PLEASE READ ME (both old readers and new readers):

So, it's me again, publishing yet ANOTHER re-write of Chapter 1. I've always been unhappy with how this story has started out, it lacked... something. I don't know what, but it's been bothering me ever since I decided to re-write Untouchable. But NOW, I've finally gotten round to properly re-writing the opening chapter, and I hope you give this a read if you have the time! Please let me know what you think.

Note: Present tense used in this chapter for DRAMATIC purposes.

Opportunity comes knocking in the form of a job offer, and Thresh is curious.

So he watches, like a wolf stalking the sheep between thickets of field grass, as his elders in the Order of the Blessed Isles whisper among each other in hushed, urgent tones.

He does not need to bother with the strain of eavesdropping to know that his colleagues in the Order are, once again, concerned about the affairs of the Blessed Isles.

A part of him reasons that he ought to feel the same sense of alarm, that the recent, surging emergence of dark magic artifacts all around the Isles are a terrible, dreadful sign of danger to their sacred home.

By definition, he supposes that the Blessed Isles are indeed a stunning archipelago of nature's finest creations. Shrouded by the mists of legend and endless wonder, the Isles are a myth to most, its riches and grandeur all but left to fantasy in the minds of ordinary folk. But to the sage and wise, those learned in the ways of runic, arcane magic, the Isles are a place to call home.

With towering granite peaks crowned by a headdress of brilliant white snow and endless carpets of green draped over softly undulating lands, it is easy to fall in love with the beauty of the Isles. It is also easy, to see why the Order of the Blessed Isles endeavors to protect all that is precious to these lands.

But Thresh holds no love for sacred things, and some are convinced that he holds no love for anything at all. There is something not quite right about him, most in the Order would agree. And it shows, more than ever, when he stands among their ranks.

He is young for a member of the Order, startlingly so, his thick raven hair a shock of black amid heads of weathered, greyish-white. Even his features seem a tad too sharp, unforgiving and cold, his skin a shade too pale.

It is obvious that Thresh does not quite belong in the Order, and he knows it. Revels in it.

For it is because of the fact that he is cunning and meticulous and dangerous that his colleagues, narrow souls devoted to the protection of good things (what makes a thing good, anyway?), have turned to him in this hour of need.

They approach him in the same way that they have over the past month, nervous and blithering and utterly predictable.

Thresh wagers that they will likely open with a brief eulogy of the Blessed Isles.

"Brother Thresh. We know that the Isles are as dear to you as they are to us."

An arrogant smirk tugs at his lips, and Thresh basks in the easiness of it all. He nods, and the other members of the Order stumble on, hopeful as always. He does not need to listen to know what comes next.

Next, they will explain that the Order of the Blessed Isles has rounded up a vast collection of dark, corrupted magical objects; tools of the wicked that need to be locked away for what they claim to be the greater good.

"... And we understand that it is a lot to ask, but surely, there is no one better suited to watch over these artifacts than yourself, Thresh. Should you so graciously accept, that is…"

They offer him the job of protecting and guarding a massive vault in the heart of the Order, built with the sole purpose of containing the evils believed to lie upon the various relics.

It is the same as before, same as always, and out of habit, Thresh pretends to be unconvinced.

"I am flattered, esteemed Masters, but I do not believe that I deserve the honor you would so willingly bestow upon me."

With quietly contained glee, he lets them splutter on, spinning blatant lies about the strengths of his character and infallible will. This is their little game, of the bored, curious cat toying with the gullible, clueless mice.

In all honesty, Thresh has no reservations about taking the job. It seems a refreshing change of pace, and there is something… relatable about the darkness described in the artifacts that appeals to him.

The only reason that Thresh has delayed accepting the job for so long is for the simple reason that he likes watching his colleagues fret and worry and squirm that they would have to find someone else for the role.

He knows of their fear that should someone more noble (an inconvenience) be appointed to guard the artifacts, said someone would in time, find himself among the mad and the damned.

They do not want him to accept their offer just because he is strong-willed and painstakingly methodical. He is all those things, but they want him to take the job because they feel that he is already corrupted, that he is beyond reason and sanity.

And so Thresh declines, time and time again, content to watch his colleagues beg and keel over singing him false praises in hopes of finally convincing him to accept.

But it has been a month, and Thresh is beginning to tire of the excessiveness of it all. So he waits until the oafs run out of things to say, and lets them bounce on their heels for awhile before answering.

"You make very compelling arguments, my fellow Brothers. Perhaps it is time that I see reason."

Immediately, his colleagues' eyes widen in near-comical fashion, and the atmosphere very nearly quakes with nervous anticipation and disbelief.

"Are you- are you accepting the job, Thresh?"

"Yes, I believe I am. It is truly an honor." The smile he wears is only polite.

There is a moment of stunned silence, and when it passes the air between the men relaxes noticeably with relief.

They thank him, with vigorous, zealous handshakes and amicable claps on the back.

And when the initial bursts of celebration fade, they almost seem apologetic, that they have shoved this responsibility onto him.

"We must warn you Thresh, to be cautious. This job… this door we hold open for you," there is a beat of hesitation, "It is dark on the other side, and madness is surely waiting… we beg of you to proceed wisely."

Thresh darkens at the comment, but hides it well. They are all fools, the lot of them.

"Then I suppose it is to my advantage that sanity is not required for the job."

He is the perfect imitation of humor and wit, and they share a laugh.

The masters of the Order laugh because they think he jests. Thresh laughs because he is already insane.

Thank you for reading. Please review :)