The Timetrade Side Stories

WARNING: Some of these one-shots will contain spoilers for certain characters' backstories that may be revealed in the main story at some point. However, the one-shots treat these events as more "in the moment" while in the main story they are treated as the past and looked at retrospectively. If you want to find out all of the backstories through the main story, don't read the side stories.

The Hero-King

Wulf drifted in and out of our lives like the wind, as restless as his namesake, and was as wild as one in nature. The first time we met was upon a battlefield soaked in the blood of soldiers and rebels alike, during the first months in my life in which I had actually come to view what was left of the sky as a beautiful thing. Kleitos had taught me the old children's game of finding shapes in the clouds and giving them names - and it was a habit I often indulged in after a battle.

The young man who had been to Kleitos like a brother was never perturbed by my silence, my unwillingness to talk. He approached me that day where I sat on the artificial grass outside the training center with Kleitos, who was fiddling with some reports on a holographic computer. Just like the day we met, he was humming and smiling as he walked and knelt before me.

Wulf was a tall and thin young man whose bones protruded from his clothes like a ghostly doll. He wore the same tan and grey uniform as we did, but his always seemed a bit loose. In one of his hands was the silver instrument he always carried around off the battlefield. It had fine strings and gleamed in the broken sunlight.

Kleitos shifted his sturdy frame, knocking me off balance, as I had been leaning against his broad back to rest as I cloud-watched. Whatever silent conversation they were having ended moments later when Wulf sat down and plucked at the strings on his instrument.

"Want to hear a song?"

"Sure," Kleitos nodded. He never said no.

Wulf smiled. Cloudy, unseeing hazel eyes stared at me as if they could still discern my figure. "This song is for you, Kallias. It suits your name: Kallias Khosrow."

I didn't know what to say to that, but nodded anyway. I didn't think that my name was anything special. I didn't actually know what it meant, but it didn't sound like it meant anything.

I closed my eyes as he began to play, the thin notes of the instrument flying across the field. Wulf's songs were always melodic and often soothing, but they were also mournful, wailing tunes that sent shivers down my spine.

"Devourer of men, darkness's lord | from the depths of hatred you live.

Born by the life-blood of beasts called men | you break the grace of hope.

Battle-bold bringer of death's cry - the world waits | for the breath of her foe.

"Child of holy blood, you are born | and blessed by dragon-fire,

smothered by the swan's endless | wine-red song of war.

Wretched whelp you'll go by the dragon's will, you'll | flee west to Fate.

Aimless and armed you | and your brothers-in-arms

follow the flame of | the face of the slaughter-dewed moon.

"Oh my Prince, your present | from your Mother: it was Polaris.

Oh my Prince, your present | from your Father: it is the People-King.

Riding the wind's child red with blood | your respect is with the dead.

"Fly to the freedom of | the sellsword's unknown fate or

by the battle-light's blade | end the darkness dragon's blight.

Beloved by the people, battle-borne and | so bold is the lord of men.

Hero-king blessed by the hall of war | let us the minstrels be the helm

Of a thousand tales of | you and the travels of your friends."

As the last notes died on the stiff breeze, Wulf sat back and tilted his head to the patchwork sky he could no longer see. He let his somewhat long dark blond hair free from its loose ponytail, combing a hand through the knotted strands. Before the incident, it had been quite short, like a soldier's cut. Had it really been that long since we fought on the same battlefield?

"I'm going to be deployed soon," Wulf said at last. His voice was bereft of emotion, as if he was reading from a script. Even though both Kleitos and I drew in noticeably sharp breaths, he seemed to ignore us. "To the north. Looks like I'll be leaving ahead of you two...sorry...I'm going to break our promise. It looks like we won't be able to see that peaceful future come to pass together."

Icy claws gripped my heart, tearing up my throat so that I couldn't talk. Wulf sat alone, hands loosely holding his instrument, but his unseeing eyes were foggy and distant. It was as if he was already leaving us behind in that very moment.

"How can they do that?" Kleitos hissed in a low, dangerous voice. I didn't shift away, but I could feel the tremors along his back. "It's thanks to you that the last mission even succeeded and look at what it did to you! You can barely see anymore and this is how they repay you?"

Wulf smiled sadly. "This is the world we live in. This is why you two must succeed. You must make sure that people like us never have to be born. That a world like this one will never be created."

I never had a chance to ask Wulf what his song meant for me - did he so dearly want us to be like the heroes of myth, who could save the world with a swing of their swords? But the moment we had left in that artificial field of emerald grass and the sharp, fake scent of floral air were not for such questions. We sat together for the last time, the three of us, listening to the quiet tunes of Wulf's instrument until the sun fell into the horizon.

In case you haven't caught on yet, Kallias Khosrow is the only person in this series whose perspective is told through the first person point of view. He is also the narrator of the italicized part of the first chapter of The Timetrade in which the navigators are still in their time. Make of it what you will.

I wrote that poem in Old English meter to the best of my ability, but I also took some liberties with the rules. I might come back and edit it again at a later date. The lines | that you see are substitutes for the caesurae (breaks in between words) that are normally found in Old English poetry. Also make of this poem as you will.

Most of these one-shots will be short, just as a warning.