Heaven's Lion: Lost Memories – Side Fiery Sword

Original Idea by Kouryuo Saber

Written by Spiritblade

Disclaimer: On the first page. Let's get on with this. Segments in italics denote the narrator speaking. I was not surprised to find no reviews on my first and second chapters, but that is understandable. These characters have no impact and do not belong in the Gundam SeeD and GSD universe – but they will in the story of Kouryuo Saber's – and my – making.

(O)

Chapter 2: The Unbroken Vow – Part 1: Childhood of Ashes

It has been two weeks since I was taken captive and brought to the Imperial Fury, the Emperor-class battleship that serves as the flagship of the Fiery Sword's armada. Two weeks since I bore witness to the merciless assault that had routed the warriors of the Reyguard Empire from their trenches, and slaughtered men and women I was proud to call brother and sister. They had spared me only because I was unarmed… and because I was known to them – or at least, known to one of them.

That person's name is Iyanna Tyrisfal, a wingly Farseer and a captain within the Sardaukar, the elite warrior cadre that serves the Fiery Sword Legion Master as his shock-troopers and bodyguard. Iyanna, I soon learn, stands within the Legion Master's inner circle and has served the latter ever since his ascension a thousand years ago. She had been sent by the Prophetess-Queen Ellesime, ruler of Suldanesselar and the spiritual leader of the wingly race, to serve, guide and protect the young Legion Master. Iyanna did not come to the court of Nanaya Raiha alone; she had brought with her warriors and warlocks personally chosen by the Prophetess-Queen, each of whom is a veteran of over a hundred battles. Each of the latter bears proudly on his or her person the flaming sword symbol superimposed over a sunburst.

I admit that I was stirred by this alien woman's beauty. Her long, thick mane of soft crimson hair was a sharp contrast to her pale skin, and her body was lithe, graceful and strong. The first time I saw her was one burnt into my retinas; I see Iyanna every time I close my eyes. I see her clad in that ornate armor of silver and gold, clutching a crackling spear, her voice shrill in the thunder of battle, wings spread gloriously as if to embrace to sky. It was like seeing the Archangel Gabriel herself as she brought the Word to the Prophet Muhammad over six thousand years ago. But more, I was stirred by the depth of her knowledge of things that were…and of things to be.

It was with this knowledge that I asked her how this War would end, and if Lord Metatron and Reyguard would emerge victorious from the conflagration. The expression of agony on Iyanna's face told me that I had made the worst faux pas possible and that any conversations between us would be postponed for some time. Indeed, she turned and left – but not before telling me that her gift of foresight was one she may well have been better off without. Because of it, she was denied a normal life. Because of it, she had to stride a hundred battlefields, guiding the warriors of her race to victory. Because of it, she was bound by laws that forbade her from doing anything that would change the destinies of those whose fates were already written in the stars.

She assured me of one thing: I would live to see the end of the war.

It would be three days later that she finally sent for me. She brings me, after lunch, to one of the training halls aboard the Imperial Fury, where I came face-to-face with men and women who wore uniforms of the Earth Sphere's militia. The creation of these irregulars was a desperate attempt on the part of the Earth Sphere's leadership to give their armies, mauled in the aftermath of the Second Bloody Valentine War, time to reorganize. Imperial and Order commanders alike viewed the militia with contempt, likening them to vermin deserving only extermination. Though equipped and given training similar to that of regular troops, the militia nevertheless lacked the discipline and cohesion of their professional counterparts. Because of this, they suffered horribly in the eight months since Lord Metatron and Emperor Bernhardt ordered the invasion of Terra. But, that was about to change.

Iyanna had seen fit to furnish me with reports from the battle-fronts from Terra itself, many of which were meant for high-ranking commanders (and in one such instance, for Lord Michael himself!). At least 4 in 10 reports described the militia as a growing problem to both Imperial and Order armies. Their penchant for launching lightning raids and their skill in urban conflicts has bloodied the noses of many an Imperial battalion. No doubt many of those high-born Reyguard brats who once viewed the militias with such scorn are now taking these 'peasant-soldiers' more seriously. The deaths of several of their peers had been a wakeup call that was long overdue.

The militia regiments been trained and equipped by the Fiery Sword Legion, however, are several shades more dangerous than their peers. Their discipline and commitment is awesome. Should they cross swords with the warriors of the Knightly Orders, there is a chance that these militia-turned-stormtroopers may well carry the day. The weapons they are familiarizing themselves with are the instruments in which they will smite those who have wronged them and to declare that Terra does not – and will never – belong to its conquerors.

I hear them speak of their countries and their people, these men and women who were once enemies because of ideology and race. I hear the songs they sing and the stories they tell. I watch them pay respect to those who have crossed the river before them. I listen to their hopes and dreams. I bear witness as they fight against their hate and anger, trying not to lose their humanity in an inhuman war. I light a candle for these brave souls, my enemies, one and all, noble and fallen, man and woman, and I pray for them. Because I am looking upon the faces of heroes; though they wear not the colors of Lordaeron or Reyguard, they wear the colors all warriors wear and fight the battles all warriors fight.

Iyanna raised a hand and pointed to one warrior among them, and my eyes widen. There, surrounded by rough-looking men and women, was a well-built man with golden hair, green eyes and a smile one never sees on a pirate (outside of romance novels and manga), sparring with his peers. I recognize him instantly: Lucian Winterguild, captain of the Phantom pirates and a man who, more than any other, Lord Michael longs to see dead. I can still remember the look of utter fury on the latter's face when he saw that his enemy a thousand years dead was still alive. I turned to look at Iyanna, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue, but she places an armored finger on my lips.

'Tonight,' she tells me, 'I will tell you the story of Lucian Winterguild and how he and your Lord Michael became enemies. Tonight is a night that shatters another lie you have been told. Are you ready?'

I am.

Diary of Kouryuo Saber

Historian of the Legion of Death

October 17th, Cosmic Era 76

(O)

The first time I met Lucian Winterguild was over a thousand years ago, when I was sent to the Holy Order's throne-world of Lordaeron in the Eridani star-cluster as an emissary of Her Majesty Ellesime. My mission then had been to request its ruling High Lords and Sacred Beasts for a force of warriors – no more than a hundred – to aid our Kingdom to crush an insurrection led by one whose name is a curse amongst my people for the vile betrayal he had committed. That story is one I will save for last for last, for it has no bearing on the one I am about to tell. By then, you may already know that which many people – even those of my race – do not. Sylvia Thompson had left out in her book – on purpose and by the request of Her Majesty – the names of the heroes who saved us, the names and locations of the places that are sacred to my people, and events that could be used by Her Majesty's political enemies to tarnish her name and that of the House of Aseria. In their place, she used lies to tell a truth; to weave a story that, even now, is loved by all.

And here is where our story begins, Master Kouryuo. Understand this: truth and lies are but tools in the hands of those who know how to use them. Repeat a thing often enough, and many people will start to see it as true. Tell a lie that is half a truth and even the shrewdest will be unable to tell the difference. Thus, tell me this: What do you know of Lucian Winterguild?

Interesting.

I expected as much. There are few people in Creation that Michael fears, and it is ironic that numbered among them is a man who is a nuisance at worst. While it is true that Lucian is a pirate, he is unlike other pirates. Most pirates are in love with wealth, women and fame. They will pursue that goal with everything that they have. Lucian is a man in love with freedom; the pirate flag he flies on his ship, the Einherjar, is a declaration to all of that freedom. He goes where he pleases, bringing all who would accept his ethos onto his ship. And once, a long, long time ago, he made a promise to two girls, under the light of the stars, to take them to the places they could only dream of.

Is this a story like the Wandering Angel's, you ask? In a way, yes, for these two were both men in love. Now that I think about it…so are many of those in the stories I will tell you in the days to come.

(O)

17th March 3567 A.D., Horologii Beta star-cluster, Midgard, Esthar City, 0500 hrs

It has always been Lucian's habit to wake up earlier than his parents, to leave the small, cramped apartment that served as home to three people, and to go to the highest point in Esthar City to watch as the stars surrendered their dominion of the skies to the dawn. Here, under the memorial erected on Astarte's Throne by the late President of Esthar City Laguna Loire over two hundred years ago after the end of the Ultimecia Affair, Lucian could see the entirety of the city he lived in. Stretching to the horizon, the bright lights of a prosperous metropolis was a contrast to the slums the boy had left behind. It was akin to seeing all the stars of heaven on earth, a mesmerizing sight that never failed to steal his breath away.

The dull rumble of engines caused Lucian to turn his head upwards to see the massive form of starships fly overhead, their passage causing the trees about the memorial to whip about violently in the aftermath of its passage. The boy's eyes widened in awe at the sight; the ships were the Munificent-class frigates Eclipse, Lancelot and Amaterasu, all of whom were part of Midgard's famed 32nd Orbital Defense Squadron. One day, his parents had promised, if he did well in school, he would be able to serve (or even captain!) one of those ships.

And when that day came, the boy swore, he would take his parents and friends and leave Midgard, leave behind the poverty and hardship that had come with their station. He had lost count of the number of times he felt envy sink her fangs deep into his heart as he watched his schoolmates enjoy the things he would never be able to afford. He remembered with the looks on his parents' faces as he asked them for things they would never be able to give him. All they could do was give him a good education and pray, God willing, that Fate would be kinder to their son than it had been to them.

But, despite everything the priest who ran the ramshackle church had said, Lucian found it hard to believe in God. Because, everyday…he would cycle past those whom God had abandoned. The young boy looked down at his bicycle, which his father had found discarded near a refuse collection point and repaired to the best of his ability, and his school uniform. There laid the reality he cannot escape. Lucian sighed quietly, and shook his head. There was no point being depressed. Besides…today was the beginning of a new week! And with the school fair coming, the boy knew that his skills would be very much in demand. He already had received requests from his school's seniors to help them with their stalls, in exchange for a cut of the profits.

And if he made enough money, then maybe he could bring his parents out for a good meal instead of the other way round!

(O)

Sanctuary Middle School, 0700 hrs

Sanctuary Middle School was located in one of the residential neighborhoods of Esthar City. It was a good neighborhood, Lucian thought, as he bit into one of the buns given to him by the lunch ladies in thanks for his assistance earlier. The chances of anyone getting robbed or attacked here were low as compared to the slums. There, Lucian knew, there was hardly a night when the gangs did not fight, or someone was not robbed of his or her day's takings – or worse. The police officers assigned to patrol the slums were themselves no better than the gangs; almost every one of them was on the take. Even the district chief was in the pocket of the triads, all of whom paid the man considerable sums to look the other way.

The fact that the man and his subordinates had yet to be put away was an indication that the triads had in their pockets several key, high-level government officials. Not that the latter, and the common citizenry, would care about the peasants that formed the bulk of the Antarian Kingdom's workforce. So what if a few dozen of them died? There would be more where they came from – many, many more. Lucian had witnessed two peasant revolts in the last six years; both had been brutally suppressed. The last one had been six months ago, and that insurrection had left over two thousand dead, twice that many injured, and over a billion credits worth of damages to businesses and homes in the more developed districts. The current president of the Esthar province, Arshad Loire, the grandson of Laguna Loire and husband to the Princess Moira Kerensky, had not taken kindly to the insurrection and had increased the taxes of the peasant class in order to pay for the damages that their insurrection had caused.

Lucian looked at the airship that flew overhead, the massive banners it flew proclaiming the approaching birthday of the man who was the descendant of a revered hero. Its loudspeakers sang praises of a man who had fought and won many battles (battles, Lucian knew, that were won by the blood and effort of his soldiers, while he sat and commanded from the safety of his command carrier), his courage (which was nonexistent), and of his wisdom and generosity (which took the form of his Darwinist beliefs and 'tax breaks' which involved taking more from the poor to give the rich momentary respite).

No, Arshad Loire was no hero. The heroes Lucian loved and revered were all long-dead, buried in graves far from their homelands, and whose names and deeds were on the verge of being forgotten. The once-beautiful memorial on Astarte's Throne was a testament to that tragic truth. The boy let the empty plastic wrapper that had once held his breakfast be seized by the wind, the sight of it fluttering brokenly into the skies the image of an angel struggling to remain aloft.

An angel…

He remembered the words of the fortune teller he had visited some weeks back during a fair held at a Shinto shrine within the city itself. The weary expression of a woman who was tired of answering the same questions faded when he sat before her. She seized his small, callused hands with a speed that belied her age, gazing at the lines and tracing them with her slender fingers. Her expression became one full of sorrow, even as she tried to mask it with a smile: 'It is ironic, yet fitting, that he who proclaims himself the most faithless of men is, in truth, the most faithful of them all. That he who believed that the heroes he once loved and revered as a child are all dead will one day, as a man, stand amongst them.

'When the coldest, cruelest winter besets Midgard, you will be forced to make a decision, one that will damn those you cherish to a lifetime of torment and degradation, or to one of glory and honor. Understand this: both decisions are not without consequence. The first will see to them still in possession of their hearts and souls but, like their bodies, they will be scarred and battered by the cruelties of no few men and women who see beauty as something to defile or rip away. Their lives will blaze brightly, one last time, as you deliver them from their suffering.

'The second will see them delivered into the hands of one who has in his hands the power to deliver them to safety. He will mold them into Angels of War, shining stars in the firmament of battle whose swords and wrath spell doom for the enemies of humanity. They will give hope and courage to thousands. They will visit judgment upon the wicked and mercy upon the helpless, and deliver despair to the death it so rightly deserves. Should you decide on this path, then the toll shall be paid by you, young Lucian.'

Was there, Lucian had asked the fortune-teller, a price to be paid for their saving? The latter had nodded, and asked if the former wanted to know what would be asked of him. Lucian had shaken his head; if it meant the ones he cared about would be delivered to a place kinder than the hell they lived in, he would pay it. God could, for all Lucian cared, send him the receipt upon his arrival in Hades. The fortune-teller had laughed merrily, before sending him on his way, but not before giving Lucian her blessings. The only thing that plagued Lucian's mind at night was who was it that would need saving; the fortune-teller had neglected to tell him that. Or left it out on purpose…

"Lucian…?" a voice called out, breaking Lucian out of his thoughts. The boy turned about to see two girls walking towards him. He recognized them instantly; they were the twin daughters of a family who lived in a run-down building several blocks from where he lived and who Lucian had spent many happy hours playing with. Their names were Platina and Aria Armash. The former had silver hair and blue eyes while the latter had dark hair and crimson eyes. Both promised to be stunningly beautiful when they grew to adulthood, a tribute, no doubt, to the Betelgeusian blood that ran thick in their veins.

Blood, Lucian knew, that neither of their parents possessed.

"What took the both of you so long?"

(O)

Before I continue, it would be prudent of me to inform you that, in this story, Antares's war with the Republic of Betelgeuse had ended only two years prior, in 3553 A.D. Incited by the Purist factions within the Church of Lordaeron who wanted to turn the inhabitants of Betelgeuse from their 'heathen' gods, and executed by a Royal Family that was incapable of bringing its more ambitious scions and servants to heel, the two year occupation of Betelgeuse left thousands of its inhabitants – and Antarian soldiers – dead. Many Betelgeusians, mostly women, ended up in the slave markets of Antares – or in the chambers of the occupational forces' officers. Many of these were repatriated back to Betelgeuse after the war, but there were those who were hidden by lustful generals and Planetary Lord reluctant to free them… or who chose to remain with their lovers.

I'm sorry, you had a question? How did the war end…? You know the answer to that, Master Kouryuo – and it's not exactly something I can lie about. The Kingdom of Antares lost the war. But before they were driven from the system, the Purists and elements of the Antarian army attempted to destroy the planet with a Geo-Sword. If they cannot bring the planet under their rule, they will blast it clean of life.

Yes, Master Kouryuo – the Purists attempted to destroy Betelgeuse. For the first time since your race's Great Expansion and the Armageddon Compact, a human hegemony had targeted another with a planet-killer for no other reason than because its faith was abhorrent in its eyes. That portion of history was excised from the history books of this region, in order to preserve the integrity of the Purists. Why would they do it?

The reasons are the same as when they reduced the Sword and Shield Legions to traitors beyond redemption whose power-lust motivated them to turn on their kin. They did it because they could – and because it served their purpose. But there is one more reason: of all the factions in Lordaeron, which is the most powerful? Yes; it is the Purist faction. Supported by more than half the Divine Beasts, all six Horsemen and five of the seven Eyes, the Purist faction's power in second to none.

(O)

"Rush hour," Aria said stonily, "And very rude people…"

"That explains the black eye," Lucian shook his head, and looked at Platina, "Was it…?"

Platina nodded. Lucian sighed; Aria was hard to anger, but when moved to ire, was more than capable of kicking down anyone twice her size. The dark-haired (and older) twin of Platina was a mascot to the all-female gang called the Wildcats. One of the more well-armed gangs in the slums, the Wildcats allegedly had links with a mercenary group that was in the employ of President Arshad. And Lucian, having seen the weapons in their hands, believed it.

"I have," Lucian finally spoke, "to talk to Rashid before he gets himself killed."

"Please do," Platina replied, "If he keeps at it, he won't be a boy anymore. And Aria had warned him that she won't give him half the mercy she gives you."

Lucian turned and looked at Aria, seeing the eerie smirk that would have made a demon freeze in its tracks. What exactly did…? No, wait, did Aria…? His eyes widened when he realized what exactly his dark-haired friend had done. The smirk became evil. Lucian developed a sweat-drop; she did. Rashid was going to be singing soprano for the next few days, and would tremble in fear every time he so much as saw Aria's shadow or heard her name. Never mind the stern talking-to; a bottle of ointment and words of sympathy would be more appropriate.

"Your sister does not do the 'mercy' thing, Platina," Lucian turned his attention back to Platina, "That is why the Wildcats like her – and why half the boys aged 12 to 24 stay far, far away from her. There is more mercy in an Isiri Archon than in your sister."

Before Aria could reply, the school bell rang, signaling the start of lessons. Lucian tossed Platina the bag holding the last three buns, "I got those from the lunch lady. I'll see both of you at break-time at the regular place."

(O)

The regular place that Lucian told Aria and Platina of was the Home Economics Room, where Sanctuary High's students learnt basic culinary skills to ensure that they were capable of cooking up a simple meal without burning the house down. Lucian was proud of his hard-earned skills, but his classmates – and his homeroom teacher – had never let him forget just how many times he had almost burnt the school down. Even now, the matronly woman hovered behind Lucian, watching as the latter went about cooking up his latest dish. How long had it been since she had tasted a dish from her home-world?

Ten years, if memory serves. The sharp tang of her student's cooking brought the teacher back to reality, and her mouth started to water. A glance at either side of her told the teacher that his classmates were severely distracted as well, and she could hear the sharp growl from more than one stomach. As always, Lucian had made enough for the entire class. She could not contain the childish smile that curved her lips when her young student switched off the stove, and poured the sauce onto it, turning an already delicious aroma to mouth-watering. The next words from her student's lips saw to 24 stoves being switched off simultaneously and its occupants lining up, plates in hand, with happy expressions on their faces: "All done, guys. Come and get it!"

Lunch would come early today, as it would on this particular day of every week.

(O)

Platina breathed in the scent of the Pasta le Eridani that her childhood friend had cooked earlier for his class, a delighted smile on her young face. Even her older twin had a rare smile on her face as she beheld the hot plate of food before her; food, they both knew, that would never grace the tables of many of the slum's inhabitants. Lucian had gone out to get drinks for all of them, leaving the two girls alone in the Home Economics Room. It allowed the Aria and Platina a measure of privacy and warmth that was lacking in their respective homes.

"It's so quiet, isn't it, Aria…?" Platina asked.

The dark-haired girl nodded, "It is. If I could, I would stay here and never go home."

"Should we ask Lucian if we could stay at his?"

"Will his parents…?"

"I doubt it, Aria," Platina replied, "Aunt Malys and Uncle Terry have never said no to us before."

"That may very well change, Platina. Don't expect things to remain the same."

"I know, Aria. I don't want to rely on Lucian forever…" Platina's face was somber, "One day, he will leave us behind to chase after his dream. And I want him to leave knowing that we will be able to stand on our own two feet."

"You can always follow him, you know," Aria said, "I won't stop you…and it would give me some reassurance that you are out there, seeing the thing we could only dream about. And I know Lucian well enough that you would be safe in his hands. That idiot is so straight up and down that I wonder how it is he managed to survive all this time in a place as unforgiving as the slums…"

Platina chuckled, "The answer is sitting right in front of you, sis. How many people, do you think, will say no when they take a whiff of this?"

"Not many, I'll give you that," Aria replied with a brief smile, "But I was being serious, Platina. Lucian has too kind a soul; it will burn him one day. The galaxy we live in is a vast jungle where predators prey on those weaker than themselves. It is a dark, cruel place. Every time I sing," and the girl touched the sigils on her face, which lit up at her unspoken command, "I am reminded of this. I hear the hymns of warriors before they go into battle. I hear the sobs of betrayed lovers. I hear the honey-coated lies of kings whose thirst for power is insatiable. I see weapons, wet with the blood of innocents, raised high in tribute to a God whose façade of mercy and compassion is a lie. I see heroes and heroines worthy of the name left to die alone, bleeding and broken on a thousand battlefields across as many worlds."

Platina did not speak for a full minute, "Aria…"

"I'm not like you, sister, "the dark-haired girl continued, "My songs do not give hope to the despairing. They do not warm the hearts of lovers and give them hope for the future. They do not silence the beast that lies in the hearts of humanity and alien-kind. My songs spur them to acts of insane courage and atrocity; they bespeak of a paradise that waits only for the worthy, for warriors worthy of the name…"

"Aria…" now Platina's voice was sharp, "You are not weak. You never have been. You endured so much for me, sister, and I will never forget that. And Lucian loves you as much – if not more – as he does me."

Aria reddened, and she turned to stare at her sister as if the latter had grown a second head. The dark-haired Betelgeusian girl found herself unable to answer, the image of a smiling Lucian a solar flare that blasted away the darkness in her soul and the madness that lurked at the edges of her mind. Be strong, he whispered. And she nodded, reaching out to that image's outstretched hand, feeling the despair wither as she did so.

'And fear not.'

(O)

March 20th 3567 A.D., Esthar City Leonhart Dojo, 1450 hrs

The Leonhart Dojo was located at the eastern end of the city, at its outskirts, at the top of a hill that boasted a magnificent view of the city that the ancestors of the dojo's owners had given their lives to defend. Surrounded by woods and forests, it guaranteed privacy for both its owners and its students. Although named after one of the heroes of the Ultimecia Affair – who was also the illegitimate son of the Esthar's president during that period –and regarded as a national treasure, it had less than a hundred students. The reason for this was due to its headmaster, Ares Almasy, the descendant of Seifer Almasy and Kamigari Fujin.

Unlike his father, Chris Almasy, during whose tenure the dojo boasted close to five hundred students, Ares was of a more of a traditionalist. Believing in quality over quantity, he instituted to what amounted to a purge of his father's school. It caused an uproar; many of Chris Almasy's students were the sons and daughters of Antarian nobles. But, in the face of a man who had saved a Prince of Antares and faced down an Ork Warlord single-handedly and won, their threats were akin to the braying of donkeys: annoying and little else. Ares Almasy was lean and well-muscled despite his 47 years, and his blue eyes were the windows to a cold hell whose gates are barred only by the same fierce will that had granted him victory over a monster all those years before.

Lucian took in a deep breath as his every step brought him closer to the training hall. The Leonhart Dojo was more than just a home and a training ground; it was a memorial to those who were long gone, raised by a man who would attain his cherished dream of vanquishing his rival, but whose pride would never forgive him the fact that he had betrayed their home and everyone living on it. The enormous graveyard that housed close to ten thousand souls belonged to young men and women whose lives were extinguished in the Ultimecia Affair was located in the Almasy estate, their weapons serving as grave markers in place of gravestones. Engraved on each weapon was the name of its owner, and an epitaph to ease the soul's way to Heaven. Lucian had stood in the centre of that graveyard many times. Surrounded as he was by a forest of weapons beneath the light of the moons and the stars of Midgard, with the enormous memorial that was a replica of that which was on Astarte's Throne, he could almost hear the voices of these warriors who had long ago crossed the river. He could hear the desperate struggle against a titanic army whose numbers approached millions – all to buy time for several of their own to bring an insane demigoddess down.

And that demigoddess, Lucian remembered from the story his teacher had told him, been one of the organization's own. The boy knew everything about the Organization; it was hard for anyone in the galaxy not to. For one, they were one of the most famous (or infamous) mercenary outfits in the entire galaxy. For another, their ranks were replete with young men and women who were orphans. And lastly, the missions SeeDs undertook pitched them against odds that even a Ctarl-Ctarl of the warrior caste would refuse to go up against. The sinuous sigil that was the emblem of the SeeD Organization was synonymous with insane courage, ruthless cunning, unorthodox battle-tactics and soldiers the equal of Lordaeron's Throne Guard.

Lucian turned his gaze onto the marble frieze that dominated one entire wall, the image depicting Seifer Almasy's triumph over his adversary. He stood like the Archangel Michael himself, wings spread, expression triumphant, his bloodied gun-blade held high over the broken body of his rival, who laid bleeding and dying in the dirt. It had been commissioned by President Arshad ten years ago, as thanks for Lucian's master accepting the former's children into the school. In a moment of anger, Lucian had asked his master why the latter had done so.

"The SeeD Organization is the legacy of the galaxy's unending strife, taken a step further and shaped by men and women who saw a chance to benefit from the bloodshed and chaos," his teacher had told him, "It is a shade of truth you are all too familiar with, Lucian. The graveyard within my estate is a reminder to me as it was to my great-grandfather that I am a child of SeeD. I have done my best to gather all the descendants of Balamb Garden's SeeDs, and to train them in their ways.

"Yes, Lucian – you, as much as Arshad's children and myself, are a child of SeeD. My aim is to restore the legacy my ancestor destroyed. It is no easy task, but I will see it done. After all, you are…"

"Lucian!" a voice called out, breaking him out of his reverie, "What's wrong?"

(O)

Let us digress for a brief moment, Master Kouryuo. Tell me, what do you know of the SeeD Organization? Nothing…? Excuse me? I am not surprised. It is the oldest trick in the book, but its effectiveness is undeniable. First, wipe all memory of its existence from the history books, then reduce it to a creation of one very imaginative game designer and voila! They have never existed. The irony of it all was that SeeD was the brain-child of the one you name after your God's mightiest servant – the Archangel Michael.

No, it was not this Michael – not the one who seeks to destroy a man unworthy of his wrath and who in turn is hunted by one of the Fiery Lord's kin – but his predecessor, the 416th Michael, who created SeeD. And that Michael was not a man, but a woman. Yes, Lord Kouryuo, you heard me correctly: the 416th Lord Archangel was a woman. No, I am not lying. Metatron, as you fully well know, is not above elevating women to positions of power. If said woman is Eye of God material, then Metatron will move mountains to ensure that she becomes one – or, at the very least, the aide of one. Take Rubella for instance. The Sorceress Queen got to where she is today by being very good at her job – and then some.

I am aware that the position of Lord Archangel is one normally filled by a man. It has been Lordaeron's way for many centuries. But, in this, I must ask you this: are the High Lords of the Order not pragmatic? If you were in their shoes, who would you choose to fill the position of Lord Archangel? A man who is courageous, who can inspire his troops to stand against overwhelming odds, whose skills in battle are second to none – or a woman who has foresight, strategic ability and who can bleed her enemy white even though she is losing? The choice would be obvious – but you would second the man to her.

The name of the woman who held the position as the 416th Lord Archangel and who created SeeD was Elsa Kramer. SeeD's purpose was simple: it was to serve as a refuge to children and exiles that had no homes to return to, to give them a purpose as well as friends and family that will never betray them. SeeD served as Lordaeron's vanguard and strike force for over a century before relations between them started to deteriorate. Both the Purists and the moderate factions in Lordaeron hoped to bring the SeeD Army under its control, the better to strengthen each of their respective factions. The reason for this is because the SeeD Army is, unlike the Legions, outside the control of the High Lords. With SeeD under the control of either faction, it would only be a matter of time before armed hostilities erupted between them. Seeing this, several of the Horsemen proposed an idea to both SeeD's Chapter Masters and the High Lords in light of escalating hostilities between the factions.

They would cast the SeeD Army from Lordaeron. The Chapter Masters of SeeD, to the last one, agreed. Old favors were called in, and my people helped to train and equip what would become the most feared mercenary army in the entire galaxy. And that was how the SeeD Organization was formed. To call upon the services of the Organization was to pay a planet's ransom, but all who did had very little reason to be disappointed. SeeD fears nothing, and never fails – that was their motto. And believe me, it is one that reminds all who face them of the caliber of their adversaries.

(O)

Lucian turned his head to see two of his childhood friends, Darren and Sifania, walking towards him, both dressed in gi, hakama beneath their breastplates and shoulder guards. Despite being three years older, Darren shared so much of his younger sister's features that they were often mistaken by their teachers for twins. The two were children of Guild-master Alexander, who owed over a dozen fishing vessels that plied the Tempest Ocean daily. Both brother and sister had their mother's golden hair and blue eyes, but their father's muscular build. Aria had likened them to Hercules and Atlanta, a fitting parallel if one considered how strong the two were. They wielded their broadswords like they weighed nothing.

"Did you bring what you promised, Darren?"

"What do you think?! Master Ares has only one soft spot, Lucian – and that's your cooking!" the bigger boy replied, "And you know how packed the dojo becomes when your word gets around that you're the duty chef for the day! Even Miss Aseria comes!"

Lucian blushed at the mention of the beautiful wingly professor, the image of her slender, curvaceous form and her cascading crimson locks appearing unbidden in his mind. Sifania whacked her older brother up his head, "Stop teasing him, Darren. You're no different. You think I haven't seen you stare at Miss Aseria when she's not looking? Good grief…you make a Betelgeusian patriarch look tame in comparison."

A melodious laugh made Lucian freeze, even as a slender hand gently squeezed his shoulder with warm affection. Lucian did not need to look to know that Miss Aseria was behind him; he could hear the rustle of her wing's feather and the gentle, lilac scent that whispered to him of dreams he was only starting to understand. Lucian's father had once told him that a boy's – or a girl's – first love will shape to way he or she will love for the rest of their lives. And whenever he looked upon Aseria Solanthia of the Archangel Duchy, he was thankful that lovely wingly was his first love.

"Oh, I do know," Aseria grinned playfully, "and I understand. It's just that little Darren has yet to find a woman who can really make him blush. But, please, Sifania – don't put ideas into your brother's skull. The moment he thinks he is the equal of a Betelgeusian man," and Aseria shook her head, "every pretty girl in this city is doomed."

"Doomed?" Darren's younger sister rolled her eyes, "More like doomed to die laughing! This muscle-head has barely half the charm Lucian has!"

Lucian's face turned red again, "Please do not drag me into this. If Aria…"

"If I what, Lucian?"

Lucian closed his eyes. When it rains, it pours…

(O)

Lucian took a guard stance, his hands tightening around the hilt of the training sword as he circled Aria. The dark-haired girl's eyes followed his every movement, her sword raised high over her head. Both their swords were wrapped in protective energies that would prevent any blow from being fatal. Their master believed in allowing his students to get used to the weight of their weapons, and to remind them that that which they held in their hands were not toys – and that every battle was one where one's life was one the line. Guns could end a fight before it began, but there were Techniques that could cover both the distance in a heart-beat while avoiding even the most vicious of gun volleys. And at a distance where guns were rendered ineffective, one's skill in unarmed combat and blades became paramount.

Lucian felt the air pressure around him change, and his eyes widened in horror as he realized too late what was about to happen. Before he could leap out of the way, he was thrown back as Aria's Technique blasted him off his feet like rag doll. When did she…? Even as he fought to regain his balance, the dark-haired girl launched a vicious assault, the sigils on her face glowing white-crimson. Lucian lashed out, catching Aria's sword on the downswing.

The look of insane glee Aria's face made Lucian gulp. He was going home black-and-blue – which would be several shades better than what had happened to Lisa and Matthias, the children of President Arshad. Lisa Loire was being tended to by Miss Aseria, but Matthias was flat on his back, out cold and covered with enough bruises to warrant the use of a healing Technique. He shivered; Aria pulling her punches was the day Hell froze over. The sigils on her face lit up again and the look on her face nearly made Lucian wet his hakama. Aria leapt back, before lunging forward, the barrage of blows forcing Lucian to block each one before he managed to catch Aria's sword and push it down, effectively terminating the Technique she had executed earlier.

"Are you…trying to…kill me, Aria?" Lucian panted, glaring into Aria's crimson eyes.

"Of course," Aria tried to break the lock, and her lips curved into a grin, "That Technique was meant for you. Matthias was only the test dummy."

Lucian sweat-dropped, "I'm never lending you any of my games ever again! Are you trying to imitate Squall Leonhart's Omni-slash Technique? That is meant to kill monsters the size of battle-tanks! Are you…!"

Aria's leg lashed out, cutting Lucian off and smashing him to the ground. And this time, Aria executed an upward blow that sent Lucian's sword flying from his grasp, effectively disarming him. Now there was no way Lucian, flat on his back and without a weapon, could win the match. Before the boy could recover, his adversary pinned him down with her sword. Lucian's head shot up to meet Aria's gaze. The latter was grinning.

"This match is mine, Lucian."

Lucian drew in a deep breath, before letting it out, "This time."

And behind them, the other students of the Leonhart Dojo clapped, and its master nodded in approval. But then, suddenly, the city's air-raid sirens started to sound, and emergency speakers and holo-screens broadcasted a warning of an enemy fleet approaching the planet. When a thunderous explosion shook the dojo and threw both its instructors and students off their feet, they knew that war had come to their home-world.

"Ares…!" a woman came rushing in.

"Sheila! What is going…?" Ares shouted over the explosions that were landing precariously close to his estate.

"Orks…! An Ork war-fleet has gated in-system! Some of their ships are holding orbit above the city!"

For the first time in his life, Lucian saw his master's face go pale, "Get everyone to the shelters beneath our house, Sheila! Hurry…!"

X X X

March 20th 3567 A.D. was the day the Horologii Beta star-cluster would suffer an invasion by the Ork horde led by the Warlord known as Kerak Broken-Fang. The Broken-Fang is a Tsar-Kor Ork who led one of the largest coalitions of Ork tribes in known space. Hundreds of worlds and colonies have burned in the wake of the Broken-Fang's incursions.

The Kingdom of Antares and the Church of Lordaeron deployed hundreds of thousands of men to expel the Orks from the system. Three SeeD Gardens made a full combat-deployment throughout the seven-planet system with orders to slaughter each and every Ork they found. When the war ended ten months later, over seven billion souls – including those taken away by the Orks to be slaves – were lost.

But in the ten months when the war raged, the people of Midgard suffered horribly.

To be continued…