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Chapter 1: A Prelude

Part I

Evening of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon

The world of Gaia was filled with magic and mystery. A prosperous civilization flourished, filled with humans who busily went about their lives, unaware of the danger that lurked in their midst. Somewhere inside its thousand-year prison, a long-forgotten consciousness stirred from its ancient sleep. The time approached when it would be freed, to once again reign anarchy and destruction upon the world.

Ignorant of this threat, mankind instead focused on rebuilding their lives. After years of bitter conflict, the event referred to as "The War" had finally ended. Peace followed, and the world spun in the midst of a revolution that combined a long history of wizardry with newfound science and technology. It brought order and convenience—and best of all, prosperity to the masses.

Social and economic changes swept throughout the continent, driven in large part by the mighty empire known as Angkor. Two of its neighbors—Koba and Kitezh—had initiated the War over a border dispute, and had mounted a considerable challenge. Despite their combined advantage in size and resources, Angkor emerged victorious, largely due to the military brilliance of one man.

Bram Morrison belonged to a corps of men known as the Gnostic Knights. They were highly experienced combatants used for strategic missions. Loyal to the king and feared throughout the land, they trained to be cold-hearted killers. They made a formidable force during the War, but in the two years of peace that followed, their kingdom's dependence on them lessened. The power of the king's court shifted from the military to bankers and businessmen, who no longer considered the knights' specialization as critical to the country's future.

The kingdom still used Gnostics for covert operations and foreign intelligence, but Bram feared his career stood on the brink of obsolescence. In order to justify their continued existence, the government would invent frivolous missions to evaluate their usefulness outside of traditional duties. However, these ordeals often tested the patience of the Knights as well as the coffers of the king. With this in mind, Bram felt particularly uneasy over his latest mission.

He ran his hand through his argent colored hair, which fell in thick waves down to his shoulders. It was not a sign of age, but rather a distinctive trait since as far back as he could remember. In stark contrast, his skin had a youthful appearance with medium complexion, and his face was clean-shaven and chiseled. His build was muscular, with broad shoulders and thick forearms from years of training. He carried a strong presence with the kind of poise that turned the heads of those around him.

His features were different from other Angkorians, but he had no way to trace his heredity, since he was raised by foster parents. He had no memory of his blood parents, but the mother and father who raised him provided plenty of care and nurturing, despite having come from an impoverished village beyond the outskirts of Angkor's capital. It was a farming community, with a lifestyle of grit and moil. Bram was no stranger to hard work in his youth.

Despite humble beginnings, he hungered for strength and knowledge. Rather than commit himself to the fields, he attended the Academy—and later enlisted in the army, where he out-trained his peers and grew quickly in rank. In only a few years, he became one of the youngest to reach the rank of Gnostic.

It came with the benefit of captaining his own personal aircraft. Bram's ship was an early design, modeled after ships of the sea. It included brandished white masts, wooden hulls, and on-deck cannons—everything a person might expect from a machine that doubled as a sea-faring vessel, except that it could race through the sky at great speeds. A precise combination of science and wizardry kept it afloat, and although newer models sported even more marvelous innovations, Bram preferred the speed and agility that made the Heron the envy of the king's fleet.

Bram had a personal history with Angkor's king. It began years ago when he served as ensign under the command of General Richard Cromwell. That year, Angkor's monarch—along with the heir—died in a supposed traveling accident. Political chaos ensued, and Angkor's most powerful and influential vied for control. General Cromwell used his military expertise and impeccable war record to make a move for the Crown. After eliminating his opponents, Richard became the first king in Angkor's short history to have originated outside the royal family.

Though Bram and Richard shared a strong history, the new king grew increasingly distant following the War's end. He shifted alliances to those who furthered his ambitions, and seemed to lose interest in old loyalties. In the past, Bram picked and chose his own missions, but now various layers of bureaucracy altered the chain of command. He no longer reported directly to his liege, but rather through a series of middlemen, each less trustworthy than the last. And finally, he faced the culmination of all his distaste and frustration.

At first, his mission statement read more like an errand, but for reasons he did not understand, it was given the highest priority. By special writ, he was ordered to escort a newly appointed chancellor to a region known as Minoa, which lay across the Great Ocean. Here was a village far from Angkor's interests, holding little else but the resident wizards, as well as the scores of refugees who ended up there after the War. In most cases, Bram maintained a genuine respect for these old scholars, but the ones in Minoa held no allegiance to any political leader. Instead, they followed some kind of village elder who remained forever hidden from public view.

He considered what might have suddenly attracted King Richard's interest to this pitiful village on the Southern Continent. He knew of just one possibility—an old artifact known as a sunstone, which had once been worshipped as having a divine connection with the Goddess of the planet. Minoa was one of four dwellings of these so-called sacred objects. Although believers of Gaia maintained a testament of the sunstones' powers, many respected scholars had researched the artifacts over the centuries and produced no such evidence. Bram did not believe the stories either, but he knew of nothing else that would have drawn King Richard's attention.

The nations of Kitezh and Koba each held their own sunstones, but if these objects held any intrinsic powers, they did nothing to help these countries during the War. Both once stood as mighty empires, but Angkor defeated their militaries and shattered their economies. Although King Richard allowed their prior rulers to maintain governance, the nations themselves became puppets to his influence. Vineta—home of the eight clerics—housed the final sunstone. It was a country far on the outskirts of the continent, with an economy too small to engage in political relations.

Bram once thought the same of Minoa. He saw little value from a sty adorned with living conditions that only Angkor's livestock would envy. Clearly, King Richard would not have sent his most venerable resources, unless there was something of high value—but if it were not for the sunstone, then what else? Bram made it a policy never to start a mission based on vague orders, but he could not avoid it this time, and it left him feeling anxious.

From his personal quarters, he calmed his mind by staring out the window of his aircraft. He sat at an old oak desk, letting the disappearing rays of a setting sun warm his skin, while taking in deep breaths of crisp ocean air. From a thousand spans above the water, he watched as delicate waves reflected slivers of sunlight that danced in a myriad of golden hues. The view never failed to elicit a sense of wonder.

His meditation was interrupted by a pounding on the door. It was rude and deliberate—the harbinger of an impatient visitor. He tore himself from the view to beckon the person inside.

"Come in."

A middle-aged man stormed through the door, dressed in dark silken robes with golden embroidery. His long, blond hair was pulled back and slick, and his high cheekbones and carefree expression suited his role as a mid-ranking politician. His name was Virgil Garvey, and he was the very same chancellor whom Bram was ordered to escort to Minoa. A prideful air surrounded him, and he never even bothered to ask forgiveness for barging in uninvited.

"Captain, it's time I revealed the details of the mission."

Bram had waited long enough for this briefing, and felt it apt to make his displeasure known. "It's about time, Mister Garvey. Your orders may supersede mine for the time
being—having come directly from the king—but you'd best learn quickly not to keep a Gnostic waiting."

"There's no need for formalities, Abraham. My orders do indeed come directly from His Majesty, and you'd best remember that."

Bram did not appreciate the tone of disrespect, much less the condescending use of his birth name. Gnostic Knights stood at the highest rank, and for the most part they achieved respect through fear and intimidation. Perhaps it was the look of arrogance in the chancellor's face that angered Bram the most. He knew he would hold very little influence over this subordinate.

"First tell me why we're here," Bram began. "What is King Richard's interest in a place like Minoa?"

"You mean to say you haven't surmised?" Virgil returned with an unmistakable smirk. He clearly enjoyed pulling rank with his temporary status and privileged information.

Bram's tone darkened, wondering what game the chancellor was playing. He contained his indignation and pressed for further details. "I presume we're here for the sunstone, though last I heard from the Angkorian government, the sunstones were—and I quote— 'Nothing more than tawdry ornaments of a dead religion.' Richard would not have sent a force of our might to strip Minoan zealots of a worthless icon."

He spoke of the Gaian Priests, an ancient organization, but one whose teachings had recently grown in popularity following in the War's end. This was especially true in areas such as Minoa, which accepted refugees who had been displaced in the aftermath of battles on the Northern Continent. Like most others, Bram found it irrational to put his faith in a faceless deity—but even so, he acknowledged the desperation brought about by the horrors of war.

He continued, his tone cynical. "Am I now to believe that Angkor wishes to research the sunstones, even while countless others have failed? How much is Richard willing to throw forth in resources, just to arrive at the same conclusion? Or have you somehow unearthed new information?"

As Bram intended, the remark caused a reaction. It lasted only a moment, and was nothing more than a twitch of Virgil's brow, but he knew how to notice such subtleties. "Don't be presumptuous," the chancellor responded curtly, clearly hiding something. "Besides, the details are classified. All you need to know is that the sunstone is our objective, and King Richard is willing to expend any cost necessary to retrieve it."

Bram nearly broke out in laughter before he realized the chancellor was serious. Virgil's darkening mood added to the gravity in the room.

"What kind of fool do you take me for, Mister Garvey? I'm a Gnostic Knight, in command of Richard's most elite squadron. His Majesty would not deploy us for such a trivial bounty, and I demand the truth. Why are we really here? We haven't lived through war to become gambits in someone's political game."

"This is not a game, Mister Morrison," Virgil returned in a level tone, "and you'd do well to take it more seriously. I'll only state that our intelligence in this matter has been well vetted."

Bram could no longer tolerate Virgil's obliqueness. "I've had enough of your bureaucracy! I deserve to know the truth, and I'll not be disrespected by a mere chancellor! I demand you answer me truthfully, or so help me—"

He had not intended to lose control, but his voice was filled with anger. The chancellor's eyes narrowed. "I don't take orders from you, Mister Morrison—and neither does King Richard need to inform his Gnostics of every detail. If I were you, I'd put some trust in my liege, and carry out this mission without further insubordination."

With that said, Virgil stalked toward the door. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and tossed out a final remark. His forefinger pointed accusingly. "Remember where you came from, Gnostic. You didn't start your life in Angkor's good graces. If you're not careful, you'll have nothing to protect you!"

The thinly veiled threat left Bram speechless. He scarcely believed that a man of his rank could muster such audacity—but Virgil quickly departed, slamming the door shut behind him.

Disrespect of this magnitude was unheard of to a Gnostic Knight. Anyone else would have feared for his life. Regardless of King Richard's mandate, Virgil would pay for his insolence. Bram decided he would use his influence to unseat the impudent man upon his return to Angkor. A smile crept upon his lips, as darkness descended in the cabin. The sun had set, and the rush of air caused by Virgil's hasty departure had blown out the night lamp. Yet Bram stewed in his seat a moment longer, contemplating how to gain the upper hand.