about every average person on the planet getting very tired of politicians and politics in general. So, when a problem that might affect the world sprung up, naturally everybody was pointing the finger at everybody else rather than trying to figure out what was going on. Classic politics, he mentally sighed in annoyance and resignation.

He moved on, wondering what the cause of the disappearances was. There were only so many possibilities, and none of them seemed to fit the bill. Unless, of course, the conspiracy theorists were right all along, and the little green men were behind it all. He snorted at his own thoughts and pushed them to the back of his mind. Of course, so many missing people was a tragedy, but there was nothing he alone could do about it. And so long as war didn’t break out, things would sort themselves out eventually. Or they should. Maybe. Hopefully. Though, all things being equal, peace most likely would remain, simply because war was costly, and those in power would want to stay in power. Thus, to risk that power with war and the losses that would ensue would not be in the best interest of the establishment. And if there was one thing the established powers were good at, it was the art of self-preservation.

Adrian left the news stand and his rather cynical thoughts behind and continued his path toward his terminal through the crowd. He couldn’t wait to get home to Oregon. New York City might have had its charms, like it’s pizza, a handful of small, unique bookstores, the fact that it was a melting pot of cultures, and the absolute anonymity that came with being just another face in a crowd of millions, but it had been too long since he had last felt comfortable enough to simply relax without the worry of being caught at a disadvantage at a moment’s notice. It would be nice to recharge.

After another few moments of maneuvering through the crowd, he reached his terminal, and took a seat to wait to be boarded, glancing around for anything out of place or potentially threatening. Nothing jumped out at him as he settled into his seat. Perhaps the security’s obvious worry and preparedness for what looked like a full-on firefight was putting him more on edge than he would have liked. Thankfully, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

Across the way from him, a middle-aged gentleman in a fine business suit was rubbing his head, wincing in pain. Nearby, a mother was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to calm her crying child. In another seat away from the other two, a man in a military uniform, a Marine if the insignia and pattern of the camouflage was anything to go by, but missing his right arm from the elbow down, was staring sullenly at his stump. Adrian felt for the man, he had served his country, had been reduced to a cripple, and was facing an uncertain future in the face of those facts. It was a position that none would envy, and one that many veterans had been facing in recent years.

Adrian leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting everything almost fade away. A few moments passed, and he noticed a subtle change. The baby, who had still been wailing just seconds ago, had mysteriously stopped crying.

Opening his eyes, he saw that the older gentleman looked like he was no longer in pain and had even fallen asleep. Intrigued, he turned to see if the phenomena had affected the veteran as well.

Instead of a lonely fighter contemplating his uncertain future alone, he saw a woman in a royal blue dress, somewhere in her mid-to-late-twenties, holding the veteran’s remaining hand, and speaking softly to him. After a few moments, the young but hardened man nodded, a few tears running down his cheeks, a faint smile on his face. The woman kissed him softly on the forehead, then stood and walked away.

Adrian had been so caught up in the situation that he had not even noticed how beautiful the woman was. At that moment, though, he caught the full force of that beauty as she walked toward him.

Her hair was so dark it practically absorbed the light, and yet it still seemed to shine, seeming to fall from her head down to her back. Her eyes were a deep blue that matched her dress, which hugged her figure in such a way that it showed off her curves, yet there was no hint of her trying to be seductive. It was more like it was simply natural beauty that just existed, rather than purposefully trying to grab attention. The thing that he found most interesting, though, was that she seemed to give off an aura of peace and comfort.

That did not, however, keep him from beginning to feel nervous as she approached. He would have been lying if he said he had no experience with the fair sex, but he certainly did not have a lot of it. He could divide his experience with women into three parts, plus one. Platonic, familial, and women like Jasmine Alderman, whom he despised. The plus one had been, in essence, a friend with benefits situation, and covered his only experiences with sex in his life up to that point.

His trepidation only grew as she approached, then took the seat next to him. He caught a whiff of perfume as her hair gently wafted about her. For some reason, the scent made him think of home. A place where he could belong, where he could be himself, where he didn’t feel like an outsider looking in every moment of nearly every day.

He felt a burning in the back of his eyes, and quickly blinked it away. Unfortunately, the woman had apparently seen it, and leaned closer as she asked, “Are you alright?”

Crap, Adrian thought, annoyed with himself for being so obvious that she had noticed. Thinking fast, he ordered his thoughts, forced himself to calm down as much as possible, and responded, “Yes, I’m fine,” his voice had a slight shake to it, so he doubted that he sounded very convincing, and cursed himself for it, “Thank you for asking.”

“It is alright,” she smiled, “you just looked a little… distressed.” Adrian nodded his assent and thanks at her, hiding his surprise at her ability to read others. She leaned back away from him and settled into her seat to wait for the flight to board. Oddly enough, as she did so, his nervousness seemed to fade, if only just the slightest amount. Adrian pushed it from his mind, then pulled his copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War from his messenger bag and began reading the ancient treatise. Around them, he noticed that the mother was gently cradling her child in her arms, softly singing it a lullaby in what sounded like a Gaelic dialect. He picked up enough to hear it was a song of restful sleep and peaceful angels, but the dialect was different enough from the dialect he knew that it was difficult to parse. Meanwhile, the old man was snoozing soundly, and the veteran had wiped his eyes, and looked like he had a new mission to strive for. Whatever your choice, Adrian thought at the newly determined veteran, give ‘em Hell, Devil Dog.

A while later, they were boarded onto the plane and preparing for takeoff. The woman in the blue dress had boarded with the first-class passengers, leaving Adrian and the others in their sets to wait for their turn to board. As the tired-looking flight attendant began the safety speech that never failed to put half of the passengers to sleep, Adrian thought of the family home in Oregon. His family had a house on a large plot of land, with some decent spots for camping in the immediate vicinity on their property, and even more in the publicly owned forests surrounding it. Some of his fondest memories were of training with his uncle and grandfather in those woods, honing himself to a fine, dangerous edge while surrounded by trees and vegetation. Or of playing hunter and hunted with his uncle in the dead of night in and amongst those same trees and underbrush, using every sense and advantage to try to hide from or find the other. Hide and seek for those who sought to own the night.

As he slipped into his memories, the plane took to the air, shaking him from his thoughts as the acceleration of takeoff jostled him. He looked out of the window at the land below, of the city scape that was the metropolis of New York City, bathed in the orange light of sunset. City faded into countryside, countryside faded into farmland, and sunset faded into night. Adrian leaned back into his seat, closed his eyes, and began to fall asleep. Soon. He thought, a hint of impatience in his mind. Soon he would be home.

…

As the young man slept, the woman in a royal blue dress stood from her seat in the first-class area of the flight and stealthily made her way to the empty seat next to him.

For twenty years, Areia had walked the world called Earth. She had been searching for her champions, people who could fight for her or in her name, those who would not bring shame on her or her ideals. And she had hated having to do so, for it would mean tearing people from their families, and having them risk their lives for little more than pride. Some might have been accepting of that, some might have even relished it. She did not.

Slowly, she approached the young man, whom she had been watching for years at that point. She had seen his loneliness. His fears and insecurities. His determination. And she had glimpsed the spark of courage he carried.

She took the seat beside him as quietly as a whisper and looked him over for possibly the thousandth time. He was handsome; well-built but not overly muscled, with a face that fell between rugged and noble. His straight, dark auburn hair was cut to mid length and combed back, while his eyes, had they been open, would have been steel gray. Handsome, to be sure, and none of it carried the artifice she had so quickly grown tired of on Earth.

With a sense of resignation, she used the barest hint of her power to ensure that none would notice what was going on around her, then placed a hand softly over his left forearm and spoke the words that would forever alter his fate. “Here is my champion. Here is my chosen. May my Blessing guide him true, may his soul be strong. Let this mark him as mine.” As though in response to her words, he shifted slightly in his seat, settled into a slightly different position, and returned to sleep.

Slowly, Areia removed her hand from his arm, revealing a small gleaming mark shining through his clothes. It quickly faded, but the effects that it signaled would be permanent.

The incantation and spell she had used had been developed by several of her peers for the exact purpose of letting people from Earth acclimate rapidly to their home. In essence, it marked the bearer as the chosen of a specific deity.

And so, with her task completed, the woman returned to her seat in the first-class cabin with none having noticed her absence in the first place.

…

The plane landed late at night, but even so, PDX, like most major airports the world over, was still busy. After disembarking, Adrian retrieved his luggage at the baggage claim, a glimmer of excitement stirring in his chest.

Oregon. He was home. Or as home as he could be.

“Well, well, look who washed up,” a voice said from behind him.

A smile broke over Adrian’s face as he turned around, “Uncle James.” The man he saw was the same as the last time he’d seen him in person, almost a year prior. Tall, broad, and dark-haired, he gave off an air of calm assuredness, as if he knew that no matter what happened, he would come out of it just fine.

“It’s good to see you Adrian,” James said as he pulled his nephew into a masculine hug ad slapping his back.

“You too,” Adrian returned.

They disengaged, and James began walking away, beckoning Adrian to follow. “So,” he said conversationally, “how’ve things been?”

“Things have been fine, uncle. No problems.” Adrian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Really?” James raised an eyebrow at his nephew’s answer, clearly doubtful.

Adrian sighed as he said, “Nothing new, just more of the same.”

James simply nodded, apparently deciding to let Adrian have his space and time.

Not another word was spoken until they were on the road, and even then, Adrian was reluctant to speak of his emotions. “…I am tired, Uncle.” Adrian said, sounding several years older than he was. “I am just… tired.” His voice trailed off at the end, as though he was having trouble articulating the thoughts in his head.

James had heard the emotion in his nephew’s voice and couldn’t help but grip the wheel tighter. Adrian usually gave off an air of indifference, a defensive mechanism he’d built up over years to hide the fact that he could be quite sensitive to those he cared for. Combined with his mother’s constant demands for him, attempting to turn him into a piece in her political career, and Adrian’s knowledge of the fact, and it was obvious that the young man was very quickly approaching his breaking point. If James was being perfectly honest with himself, he was rather impressed that it had taken so long for Adrian to reach that point.

“It’s fine,” Adrian said, seeing the subtle change in his uncle’s mood at his words, and quickly added, “I’ll figure things out.”

“Maybe,” James answered, “But just know that if you ever need to talk, we’re there for you.”

Adrian smiled slightly, and said, “Thank you, I know.” As the Portland nightscape faded into the Oregon countryside, the two of them, one in his mid-forties, the other a young man of 18, fell into a semi-comfortable silence.

“How’s grandpa been?” Adrian asked after a time.

“Good,” James answered, “He would have come himself, but he had to finish grading some papers tonight and couldn’t come.” Adrian smirked at the thought of his grandfather leaning over a computer, slaving away at the keys. The man was a scholar to the core. He would sometimes stay up for days at a time as he worked on a paper, or on grading reports by his students. He was a history professor at a prestigious university, with a PhD in World History and Mythology. In his own words, a workaholic nerd.

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“And what about Grandma?” Adrian followed up.

“She was called to a new dig site in China. Apparently, there’s a new tomb that was found, and they wanted her expertise,” James answered.

“She never could resist the lure of a good mystery,” Adrian chuckled. He smiled as he thought of his grandmother, Melanie MacAllen, a highly respected member of the archeological and anthropological communities. It was no surprise that she was away on a dig, as she was just as passionate about her job as her husband was for his.

The remainder of the ride was spent in companionable silence, the two relatives focusing on different things in their own minds, and little more to be said that would be worthwhile. So, rather than force a conversation, they simply let it lie, content with the situation. A while later, they arrived at the MacAllen land, Wolf Pack Estate.

James drove through the automatic gate after it opened and over the paved driveway flanked by trees toward the massive house, mansion, really, that rested on the top of a hill that overlooked the majority of the property. Another minute, and James had pulled them into the attached garage. “Dad is probably in his study if you want to see him,” James said as they exited the sporty two-seater.

“Thanks, uncle. It’s been a while, so I think I will,” Adrian said as he pulled his luggage out of the trunk. Before he left the garage, he asked James, “You going to stick around for a few days?”

James smirked as he replied, “Of course. Your Aunt Janet’s off on a business trip, so I took a few weeks off myself to recharge the old batteries. You’ll be seeing plenty of me for a few days, at least.”

“I’m glad to hear that, uncle. I’ve missed you all,” Adrian said as they left the garage.

“I know, kid,” James said as they walked through the large kitchen/informal dining room, then separated in the main hall, where James turned toward the main staircase that led to the second floor and the guest rooms. “Have a good night, Adrian,” he said as they separated.

“Goodnight, Uncle James,” Adrian replied as he looked around at the darkened surroundings. In the daytime, it would have been a tastefully decorated room with dark wood paneling on the walls and ceiling but right now, it was just a large dark space. He passed the staircase in the middle of the room that James had just climbed up, heading for his grandfather’s study.

He passed framed photos of days he’d spent with his uncle, his grandfather, and the rest of his extended family. Camping trips, hiking trips, training trips. Happy memories, and events that had taught him survival, tactics, and martial arts. Times that had helped to form him into the person he was.

As he got closer to the study, he began to pass paintings of historic battles, mythological beasts, and illustrations of sword fighting techniques from historic manuals. At the end of the hall, the door to the study was slightly open, light streaming through the crack.

The sound of computer keys tapping away echoed through the door, followed by a brief ruffling of paper, and more typing. Yep, Adrian thought as a grin grew on his face, Gramps is working, alright. He opened the door, revealing a well-lit wood-paneled room, with bookcases covering the walls to either side of the door, and a window behind the large desk, which, aside from the computer, was covered with papers, several open books, and a mug of what Adrian assumed was the latest in an army of cups of cold coffee that had been marched to the desk while still hot and fresh, drunk partially, forgotten as the drinker got further into his work, then dumped and replaced in the never-ending battle to keep the desk’s occupant awake enough to do his job further.

Thomas MacAllen looked up from his computer, the light from his computer screen glaring off the lenses of his glasses. He looked older than Adrian had expected, the lines in his face etched more deeply than the last time he’d seen him, and the silver that had been like a highlight at his temples had become a full lacing of light color through the whole of his dark head of hair. The fact that his grandfather was rapidly aging made Adrian regret his recent absence, unwilling though it had been, and gave him a determination to spend as much time as was reasonably possible with his family, while he still had one.

Across from Adrian, a smile spread over Thomas MacAllen’s face as he saw his grandson. “Adrian! You’re back!”

Adrian set his luggage down by the door and cracked a smile of his own, keeping his thoughts about age and losing time in the back of his mind. “Yeah, I’m home.” Thomas got up and headed toward Adrian, who had begun moving toward the desk after placing his luggage near the door. They briefly hugged, Thomas’s solid form, still unbowed by age, was a testament to the fact that, despite being closer to seventy than sixty, the older MacAllen was still in impressive shape. Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised Adrian. Thomas MacAllen swung historical swords around for a hobby and semi-professionally in a few small Historical European Martial Arts tournaments.

“How have you been, kiddo?” Thomas asked as they disengaged from the hug, Thomas returning to his seat behind the desk and Adrian taking one of the seats set before it.

“Well, I finally graduated,” Adrian replied half-heartedly, “so, that’s something.”

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in doubt and said, “Kid, out with it. You’re going to need to speak up eventually, you know that, right?”

Adrian sighed, then looked his grandfather in the eye as he said, “I do, grandpa, don’t worry about that. It’s more like I’m trying to brace myself for what I fear I am going to need to do.”

Thomas spent a long, silent moment contemplating his words before he said, “Well, so long as you know, we can set it aside for now.”

“Thanks, grandpa,” Adrian said, his relief evident in his tone.

Thomas then grinned as he said, “All that aside, though, it’s good to have you back, my favorite sparring partner.”

Adrian grinned in return to his grandfather’s words. From a young age, he had been fascinated by martial arts and sword fighting and had learned everything he could about both from his grandfather Thomas and his uncle James. The grandfather-grandson duo had a running competition on trying to best the other which had stayed largely even over the years. Impressive, considering his grandfather was recognized as a blade master in the Historic European Martial Arts community. “I can’t wait,” Adrian said, grinning wolfishly at the thought of sparring with his grandfather again for the first time in a very long time.

Sparring and training were a few of his favorite pastimes while he was home. And while the study and use of Historical European Martial Arts had certainly experienced a small rebirth in the last few decades, it was still an extremely niche hobby in the modern era. As a result, Adrian had few opportunities to test his skills in the old art of swordcraft. Besides that, it served the additional role of being an excellent means of venting his frustrations in such a way that wasn’t potentially self-destructive.

At that moment, the clock in the corner of the study struck 1am. “How about tomorrow, though? It’s late, and I can tell that you’re tired as well.” Thomas said, glancing at the pile of paper on his desk.

“It’s a deal.” Adrian said, “Tomorrow. Sleep well, grandpa.”

“You as well.”

Adrian left his grandfather’s study with his luggage in tow and reached the main hall again, climbed the staircase to the second floor, then headed for his room.

His room in the MacAllen mansion was luxurious in comparison to his dorm in New York, and though the material feeling was superior and welcome, the sense of belonging he felt at the sight was an order of magnitude more welcome. It could have been broom closet, for all he cared, it was the fact that it was in a place he belonged that mattered. Aside from the fact that it had clearly been cleaned while he was gone, otherwise everything would have been covered in a thin layer of dust, the whole place was just as he’d left it. A full-size bed sat against the center of the wall opposite the door. On the wall to the right of the bed were two doors. One led to a closet, the other a bathroom. On the wall opposite the doors there was a large window with a desk beneath it that looked out onto the grounds. Beside the desk were a pair of bookcases stacked with books of various subjects and authors, organized by genre, then by alphabetical order of the title. One bookshelf was dedicated to titles like the memoir of Ulysses S. Grant, Carl von Clausewitz’s On War, Miyamoto Musashi’s The Five Rings, Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince, a copy of The Federalist Papers, and other similar titles. The second bookshelf was dedicated to lighter reading, there were even several series of manga and light novels, one of Adrian’s few guilty pleasures that did not involve ancient military history, martial arts, swords, or wilderness survival and/or navigation.

He flipped the light switch, revealing the dark blue and silver color scheme of the room’s walls and furniture. He put his luggage in the closet, undressed, then turned out the light and climbed into bed, staring at the darkness of the ceiling as he contemplated the still-unsigned enlistment contract in the folder in his messenger bag, and the possibilities therein. He’d be lying if the thought of enlistment wasn’t at least intimidating. Never mind the possibility of injury or death in the line of duty, though neither was overwhelmingly great for him. No, what scared him the most was the fact that signing on the dotted line and turning it over to a recruiter was final. After that, he would belong to the United States government for at least four years. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would accomplish nothing by allowing his fear to fuel his decisions, but neither was moving too hastily. He decided to think it over for another few days before he made the final decision and prepared for bed. Oddly enough, even though he’d slept on the plane and had more than enough on his mind to keep him awake, he was still tired, and soon fell asleep.

…

Adrian awoke early the next morning feeling mentally fresh, but stiff in the body. Must be from sleeping while sitting on the plane, he thought as he rolled his shoulders and neck. A glance at the clock showed it was 6 in the morning. Assuming his grandfather had stayed up a bit later than he had, and would likely sleep later as well, Adrian rose and dressed for his morning exercise.

He walked out of the quiet mansion into the chilly early-morning air. He took a deep breath, then did his stretches, followed by a series of calisthenics to loosen up his body. He’d save the heavier exercise for after the run, everything else was a warm-up.

After he’d loosened up, he set off down the long gravel driveway at a brisk pace. The grounds were obscured by a thin veil of fog, more of a mist than true fog, and the horizon was just beginning to lighten with the coming dawn, gradually turning into a lighter gray than the darkness of true night.

When he reached the gate to the estate, he turned left, following the iron fencing that enclosed the estate. The grounds were well maintained near the house but left largely alone when it transitioned from lawn into woodland, and as a result, near the house, there was no overly long grass or brush to worry about.

After several minutes, he passed the one-mile marker, an old oak tree that grew near the fence, and picked up the pace from a jog into a run. When he reached the tree line the demarcated where the lawn ended and the more rugged part of the property began, the turned and followed the tree line around the property, a three-mile round trip from the driveway and back around. He repeated the route a second time at a slower pace to cool down his muscles, then stopped in the driveway after he second lap, breathing deeply of the cool morning air to reduce his heartrate.

He stretched again to avoid sore muscles, then headed toward the gym/dojo combination, an outbuilding placed lower down on the hill the mansion rested on and built directly into the side of the hill that the house sat on.

He reached the door to the building and punched his entry code into the electronic keypad to unlock it. The deadbolt slid away with a heavy metallic thunk that might have been intimidating if he hadn’t been used to it, and quietly opened the door and stepped into the dark room before turning the lights on. He then took a deep breath of the air and felt a bit of his worries and stress slip away with the exhale. The place was, in so many ways, his sanctuary. It was where he had first begun to learn swordplay, martial arts, and how much he enjoyed both. He felt like a piece of himself that had been long buried had finally returned to its rightful place as he took a second deep breath in.

After the rush of nostalgia, he turned on the lights, revealing the dojo’s modern interior. The floor was rubber matting for absorbing impact shock, and there were no roof supports or other obstacles to impede those who would use it. It was essentially an empty, open room. At the very back of the room, his grandfather’s prized possessions, a matched pair of custom-forged katana and wakizashi that sat on a stand in a glass case.

Adrian shook off his sense of wonder at the pieces of blacksmithing mastery and moved to a door set to the side of the display, locked with another keypad. Again, Adrian punched in a code, and the door opened, revealing a veritable armory of blades and sparring pads. Wood swords, steel swords, short swords, great swords, rapiers, sabers, Eastern and Western designs. All were represented. Most were edgeless sparring blades, but there were enough authentic, edged weapons that were meant to be used for cutting practice and upkeep lessons to be a security and safety risk, hence the room being treated like an arsenal. A separate section of the storeroom acted as storage for padded armor suits for sparring. Adrian eschewed the suits for the time, since he had no one to spar with, pulled a series of edgeless steel sparring blades from their racks, and left the room.

He placed each of the blades he’d taken from the armory, ranging from one-handed arming swords and sabers to two-handed war swords, and several styles in between, against one wall, then grabbed an Italian side sword, something of a mid-point in design between longswords and rapiers, and walked into the center of the dojo. He took a series of deep breaths, took up a ready stance, and began running through the various forms for that particular blade design and style he’d learned from his grandfather.

He ran through the forms slowly at first, focused more on accuracy and posture than anything else, but he gradually moved into the forms with increased speed and ferocity, his worries slowly began to disappear as he pushed himself and refamiliarized himself with the art of the sword. He practiced the forms and footwork for each blade twice, slowly to begin, then faster, taking care to ensure that he didn’t allow his form to get sloppy even as fatigue and the different weights of the weapons he was training began to wear him down.

By the time he’d finished running through the forms of each of the blades he’d grabbed to his satisfaction, he’d worked up quite a sweat, and his breath was coming far heavier than it had been even during his earlier run. Adrian took a few moments to steady his heart rate, rest his muscles, and again think over his options for his future while he waited for his body to return to its default.

After a time, Adrian heard the door click open, and opened his eyes to see his grandfather approaching. “Morning. Been up long?” his grandfather asked jovially, already in his own workout clothes.

“Morning back,” Adrian replied, “And no, not really. You?” An instant after his question, Adrian’s stomach decided to protest the lack of food to that point of the morning. For several seconds after that, neither of them moved.

Until Thomas chuckled and asked, “Hungry?” in a teasing tone.

Adrian fought down his embarrassment and said, “It can wait until later,” in as even a tone as he could manage.

Thomas smirked at Adrian’s answer, then nodded, “Very well. Let’s get our gear on and get started.”

Adrian stood from his meditative crouch, then re-entered the armory and donned the padded armor they wore to prevent injuries during sparring. Though practice and training blades did not have an edge, they could still do significant damage to an unprotected target. It would just be blunt trauma, rather than lacerations and puncture wounds.

When both were properly outfitted, they returned to the dojo’s main room. Thomas swung his longsword experimentally a few times, then asked, “Forms, or freestyle?”

“Freestyle,” Adrian answered as he took up a ready stance and nodded his head toward the line of swords leaning against the wall to their side. “I already reviewed the forms.” Thomas smirked at Adrian’s words as he took up his own ready stance.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. Then, at the same instant, both dashed toward each other. Thomas raised his sword high; Adrian came in low, moving to deflect the blow.

Steel struck steel, filling the dojo with the sharp metallic crash of metal hitting metal.

Adrian deflected Thomas’ opening strike with a perfect parry to the side, moving Thomas’ sword aside, then following up with a quick retaliatory slash of his own, intending to finish the match quickly. However, Thomas slid out of the way with a quick grace that belied his age and countered with a two-handed thrust at Adrian’s chest, forcing the younger man onto the defensive.

After nearly ten minutes of their back and forth, swapping between defense and offense effortlessly and neither getting more than minor taps against each other, they both disengaged and created some distance between them. They began to circle each other around the center of the room. Adrian was breathing heavily beneath his helmet. He was getting worn down, and he could tell his grandfather was feeling fatigued as well by the movement of his shoulders as the older man took deep, even breaths across from him. His grandfather was in better shape than some professional athletes several decades his junior, but he was closer to seventy than sixty, and the human body did have its limits.

The problem wasn’t his grandfather’s age though, it was that he had years more experience over Adrian, and the fact that he’d taught him almost everything he knew about sword fighting. It was almost like Adrian was fighting an older version of himself, as far as fighting styles went.

…

Opposite Adrian, Thomas was indeed feeling his years catching up with him, though not because he’d lost his edge. His competitive streak refused to let him lose to his pupil and grandson. Thomas had suspected for years, since he had first started teaching Adrian swordsmanship, that his grandson was no ordinary talent with the blade. Thomas’ sensei had once spoken to him about people like Adrian. The words he’d used translated roughly to ‘sword saint,’ or ‘sword dancer,’ depending on how they translated the word and the kanji that the word used.

At the time, Thomas hadn’t truly understood what his sensei had meant, but over the years, as he’d taught Adrian, he’d come to understand that it meant a person so naturally gifted with a blade that it was almost supernatural. Like sword and man were joined on a level that others could barely comprehend.

He doubted Adrian was aware of that fact, though, as he’d never mentioned it to the boy. Pride and hubris could be a poison to those who possessed it, and he did not want to see his grandson become someone who believed that his talent made him superior. He had already made that mistake with Adrian’s mother. Never again.

It had been a bittersweet feeling for Thomas, who had practically raised Adrian alongside his wife as their own son, realizing just how gifted his grandson truly was. But that didn’t men he would ever give Adrian an easy spar. He would make Adrian work like nothing else for victory.

Thomas adjusted his grip on his two-handed longsword as he returned from his ruminations, and saw Adrian prepare for an attack with his broadsword. Thomas had the advantage in length and leverage with a four-foot blade, but Adrian had the speed advantage with his superior athleticism. It would be close.

With an impressive burst of speed, the two closed the distance. Thomas feinted a horizontal swipe at the abdomen, planning on using Adrian’s deflection as an opportunity to counter.

Adrian did deflect, sending their blades up and over their heads, and as Thomas was getting into position for his counter, Adrian’s left knee flashed up, nailing him in the chest, and knocking him off balance. He felt the wind leave his lungs as he reeled from the strike.

The entire session, Adrian’s feet had been used solely for footwork, never even making a hint of being used for offense. Adrian had lured him into thinking he’d react a certain way by using a weapons-first style for most of the session, then switched styles on the fly to a weapon/martial-arts style to suit the situation.

Thomas stumbled backwards from the unexpected blow, trying to regain his breath and balance. While Thomas reeled, Adrian pressed the advantage, moving in to deliver a blow to Thomas’ chest padding, which would signal a ‘lethal’ blow.

In desperation, Thomas raised his own blade in an attempt to strike Adrian first. He felt Adrian’s blade connect with his chest armor an instant before his own blade struck the side of Adrian’s helmet. A draw.

That was followed by them both collapsing into a tangled mess on the ground. After a few moments of grunting in pain, followed by good natured laughter, they managed to disentangle themselves and sat facing each other on the mats.

Adrian pulled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow and eyes, a grin of satisfaction on his face. Thomas, who had also removed his helmet, managed to gasp out, “Well… done.”

“Thanks,” Adrian replied, equally out of breath. Just then, his stomach again decided to protest its emptiness, louder and more persistently than the previous time.

Thomas grinned at his grandson’s embarrassed face and stood, saying, “Come on, let’s get this gear off and cleaned, then grab some breakfast.”

Adrian stood as well, still visibly embarrassed, and answered, “Sounds good.”

…

An hour later, Adrian was showered, dressed, and heading for the dining room, still on cloud nine from his sparring match with his grandfather.

He had tried switching his style on his grandfather a handful of times before over the years, but he’d never been successful. So, over the course of the previous few years, during any spare time he had, he’d relentlessly drilled not just his sword forms, but the various martial arts he knew as well, then used a purely sword-focused style against his grandfather until he saw a good opportunity to strike.

Then again, he had been training the sword for years, it probably would have been more unusual if he hadn’t learned a few things in that amount of time. Adrian lost himself in his thoughts as he walked down the halls of the mansion that he knew like the back of his own hand.

He was so absorbed in his considerations that he didn’t pay attention as he turned the corner to the main staircase and ran smack into something. He reeled from the unexpected impact, and wondered who the idiot was who had installed a pillar in the middle of the hallway.

When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t a pillar he’d run into, but rather a woman, his own age, attractive, and dressed like a fashion model. “Hannah?” he asked in shock. Hannah was his Uncle James’ youngest child, and the only one who was close to his own age. In fact, they were more like siblings than cousins. He hadn’t seen her in almost two years, as both had been busy with school or something else, so it came as no surprise that she looked different than he remembered.

“Adrian, how’ve you been?” she asked when she saw him, pulling him into a familial embrace.

Adrian smiled slightly to himself as he returned her hug, thinking how much he’d missed her. “I’ve been fine. What about you, though? I thought you didn’t like dressing up like a doll?” he asked as he disengaged from her hug and giving her attire a quick once-over.

True to his description, Hannah was wearing her luxurious dark brown hair down, letting the slight curls fall to her mid-back, and a dark green dress that he was pretty sure belonged to the Chanel brand. But there was no denying that she looked good. “I almost feel sorry for Uncle James. He’s probably having to chase off your admirers with a full tactical team.”

She laughed at Adrian’s question, then tossed her hair in a clearly exaggerated manner as she said in a faux-superior tone, “Please. Dolls wish they were like me.” They both laughed at her antics, and she spoke again in her normal voice, “But, besides that, aren’t you aware that it’s rude to ask a lady about her romantic admirers? How’d you feel if I did the same to you?”

Adrian felt a twinge of loneliness at the mention of a girlfriend. He knew that it was meant to be a tease, and he pushed the feeling down before it could manifest on his face. Then, with a wolfish grin, he responded to Hannah, “Oh, I’m aware, it’s rude to ask about a person’s romantic escapades. But you are family, so that rule doesn’t apply in either direction. Only families can get into each other’s business like that.”

“Oh, so that’s how you wanna go, huh?” Hannah laughed, a mischievous gleam in her eye. She smacked his shoulder as they began walking down the hall. The two had a lot to catch up on.

…

Thomas was sitting in his study, fresh from the shower, a plate of eggs and bacon with a side salad and a mug of coffee sitting before him, massaging a sore shoulder that simply wouldn’t loosen up after the sparring match. I’m getting old, he thought more than a little ruefully, When the Hell did that happen? Another few minutes of working the sore muscle got it to loosen up enough to no longer be an issue, and Thomas sat back in his chair as he took a bite of the salad and considered when exactly his body had begun to give in to its battle against time.

He was interrupted from his ruminations by a knock on the open door of the study, where James stood, leaning against the doorway. “One of these days, dad, you're going to push yourself too hard. You need to start at least considering slowing down.”

Thomas gave his son a hard look, “I might do so, when you do the same. You’re just a few decades behind me, remember.”

James smiled sardonically as he took a seat across from his father, “Touche, dad. But at least I have the excuse of my job. I’m basically a government-employed mercenary. You’re a professor at a university.”

Thomas sighed as he saw where the conversation was going. It was an argument they’d been having off and on for a few years. After he’d had a rather bad car accident five years prior, James had become somewhat overprotective of him. It was both flattering to know his son still cared enough to feel overprotective and stifling at the same time. “Let’s drop it here, son, alright? We’re both too stubborn to convince the other, and it isn’t going to get us anywhere either.”

James grumbled his agreement, but it was clear to Thomas that his son was far from done with trying to get him to slow down. Cross that bridge when you get to it, he thought in resignation.

“Putting that aside, then,” James began, “I saw a good bit of that spar you had. Adrian seems to be getting better every time he comes home.”

Thomas nodded his agreement, “True. He probably finds some way to train even when he isn’t around us.”

James sighed in frustration and remorse as he said, “Yeah, it’s just too bad he had to spend the last two years globe hopping at Stephanie’s order.”

Thomas sighed in turn, but while James’ had been mixed, Thomas’ sigh was almost exclusively a sigh of resignation at the coming discussion/argument, “James, you know I’ve asked you to stop questioning every action your sister makes regarding her son.”

“Maybe I would if she started acting like a mother for once,” James retorted, “They’ve seen each other… what, a few dozen times since Adrian was a kid? We’ve practically raised him together. She wasn’t there for anything.”

“She’s a politician, James. She wanted to keep him as far out of the spotlight as she could,” Thomas pointed out calmly, trying to get James to calm down marginally.

“And yet she parades him to every dignitary, businessman, and political ally she has in her pocket,” James said heatedly.

“Have you considered that maybe she wants to ensure her son has options as he moves forward in life?” Thomas threw back, his temper rising ever so slightly despite his best efforts to keep it under control and prevent the argument from escalating further.

James gave his father a surprised look at the new retort, then slowly asked, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Thomas spent a split-second contemplating before he let out a sigh that very well may have come from his bones, “No, I don’t,” he sighed, “Though I sometimes wish I did.”

James sighed and nodded in commiseration, “Yeah, it certainly isn’t easy thinking about your own blood like that.”

“I sometimes wonder if I went wrong somewhere when you two were kids for her to end up the way she is,” Thomas said, suddenly wishing the mug of coffee he was sipping from had something stronger in it.

“It would be nice to be able to point at one specific moment and say, ‘That was when she stopped being the sister I knew,’” James agreed, running a hand down his face as he did, “But I don’t think there was. It was always there, I think. Remember when she accused that maid of stealing mom’s favorite necklace, only for us to find it in her room a few weeks later?”

Thomas nodded, thinking back on his daughter’s childhood. “Yes. Or when she was in High School and accused that teacher and three students of harassment?”

James winced at the memory. Stephanie had convinced the entire student body and the board of education for their district that a teacher and a trio of students she didn’t care for had been harassing her and her own group of friends for months. In the end, the students and their families left for a different district. In another state. And the teacher had been fired outright. The worst part had been that rumors of the teacher’s innocence had persisted until graduation. But no evidence of innocence had ever been found. “Yeah, I do remember that one.” James said.

The worst part, in Thomas’ opinion wasn’t knowing his child was without morals or mercy. It was knowing that even if he tried to tell someone and reduce her political power, nobody would believe him. “At least we only have to get through this visit, and then we’ll most likely not have to deal with her again. I doubt Adrian will do what she wants this time,” James said, thinking back on his nephew’s words the night prior.

“We can only hope, son,” Thomas replied, suddenly no longer hungry.