For those of you who will read this multiple times, I apologize. Feel free to ignore this if you've already seen it, and move on to the chapter.

Here in my neck of the woods, it is now the 9th day of February, in the year 2012. Ten years ago today, I came across Fanfiction-dot-Net. I proceeded to publish "Lonely, Broken Hero," the first story I wrote that ever felt complete. It was inspired by a song, written for the Square-Enix game "Chrono Trigger," and marked the beginning of a lifelong passion.

Since February 9th, 2002, I have had the honor of meeting some of the greatest people on earth. These people have given me 5,885 reviews, thousands of Favorites, and over 1.8 million hits across 40 projects. These people have supported me, cheered for me, informed me, criticized me, and helped me embark on some of the most memorable journeys of my life. I never would have made it without them.

To celebrate this illustrious anniversary, and to thank you for being the best audience an author could ever ask for, I have written extra chapters for each of my 8 ongoing projects. I present them to you now, and humble myself before you. Were it not for you, these stories never would have come into being, or lasted nearly as long as they have.

Thank you again. You all have changed my life.

Here's to another decade of adventure and exploration.

Enjoy.

The white bear vanished as the last of the plagued fell in a broken heap at its feet, leaving in its place the no-less-imposing figure of the night elf exile, in his furs and leathers and one fist clutching his massive spear.

By the time his onslaught had ended, Sythius had obliterated nearly half of the hundred corpses that now littered what remained of Lingham's camp. Of the captain's fifteen men, not a single one had succumbed to the corruption of the enemy, thanks to this hulking brute they'd once mocked and jeered in their cups.

Jonas Holfield, of all people, was the first to approach, hobbling forward and using a halberd to hold his weight off his mutilated ankle. He stopped behind the huge elf and drew in a deep breath, gathering his wits. Finally, as the sterile silence threatened to strangle them, he said, shakily,

"You saved my life. And my soul. Thank you, Brother."

Sythius didn't respond. He seemed not to know anyone else was there with him.

Three things happened in that next moment.

A shuffle sounded from the medic's tent. A child's scream echoed in the air and made their bones shudder. The druid whirled and launched his spear as easily as any boy with a wooden zeppelin.

The weapon whirred past a stunned Holfield's right ear with all the momentum of a ballista bolt, soared over Rayne's shoulder and straight into the hunched and hungry form of a soldier with a resonating, sickening crunch.

Lingham stared as a man he'd been fighting alongside for years flew backward into the tent in an explosion of tainted blood.

"Gram…"

He sounded awed.

Sythius threw himself forward, and it took the company a long moment to realize that the dying elf child with the bright green eyes was still howling his tiny lungs out.

Rayne—when the shock of nearly being decapitated wore off—and Olrec—when the shock of losing a comrade to friendly fire wore off—were the next to gather their wits. They joined Sythius. Rayne went to the boy, and Olrec went to Gram…or the pile of flesh and splinters that shared Gram's name.

The shaman grimaced. "Dead and dead again," he muttered. "Turned, 'r I'm a gnomish priest."

Sythius lifted the squalling child into his mammoth arms. He murmured something that nobody could hear (or understand). As Rayne watched, the elfling's wide, panicked eyes found the man who held him. His cries began to quiet. When Rayne made to touch him, to stroke a clump of dead-straw hair from his brow, the boy jerked away and wailed. Sythius made a low, rumbling growl, and he quieted again.

Rayne actually chuckled. "…Seems he only wants his savior," she said softly.

Sythius didn't seem to hear her. He had eyes only for his charge.

"Round up, boys," Lingham called after a long silence, and it jerked them all out of a stupor. Except, of course, the elves. "We got clean-up to do." He strode over to them, axe still in hand. "Light preserve me. I don't think I've ever seen anything like that. No offense to you, Sil'nathin, but I hope I never see it again." He chuckled nervously. "Didn't think that talk of shapeshifters amounted to much truth." Sythius finally seemed to realize that someone was talking to him. He looked down at his captain. "Bit late, but you saved us all, you did. Every one of us sad, sorry souls." He saluted. "You have my gratitude, soldier. And my respect."

Sythius stared for a moment, like he didn't know what any of this meant, then nodded, shifted his grip so that he held the now-quiet child in the crook of his left arm, and offered a salute of his own.

Rayne was smiling wistfully.

Each of the men came up to offer their thanks as they began to clean up the bodies. Dobbs looked ready to fall to his knees in reverence. Alkin could barely speak. They clapped the druid's back, offered to buy him a drink—"Nay, a keg!"—when they made it back to Light's Hope; all were in a surprisingly good mood, considering the ordeal they'd just survived.

Except Holfield.

He was last to approach. And when he spoke, his voice was low and sheepish. "…I never given you not one kindness. Never had a good word to say. Just a day's length ago, you were ready to kill me. So…why?"

Sythius stared at his commander's squire.

Seemed to mull the question over.

Then he reached out and lay his free hand onto Jonas Holfield's shoulder. With a wide, effervescent grin that lit his harsh face like a beacon lit a night sky, he offered one word in response, as if it explained everything.

They would all eventually come to realize that, to him, it did.

"Brother."

Sythius Sil'nathin is a family man. This is a common thread with much of my work. I focus quite heavily on familial relationships; so I suppose it's no surprise that it shows up here. Not in the standard sense, of course.

But then, my philosophy has always been that you choose your family, no matter what the proverbs say. Family isn't the people to whom you're related, but the ones to whom you relate; not the ones by whom you're surrounded, but the ones with whom you surround yourself; and not the ones with whom you live, but the ones without whom you can't.

See you next week.