Prologue
Branches snapped and tall grass was crushed underfoot as the two figures crashed through the dark forest. The leading figure, a tallish, skinny boy in his teens, gasped for breath as he dashed headlong through the underbrush, loam and leaves flying behind him in his wake. Every so often he would risk a glance over his shoulder. His pursuer seemed to be gaining on him. The boy was nearing exhaustion, but he was also absolutely terrified of whatever was chasing him. His legs begged him to stop this torturous flight, but his terror-crazed mind would not allow it. He may very well be running for his life.
If the prey seemed tired, the predator certainly did not. Black cloak billowing out behind it, the second figure ran doggedly on, making no noise whatsoever. The boy's mind referring to his chaser as an "it" because he was not entirely sure that "it" was a human. The thing's face was masked in shadow; the hood of the cloak enclosing nothing but a black void of visage. It would have been unnerving in any case. In this particular case, it may have been the most unnerving thing the boy had ever seen.
That particular thought was quickly proven wrong. When the boy next chanced a look over his shoulder, the thing had a wickedly curved sword in its hand. If the figure's intent had been uncertain before, it was now unmistakable. The boy was indeed running for his life.
It was at that moment that the boy, feeling faint and unsure just how much longer he could continue his sprint, saw the light. Ahead of him, a slim sliver of golden light penetrated the depressing gloom of the murky forest. It was perhaps a hundred feet distant. The boy had no idea what lay beyond that beam of light, but if he was destined to die this day, he would much prefer to meet his end in the sunlight rather than this dreary, fetid forest. Summoning what energy he had left, he put on an extra burst of speed. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he inched closer and closer to the welcoming light, which seemed to reach out to him, beckoning him forward. He looked over his shoulder again, daring to hope that his pursuer would be too far behind to catch him, when the tip of his foot caught on a rather large root. With a cry of dismay, the boy fell to the marshy ground, his glasses flying off his face and landing in front of him. Looking up, he saw the blurred opening through the trees, and a bit of blue sky and fluffy clouds. He was so close, yet so far away. He knew he'd never reach the opening now.
Reaching for his glasses, the boy put them on and slowly rose to his feet, the footsteps of his pursuer thudding softly behind him. Knowing his death was imminent, he turned just as the shadowy figure raised a gloved hand. The curved sword rose with it. The boy closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, awaiting the cruel slice of the blade. A stray breeze tossed aside a few locks of unruly black hair on the boy's forehead, revealing a jagged scar. A scar that closely resembled a lightning bolt. Unseen within the depths of the black hood, a grim smile slowly formed.
Then, the sword fell.