She knew her eyes were open, though she couldn't see anything. The darkness was complete. Movement was possible, but sluggish and resisting. Trying made her feel sleepy, wanting to return to the unconsciousness from whence she came.

But she was curious. She did not know where she was.

She was aware, though, and that was something that she remembered vaguely. And her four companions. And the concept of her duty, and her master. She was expecting more of a flood of images and ideas to come, especially given that her eyes were not providing any images themselves, but the flood was only a short trickle. There wasn't much to her memories. A lot less than she wanted, anyway.

There was darkness around her. Darkness enveloping all that she could sense. Darkness blocked her sight, hearing, touch… and even her memory. All she had was darkness.

But somehow, the darkness knew her. It was comforting. She let herself drift, not minding her predicament. She'd have a new master soon.

Darkness

"Anfangen."

The man was blinded for a moment by the eerie glow that suddenly brightened and took over his vision. He raised his arm to defend his face from the onslaught, but it was over suddenly. He blinked and lowered his arm slowly. Arrayed in front of him were four people. On the far left was a young woman in blonde hair. Roughly center was another young woman, though with a more stern demeanor, with pink hair. On the far right was a girl in red pigtails, and in the back was a male familiar. They were all kneeling to the man.

The man frowned. This hadn't really been what he had been expecting.

"Confirmed startup of the Book of Darkness," the young woman in the center with the pink hair said formally.

"We are the guardian knights who will gather for the Book of Darkness, and protect its master," the blonde continued.

"Clouds that gather under the master of the night sky," the familiar added.

"The Wolkenritter… awaits your command," the girl finished.

There was a silence as the 'Wolkenritter' and the man didn't move. The silence stretched until finally the man broke it with a sigh and a few words. "You have got to be kidding."

How did you get this injury?

…I made a mistake.

That's unlike you. I don't think… I don't remember you getting hurt like this before.

I remember. It happens.

…I don't. Were we not together at the time?

No. You healed me then much as you are healing me now.

Then why don't I remember it?

There are things that we don't remember. Memories aren't perfect.

You'd think I'd remember doing this for you before.

Do you know what you're doing?

Of course I do.

Then it is no matter. As long as we can do our duty.

…

Arthur?

There was no response. Peter looked around warily, though he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the semi-darkness of night among the city streets, lanterns fighting against the encroachment of the blackness. Patrols were supposed to be… normal affairs; none of these scares that his partner always managed to give him. But, normally, he actually answered when called mentally. Not tonight.

Arthur?

So he had finally managed to get himself into a predicament. He likely had 'managed' to bash his own head in, and Peter had a guilty jolt as his negative side asserted that the kid deserved it. That wasn't strictly true, even though Peter would have given almost anything to get a new partner. Peter sighed. There really was nothing to do but find the poor boy and get him sent up to the infirmary. He sensed a magical power… probably sixty or so feet to his left. He glanced. There was an alleyway there that led to the next street over, where Arthur had been patrolling.

Peter walked over toward the alleyway keeping his senses open. Only the one magical signature. Just like every other night, nothing was happening. Just Arthur being Arthur. A small part of Peter indulged in a quick fantasy of Arthur being dismissed for his latest stupidity, and Peter gaining a partner that wouldn't be so…

There were two people in the alley. One was standing, the other laying down. Peter didn't recognize the one standing, but that was the one with the magical signature. Glancing down… that was Arthur. His eyes were closed. There was no magical signature.

He didn't even have time to scream, much less ready his weapon.

Do you remember any of our masters?

Not specifically. They run together.

Me too. I'm getting worried.

It's not important. The only master that matters is the one we have now.

…Yes. But don't you wonder? What mistakes they made, what we could've learned from them?

…What do we need to know beyond our duty and how to perform it? And we've known those forever and aren't about to forget.

You can always be better.

That's why we train.

But shouldn't we train our minds?

We needn't think. The master does that.

The throne room was vast. A huge arching ceiling of stone soared above the heads of the occupants of the room. On the throne sat a man, looking to be in his thirties. He wore a dark cloak with a cape that was draped across the right side of the throne. On that side stood a tall form bedecked in black armor next to a kid-sized form in identical armor other than the size. On the other side, two forms, each slightly shorter than the tall form opposite the throne, stood in the same armor. They were a foreboding presence.

On the steps leading up to the dais, the man in red cried out again, though no one reacted. The crowd that was arrayed facing the throne were too afraid to do anything in response, while the man on the throne seemed not to care. It was impossible to determine what the four figures in armor thought… not that any eyes were on them. They were scenery, a part of the background to be noticed and promptly forgotten.

"Please!" the fallen figure cried, trying to crawl up the stairs to the top of the dais. "I beg you!"

"Shut him up," the man on the throne said dismissively. The tallest of the figures in armor walked to the fallen man, calling a sword into their hand. Quickly, the sword flashed red through the air, separating the head from the body. The figure returned to its place beside the throne, and there was silence in the room.

The man on the throne rose. "I am your new king," he said, looking impassively at the shocked crowd. He gestured to the fallen grotesque form…forms… on the stairs in front of him. "The old age is over, and a new one has begun." His eyes narrowed as he swept a malevolent gaze over the crowd. "Get used to it." He spun on his heel. "My commands are to be carried out immediately. The commands of the Knights," he gestured vaguely at the figures in armor, "are to be considered mine."

He smiled, though the crowd arrayed behind him couldn't see it. "Knights, check them for Linker Cores. Make some pages." He turned back to look at them and allow them to see his predatory grin. More than a couple stepped backward. "And let's not kill them quite yet."

How many times has it been now?

I don't remember.

I lost track a long time ago, but I didn't think you would.

I remember other things. Our names.

So it is possible to remember?

Sometimes. Sometimes not.

That's frustrating.

It's not important.

No…

Our charge and each other. That's all we need.

…You're right.