He awoke violently, eyes blind in the obsidian room.

The young boy blinked, hoping to adjust his eyes to the darkness to no avail. He panted quickly; seeing anything was the least of his worries right now. The pain was everywhere, creeping along his neck and arms and his knees, but he couldn't even feel his hands or feet past that. His body was sore, and the warm wetness of his own blood trickled from the cuts that encircled his forearms. Eyes blazing, his mind struggled to figure out what had happened, where he was... anything.

He made the mistake of trying to lift his head. Spears of fire sprang down his neck, punishing him. He shuddered, coughing blood and giving a ragged sigh that was lined with a slight sob. He waited a few minutes to rest before risking a timid twitch of his limbs. He was bound, spread-eagle, and his arms were raised above his head, collared in some sort of rigid metal band on his wrists. His legs were in a similar trap, but not held as tightly. He spat out a clot of dried blood from his bottom lip.

A vague outline drew itself across his vision: It was a walkway like the kind used in the Dawn Age—the kind that only required a glyph be drawn to form a solid path through empty space. The rings of light burned his eyes, and he reluctantly gave in and shut them again. A softer glow came from behind him, and he felt the gentle touch of a much smoother material than was fastened around his wrists. More Dawn Age fontech—no modern metal was that light. He let his back lean against it, testing it to make sure it wasn't resting on any open wounds. It seemed fine...

Slowly, so as not to rush things and hurt himself, he inhaled deeply, exhaling again with the same easy motion. Mentally, he prodded the atmosphere, searching for Seventh Fonons. There seemed to be an abundance here, and that alone was enough to bring a half-smile to his face, despite the pain. The Seventh Fonons were flowing, a river of molecular substance, toward him. Then he realized they were clustering near whatever it was that was behind him, as they sailed right past. He didn't mind, and extracted his fill anyway. He healed himself carefully, very carefully, so as not to do anything rash. He couldn't risk any further exhaustion, even if that meant he could rid himself of this terrible pain.

He tried to figure out how he got here... Straining, he flinched as the memories returned in a rush. He was on Hod. Hod was a battlefield—the invading Kimlascan army hadn't let up yet. Things had been going horribly for them. The enemies were far too ruthless and bloodthirsty for their own good. Then why was he here? With a startling realization, the boy began to panic, thinking that surely he'd been captured. They would torture him for information, or, worse yet, for the fun of it, and he didn't want either to happen, even if the pain went away... No, he mustn't think like that—he must survive, he must help them fight. He must protect Gailardia!--

A figure appeared, soundless on the glyph, and he jerked his head up when he sensed the approach. Wincing, he let it fall again, and the man stepped closer to him, speaking in a terrifyingly sleek voice.

"Are you quite ready now, Fende?"

He only grunted in response; clearly this man was the one who was responsible for the capture, the pain...

"We haven't all day, you know," The man deftly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as if he expected the boy to stand and follow him.

"What do you...want with me?..." he uttered with as much clarity as his condition would allow.

"Oh, nothing much," the man chuckled affably, yet with a hint of evil in his voice. "We just need you to help us for a bit, that's all."

"Tell me!..." The young Fende lurched forward, arms and legs still tied behind him.

"You father requested that I deliver a message to you. He begs that you help us... As you can see, I am of the Malkuth Imperial Forces," He motioned to his shredded uniform, which was crimson-streaked and tattered from the fighting, but very much that of Malkuths'. "I mean you no harm... for now, at least."

The boy was still wary, but he was in no position to force the man against telling him or much else, for that matter. "At least tell me your name."

"Colonel Jade Curtiss, Commander of the Third Division, Malkuth Imperial Forces," He pronounced swiftly. He couldn't have been a day over twenty, and he was all ready at such a rank... Fende wisely decided to obey Jade, seeing that he could gain nothing from putting up a fight.

"Now, are you ready yet?" Jade pressed again, a devilish grin spanning his features.

"Where are you taking me? And what did Father have to tell me?!"

"He wanted you to know the meaning of your name... I suppose he never told you, did he?"

"No..."

"It's Ancient Ispanian for 'one who would seize glory': Vandesdelca. He wished to convey that it is of utmost importance that you aid us in eliminating the Kimlascan army."

"How can I do that?" Vandesdelca's heart raced, the healing spells having taken effect. The antagonizing pain had receded, but this was more important than any of his discomfort—could he really wipe out the enemy?

"Actually the only reason I brought up your name was its significance here—you were named as the Score said you shall because of your role in life. You were born to save Hod, to become a hero."

Vandesdelca swallowed the wrong way, and he broke out in a coughing fit. His mouth was polluted with the dried blood and sourness of not having spoken for so long. Jade waited patiently—or he seemed patient, at least—until the boy had calmed down.

"Of course," Jade continued, "you have to agree to do so. Even if you don't wish to help, I would only like to remind you that your part in saving Hod was written in the Score. You would disobey your ancestors to refuse now."

Vandesdelca snorted. He didn't like Jade at all—he seemed like a demonic omen or something of the sort to the eleven-year-old boy. His eyes, that must be it. Those shining carmine eyes, glinting with bloodlust... and his smirk—that wicked smirk that never faltered, if not grew wider, frightened him.

"I have no choice."

"Excellent," Jade jeered. "Just stay where you are for now."

Vandesdelca watched the colonel uneasily as he adjusted a strange machine. The contraption looked similar to the ones that had been erected citywide, presumed fomicry machines, if the rumors held true. He wondered how he would be helping from his position, well on five yards from the fontech device until he noticed the cord. With a sickening jolt, he wondered for what it would be used. It was attached to his handcuffs, but even knowing that it wasn't directly connected to his body didn't help ease his mind.

The first thing he felt was a faint spark down his arm. It wasn't much, but it continued to grow in magnitude. He flinched as the voltage grew more powerful with each throb of his pulse. He thought he saw Jade give him a grin of pleasure out the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure. After all, the bastard hadn't stopped smiling since he walked in the room.

Before he could stop himself, Vandesdelca heard himself roar as that damn pain engulfed his entire body. The spark amplified, and now it was more of a burning sensation than anything. And the pain! He had no time to breathe. The pulses were fireworks of torment, streaking his arms and legs with fresh blood as the vessels within him ruptured. His lungs felt paralyzed into stillness, but he somehow managed to breathe despite it. Colors, lights, and smears of motion splattered his vision, due only to his own spasmodic thrashing. It was all a blur, the colors, the glyph, Jade's wry grin, the cords, the metal, the fontech, the light, the pain! Everything was colorful and greyscale at the same time. Vandesdelca knew he wouldn't be able to grasp consciousness for much longer, and he groped the Seventh Fonons desperately. Just one more moment, and he'd have enough, if just for a meager spell! Anything to ease this monstrous pain!

The fonons... they'd rushed to him just moments before, and now they were gone. His head jerked back, nearly concussing him into blackness, but the fonons... where the hell did they go?! His sixth sense told him they were there—just there, and not there all the same. No, they were here, definitely, but they weren't near him. As soon as he directed them to his newest laceration, they simply dispersed, flowing through and out of him and... into that thing! Vandesdelca wasn't thinking when he suddenly attacked the band fastening his arms, realization stoning him soundly. All the Seventh Fonons—his precious Seventh Fonons—all sucked away, just like that, into the greedy fontech. His eyes flared, the glyph on the lightweight metal staring back at him. He could only gaze back helplessly. It was consuming him, this pain, and then, when it couldn't get any worse--

A clamor of noise sounded from the doorway, and Vandesdelca could almost make out his parents silhouetted against the light, followed by another mass of shadow. Jade's cheerful smile vanished in an instant, and he cut the power feeding the machine. Vandesdelca gasped, the grip of his own tensed muscles releasing him sharply. Jade said not a word, spear ready in a flash of more light, and the figures in the doorway shouted even louder.

"Get back!--" a male voice came, and a female screamed as she was pushed behind him and out of range of whoever was at the door.

"Captain! You're still alive!" Jade sounded more surprised than relieved as he took up a fighting stance beside the grey-haired man.

"Not for long," the man grunted, parrying a blade's sweeping chop. "Just keep her safe!"

Jade kept quiet, fully focused on the enemy—the Kimlascan army had found them. He'd thought it impossible, but they were more resourceful than he assumed by judging their reckless style of battle. If they'd come all the way down to the Passage Ring seeking blood, they must have eliminated everything above them all ready.

Vandesdelca felt the Seventh Fonons flow normally again, and he healed himself as much as he could. He tried to call out to his mother, but his parched mouth allowed nothing of the sort to escape his lips. He hoped it would only be a bit longer before he could speak again—he'd certainly be of help if only if he wasn't bound like this!

Jade fell back, fulfilling the man's request by taking the lady by her arm and leading her back. He stopped her near the machine and turned to it, as if undecided regarding what to do. The captain could hold them off bit longer, but there was no way he'd survive, much less any of them, either. There was no option now.

"Van?!" the woman fell to her knees, holding his hands in hers. "You're alive!"

"He put up quite a struggle. Nearly had to kill him, but if we had, it would have done no good," Jade told her, hand resting on a switch, waiting to tell her before flipping it on. The woman gasped, but Jade just retained his demeanor, almost laughing before he finally reactivated the fontech.

Van braced himself, but no pain came back. Instead, an even more terrible power resounded, shattering the fonstone behind him, and sending the shards into his back and the wounds that covered it. The Seventh Fonons went awry, all lost in the impulse. To anyone unable to use the Seventh Fonon, nothing would have seemed amiss, and by Jade's expression, he was one of those. Van knew something was wrong... something so horribly wrong that he was delirious. He'd doomed them all.

The sonic boom blinded them. Van toppled face-first to the glyph path after the metal dissolved the cuffs from his wrists. Jade set a loose fonic barrier to protect himself, but Van's father fared worse than any of them. He was thrust squarely into the enemies' blades, impaled through his Oracle armor and slammed, lifeless, to the ground.

"Damn," Jade muttered through a trickle of blood dripping from his mouth. "The hyperresonance went out of range. It seems the machine wasn't perfect after all, Dist."

He examined the carcasses left: one of Van, his father and mother, and the small mob of soldiers. Jade peered down at them, not in the least bit sorry. The Passage Ring was destroyed, but it had happened too fast. He was supposed to be well away when it went off, but now he was well and thoroughly stuck.

Jade noticed the surrounding areas begin to crumble. The great structure was unstable, ready to collapse at any minute. He glanced around, searching for any way he could escape before that happened.

Jade spotted a clump of stone and Dawn Age metal, and he hefted himself up, closer to the door. He hoped smugly that the passage was still clear enough to be usable. Grinning, he brushed off his uniform. What a day this had been...

"ND 2002," he recited. "One who would seize glory shall destroy the island upon which he was born... a land by the name of Hod..."

Below, the one in question shifted. He dragged his limp arm from underneath the steel that had fallen on top of it. The atmosphere growled, and he could sense the familiar feeling of dropping. It was like falling from a high place, but this was different...

Where in hell would they stop?