ONE
Another Story Must Begin

There was screaming... always screaming, nearly demonic screaming of not only physical but mental and emotional anguish. Every night these screams had tortured her, and every night she would wake increasingly more disturbed and guilt-ridden. The guilt was illogical, she knew. It was a dream, and one she could never fully remember or make sense of, at that. But there was something hauntingly familiar about the high-pitched cries, and they seemed to blame her. For what, she did not know.

This particular night, it was upon a bale of hay in an unwitting farmer's barn which she had awoken in a pool of cold sweat, haunted by the images and sounds that always eluded her upon consciousness. This was a luxury, as she had grown acclimated to the concrete as of late. But frankly, she hadn't absconded under a roof for the comfort, or even to escape the throes of the bitterly cold rain- she needed to hide.

The woman in question went by the name of Xena. At least, that is what she had been calling herself. Her birth name, although much more common, represented the identity of a slave to the system she no longer supported. As Xena, she had grown infamous for her acts of radicalism and her name was uttered by every government official as a harsh execration. However, the current leader of her fellow citizens, an austere yet dangerously charming man called Ares, was not altogether hateful of the woman; he was intrigued.

Looking up at the aged wooden ceiling, Xena clenched her fists. She had come face to face with her war-mongering king not hours ago. She was taken in to a personal conference with the ruler by his own chief inspector, Callisto. The authoritative enforcer had taken an almost perverse delight in the bringing in of Xena, and was more than insulted when she had been asked to leave the revolutionary and the king by themselves. Even now, sheltered in her bed of hay, far removed from the royal profligate, Xena shuddered. His dark gaze bored into her with a frightening amount of interest.

Xena understood hatred with the perspicacity of one who had known nothing else. As of late, the hatred she felt for her oppressive government was expanding in several directions, most notably inwardly. People were all so stupid, so fragile. They sat around in a haze while their ruler took full advantage of them, and then had the nerve to complain. They never took the initiative to spark a change. That's where Xena came in. But Xena wasn't enough. She knew this. Perhaps she would stop an immoral arrest or a heinous act of violence, but she had never stopped anything that truly mattered. She had never stopped the man she was forced to call 'king' from selling his own people into slavery. She had never stopped his henchmen from raping and murdering young and impoverished girls in outlaying villages. She had never stopped his military from their methods of abject imperialism. These are things even a person of her wit and ability could not do alone, and this is what incensed her against herself. People as a whole may have been too indolent to take action against injustice, but she was making no more difference than they were. That's what really hurt- the knowledge that without her, everything would be just the same. She was obsessed with the idea that she could be better than this.

It was no longer solely the screams that kept Xena rigid and exhausted. It was these plaguing thoughts as well. The hatred she bore for Ares and his devoted military and officials was beyond the means of human comprehension. It physically hurt her; it burned her from the inside until her entire body was shaking with rage. There were complete days when she would be rendered incapable of thinking of anything else, and her noble acts of vigilantism were never enough to quell the fire which devoured her.

Xena lay awake, contemplating the various ways she had failed herself. She should have taken Ares out when she had the chance. She had finally gotten the opportunity to force his abdication, and she had let him off with a warning.

The rebel was stirred from her consideration by the sound of footsteps from outside. She stood facing the barn doors, holding out her sword and staying deathly silent.

The left door opened ever-so cautiously, and Xena waited with her sword pointed at whoever was intruding on the spot she had found. If Ares had sent Callisto to capture her, she had to admire the inspector's efficiency, but she was going to put up one hell of a fight. Her blue eyes fixed upon the opened door, bemused.

A pale hand made its way through the door, bearing a lit torch. Slowly, the body to which it was attached emerged. He was old; his hair was white, his skin wrinkled, his eyes gentle and green. He began to speak, but was stopped mid-word at the sight of the tall, dark figure threateningly holding out a weapon. His eyes widened. "Who- who are you?" he asked tremulously. "What are you doing in my barn?"

Xena narrowed her gaze, thought for a moment, and withdrew her sword into the sheath upon her back. "Xena," she replied curtly. "The name's Xena." When the man before her remained silent and expecting, she sighed. "I'll be packing."

The man studied her. Despite her standoffish appearance, there was something earnest- something valiant- about the woman. "Do... do you need a place to rest?"

Xena looked from her satchel to the man at the door, taken by surprise. "You mean that?" she asked.

With great care, he began to approach her. "My home is always open to those down on their luck. Come," he offered, "my wife and I have a room for guests in our home. The barn is no place for the weary traveler." Gingerly, he placed his hand upon the woman's arm and began to lead her away. She frantically took hold of her satchel and allowed herself to do something of which she had never dreamed: to accept the kindness and charity of another human being.

Upon being lead into the house, she was struck by a piercing sorrow. These were the people she was meant to defend. These were the people she had failed by keeping Ares in power.

The farmer showed her to the guest room- a simple space of four walls filled only with a hard mattress and a small, round table topped with a lamp. But to Xena, it was comparable to the Elysian Fields.

"You can stay here as long as you need," the old man said. "Are... are you hungry? You must be hungry. I have bread and- and soup! I have bread and soup in the kitchen, and water and wine."

Xena tightly closed her eyes and lowered her head. It could not have been for more than two seconds, but when she brought herself to look back at the kind man, tears had gathered in her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you." The farmer smiled, greatly pleased to have his care accepted, and scurried off into the kitchen. Only then was Xena able to wipe the tears away from her eyes.

"What does he owe me?" she asked herself aloud. Utterly worn out, she sat down upon the mattress. The hatred always present in her heart met a burgeoning sense of love for humanity and lit a brand new fire within her: one of sheer determination.

Ares was going to be taken down.

For the sake of the few, valuable sources of good left in this tortured world, Ares was going to be dethroned. And Xena, by pain of death, was going to be the one to see to that.