The thin man leapt from his motorcycle, unsheathing his sword halfway through a flip, using the extra momentum to slice the hellspawn he faced in half vertically. He landed behind its ravaged body, instantly sheathing his sword and stumbling into a run in an attempt to reach his motorcycle before it lost all momentum. His leather boots padded silently on the asphalt beneath him as he ran, leaping onto the motorcycle the moment before it would have tipped over, revving the throttle, steadying the motorcycle as inertia took effect. He risked a glance behind him—he was still being chased. They were closer now. He shouldn't have made that move, but the figure before him had appeared so quickly that attempting to draw his sword would have caused him to lose complete control.

He scanned the street for anything that could help him. A ramp, perhaps, or….

A narrow alley.

He made a sharp turn to the left, flying down the alleyway. It wouldn't stop them from coming, but it would at least forced them to thin out a bit, a maneuver that would slow them down. One that would give him just enough time to evade them.

He caused his motorcycle to swerve just a little bit as he sped through the passage, letting the tail hit a trash can, knocking it over. He grinned as he heard the clank behind him as it tipped. Anything to slow them down just that little bit more.

He made a sharp right turn at the end of the alley, checking behind him to make sure they were close enough to see. He went far enough that his engine would be too muffled to hear, then skidded around the block, heading the other direction. He moved slowly, keeping the roar of his motorcycle quiet enough to remain inconspicuous. Just another motorist, taking a leisurely drive through the city. Then, after he was sure he was in the clear, he cranked the engine to its full potential, dashing away into the night.

Nearing an hour later, he pulled into a garage at a small, run-down house. "He's back!" came an energetic young voice from inside. There was a scuffling noise, and the door opened. The man grinned sheepishly as the girl behind it stared at him.

"And just where have you been?" she demanded. She was about seventeen and stood at just over five feet tall, her blonde hair pulled back into two braids, a simple blue dress covering her. She had a tender, childlike face. However, when she was angry, her gentle blue eyes would transform into a glare that could easily cut iron in half.

The man pulled off his sword dark green trenchcoat. "It doesn't matter," he said, hanging them on a hook as he brushed past her into the house. "You're going to berate me anyway, so you might as well get it over with."

"Colin and I have both been worried sick. It's always like this when you go out. You never tell us where you're going, you always stay out too long, and you always come back hurt."

"Well, sis," he said, pulling off the long, green hat off of his dark blonde hair, "I'm fine today. No injuries, no incidents—"

"Is that why I could hear you coming from three miles away?"

He sighed. "Aryll…look." He pulled the glove off of his left hand. "You see this marking?" She nodded. "And do you know what it means?"

"No, I don't. You refuse to tell me."

He pulled the glove back on. "And you don't have to know either. The less you know, the safer you are. All you need to know is that what I'm doing is dangerous, but important. Very important. I wish I didn't have this burden, but I have to do this. I'm sorry. I just don't want you and Colin involved."

The man felt a small object barrel into his legs, grasping them firmly. He bent down and ruffled the small boy's hair. "Hey, Colin. You should be asleep, shouldn't you?"

The boy looked up, the remaining tears of a fresh cry in his eyes. He was a small thing, only six years old, "I was scared," he whimpered. "I was waiting to make sure you were okay."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm here, and I'm great. Come on, buddy. Time for you to go to bed." He looked up at the girl. "Aryll? Could you get him? I need to step out for a second. Get a bit of fresh air."

"Weren't you just—"

"Aryll."

She threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, be that way, then. Come on, Colin. Let's get some sleep."

The man shut the door quietly behind him as he stepped outside, sitting down on the front steps. He took a deep breath of the cool night air as he checked the time. Any second now.

As if on cue, a cloaked, hooded figure stepped out of the night. Right on time. The figure approached quickly, the black cloak billowing behind. As it came closer, two slender hands reached up and removed the hood, revealing his contact's face.

A woman's face looked up at him. It was gentle and fair, yet stern, blending to form an expression of dignity and power. Her dark brown hair was worn unadorned, save for two thick strands pulled into braids that dangled in front of her ears.

"Are you the man I hired?" she asked.

"Yes, you've come to the right place," he said. "I'll be your bodyguard."

She nodded. "Thank you. I explained the situation, did I not?"

"Barely, but I've got all I need to know for now. Right now, I have a question." He pulled off his left glove. "You've got one of these markings too, don't you, senator?" He held up the hand, displaying the marking on it. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she saw it. It was a triangle, consisting of three smaller, golden triangles.

She looked down at her own hands, covered by long, white gloves. "Well," she mused, "I would have never guessed I had chosen you. It would appear that we cannot escape the cycle. Fate has drawn the three of us together again."

"Three?" She nodded. "Who's the third?"

She looked up from her gloved hands. "He's the man you're protecting me from. Now, I think I already know it, but what is your name?"

"I don't know," the man said quietly. "My past is a complete mystery to me."

"What about the children? Your family?"

"Them?" He nodded back towards the house. "None of us are really related. We're all orphans who managed to pick each other up when we were down and get off the streets. They don't know my name."

"Well, you must identify yourself somehow. Even if you don't know your real name, you must have given yourself one, or gotten one from someone else. Give me that name."

The man looked up at her, staring into her eyes. "Link," he said with authority. "My name is Link."