Will finds himself fighting yet another threat to the kingdom, but he realizes really how different this enemy is. This person's power feeds on revenge sought by past evils. He asks for help from old friends and stumbles across new ones with similar vendettas; though some have questionable motives, unlikely alliances are struck to fight a seemingly infallible enemy. Canon parings.

Will and Halt were only trying to protect their own lives. They couldn't put a face on every person they killed.

That would destroy them from the inside out.

Being a Ranger meant exterminating threats on a daily basis.

Of course, it was nothing personal.

Will tried to take his mind off of all of the blood he shed, of how guilty he was for the deaths of his victims.

After all, it was nothing personal.

Right?

Sometimes he lay awake in bed alone, or with Ebony's warm body at his feet, or curled up next to Alyss, and he found himself subconsciously giving names to the people he had killed, ironically fashioning new lives for the ones he had taken.

He gave them personalities, pet peeves, quirks- but never families. Or friends. He could never live with himself thinking that he had created another him, created another orphan waiting for his or her father to come back.

He liked to think that they were as lonely as he was when his mind wandered to them.

He reassured himself with the delusion that it didn't matter. It was nothing personal.

This is what he told himself everyday when he went to sleep and when he woke up and when he drew back his bow to shoot a target or a bird or a breathing human being. It became a part of his blood, coursing throughout his body in a never-ending cycle.

It's nothing personal.

No one could blame him for the lives he had buried deep in his soul, products of death wrought by his own hand, right? Because that would be wrong, and unnecessarily personalizing the situation.

So why would they care about one soldier? Or event two? They had, after all, enlisted of their own accord, and spilt blood with their own hands. They were trying to kill them, so they had to return the favor.

So why would they care about one noble? He had kidnapped friends and killed his own uncle in a desperate grab for power. He had to be put down for his own good. He was trying to kill them, so they had to make sure he couldn't.

So why would they care about one Genovesen? Or even two? They had, after all, killed Halt's brother, Ferris, and had tried to take Horace's own life. They were trying to kill them, so they had to retaliate.

Will remembered exactly every breath he had drawn as he had pulled the taut bowstring back and let loose the deathly arrow to pierce its targets. The short gasp they always uttered as the heavy arrow slammed into them- as if they were surprised by fate!- and the rustle of clothing as they fell to the ground, dead.

He tried so hard with ever fibre of his being and every breath he drew to make it nothing personal.

And thus he stayed sane.

-Present*-

Will woke up, blinking sleep away. His tousled brown hair seemed even more wild by the pillow's struggle to breathe throughout the night. Why am I awake? he groaned to himself, glaring at the small rays of light that were beginning to filter through his bedroom window. Then he forced himself to stay still without falling back asleep. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His instincts wouldn't have woken him up if something wasn't wrong.

He strained to hear anything out of context. Ebony's legs brushed against the floor as she happily chased an invisible prey, most possibly a miniaturized, chaseable Tug she could finally bully. Tug himself hadn't uttered a sound at all, if he was awake.

Wait. As he pulled himself farther out of sleep, he realized there was a second presence in the room. Not anything with malicious intent, as he was obviously still alive...

"About time you woke up." Will jerked upwards as he recognized the voice. What?!

"Halt!" he cried out joyously, launching himself off of his bed and wrapping his arms around his former mentor. Halt winced and staggered backwards. "Why the devil are you here? Is something wrong? Don't tell me Pauline kicked you out! No, tell me. Did she kick you out?" The glowing, bright, enthusiastic, bearded company of his mentor (of course, he was being sarcastic- Halt was perpetually mulling in a sardonic mood) managed to wake him up.

"I wouldn't answer most of those even if you gave me breath to answer them all," Halt said gruffly. "I would have thought starting to live with Alyss would have mellowed you out a touch."

"Never," Will said vehemently. "Besides, she's out for the moment- Courier business and whatnot."

"I see." Halt pulled the cowl of his cloak back. Will noticed there was more grey in his beard than he remembered. "I'm here on important business. I'll debrief more at the castle, but to put long things short, there's been trouble in Araluen."

"What?" Will pulled on a tunic and his cloak. By now Ebony had woken up and was barking furiously and happily at Halt's sudden appearance. Halt rubbed her behind the ears as Will added, "I haven't heard anything lately. When did you get the news?"

"It's been around, but the royal castle has been keeping it quiet and monitoring it to make sure it was something serious. For goodness' sake, put on a pair of pants before you put on your shoes."

In his haste, Will had forgotten to put on his breeches, something he quickly amended before firing away another question, "Who is it?"

Halt grimaced before kicking away a pair of dirty socks lying on the floor. "That's the thing: we don't really know."

-Toscana: Present-

A fair-haired young girl clutched a worn-down cross bow in one hand and a letter in the other.

Her name was Loreto.

Her father's name was Marisi.

She would make sure the Rangers would pay dearly.

End of Chapter 1

A/N: *A year or so after Emperor or Nihon-Ja and around the events of the last story of The Lost Stories