Imagine opening a brand new book. You don't know what waits within it. You don't have any idea what you're getting into.

Oh, who am I kidding? Fine, yes, you know a few things about it. Say, perhaps the main character's name. Or the main conflict that set everything off, hopefully nothing too spoilery. Maybe just a little more about it.

That's what this story is. Sure, you've watched Danny Phantom, you know he has ghost powers. I'm here to tell you that everything else in this story is going to be different. There might be a few characters that share the same names or attributes, but that's where it stops. Because I love the idea of this story, and hey, look at me running off with it. Here comes a new Danny Phantom onto the prowl, a boy who has very little to do with the Danny Fenton from the show. He's from the medieval era, he's a thief, and what the heck is he planning?

A nice, cold dish of revenge served on a silver platter.

Warning: If you're touchy about religion, don't read this. I'm not going to say God doesn't or does exist in any definite terms, as the characters' beliefs are all their own, but this is based on the actual medieval ages of our real life world. The Church was very corrupt back then, and that makes up a lot of what's going on here. However, things might not exactly correlate to the culture or feel of this time period (especially because this is more fantasy than anything else, and not actual earth history), so any kind of constructive criticism is welcome.


Phantom Paradise


Lord Byron had always loved the rain. Even as a child, it inspired thousands of fantastical muses, each tantalizingly and temptingly fun. Now, it was refreshing – a new start, a new beginning. He didn't care that it soiled his aristocratic robes, that it made the silk cling uncomfortably to his skin. He was here, he existed, and by eternity, at least he wasn't doing any of that paperwork his wife was always chasing after him about.

There was a small smile on his face as he watched the rain patter down, strange illuminations glowing within every drop, rippling through every puddle it hit. For a moment, he thought he saw everything freeze, just for a single moment, but it was enough for him to feel awed.

I'm blessed. His mouth spoke the words as he thought them, a fervent prayer and warm feeling coursing through him. Eternity, thank you for this honor.

There was no reply, but he felt somehow lighter than even when he noticed the pouring rain. It was a sign – he needed to write this down – Eternity had given a signal to him

The alarm bells blared.

Immediately, he shot up from his chair, mind scrambling to to figure out what had just happened. Hadn't Eternity just blessed him? Why was the alarm going off?

It took a few moments, but soon he was barreling back into the house, hurriedly climbing down the ladder connecting the rooftop to his bedroom. When he made it down, he stared, overtaken by shock and confusion.

It was eerily silent in the house, as if time itself had stopped (again, he absentmindedly thought). He took a step forward to test it, but no – Eternity would never do something like this. He had faith in that, at least, no matter what the other nobles claimed. But none of this mattered, because he already knew who the perpetrator was.

It was Phantom.

Byron could see his signature painted on the bedroom wall, bright green and illuminating, as if it were giving off light of it's own. That was a trick no one had figured out yet, Lord Byron being one of the more eager ones to find a sample and figure it out, and yet...

He hadn't planned for the opportunity to come in such a hazardous way.

It only took a few moments longer for him to return to his senses. Frantically, he searched his room, trying to find what had been stolen. Ever since Phantom had made his first ambitious mark on the king of all people, his name had spread far and wide as an infamous thief. He always stole something, no one ever knew what or why, but Byron just hoped it hadn't been anything too valuable...

He stopped short when he noticed the scrolls on his desk missing. Cautiously, he approached the table, and soon was scouring all the cupboards for the missing papers. The bewilderment grew on his face with every passing second, and at last, when nothing turned up, sunk back into his bed.

"What in Eternity?" he muttered, hand straying to stroke his beard in deep thought. It just didn't make any sense.

Why had Phantom stolen his poetry scrolls?