“Uh? Aaah!” Ansem woke up cold sweats drippling down his face. “W-where am I?” gasped for air, as if he had escaped—or rather been dragged out— from a deep deep dream.

He had left the luxury of his reception room, the fresh night air ruffing up his distinguished nose. The trees around him were so tall that he could barely see the sky, the darkness that surrounded him seeping into his skin instilling him with fear, the buzzes of the wildlife, and their sting.

“I have to return.”

He said recovering unusually quickly from the shock. A prince must be strong, a prince must be stoic he repeated in his mind like a mantra; a thing that had been drilled into his bones since birth.

What had happened? No way to know… Getting spirited away was not exactly a common occurence in Azthros.

“Solana, please wait for me,” he said like a prayer.

Ropes bind him to a tree, which would have had him worried if he hadn’t smelled swine meat roasting nearby. He chuckled.

“So, I have been kidnapped…”

“It must be Netros then,” he said falling into deep thought. Did they have that kind of magic?

He looked around, he didn’t hear any nearby voices and as he looked around sending electricity coursing through his eyes, he couldn’t really see anything off.

“They were more powerful than we thought.”

He gritted his teeth, already starting to think about how he’d make them pay and how he’d punish the informants who had failed at their job. Just wait... He exerted himself as silently as he could, he hadn’t seen nor heard anything, but he couldn’t rule out them being nearby, cloaked somehow. His abilities were not exactly geared towards discretion, the crackle in the air and the shine of lightning not something he could hide. So he’d refrain to use them if possible during his escape, he pumped his muscles and tried to force the ropes of him, or maybe breaking them, something.

But as he tried, commanding as much of his silent strength as he could, he found himself hitting a wall. It hasn’t broken off yet, did they enchant it?

Well, there’s no way around it then… Air rushed toward his nostril, as he opened his chest. As that happened his, the air turned into a storm coursing through his blood; his skin glistened with a yellowish sheen as a distinct crackle resounded. He gritted his teeth, a vein popping on his forehead.

He exhaled a gust.

Snap.

He panted.

This feat had taken much more energy than he had anticipated. He looked at the rope which was lying on the ground, he looked at it briefly, making his heart accelerate. There was no trace of enchanting… Where did they get such a rope from? Did they use a doralan’s hair… No.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

He shook his head, looking towards the fire.

If they had I would still be there.

Had the Netros empire been hiding their hand to such an extent, rope was not the scary thing, if even their rope was strong enough to bind an art and magic user—unenchanted—what was to be said of their weapons. He looked around him and ran away from the roasting meat, he had been educated in the science of astronomy, and meteorology, even though he had no idea where he currently was, for sure he could locate himself. As long as he could see the sky, that was.

He ran, and ran. Since it was night, he was forced to use a minimal amount of electricity to see where he was. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified. He was an high prince of Azthros, raised to be strong, wise and command—a country that is. Fighting was not foreign to him, he had learned swordmanship and his best friend had became a royal guard. Still, his life had never really been at risk. It was taking all he had to not yell, or activate his powers signaling to all the wildlife and his kidnappers where he was. And more than that, where the hell was he?

He shoved that thought aside, only focusing on running away.

It took a while for him to reach a clairiere. “Goodness…” He crouched to a nearby tree, puking behind it. He wiped his mouth using the sleeve of his right hand—the side without emblem—and ripped the tarnished piece away. His breath was raggedy and his head light.

“When… I get back… I’ll need special training.”

He trudged forward, he was lost and tired, but still forward he went.

“Uh?” he paced the clairiere trying to find a spot where he observe the sky. As he looked however, no constellations he could recognize.

No matter, the moons, if I can find the—

The moons? What was up with the moons… Rather, where where they? As he looked at the night sky, instead of the three sister goddesses, hung in their place was a massive donut, that oscillated right to left, then left to right, dangling.

“Goodness…” he said losing the semblance of composure he had managed to maintain. Where was he? He smiled. A nervous smile.

This was a dream, it had to be… but he had just woke up. And this air, its prickling on his skin, the brilliance of the night sky and the crackling of the electricity now coursing through his body, through his hair now standing up like a scared cat’s.

None of this was fake.

He exploded forward in a desperate run. He didn’t yell, his Stormbringer blood too dignified for that; calmness, however he had thrown to the rats.

Oh Brilliance, where am I?

He said running with more strength than he ever thought possible. He didn’t know how long he ran, but after a bit, he saw from afar a city. Even from where he was he could see, all the buildings seemed about to collapse—to a point it was odd they were even standing.

He saw silhouettes of people walking and moving, and lights in buildings, he wasn’t worried about whether he’d be able to communicate with the inhabitants, from youth he had been made to learn multiple languages, among which Azthlan, the imperial language as well, as Suklavian, Solgian, Olmekian, and Neths. He had cursed his father back then, but maybe it would turn out useful.

As he stepped out the forest, and accelerated towards the city, a tree moved into his way.

Bam, he smashed into it.

Pain, pain, paralysing pain! At such a high speed colliding anything would be really painful. He fell to the ground on his imperial bottom, and looked looked in front him.

A tree? Oh… how wrong he was.

What he had thought to be a tree, turned, a colossus at least four meters tall, with four arms. In its front-right one an hammer big enough to blow away a bear’s head, and in its front-left, a gigantic horn-like mace. In the night, the features of its face were hard to see; but even in the darkness, Ansem saw. Its glistening yellow eyes trained on him, and white glistening tusks, smoking.

“Oh, are you a new climber?” the giant asked.

Ansem couldn’t answer, he had fainted, foam at the mouth.