Standing Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and I never will.

The old man tottered on his three legs, two his own flesh and one made of wood, as he struggled to walk silently to not disturb the youth meditating on the floor before him. The youth opened his eyes revealing wide gray eyes lashed in black.

"Grandfather," he said, his voice clear and true. "The city is teeming with blackness. It makes me afraid."

Of course it would, thought the grandfather. Why shouldn't it? A powerful empire on the brink of destruction ruled by a power hungry man. It was everything a rich ballad would hold except one: there was no hero. Not yet.

"The world is still young, if she is healthy enough, she will withstand this violence." The boy felt a surge of disease.

"They're poisoning her, Grandfather."

"So they are. But a healer will arise, true and pure."

"No man can stop this," said the boy. His forehead creased.

"So he will give his life to end it." The grandfather held out his free hand as the boy took it. Hand in hand, they walked boldly into the steadily weakening metropolis. The teeming mass of people that killed the earth slowly every day.