Morroig was like every other boy in the time; uneducated at the age of twelve, hoping that he would still find some work, and become a Roman scholar or warrior. That's what all Roman boys wanted at the age. But Morroig had four brothers, two sisters, and a widowed mother.

His father had died in a war against Germany, alongside Morroig's two older brothers, Max and Lucias. They were the second and third youngest. The eldest was a scholar's apprentice, Korrence.

Then, Morroig was the middle, he felt different than his brothers. He looked different and knew that he would disgrace the family. The younger ones?

Philip, the ten-year-old, would be a scholar, no doubt. He knew and had ideas that Morroig couldn't think of. The youngest ones? They were two-year-old twin, Joyce and Gerander, Both girls.

Morroig worried his mother. What would become of him?

But Morroig loved being with his friends. He wasn't too smart and hated wars. He hated fights and battles. "Mentally challenged in all," smirked Max once, when Morroig thought about it too hard.

His best friend was, with no doubt, Germà. Germà was just a year older than Morroig, but he was shorter. Morroig was a little tall, short brown haired, black eyed boy. He was abnormally underweight, which took away more of a chance in battles. He liked the very idea. Germà was like a stubborn brother, but a brother that Morroig enjoyed having around.

He spent every spare second playing with him and a leather ball or staying by the Mediterranean Sea. Morroig loved the water more than any other thing in the world. Maybe that could be his career. A river controller. A dam builder. A boat rower. He didn't care. Why would he? It was his life.

But he worked with the Roman Catholic Church, until further notice. He cleaned up after the services. But if he got to choose a job from it, he would choose to make the speech. Not speak it. Never speak it, he had a problem with speaking. But he loved making the words enunciate. He liked it as a hobby, just never for a job. He got a little each month for his allowance, but just a little.

"Morroig, play ball?" asked the short, strong, speedy, agile, blond boy with big blue eyes. Germà was a soldier to start with; his eyes could pierce people to tell the truth. He held a ball in one hand the other hand showed Morroig the fourteen kids of various ages. "Another player and we have a game."

"No, church is almost over. I need to go." Morroig stated, with the utmost sincerity. Germà's eyes pierced him, but Morroig did nothing, and Germà turned around and motioned all to go. Morroig and Germà fought, as much as Morroig hated it, he knew that it was all joking. That wasn't fighting, but Morroig didn't like when Germà used his eyes against the only one that he knows that won't lie. Morroig had a problem with lying. He just couldn't bring himself to the thought. And when he tried, he failed. He shaked, his eyes didn't look at anything in particular, his knees buckled, his arms hid behind his back, and he mumbled. He knew that people could tell if he lied, so he just told the truth.

He walked to the towering church, made of marble. He got inside the giant oak doors and saw eighty men, women, and children in eighteen pews, divided in rows. The pastor spoke on a podium. When he finished his speech, a choir of children to seniors sang a song about God and they all left.

When they all left, the old pastor told Morroig his duties. Then, he left and Morroig started cleaning child's papers, wine glasses, bread crumbs, and even found an old pair of sandals. Also, strangely, a crumpled paper.

Athenae occiderent

Athens to kill.

Oh, no. Morroig thought. Not another war. Rivers going to be closed, brothers gone, terrible time.

He decided to stop his cleaning for a little time and run to the pastor. Marcus Labienus Libo, though liked to be called Marcus by all, even Morroig. Marcus loved names but couldn't figure out Morroig's.

He ran to catch up. He was pretty fast at running, and he did catch up. He showed the crumpled paper to the monk-looking priest, Marcus.

"Oh, no. Morroig, why would you write something like that?"

"What? No, no I didn't write this. I found it. It's not my fault, you know how much I hate war."

"Oh, child, if only it wouldn't happen. If only we could talk it over. Negotiate. Oh, why, Father? Why, Father, do you put us through such troubles?" He started speaking to himself.

"Marcus, why do we fight? You know, if we all go to a Roman Catholic Church." Morroig asked slowly. "It doesn't make sense. Why war, when peace is an option. I shall try to stop the fighting."

"Child, you do that, I pray that someone will. Someone will rise and save us from certain war."

Morroig ran back to the church and finished his duty. He would show it to his family and Germà. After his duty.

"Good. Come, Max, lets go fight. Practice fighting." Lucias said with a smile. Lucias, Max, and Germà left to practice. Germà had a profound desire to practice with people that were five and six years older than himself.

"Mother, Morroig, Philip, I have to go." Korrence said, leaving to his master. He was a right-hand man that gave ideas and showed the experiments.

Philip left to study and Morroig's mother left because of the wailing from Joyce and Gerander. Thus, leaving Morroig with his little paper. He read the Latin over and over again, as if it would do something different.

But it didn't. The war would come. He knew it. When someone wanted someone else killed, there was bloodshed. Morroig decided to go outside and watch his brothers and friend "play" with their swords.

On the dusty dirt, Morroig watched as Max wasted his energy with his muscle, Lucias with his strategy, and Germà with his melee and defense. Anyone of them could take on many men and Max could even take an arrow to the heart and still live an extra minute off of momentum and adrenaline. Not that they tried that. . .

After all, Max won the most times, which no one was surprised at. But they all had to give Lucias and Germà credit for their defense and strategy.

A week, they waited, but nothing happened. when Morroig did his duty, he went to the church and scanned the spot that he had found the slip at. Unfortunately, he did find another. It was fortunate, however, because he found one. Unfortunate because of what he found on it.

Post Mensem

After a month.

It wasn't that bad. It would wait. When he showed it to the pastor, Marcus thanked God that they had another month.

Max and Lucias were a little angry that they didn't get to do anything for a month. Korrence and Philip did the same thing over again. But his mother had a different response.

"Morroig, you found this at the same spot?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Then it is simple. Next time, go early and see who it is."

"Why, Mother?"

"Do it."

"Alright. . ."

Morroig walked along the road with Germà. He brought his sword, but Morroig wouldn't allow that in the church.

"Fine. . ." he said trying to hide his bronze sword in the yellow grass.

They went in and Morroig scanned the rows. There he was.

"There," Morroig pointed at a Roman soldier in the sixth row. "That's the one."

"A soldier? Come, we have to tell your family."

"Go, I'll find out who it is. And I have my work." Germà thought over Morroig's statement and decided to stay.

"And now, the choir will finish it for us." Marcus said.

The choir stood and sang a song.

Elohim, send the Lamb

send him to save us

Elohim, send the Son

for salvation is a must.

When the song was finished, everyone left, but the soldier in his metal suit with a red cape stayed, searching. Morroig went up,

"Sir, do you need something?" The soldier jerked up, his eyes fearful. But, being a soldier, he put up the tough act.

"No, leave child, before I. . . I. . . I can't even say it in the presence of God."

Germà knew, by instinct, that he was lying. He made his look at the soldier, the victim sat more fearfully than before. He reached for the sword that wasn't there. "Children, leave." He quivered. "Do you know who I am?" More confidence.

"No, I assure you that that is the reason." Morroig said, cunningly.

"I am Appius Lillues━" He looked more fearful than ever before, much more than any soldier would dare go. "No, forget what I said!" And he stormed out of the sanctuary.

"How did you find out?" Max sounded more interested.

"Reverse psychology, duh." Philip said with a bored expression.

"That's it!" yelled Korrence as he ran into the wooden post next to the door. They laughed, but he stormed out. It seemed to be usual. Morroig would do something useful, Korrence would get an idea.

Morroig hadn't slept well. His dream worried him. He and Germà were fighting and all around them, people died. Humans and weird monsters that weren't in mythology or life. Mixtures of animals. They were in a metal can and dents came in, they didn't go out. They suffocated. They died.

"Morroig, Max wants you." Philip's quiet voice shivered. Morroig awoke from his nightmare. "It's about the Roman Soldier, Appius."

Morroig rushed to his brother, who stood just inside the door. Korrence and his Mother peered behind a curtain. "Morroig, I'm so sorry. But you were adopted. . ." He looked at his feet as he opened the curtain. Morroig's first reaction: "What?" Morroig's second reaction, "No! No, help me, Mother. Korrence, Max!" A bag was swept over his head, Morroig could smell blood. They pulled the bag over his whole body and two or three metal suits brought him.

"Wait," Mother's soft voice came. Morroig thought that she would save him. He should have known better. "Morroig, you were taken in as three months old. You were never my son. I am sorry. It was one or all. I am sorry, but you aren't even my offspring.

Morroig started crying. "No! No, save me! Mother! Max, rescue me! Help!" The door slammed and Morroig was crying in a sack knowing where he would go. Would he see his true Father? Elohim? Was he adopted? He cried, either way. He was thrown onto a wooden surface, another body onto his.

"No, Father!" came the last voice he would expect that would be yelling for a parent. Germà's.

"Germà, it's me, Morroig. What happened?"

"They wanted me. They wanted me, Father and Mother defended me. They're dead. The Roman soldiers killed them!"

"My family. My family adopted me. They gave me away. We both don't have parents." Then, he spoke quietly. "We need to break out."

"Right, already on it." There was a little silence, hard breathing, the muffled clank of metal on wood, and the sound of severing leather. A knife poked into Morroig's bag. They got out and found themselves enclosed in a wooden box.

"Good, no one heard us. No one saw us." Germà said, quietly, tears dried on his cheeks and dabbed in his eyes.

"Okay, how do we get out?"

He brandished his knife and a slight smile. Morroig got the idea. But first, he tried something more likely. He got to the back of the slowly moving carriage. He pushed it and the board slightly moved, hinged to the top.

"Oh, good thinking." They peered through the crack. One horse. Germà raised his knife and aimed for the knee joint of the horse. He hit it just below and the horse fell. He pushed the door open and he and Morroig fell out, scrambled to their feet, and sprinted as fast as they possibly could go. They sprinted past corners, streets, towers, buildings, and they avoided a path to the amphitheater. They ran to the water and started swimming. Horses would be no help. The cold water was smooth, the weather was perfect in the night.

But they both fell asleep in the water. On accident, of course. They didn't know about the Roman ship going by and what would happen if they touched the last Fryddi leaf on Earth.

It was the transferring leaf that died when used. It transferred one to a different dimension. How did they know that they were like the other heroes of Imbōanv.

In fact, it was because of Imbōanv that the Fryddi leaves went extinct after the one that Morroig and Germà touched.