The soldiers of Dar stormed into Gaulia's citadel. They swept through the barracks, taking guards and soldiers alike as prisoners to be brought back home to Dar for the Darke to use as they see fit. Others rampaged through the keep until they found where the royal court was hiding—or what was left of it, for most had left previously. However, their king, who stayed out of respect to his people, did not leave and that is who the leader of the Darke was after, through his emissary on the battlefield, an older, highly accomplished Darke named Jezac N'híl.

"You are their king, are you not, chaichan (degenerate)?" N'híl asked. The frightened human (or at least as close to human as an alien race that once was human can get) nods his head vigorously. The Darke grins, baring his sharp, predatory teeth. A low laugh escapes him.

"Chaichan, by order of my lord, Emperor Ilik II, you are to come back with us and stand garuk, or 'imperial trial'. After which the Emperor shall make his decision concerning your worthless little life, chaichan. You better hope you have a successor, because I doubt you'll return alive and kicking. But don't worry, we'll make sure there is enough of you left to ship home. Maybe…" He sneers, and a coldness unfathomable to the Gaulian King practically radiates from his steel-gray eyes.

Speaking to the soldier's in their native tongue, he barks their orders:

"Soldiers, take this degenerate 'king' back to camp—and don't let him escape. If you do, it will be your death for both of you." And with that ominous warning he turns and strides out. The soldiers bind the prisoner with rope made from the fibers of the ketchia tree, native to Dar and with the tensile strength of the strongest forged steel. In other words, if he would try to cut his way out or break free, it would only end in failure, especially as it takes a lot of skill and strength to cut the rope, and the captured ruler has no knowledge of those skills.

Back at the camp, the emperor's emissary to his troops ruled over the commotion stirring within the restless armies. Once he had their attention, he ordered that they must still hold the city, even while he had temporarily passed on his responsibilities, though with limitations, to his second-in-command, a brilliant but young noble Darke who was, for his age, unequalled in battle.

In the grand hall of the Graka Ní Hao Castle, little Aerikk is listening intently to his newly discovered father and occasionally answering his questions as the elder asks them. Both are very patient, which helps quite a bit, as the younger Darke was not raised in the same tongue. The years that Ilik III has lived and ruled has mellowed the wildness of his youth and forced upon him gentle patience. Unlike his father, Aerikk, still young and full of vigor, has had to forcibly learn the human virtue in order to survive in the tumultuous life of his previous childhood.

"Young Aerikk, have you eaten lately?" Ilik asks his heir.

"Of course I've ate food lately," he speaks. "I found food in the city and the cooks here have been very kind and very good…"

'Of course you ate, but have you eaten?" He stresses the word "eaten".

"Huh?"

"Have you been fed properly? When was the last time you were given meat?" The little Darke just shrugs, he obviously doesn't know the answer to the seated figure's question or how to properly address him or respond. "How about fresh, raw, bloody meat?" Aerikk shakes his head. "Never? No wonder you're so far behind! You haven't been fed properly in your life! This must be fixed! Follow Yangoi to the dining hall. He will help you."

Inside the lunchtime dining hall, little Aerikk sits on a bench at one of the long wooden tables. The odd-looking "Yangoi" has disappeared into the kitchens and the boy could hear his demands to the staff, although he cannot understand the words. Soon, he comes out with what seems to be a steaming drink and plate. He sets them in front of the boy.

"Chechin na mak," Yangoi commands in words totally foreign to Aerikk's ears, for they weren't even in the language of the Darke, but of Hieowin, the language of the native Hidowei, whose numbers have vastly decreased with the arrival of the human-like creatures—who, in all probability could be humans or an old offshoot of humanity, such as Atlantean cultures, before the technology was lost to travel the stars. The Hidowei allied themselves with the Darke, gaining their respect and were given refuge as the human population grew and claimed more land.

"Chechin na mak," he repeats.

"I know not what you say," Aerikk responds.

"Oh… 'Eat it while it's fresh'," he reluctantly answers in the low tongue.

The drinking vessel was filled with red liquid that smelled very appetizing to the young Darke. Picking it up hesitantly, he brings it to his lips and downs it quickly, relishing the warmth and sweet taste. Hungry now, he rips into the plate set before him and finishes in record time. Strangely, he is satisfied in a way that he never was before.

"Off to bed," Yangoi commands in his heavily accented voice. "You need your rest."

Several weeks later, the almost funereal procession reaches the heart of Dar. As the war party and its highly valuable prisoners wind their way through the streets, the citizens of Dar, slave and master, servant and laborer, poor and rich come out of their buildings to get a glimpse of whom they captured. They are lead by Jezac N'híl, a highly revered and respected warrior Darke, who has led His Majesty's troops in many successful battles. The whole horse-bound and –drawn train was adorned in dark purple and a vibrant, chaotic red, which signify victory and prisoners of war are being held within in the mythology and culture of the Darke.

Many who come out to see the activity end up following the "black" parade all the way to the palace of the Darke Emperor. When they reach the front courtyard, they are amazed to see their ruler standing at the top of the steps. At once, all that followed drop down on to their bended knees in reverence. The sun is starting to truly set now, and pageboys are scurrying about to light the braziers in the courtyard. As darkness settles over the yard one of the unique features of a full and true Darke appears: their luminous, cat-like eyes. These same eyes narrow as they survey the scene before him.

With a curt gesture and a brisk, harsh, and commanding tone, he barks an order: "Ctaka. (Stand.) State your business that is so urgent that it keeps me from my szeel (son)."

Jezac N'híl answers, "We have captured their citadel. Along with that we have taken prisoner their king and some of their heads of state. We also cleverly sent out a message that we failed and therefore it is safe to return."

Emperor Ilik smiles, and his teeth glint in the firelight. "Go on," he commands with an encouraging gesture. "Tell me more."

"I have set it up so that when they do return, they are also taken prisoner. When all are captured, they will be brought here before you to also face trial, as those already imprisoned and captured are here to do so."

"I see. You have my permission to harass the prisoners and use any means to extract information. But remember—I want them alive in order to question them at their trials. Another reason is that, if found guilty of crimes against my people, I would love to have the unique pleasure of observing their deaths. Bring them to the dungeons and lock them in securely. I do not know for sure whether these humans from Gualia know childra, the magic of our land, but I'd make sure there is no possibility of their escape. Goodnight."

With that, the emperor turns and almost glides inside, his servants shutting the large, thick, and heavy wooden doors with a large thud.