Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of some sexual themes, some blood, some violence and some malicious content. Reader discretion is advised (not really but its fun to put that there).

Part 1 ≈ Ten Years Later †

Fang sniffed the area, searching for anything new. His black mane shown in the summer sunlight as he bent his nose towards the ground, teeth slightly bared. His pitch black eyes searched the locale for anything hostile; seeing none, he went back to sniffing the ground.

Behind the canine, Sparrow walked forward, brown eyes gazing around, and long brown hair blowing in the wind. A girl of 18, she had finally come into her own, having grown into her full, shapely womanly body. She wore a brown corset underneath a dark green, crop top jacket that stopped above her waist. She wore blue shorts that ended barely two inches below the waist. She called them 'short-shorts.' On her legs, she wore green thigh-high boots covered most of her legs. She didn't mind her clothing; she was comfortable.

She would have been considered very beautiful if she was wearing something a little more appropriate and she would have been considered a 'looker' by some of the lecherous men nearby. The only thing that stopped them was the menacing weapons on her person. A longsword hung in its sheath on her back and a newly invented clockwork pistol hung on her belt by her side. That and she was the adopted daughter of Lord Lucien.

The lecherous men couldn't take their eyes off of her, but they knew better than to try to go near her. Look but don't touch. Look, careful not to be seen looking. Some of the men went back to the shacks they had for houses, seeing no sport in the world today, deciding to drink themselves to unconsciousness in their own filth.

Sparrow was currently standing in Bowerstone Old Town, the place where she grew up. It was in ruins now, in even worse conditions than before. She always had to keep her head up, because there was no law here. Anything went. Twice the other day, she was almost crushed by some of the drunks who decided it was a good idea to fly. They succeeded for a moment, and then their drunken laughter was silenced by a sudden stop.

She didn't pay any of the drunks any mind; it was early morning and the only people still conscious were trying to get the ones passed out on their 'couches' to leave their 'homes.'

Sparrow sighed and scratched Fang's head, who had given up trying to find anything new. Partially, Sparrow felt responsible for the current state of Old Town, though a part of her thought that was just utter nonsense. Sparrow had found arrest warrants for five notorious criminals in Nicky the Nickname's gang. But instead of handing them over to Derek, the Town Guard, she had handed them over to a scoundrel, Arfur, for five gold coins, which they had spent on a magical music box so they could escape the life they had before.

Sparrow often wondered if Old Town would have been different if she had given the warrants to Derek instead. If anything would have been different then.

So here she was, standing in front of a dilapidated shack in an abandoned corner of Old Town.

This was our paradise, Sparrow thought as she looked on. This corner was just as abandoned as it is now. Only, two little girls lived. It was not the corner that was abandoned. It was us.

She had lived here before. Spent 8 years here, trying to survive. And now, 10 years later, she stood looking at it, living in a castle, against all probabilities. That life seemed so far away, as if it had never existed. Sparrow came here to remind herself where she came from. And where she might go if she failed.

She wouldn't fail. She couldn't.

Fang growled and Sparrow's mind shot back to where she was. There was a man approaching her. She smelled the booze on his breath and person, guessing that he was one of the lecherous men. And from the sound of his footsteps, he was still completely drunk.

The man giggled as he approached and placed an arm around Sparrow.

"Tsh-Hey, there good, lookin'!" the drunk man's slurred voice called. His breath reeked of ale. "Whysh you here all ALONE?"

Sparrow didn't answer.

"Tsh-mayhaps you lookin' for a good time!" he laughed gaily. He placed himself directly behind her and placed his crotch against her back.

Sparrow didn't do anything.

"Heh heh, we can havsh a good time all day!" he laughed again, moving his hips slowly.

"Rupert!" one of the onlookers called. "Get ur arse back here! NOW!" Rupert didn't listen, instead began getting into the motion.

"Hey," Sparrow called, looking over her shoulder, and crossing her arms. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Rupert laughed again. Sparrow didn't smile.

"Yoush knows what that is! Thatsh my WILLY! THATSH MY GUN!" Rupert laughed again and began pumping a little harder. Sparrow narrowed her eyes.

"Wrong," Sparrow's voice was cold. "That is my gun." She pulled the trigger and fired.

What Rupert was too drunk to realize was that Sparrow had got a hold of her clockwork pistol and brought it around herself when she crossed her arms. She had pointed it against Rupert's hardened member.

And now his member was no more.

If Rupert was half-asleep, he was wide awake now and clutching his the area between his legs while rolling on the ground, screaming and crying. Blood soaked through his fingers and onto the ground. Tears poured from his eyes, obscuring his vision as Sparrow looked on without remorse.

Sparrow placed the Red Dragon back into its holster on her left side. She admired the gun for its brutality and strength. When she was visiting Westcliff, she had won this amazing pistol in a shooting contest. Now, it was by far one of her favorite weapons. She smiled affectionately.

Rupert's cry brought Sparrow's attention. She saw the poor man rolling on the ground, trying to crawl away. Sparrow thought for a moment.

Should I let him go? She pondered. He was drunk and not in his right senses. However, he should not have gotten that drunk to begin with. He is clearly a man who is consumed by his demons. So I guess I have to end his life. Should I do it personally or let Fang finish him?

Sparrow looked over at her faithful friend, who was drooling slightly, but was waiting obediently for her command. Sparrow looked at the man crawling away and looked up at the group of vile men watching. They weren't even trying to get closer and help their 'friend'. They had condemned their friend by their fear. And their selfishness.

So be it, Sparrow decided. If they do not have the courage to help their friend, then they are no better than the worms that slither through the dirt. They deserve only to live with their fear and with their guilt. Spineless cowards!

Sparrow reached for her longsword and drew it. It was called the Maelstrom, a gift she had received from the Temple of Shadows. It was a menacing weapon, with etched in notches and a green shine that continued to give its horrifying light. She raised it and brought it to her side with a horrifying light in her eyes.

She knelt down to the ground and grabbed the back of Rupert's head. He moaned as she pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Sparrow brought the sword to his neck, bringing it closer to it inch by inch.

"Puh-puh-Please!" His voice was clear now. "I'm-I'm-I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!"

"I know," Sparrow told him. She brought the blade even closer.

"I-I-I have a wife and kid at home!" He cried. Sparrow glared at the coward.

"Would you stoop so low as to use your family as a shield?" Sparrow asked him coldly. Rupert stared at her wide-eyed, blurry from the tears. "You are a gutless worm that slithers around trying to find the next bar that will take you. You will drink yourself to death and then go back home, to the life that you could have made better had you actually worked for it. If you had worked once in your pathetic life, then you could have escaped from here and then wouldn't have any need for the ale you so desperately crave. But instead, you slither and crawled, trying to drown your troubles in the blur of the booze."

Rupert cried, closing his eyes.

"If your life is so horrible," Sparrow concluded. "Then I give you the chance to leave it."

"By killing me?!" Rupert shouted. The cold blade touched his neck.

"You could have left me alone," Sparrow told him. "But by bringing your drunken advances on me, you gave me the right to your pathetic life. Your place in this world is no longer needed. Now vanish."

Sparrow slid the Maelstrom slowly across his neck, drawing a line of blood that spilled onto the ground. Rupert gurgled.

"All your meaningless life you drowned in ale," Sparrow whispered. "Now, you shall drown in your own blood."

The Maelstrom finished its run across Rupert's neck and Sparrow hefted it up and wiped it clean on the filthy cretin's back. Filthy blood returns to filthy cretin.

In his own blood, Rupert drowned and slowly died. He gurgled one more time and stopped twitching. Sparrow returned the Maelstrom to its scabbard. Fang urinated on the man.

Sparrow looked up and saw four men walking towards her, wielding clubs and swords. She scoffed.

"Now you come to his aid?" Sparrow asked pointedly. "After the man has died, you come to his aid? Is this world filled with nothing but spineless cowards?"

"Cowards we may be," one of the men said, gripping his club. "But we ain't monsters!" Sparrow glared at him and he stepped back a little.

"Who are the real monsters?" She asked them sternly. "The people who live their lives to the fullest, or the dogs that wallow away in self pity, a blight on the rest of the world?"

They didn't answer. Instead, Sparrow saw that they got even angrier. She sighed and looked at Fang. Fang looked at her and barked. He was ready.

Sparrow stretched her fingers and a crackling blue energy came to them. Small lightning bolts shot from them as she put more power into them. Fang growled threateningly at the group.

"If you truly be men," Sparrow threatened. "Then die honorably, fighting to leave the pathetic lives you live. If not, then die with the maggots that infest your bodies!"

She screamed as she attacked. The blue light from the alleyway could be seen from the top of Castle Fairfax.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Theresa panted heavily on her hands and knees, coughing when she breathed in the dirt and dust floating in the air. The chamber was a mess, though she had tried to clear away her notes before she started the ritual, somehow they were still blown away by the sheer force of the power it emanated. She didn't care about it though; she was exhausted. The spell she used sapped her all of her strength. She still didn't know if it worked.

10 years, she thought desperately. 10 whole years. I had researched and checked every procedure needed to perform this. It had to work! It just had to! The world is at stake!

Theresa dared herself to look up. Standing in the middle of the incantation circle she had drawn stood a man. Naked though he was and completely hairless, he held himself up with complete confidence and pride. His large muscles glistened with sweat in the faint light, tough and full of power. His veins glowed a bright blue, pulsing along with his blood.

Slowly, his strength left him and he collapsed onto the ground with a groan. Something fell onto the ground from his body, but Theresa ignored it. She rushed over to the man and knelt down beside him.

"Be easy," Theresa said loudly. "Don't push yourself."

"Where am I?" the man said weakly, coughing as new breath flowed into him.

"You are in the Chamber of Fate," Theresa answered.

"The Heroes Guild?" the man said desperately. Theresa bit her lip.

"I am afraid that the Heroes Guild is no more," Theresa told him gently.

"What?" the man cried. "It had been saved! Jack never destroyed it!" Theresa placed her hand on his shoulder and the man started slightly to her touch.

"Listen to me," Theresa said gently. "It has been 500 years since Jack tried to take the Sword of Aeons. 500 years since you saved the world from him. And 500 years since you died." The man looked up slightly and looked at the palm of his hand.

"Right," the man whispered. "I died. In her arms. Then why…"

"Albion is in danger once again," Theresa explained. "Only you can save it. You, the Archon, has the strength to protect Albion and the world."

"Who are you?" the man asked. Theresa leaned back slightly.

"Alexander," Theresa said. "Do you not recognize your own sister?" The man looked up and stared at her. His sharp blue eyes pierced into her blank white eyes. He raised his hand slowly.

"Theresa?" Alexander gasped slightly. Theresa couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, little brother," Theresa said. "It is I." Alexander's hand touched her cheek and stroked it affectionately. Alexander smiled. Then he looked down, frowning. He could see the back of a mask. Picking it up slowly and carefully, he turned it over. The mask was completely white except from around the right eye, which was red. Alexander and Theresa looked at with slight disgust.

"Jack's mask still clings to you," Theresa stated. Alexander nodded.

"It will never leave me," Alexander muttered sadly. Theresa gazed on with her white eyes, reached forward and hugged her little brother. Alexander hugged her back.

"I am glad to see you again, little brother," Theresa said happily.

"And I you, sister," Alexander replied. They held each other at arms length and examined each other.

"Let me put some clothes on you," Theresa said. "And I will tell you why you are here. I do not have much gold, so I could only get you the cheap, pauper clothing. I hope I remembered your correct size."

"Any clothing will do," Alexander stated. "I have worn worse than the clothes of a pauper." He thought back to his time at the Darkwood Bordello and shivered. Had it really been necessary? Looking back, he could have just gotten the perverted old bordello owner drunk instead of doing…what he did. He shook his head.

Hindsight stings like a queen wasp sometimes, he thought bitterly. But he had to admit to himself, he was young. Still, it unnerved him.

Theresa walked back to him, carrying a neatly folded pile of clothing in her hands. Alexander took it from her graciously and got dressed.

"So," Alexander said. "What have you brought me into this time, dear sister?"

"Are you still upset about that whole Bargate prison thing?" Theresa asked.

"Yes, I am still very upset about 'that whole Bargate prison thing!'" Alexander scolded. "I was in that prison for a whole year because of you!"

"It was for a good reason, brother. Jack was holding our mother captive and you, like the good son you were, went to go rescue her," Theresa told him in a matter of fact tone of voice. Alexander grimaced; he couldn't deny her logic. Oh, how he hated it when his sister was right! And she was right nearly all the time!

"Did you see mother?" Theresa asked. Alexander paused for a moment.

"When Jack reappeared in the Northern Wastes," Alexander began. "I came across the Bronze Gate that separated Archon's Shrine to Archon's Folly. It could only be opened with the souls of three heroes. After some searching, I found mother's ghost in Oakvale. She made me use her soul to open the gate. I assume she was allowed to enter…that place."

"The Void?" Theresa asked. Alexander shook his head.

"No, when we die, we don't go to into the Void. Well…" Alexander thought for a moment. "I guess you do go to the Void, but it is a much more…pleasant place than the realm where the Court resides. The Court's Void is dark and painful. Where the other people go, it is much brighter and painless. I assume mother went there."

"You didn't?" Theresa asked.

"No," Alexander said. "Jack made sure of it." Theresa looked sadly at him.

"I thought so," Theresa said quietly. Alexander straightened.

"But enough of that," Alexander said. "Again, what have you gotten me into now, sister?"

Theresa smiled, took a chair and looked at him with completely white eyes.

"I trust you know of the Spire," Theresa said.

Alexander's smile slowly began to fade as Theresa recounted her story. Of the Spire and of the Heroes that lived today. And of Sparrow and her sister. By the time she was done with her tale, Alexander was leaning against a nearby table, frowning at the floor.

"So," Alexander stated. "This 'Lucien' fellow wishes to rebuild the Spire and use it's powers to bring his dead family back from the dead."

"Correct," Theresa nodded.

"And he has recruited the fourth Hero to help him accomplish this goal," Alexander continued.

"Correct," Theresa nodded again.

"And we have to stop him from gathering the Heroes of Strength, Will and Skill and using the power within their blood to activate said Spire," Alexander continued.

"Correct," Theresa nodded yet again.

"Because you believe that his motives may have changed over the last ten years and he may actually be using the Spire for other means that we don't yet know of," Alexander concluded.

"Correct," Theresa nodded for the final time. Alexander stared at the floor for a moment.

"Well," Alexander stated excitedly. "This doesn't seem too hard!"

Theresa smiled. He was still the same goofball she knew and loved.


I actually completed this chapter about 2 weeks ago. Why did I wait this long to publish it?

Mainly because I'm not that comfortable with this story. With Mass Effect, I brainstormed for nearly a year before I started writing. This one is more a spur of the moment story so I don't really know what I'm doing and that makes me uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong; I know exactly how it's going to end and all the major plot points. Everything in between? Nothing. I'm even beginning to think I should change this from a T rating to an M rating. Or put it on hiatus until I'm certain.

The way my imagination works, I always seem to think up M rated stuff. If you want it to stay T rating, just send me some tips on how I should tone it down. If not, I'll probably change it to an M rating.

Expect the next chapter whenever.