Chapter 1

A/n: Please read Bright Darkness before Reading this, or you might be just a little confused . Domo.

The deep, resonating clash of sword against sword rang out against the soft silence of dusk. Barron, cracked earth gave forth an abundance of dust below the feet of two combatants, oblivious to their mortal struggles. The adversaries continued their battle, whirling like wraiths amongst the dust while their weapons gleamed in the half-light. After a particularly violent clash, the two were forced to step back, allowing the dust to settle in a small standoff.

One of the fighters, an older man covered with scars from past battles, was wiping blood from a split lip while drawing in ragged breaths. His dark blue eyes glared from beneath jet-black brows as he tried to intimidate his younger opponent. Unfortunately for him, his opponent was looking quite calm and collected, and wasn't even breathing very hard for all the time they had been fighting. Noticing the small look of despair in the face of his enemy, the younger fighter smiled and narrowed his bright orange eyes, bringing up his sword again in preparation for another charge. The scarred man grunted a curse and brought up his own weapon, dreading what was to come.

Gracefully brandishing a thin, curved sword, Valgaav attacked with an exhilarating yell. His enemy parried the strike with his larger blade, and there was a moment of tension as the black-haired man bore down on the youth with all his strength. Using the situation to his advantage, Val sidestepped the downward stoke and whirled in a wide slash, barely missing the other man's head, but giving him a rather unbecoming haircut. A few feet of shiny, wavy black hair fluttered to the ground like a bizarre ribbon, and the scarred man's eyes misted a little at the sight, before he turned in deadly rage to a still smiling Val.

His attack was much more vicious this time, the precious loss fueling a new strength in the tired swordsman, and causing the youth to focus purely on defense for a time. Eventually, though, the serious defense became nothing more than a mocking farce, as Val blocked, dodged, or overpowered every attack presented. In another terrific entanglement of metal, the black-haired swordsman found himself without a weapon as his broadsword was deflected out of his hands and into the dirt meters away. His anxious look returned, and his fears of not surviving the fight became absolute.

Val smirked mercilessly at his once proud opponent's fear and agitation, placing his sword over his shoulder in an open, casual stance. Then, his adversary properly enraged and humiliated, he turned his back and walked away, confident in his victory. Snarling, the black haired swordsman watched him go, his pride as a warrior boiling violently.

As soon as he could take it no longer, and Val was well out of slashing range, the swordsman sprang from his spot, leaping for his discarded weapon. Catching hold of the hilt, he stood and took a few long, running steps, then heaved the broadsword like a javelin straight towards his enemy's retreating back. The man grinned as his sword traveled right on target, quickly closing in on the unsuspecting prey. Just as the weapon was about to hit, however, Val sidestepped the attack, grabbing the hilt as it flew past without the slightest hint of effort.

After allowing the dust to settle once again, he slowly looked back towards his adversary, turning an expression of dry annoyance upon the now shocked swordsman. Still angry, he shifted his grip on his enemy's sword and whirled around, throwing the weapon like a dysfunctional boomerang back at his frightened foe. Gathering his senses just in time, the black-haired swordsman ducked just enough so that his head wasn't completely chopped off by the flying blade, but he still managed to get yet another chunk of rich, dark hair shorn from the top of his skull. He gasped and touched his head, emitting a cry of despair as he discovered nary a hair atop his pale and slightly bleeding scalp.

The swordsman, now with one more scar to add to his collection, glared at Val while trying to fight tears, only to find his young opponent smiling mirthfully back, his bright orange eyes laughing with absolute victory. Swallowing his pride at last, the scarred man got to his feet and dashed away, his cape flying in the dusty trail he left behind. Sheathing his own sword, Valgaav once again walked away from the battlefield, now completely confident in his triumph.

He took the opportunity to look around his environment, something he had ignored when he met up with the unfortunate swordsman that had been his opponent. The other man and his entourage had instigated the fight, saying something about sharpening his skills, but after having a little fun, Val had been happy to show him exactly how good his 'skills' were.

The guy obviously wasn't too intelligent, these were violent times, and even the most sheltered of idiots knew not to pick fights with strangers, despite any outward appearances. The black-haired man's supposed comrades had run off when things started getting only a little violent, leaving Val with only a small dual with an under-skilled, yet extremely smug, opponent. Having to fight duals was getting a bit too easy for him anyway; he didn't even have to use magic to win battles anymore.

He refrained from killing the man in the end, though his final cowardly attack was of the utmost annoyance. This was out of both pity and caution, one never knew who had friends in high places, and royalty or high-class nobility could easily send hired killers after anyone they didn't like

Then again… maybe a couple bounty hunters would be better sport that these losers… he thought sourly, searching the bleak landscape for the nearby town he was supposed to be going to. The dead section of dirt he had fought on used to be part of that town, but somewhere along the line it had gotten obliterated in a mazoku or ryozoku battle. Battles had been increasing steadily in number and intensity over the years, and were gradually taking their toll on human civilizations.

Val kicked the dirt and began to walk again, taking his mind off of worldly matters and focusing on his own. The sun had fallen quickly, casting the world before him into dull gray tones and swirling dust clouds. Nocturnal creatures began their eternal dialogue, and a few scavenging birds soared in the distance, looking for new meals. None of this was of particular interest to Val, and, seeing he wouldn't make it back into town before they closed the gates and locked down for the night, he simply looked for his next camping spot in the desolate environment.

His concentration was abruptly interrupted, however, by a feral howl emanating from the broad darkness before him. He straightened a little, half drawing his sword. Wolves would be easy enough to handle, if that was what the noise had come from, but lately the land had become so thick with demons and bestial creatures it was impossible to tell a simple wolf howl from that of a vicious, blood-drinking nightshade.

Val was not at all comforted when a pair of glowing red eyes materialized, silently moving towards him from the left. He frowned, but kept his sword sheathed and his mind alert. The eyes disappeared in a slow movement, and the earth became eerily silent. The teal-haired swordsman, looking rather annoyed now, drew his sword in a fluid movement, focusing on his surroundings for any sign of attack.

Calling upon years of experience and unusually sharp reflexes, he sensed the attack rather than saw it, and turned quickly to slash his assailant. Unfortunately, he was much to late to cut anything but air, and a powerful set of fang-filled jaws clamped onto his arm. The force and speed of the attack caught him off guard, and, losing a short battle with gravity, he was pulled to the ground by a large, white/grey-furred beast. Luckily for him he had worn armored gauntlets, though they cracked slightly under the jaw pressure and the animal's saliva rolled down his arm. Deep red eyes glared at him, and Val's own eyes widened a little in recognition.

"You…" he growled at the wolf, his frown deepening. The beast growled back with equal malice, biting down harder and widening the crack in his armor. The small standoff lasted for a few moments as man and canine shared their mutual discontent, until Val couldn't take it anymore and frantically attempted to free his arm. After a magnificent scuffle, involving much growling, biting, and grappling, he did manage to get his arm back, though the wolf retained possession of the armor.

"Stupid mutt," He began, looking indignant and rubbing his arm "what the hell is wrong with you anyway?" The animal sneered and lay down on the dirt, happily chewing on its new toy and ignoring the agitated swordsman. Val closed his eyes in an attempt to regain composure, trying to disregard the twitch at the side of his mouth and the angry throbbing of his veins. Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword, pointed it toward the offending creature, and gave his patented death glare.

In response, the wolf hardly flicked an ear, and tore another chunk of leather off of the gauntlet. Grinding his teeth, Val took a step into his intended attack, stirring up more fine, ashen dust from the harsh landscape as he prepared to strike. The beast itself continued to ignore him completely, of course; either very ignorant of the situation or very confident of a way out.

Just as he got close enough to do anything about it, though, Val's concentration was interrupted as the wolf suddenly stopped what it was doing and stared intently into the darkness. The mangled gauntlet hung limply from its jaws, forgotten. Blinking, Val turned his head in the same direction, but even his sharp vision couldn't pierce but a few feet of night air.

He turned back to the wolf just in time to see his own armor come flying back at his face, cracking against his nose and sending him earthward. Eyes wide with pain and surprise, Val loudly cursed the canine as he crashed down into a sitting position. Cradling a slightly bleeding nose, he watched the wolf's silvery grey form leap into the darkness, leaving a small trail of dusty paw prints behind before disappearing from sight.

Still cursing, Val rubbed his nose gingerly and stood up. Sneering in the direction the wolf had gone, he gathered his bearings and began to collect his things. He had no doubts as to who would be showing up next, and sighed as his anger dissipated. It was really no use to get mad at his brother's dog, annoying as the animal was most of the time. Val found his sword and sheathed it, and picked up his mangled and discarded gauntlet.

Summoning a quick light spell, he examined the damage. The top, silvery armored part had a nasty crack, and all the bottom bindings that weren't missing altogether were significantly chewed up. But, after trying it on again, he found that it still basically served its purpose, or at least it would until he could get a new one. At any rate it now matched the rest of his torn up and derelict armor, which had been wrecked over the years both by strong opponents and certain irritating pets.

A soft shifting of dust caused Val to shift from his thoughts back to his surroundings. He turned towards the noise; searching the darkness while the light spell hovered silently beside him. The night had advanced into its darkest stages, with the clouded, deep blue sky hardly distinguishable from the absolute blackness of the earth, but the faint, white light of the spell offered at least a small reprieve. The sounds were at regular intervals, and, by the specific grinding and scuffing of the dirt, were most likely footfalls.

Val's sensitive hearing immediately distinguished two separate beings from the noise they made, one of them definitely the wolf who had so recently run away, and the other most likely the owner of the beast. He shifted into a more casual stance, and set his expression into the most mature-yet-irritated one he could muster. The damnable animal had once again pricked his pride and ruined one of his possessions, and that wouldn't go without some kind of punishment. This time, Val was serious. Or so he thought. The owner in question always managed to escape penalty, usually by simple use of argumentative skill.

The footfalls, however, quickly increased in frequency and noise, indicating the person coming towards him was now moving at a running pace. Val blinked in slight confusion. Another enemy? Shit…. He moved into a hasty defensive position, drew his blade, and squinted into the musty darkness in the direction of the sound. He tensed as the shadowy figure ran right at him, drawing back his sword and setting his face to a calm glare of concentration, ready for anything on a hair trigger. In a sudden movement, however, one of the straps on Val's mangled gauntlet snapped, sending the tough, protective armor plating flying onto his rather wide-eyed and surprised face.

The hard edge of the armor hit him squarely on his already sore nose, causing to yelp and drop his sword. At that moment his attacker also chose to emerge from the shadows in a dead run: a boy of around 16 years with a cheerful, wicked smile on his face. He was carrying a large, overstuffed traveling pack that was almost as big as he was, and as soon as he came into view he skidded to a halt, using the momentum to swing the large pack at the distressed swordsman before him with an excessive amount of force and an exhilarating yell.

Val's bright orange eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, pain, confusion, and rage at his cheerful attacker before the heavy pack crashed into him, sending him once again to the dirt. He now lay on his stomach under the weight of the bulky pack, giving his attacker a strange mix between death glare and angry pout while blood continued to drip from his injured nose.

The silver wolf appeared at her master's side, giving the glowering Val the equivalent of a victory grin before she hopped on top of the pack and lay down, adding more weight and producing an 'omph' from the teal-haired youth. The boy got down to ground level to face the trapped swordsman, and tilted his head to the side with an amused expression.

"Hi"

Val growled deeply, slowly placing both hands on the ground as the broken gauntlet piece swung wildly, threatening to hit him once again despite all his serious anger. The boy's smile was replaced with curiosity, and the wolf peeked down from her perch atop the pack to see Val's reaction.

Grinding his teeth, Val took a moment to collect himself, then pushed off the ground, causing the wolf to yelp as her seat was flipped to the side and she tumbled down next to her master.

"Both of you are dead!"

In another part of the dusty field, a lone man stumbled through the darkness, muttering curses under his breath. His once proud wavy black hair hung in straggled tresses, with a distinct bald patch of raw and scarring scalp gleaming from the top of his skull. Alternating between whimpers of defeat and vicious snarls of rage, he fruitlessly searched for his former compatriots while simultaneously looking for the light of the small town his group had been staying at.

I wasn't like he wanted to stay there, oh no. It was too much of a run down dump to even be called a town anymore, in his most superior opinion. The streets were full of beggars, bandits, and thieves, or any combination of such in each and every scrawny citizen. The markets sold nothing but stale foods and silly trinkets at unreasonably high prices. All this from dirty commoners no less, people who were not fit to be crushed under his heel, let alone try to sell his some menial piece of trash to "save their starving family".

But, unfortunately for him, it was the only place to stay for many miles, and he hadn't felt like another three-day walk to the next village or camping out with his rowdy, boneheaded entourage.

Not that any of that mattered now. He was stuck in a place even worse than that boorish town, and his own men had abandoned him at the slightest hint of danger.

"Some band of warriors they were," he muttered to himself, "the greatest fighters in all the kingdom, all gathered together for a grand quest of glory for their great and wise King, and they all run away when we meet one kid who knows a few sword tricks." He continued on in this manner, his words dripping with sarcasm as he insulted his men one by one. It did make him feel better, after all, and he had all the right to do it after their cowardly acts.

Eventually, a small smile returned to his lips as he verbally assaulted the boyish squire and squirrel-brained nobleman's son, imagining their agitated yet duty-bound faces right in front of him. Oh, he would make them pay for their cowardice all right, and when he found them there would be absolutely no mercy. He might even send a few of the weaker, whinier ones walking straight back to the kingdom, which was a good half-month's traveling time, and especially long with no horse or money.

Grinning at his imagined punishments, he hardly noticed where he was going, and bumped right into a rock that had appeared in the darkness before him. Uttering a yelp of surprise, he sprawled backwards into the dirt, landing painfully on his rump. He looked up at the offending rock, prepared to bash it into pieces for so daring to strike him down out of nowhere. But his blue eyes widened slightly in surprise, for it wasn't rock, but a man that stood before him, glaring down with a look of disgust in his cerulean eyes.

At least, he thought it was a look of disgust, as the other man's lower face was covered with a black cloth, and the rest of his head was concealed with a thick black hood. In fact, his entire body was clothed in deep black garments; with gloves, tunic, pants, shoes, and the thick cloth of a cloak offering not one alternative hue. The only skin showing at all was the small rectangle where his eyes were, which now glared coldly at the black-haired man, framed by a few wiry pieces of pale blue hair.

The swordsman trembled involuntarily at the aura being emitted from the stone-man, and scooted slowly backwards in the dirt until he felt it safe to stand up. His every instinct was telling him to run screaming into the night, but his mind refused to budge. This person had just blatantly gotten in his way, and, as a man, that was not something he tolerated. Puffing his chest while trying to control his fear, the black-haired, semi-bald swordsman stood his ground and pointed one accusing finger at the stone-man who had so wronged him.

"You there, state your name and rank. I am Prince Aratendil Simon Relas de Xoana, and you have marred my honor. Step quietly to the side and I shall overlook this with dignity and regard to circumstance. Choose to stay and I shall be forced, under the codes of principle and my family, to strike you down where you stand in the holy name of my father the King," he said, with practiced importance and all the flare of years of strict speech classes. To his credit, it was an impressive speech, and his expression was as proud and steadfast as his word.

But the stone-man did not move.

After a few moments of glaring standoff, the prince's mouth began to twitch in annoyance and residual fear from his first impression. Sweat dripped slowly down his face, tickling his brow and neck till he could stand it no more.

"A-Alight then, sir. I am forced to take action. Take heed that you have been warned," he stated in a wavering voice, sounding more like a frightened boy than a man.

With that, the prince reached toward his sword with a shaking hand, prepared to honor his words but completely afraid to do so. The enemy's aura had increased in intensity, and it was almost painful to be around it. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, he forced his hand to grab the hilt with one strong movement, and began to pull the broadsword from the scabbard.

His attention was shattered in an instant, as he looked up to see his opponent unsheathe his longsword in a wide, graceful ark. The stone-man moved so quickly he seemed to vanish, appearing right in front of the prince skewering him cleanly through his gut. The prince gasped with pain and surprise, his hand jerking away from his own weapon. Without changing his cold expression, the stone-man switched his grip on his sword, and ripped through to the prince's side with a clean, ruthlessly strong movement.

His sword came free of the body with a grandiose spray of blood, and the shocked prince screamed. The attack had taken only seconds. Collapsing to his knees, the prince's shaking hands grasped at his stomach, attempting to hold in severed organs. His breathing became quick and panicky and his muscles slowly went numb.

He eventually fell onto his side, curling into a ball while his body convulsed with pain. His tearing eyes looked once again upon the man who had mortally wounded him, and saw him calmly wiping blood from his sword, and re-sheathing the weapon with the same lightening quickness of before.

He still wore that same cold, blank expression in his eyes, and looked upon his opponent with disgust.

"Y… your name…. Say it so…. so that I m…. might avenge… avenge myself….," the prince said, blood oozing from his mouth. He felt light headed and delusional. His abdomen started going cold, but his mind refused to let himself die; to even register the mortal wound was going to take his life. He was on an important mission for his father, and would not be forgiven if he failed. He simply could not die; it was not possible.

The stone man was unaffected by this plea, and his cold gaze watched over the scene as if it were nothing. In a moment of amusement, perhaps, he decided to humor his victim.

"I used to be called..." he stated in a strange, quiet voice, as if he had never spoken before.

"Zelgadis."

With those words, the stone-man turned and walked away into darkness, leaving the proud man to die in slow agony amongst dust and shadows.

"Hmph."

Val fell back to the dirt as he tried to regain his breath. The day had been quite eventful, and in truth he was genuinely tired from all the fighting he had been doing. Looking directly in front of him, his previous 'attacker' also sat back, panting with equal fatigue.

After his initial outburst, Val had gotten into a bit of a yelling fit, which was only further enflamed by his foe's response of uproarious laughter. This of course, had lead to more of a yelling lecture, and eventually a full-blown wrestling match, in which the wolf had angrily joined to protect her owner. A spectacular stirring of dust had ensued, eventually leading the three to their current state of collapse and exhaustion, as well as bestowing a generous coating of dust upon each.

Val's expression was deadpan to say the least, his humor utterly removed by all the taxing events that had occurred during the day, and not to mention the dull pain in his nose that refused to dissipate. Blue eyes blinked back at him from a dust-covered face as the boy slowly began to catch his breath.

The little standoff of blank looks lasted for half a moment, before a slow smile crept its was up the younger man's face, and he was soon giving a lopsided smirk to the irritated Val. The older youth managed to keep his scrutinizing expression for a second more before he too was caught up in the sheer absurdity of the scene, and allowed himself another 'hmph' and half a smile.

The younger boy laughed lightly, which was actually pleasant sound when its owner had not severely enraged his audience, and leaned forward to ruffle some of the dust from his short, violet hair. Following suit, the wolf vigorously shook fine dust from her fur and trotted over to her master, all the while giving Val the equivalent of an evil glare. The swordsman crinkled his nose in return, and casually moved into a cross-legged sitting position.

"Well, anyway, what did you get, Damion?" he asked, brushing the dust off his clothing and hair. The boy hummed in response and rocked back to his feet, retrieving the large pack that had been so carelessly tossed aside a few minutes prior. Returning to his previous spot, he dropped the pack nonchalantly onto the dirt and unclasped the loose, tattered black cloak he wore, spreading it on the ground like a picnic blanket.

As the boy began to unceremoniously dump the contents of the pack onto the cloak, Val glanced over at his still active lightening spell, silently beckoning the magic to come closer and intensify. Glittering gold and a few choice pieces of jewelry clinked and clunked onto the worn fabric of the cloak, accompanied by an assortment of items varying from silverware and food to weapons and wallets. Val raised one eyebrow at the rather large pile of loot and lifted his orange eyes to Damion.

"Nice"

"I guess you could say I was on a roll today," he replied, smirking back at the swordsman as the final item, a gold-banded magic bracelet, clinked down to crown the top of the heap. He then set about the arduous task of sorting the treasures, placing the valuable in various hidden compartments within the cloak. Val shrugged, grabbing a portion of somewhat edible bread and scarfing it down while scooping together the rest of the food.

He hadn't eaten all day, and the food Damion had brought was all he would have to live on at least until morning. In the corner of his eye he watched the wolf lay down near the edge of the circle of light, having finally calmed after the excitement of the past few moments. Good riddance he thought sourly. The creature and himself had not gotten along since their meeting almost six years ago, when the sullen puppy had clamped her jaws onto his hand the first and last time he had tried to pet her. Of course, she acted the exact opposite to his brother- playing the part of loyal, affectionate protectorate flawlessly.

Val hardly examined the next piece of food before he took a bite, and grimaced slightly at the flavor. It was a type of rich, meat-filled pastry that certain groups of nobility had taken an odd liking to in the past few years, and he could barely comprehend how anyone could enjoy the generously over-flavored meat pie. However, the thought of some haughty, prosperous lord finding his lunch missing was enough to have him finish the disgusting concoction, and Val was able to move on to other things.

His brother was still sorting the little trinkets he had acquired, sporting a rare gleam of satisfaction over the haul. He had truly become quite the thief: there hadn't even been any enraged civilians chasing him into the night this time. Which was fortunate, for as much as Val enjoyed fighting, he had had quite enough battles for the day and was looking forward to what little relaxation he might find camping out in the middle of a wasteland. Which reminded him.

"So how's that town… ahh… Veriku, was it?" he said, gnawing on a drumstick.

"Vekis. And if you're asking if we can go back there, I don't think anyone caught me," Damion replied, glancing up from examining a small silver dagger. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he snatched a chunk of dried meat Val was about to consume, tossing it to the wolf on his left.

"You and Talia are supposed to share," he said matter-of-factly, but with a small hint of mocking inflection. Val and the wolf had yet another death-glare contest, but he relented in the end. It had, after all, been Talia that protected Damion all day while he stayed in the fields to train. Though he really wouldn't have minded if the wolf starved, either.

"Anyway, the town itself is pretty desolate," Damion continued, going back to his work, "It's mostly beggars and peasants, and the few nobles that haven't left aren't the best of people. I doubt that place will last much longer, but for now its passable for travelers."

"eh…" Val mumbled in reply. He had been bitter to the plights of small towns for a long time now, and wasn't about to start caring again now. Dealing with peasants and beggars was not going to be fun, and he often avoided such desolate places. On the other hand, traveling straight through the town would be the quickest way to get to where they were going, and he was in the mood for a hot meal as well.

While Val was pondering, Damion finished sorting his newly acquired possessions, putting most of the common or practical items in the pack and the more valuable things in his cloak. He then reached for a loaf of sweetbread from the quickly vanishing pile of food and began to happily munch on the rich pastry.

"We're going through the town tomorrow then," said Val, finally coming to a decision. His brother merely shrugged at the notion, enjoying the bread.

They finished their respective meals, exchanging light chatter under the pale luminance of the lightening magic, and eventually bedded down for the long, chilly night. Val stared at the inky black sky long after Damion and the she-wolf had gone to sleep, trying to push away a tiny sliver of dread that had crept into his mind at some point during the night. Unable to do this, he was eventually lulled to sleep by the white noise of wind across the land and the steady sounds of sleeping breath.

The sun had barely paled the horizon when camp was broken. The brothers gathered their meager belongings, fastening most everything to the large pack, and prepared to head towards the town. By Val's reasoning, they would be able to get well beyond the town with a full days worth of walking, and reach the next town in another two or three days. But this would require a quick pace, and the violet-haired boy was taking too much time as it was to get ready. Thankfully, the wolf had pulled another one of her disappearing acts during the night, and was nowhere to be found.

Val tapped his foot lightly in irritation, looking towards the town in the distance as it started to become visible through the haze. He turned back towards Damion, prepared to leave without him if he wasn't ready. Standing next to a full pack, the boy had just finished putting on his cloak, and was in the midst of a teary yawn.

"Grab that thing and let's go already," Val said irritably, "we've wasted enough time." The boy blinked at him once, then narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"You carry it," he stated simply, obviously ready to stand off on the issue, "I had to drag it around town all day yesterday."

Val grunted disgustedly, picking up the heavy pack and shoving it into his brother's arms.

"It's your responsibility, you carry it."

He began to saunter away, confident in victory. Being the eldest by five years, he felt he had more than enough right to make the rules in the little group. He put on a blank expression when he heard Damion come jogging up, and in the back of his mind prepared to dodge the kind of stunt his younger sibling had pulled off yesterday.

But, the youth merely ran up beside him and matched his pace. Val was happy the little thief had finally started listening to him after all these years, and was about to reflect his appreciation of the maturity when he found a heavy pack slamming into his abdomen. He uttered a guttural 'oomph' and stepped back a few steps, bent over in pain from the surprise attack.

"You carry it," said Damion, unable to keep a large smirk from taking over his face. Val was so easily tricked sometimes.

Growling, Val threw the pack back at Damion, who easily caught it, but was sent back a few steps by the pure momentum of the heavy luggage.

"You're carrying it, dammit. It's…. part of your training," said Val. He began to stalk off again, though he was completely on guard this time.

"What training?"

"You are weak, and I have to help you out all the time, so I've decided that you're going to carry around heavy stuff and get stronger so I don't have to baby-sit you anymore," quipped Val, folding his arms across his chest. Damion gave him a doubtful look; narrowing one eye suspiciously, then shouldered the pack nonchalantly.

"You're just lazy," he said, smiling when Val flinched and glared, "and I'm not weak."

Val stopped, grinding his teeth slightly, before he finally came to a solution.

"Alright then," he said, grabbing the pack from Damion and tossing it to the ground. He dropped down into a cross-legged sitting position and slammed his elbow onto the bulky bag; his expression one of a serious challenge. His brother grinned and followed suit, locking their hands together in preparation for the ultimate battle of strength: arm-wrestling.

Val glared at Damion with a schooled look of seriousness and strength, while the younger boy stared back with complete confidence. If he had not known better, Val would have been fooled into thinking the thief might actually win the battle, his confidence was so convincing, but as it was, he knew the cocky smile was just a farce. The initial standoff lasted a few moments, each boy flexing his arm muscles in anticipation, until Val said 'go' and the battle of strength was on. It lasted about half a second. Val easily powered his brother's arm to the surface of the pack, much to the younger boy's dismay.

"Hah, I told you. Weak," smirked Val as he stood up. His brother gave him a sour face, but picked up the pack, hoisting it back over his shoulders.

They began to walk again, vaguely aware of the sun's steady rise into the sky, and more aware of the rise in temperature as the scorched earth was baked once again by solar rays. Val had planned to be in town by noon, and had started to pick up the pace when the morning's dusty haze had started to burn away. Damion was not faring quite as well with the heat and the heavy pack, and after an hour or so, Val grew tired of his brother's panting and dragging steps, and relented in taking the pack.

The expression of 'victory at last' on the thief's face wasn't to comforting when he finally took the thing, but he was able to ignore it for the most part. They were nearly at the town at any rate- the low buildings stood grey against the horizon a half-mile away, framed by scrubby wilderness beyond the barren land.

Val sighed, but continued to walk. He hated traveling these dead areas; their very presence was a constant reminder of the war that had so thoroughly ruined his life. Taken his home when he was a boy. Taken his mother.

Val ground his teeth and washed his mind of those feelings, a practice he was all too used to after many years of remorse. At twenty-one years old, he considered himself beyond that fluff of emotion, and grudgingly accepted the life he had built for himself and his younger brother, however worthless and dismal it seemed at times.

They were close to the town now. The sun approached its midday position in the sky and shadows disappeared. Damion elbowed Val in the arm lightly, and pointed to something near the town, a few dozen yards away. The older man blinked out of his thoughts, and squinted at the spot.

The silhouette of a person, dressed entirely in black, stood directly in their path. As they neared Val could see it was a man, staring unswervingly at them as they approached, his long black cape billowing with the whims of the wind. His cold blue eyes glared at them between folds of black cloth, and his entire demeanor spoke of hostility and strength.

"Make any enemies lately?" Damion whispered from his right, glancing curiously at the stranger.

Val frowned in response, now glaring back at the mysterious man.

A fight this early? he thought curiously, then gave the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth, it'll be a good warm up at least, he looks kind of tough.

When they were within speaking distance, Val took off the heavy traveling pack and shoved it back to Damion. Folding his arms across his chest, he stood straight and tall against the stranger, waiting for him to explain himself. The man glared back at the pair, the wind ruffling the wiry light blue hair that fell before his eyes.

"Well, what the hell do you want?" said Val, quickly becoming impatient in the full heat of day. His brother stood silently by, observing the interaction with great interest.

"Valgaav Copt," began the stranger in a low monotone, the words grinding the air like gravel, "you believe you are a human mercenary, aged twenty-one years, without direction or purpose."

"Hmph. So you've done your homework. But you still didn't answer my question," Val said, unfolding his arms and placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. This man sounded like a bounty hunter, or perhaps some revenge hungry killer.

"Hometown of Ruxtoul burned to the ground at age nine, mother Filia Ul Copt also lost at this time. Lives on the streets of various cities as a worthless beggar and poor fighter until roughly age sixteen. Little monetary value, few possessions, average fighting ability," the man continued in the same cold tone, as if he were reading a grocery list.

Val flinched at each word, his orange eyes growing angrier at the recounting of his past; a past he had thought no one beyond himself and Damion knew. With the mention of 'average fighter', he finally lost his temper and drew his blade. The man in black stopped talking at this, but seemed unimpressed by the show of force.

"Who are you!" Val demanded, brandishing the weapon threateningly, "What ar—"

The teal-haired swordsman was cut off as the man drew his sword in the blink of an eye, and moved into an attack with lightening speed. Surprised, Val awkwardly tried to block his foe's attack, but seemed to move in slow motion against the stranger. In three quick flashes of light, the stranger had easily cut through Val's blade in two places, and knocked the weapon thirty feet away in the dust.

Val swallowed hard as he felt the gentle pressure of a razor-sharp blade pressed to his throat, rendering him paralyzed. The edge was held so close that the slightest movement would cut the skin, and he could hardly breath for fear of injury. He looked up from the reflective silver of the weapon to the stranger, who had kept his cold expression through all of this and now calmly stared at his incapacitated opponent. Val blinked as his expression quickly turned from surprise back to an overwhelming rage at his apparent defeat.

"I am called Zelgadis. If you wish to know your true destiny, gather the treasures of Rathruun. I will return to you then and guide you to your end," stated the stranger in his low voice. Val merely growled at this, his enraged mind failing to come up with any way to escape his current situation. The stranger's eyes suddenly shifted to the side slightly, though his grip didn't change.

"I would not try anything, less you desire this one's death," he said. Val turned his eyes in the same direction to see Damion shrugging sheepishly at the stranger, two daggers in hand. The man turned his eyes back to Val, who gave him a deadly glare despite his helplessness.

"You have one year," he said with finality. His image then began to fade, and a heartbeat later, he was gone.

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A/N: Yaaaaay, it only took 10 months, but here is the first chappie of Link! So proud… its like 4000 words and 12 pages, but whatever. It's all love. It may also be a bit confusing to most (all) people reading it currently, but all I'm going to say now is that it takes place 16-17 years after Bright Darkness (the prologue to this fic), and 21-22 years after TRY. Yes, yes, I know Val is an ancient dragon, but I have many good reasons for his thinking he is human and looking 21 at age 21, so don't flip out. In case I didn't make it very clear (which is usually the case), Val is a swordsman traveling with his younger brother Damion and Damion's pet wolf Talia. I'll give you three guesses as to why Damion's hair is purple and his eyes are blue violentcough, and don't flip out about that either! I have it all explained! Just…. Much later on . Zelgadis is here… and that prince from Xoana is definitely dead… and in the next chapter I'll definitely have someone other than Val's POV . A metric ass-load (3 years) of time and creative energy went into the planning and creation of this fic, so I wouldn't worry about it never being finished. Please enjoy… and read… or don't read, its really all up to you. wonders why I am talking to nobody …….Woo!