Section 5: No Doubt, Bright Reclamation

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"
Fleet of Divine Light
Yanme'e Territory
March 7, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Squad Minor Omega 419, second in command Sado Timnaldee continued to patrol the outer region of the now Sacred Hall of the Yanme'e nest. He had finally seen combat, but was only able to fire one round at the one time enemy. The Yanme'e were now members of the Covenant, yet their role would be limited until Prophet Prefectures were in place; the 'Drones' needed conditioning and faith.

The rocky tunnels of the nest were long and easily navigated. Timnaldee mindlessly patrolled his sector, but knowing that the Yanme'e were now 'allied forces', he pondered who he was guarding against. He huffed in frustration. Added to his annoyance was the constant barks and snaps of the grunt pack in his ranks.

"Silence!" Timnaldee roared as he spun around to face the grunts behind him. Two of the five foot creatures dropped their weapons in a cowering display. The others panicked and raced in the opposite direction. Timnaldee gritted his mandibles tightly in a deep growl as he continued his patrol. "Worthless cowards, they lack any honor or courage! Mindless! Vile and ANNOYING! Why must we have these worthless creatures in our ranks?" Timnaldee huffed loudly, his voice echoing throughout the tunnel. Out of the pack of Grunts that had followed him, only one held its position at his side. Though clearly nervous after Timnaldee's display of rage, the lowly Grunt maintained his discipline as best as he could.

Despite his detest for the creatures, Timnaldee understood their importance in combat. No force could withstand a swarming battalion of Unggoy, their numbers could overwhelm any group. In large numbers the grunts were quite formidable; this was their only asset to the Covenant's campaign to reclaim the lost Forerunner artifacts and achieve the Great Journey.

He glanced at the lone grunt at his side and noticed that he was the elder of the pack. "Gather your pack and maintain discipline. We have a job to do and I can not focus if they are constantly causing such a ruckus."

"Me understand." The grunt nervously replied. He turned back and began to search for the trailing members of his pack. Timnaldee pushed on, into the dimly light path ahead of him. Soon the tunnel began to change as he crossed a threshold into the Forerunner structure. He had reached the end of his patrol zone and began to turn around, but he suddenly heard the approach of another.

"Commander." Timnaldee nodded in respect. The Spec Ops Commander motioned toward him as the door to the Forerunner structure closed behind him.

"You are?"

"Sir, I am Timnaldee, Second of Minor Squad Omega 419."

"Ah, a former Watchman. Did you get to see much combat this day"

"Very little, Sir. I was one of the last to land upon the asteroid. By the time my squad and I crossed the airlock…"

The Commander lifted his hand to halt Timnaldee's words. "It is time." A burst of static filled their ears as the com channels opened. Every member of the Covenant paused as the words of the Prophet began to fill their ears. Those lucky enough to be aboard ship or near a holographic panel were able to see the image of Regret as he prepared to give his sermon.

"Brothers in arms, fellow members of the Covenant, hear me. For so long we have sought our destiny. For so long we have traveled across the stars in search of our query; the relics of our Gods. Now, after all this time, we have found the first guiding star. We have found the marker we sought. We have found the path to Halo!"

"Release your troubled doubts. Let go of your weariness and troubles. Finally, our path to Reclamation has begun. The Great Journey lies ahead of us and nothing shall disrupt us from our path."

Deep within the Sacred Hall of the Forerunner structure, Regret gazed into the Hologram recorder as a grunt controlled sat at its controls. "We have much to rejoice for on this day. With the Inclusion of the Yanme'e, and the discovery of Halo's location, we can look forward to this new age of our Covenant's rise. Let us look passed the Age of Doubt, and embrace the First Age of Reclamation."

An Elite Honor Guard tapped the grunt sitting at the video recorder on the shoulder, and the grunt ended the recording. The lowly grunt flipped several keys and the recording began to repeat and spread throughout the Fleet of Divine Light.

"The transmission is now on continuous loop, your Holiness." The Honor Guard said with respect.

"Excellent." Regret smirked as he floated toward the guard's position. "I am sure that Truth and Mercy will not be… happy with this sudden turn of events. But no matter, I will deal with them in time. Continue to download the information, and then destroy this terminal."

Shocked, the Elite stepped back. "Your Holiness, are you certain? You wish to destroy the instrument of the Gods?"

"Noble warrior, your faith is strong, yet we can not leave this instrument in tact. Once all of the Forerunner data is completely extracted into our terminals, it will be safe from those who defy the will of the Gods. We will leave our terminals here, guarded by our encryption devices, guaranteeing its safety. Do not fret, this is merely a tool left by the Gods, and not a true Forerunner Artifact."

"Again, your holiness, your wisdom graces me." The honor guard knelt at Regret's base. Regret floated away, escorted by several of the other honor guards.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation
Home sector of "The Fleet of Divine Light"
March 8, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Had it been a few minutes, or had it been an entire day? The trio of Mirratord Warriors had lost all track of time. They poised on to fulfill their mission, and at the moment that was all that mattered. Cut off and unable to contact the High Council, Balmaedee, Simyaldee, and M'atralee stood poised upon the prophet's ship, dawning standard Elite battle armor.

It had taken them nearly an hour to track down the Prophet of Punishment, but only a few minutes to sneak aboard his ship. However, getting close to a Prophet was not going to be easy. Covenant Capital ships had rules, duties, and roster manifests; but thanks to Simyaldee's quick thinking they had managed to slow down Punishment's ability to transmit his information to the Hierarchs.

"Sabotaged?" Punishment questioned to the Ship Master.

"Yes, your holiness. All communication systems have been disrupted. Repairs will take several units to complete, perhaps even a full rotation."

"A full Roatation!" Punishment snarled. "I have important information to pass on to the Hierarchs, and you are telling me that I can not!"

The ship master knelt at the base of Punishment's throne. "Sir, I will contact another ship and tell them to transfer your information."

"It the ship's communications are down, then how do you intend to contact them?" Punishment fumed.

"I have dispatched a Phantom to the nearest ship to make arrangements for your arrival."

Punishment sat up and calmed himself. "Very well. Notify me when I can depart. And find out who was responsible for destroying the ship com system."

"Yes your holiness." The ship master stood tall, his golden armor reflecting the light of the ships command deck. As he watched the prophet exit the deck he turned to his command crew. "Find the culprit and bring him to me now!"

Elsewhere on the ship, Simyaldee and M'atralee waited near a phantom on the ships' landing deck. They watched as several grunt patrols walked by but maintained their position. They heard a thump come from inside the phantom and they stepped inside the rear ramp; inside was Balmaedee.

"The phantom com links are still working, but we can only monitor other ship communications. A phantom was just sent to a nearby ship, but the Prophet was not aboard. I believe they will take the prophet off ship. We must split up. There are four phantoms prepping for departure. There should be one amongst them that is being guarded by a Special Operations squad. That will most likely be the Prophet's guard detail. Go!"

They bolted from the phantom's ramp and scattered across the expansive landing deck. Eventually Simyaldee stumbled upon a group of Spec Ops guarding a lone Phantom on the far side of the deck. He looked around, but Balmaedee and M'atralee where nowhere to be found. Approaching the group of Special Ops would be unwise, as they would immediately question him, but he needed to get near the phantom.

He cautiously made his way toward the ship, but time was up. Simyaldee watched as a far side door parted and the Prophet made his way toward the phantom. He cursed under his breath, and doubled his pace toward the group of unsuspecting Spec Ops.

The Prophet began to climb into the rear ramp of the Phantom as several of the Spec Ops began to ride the gravity lift under the belly of the ship. Simyaldee knew his timing had to be precise. He dashed toward the last Spec Ops that walked toward the phantom's gravity lift. Simyaldee quickly looked around to see if he was being watched; all was clear. He leapt out, diving toward the Elite, and tackled him. He pinned the Spec Ops warrior beneath his own weight, quickly removed the Elite's helmet and slammed it against his head, rendering him unconscious. A nearby grunt witnessed the assault, but didn't have the chance to report it. His neck snapped easily under Balmaedee's hand. Simyaldee looked up just as the grunt went lifeless in his team leader's arms.

"Hurry, you don't have much time!" Balmaedee dragged the grunt's corpse out of sight. "Put on his armor and get aboard. Complete the mission and rendezvous at the extraction coordinates. We shall wait for you as long as we can." Simyaldee didn't hesitate. He quickly removed his armor and pulled on the unconscious Spec Ops' armor. The Phantom above their heads began to hum as the rear ramp closed shut. Simyaldee pulled on the helmet and jumped into the gravity lift.

Balmaedee looked on and mumbled, "Good luck, young one. From here on, you are on your own." The gravity lift faded as the Phantom lifted higher from the deck. It spun on its central plane and exited the landing deck. Balmaedee heard the groggy groan of the Elite beneath him. He turned to the Elite as he began to sit up.

"Are you alright, brother?"

"My … head. What happened?"

"Someone stole your armor, killed this grunt and boarded the Prophet's shuttle!" Balmaedee stated with a sense a flare. "I saw it all."

"We must alert the Prophet!" The Spec Op replied as he rubbed his bare head.

"It is impossible right now." Balmaedee added. "The com systems are still down."

- - - - - - - -

Simyaldee took the nearest position along the wall, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other Elites. He looked them all over; some seemed to carry themselves well, while others seemed bored and unmotivated. He looked around for the field commander and watched as he approached.

"Why were you late?" The Spec Ops Field Commander questioned.

"I fell behind, forgive my tardiness." Simyaldee replied. The field commander gave him a stern glare but pushed on, checking the other members of his guard detail. Luckily, checking rank was not standard for Spec Ops. They merely followed orders and the chain of command. Simyaldee watched as the Prophet floated toward the forward canopy of the Phantom, and he knew that his options were limited.

He thought to himself, "I could attack the Prophet, kill him and explain to these Spec Ops that he was executing our brothers in a prison. But that would bring forth to many questions, and the risk of someone talking about my actions would be too high. In the end, there is no way to avoid what must be done. Can this really be the only way?"

Simyaldee stepped out of position and motioned toward the front of the phantom.

The other elites at his side began to mumble.

The field commander turned toward him and questioned, "What are you doing? Get back in line!"

Simyaldee ignored his retort and lunged toward the forward compartment. He knew he couldn't kill the Prophet with a full frontal attack, their shields were too strong for that. The door to the forward cockpit would be a problem if it were closed, thusly he pulled up his energy swords and slashed the door controls; sending sparks throughout the cabin. At least now the Prophet could not hide behind the canopy door.

"What is the meaning of this?" The prophet questioned as he spun around to see the Elite standing before him brandishing his energy sword. "Then you are the one who sabotaged my ship? Kill him!"

For a moment the other Spec Ops paused, unsure of what to do, but their duty took precedence over anything. Simyaldee stabbed toward the Prophet and as expected he impacted his shield. Punishment was not a Hierarch, one of the three rulers of the Covenant, but he was a high class and respected Prophet; meaning he was given access to a defensive throne. A direct attack against this higher Class Prophet was going to be tricky. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as two Spec Ops pulled out there Plasma Rifles and took aim. Simyaldee spun around and dashed toward them.

Their blood stained the floor, and for a brief second everyone froze. Simyaldee glared at the blood of his dead kin. They had fallen so swiftly. He had killed them before they could fire their weapons. What had he done? What was he doing? Two of his brothers had been slain, killed in order to fulfill his mission.

He lifted his eyes as the remaining ten Elites powered on their swords. His ears began to ring as the pilot began to shout into the com system. "I repeat! His holiness is under attack from a HERETIC!"

With a quick step, Simyaldee picked up the plasma rifle, took aim at the com unit and fired a full volley. He dropped the gun as it began to overheat and spun to face off against the Spec Ops. The pop and static of the destroyed com system filled everyone's ears, and Simyaldee attacked. He was more than a basic Sangheili Warrior now, he was a member of the Mirratord. He had been trained by his master to become the best of the best; he was a Mirratord. Before he knew his calling, the Mirratord was waiting for him. Sacrifices had to be made, lives taken in vain, and he would have to learn to live with his actions; this was what it meant to be a Mirratord. To serve the High Council and protect the lives of all Sangheili, there would need to be sacrifices.

"Forgive me brothers, but this Prophet must go no further."

Simyaldee's words were soft, but each of the ten elites heard him. They had no idea of what they were about to see.

The main bay of the Phantom was big enough to support fourteen Elite's comfortably, with a standard pack of Grunts in the center. It was a small space to do battle, but the odds were in Simyaldee's favor. The Spec Ops were grouped together, climbing over each other in order to get a good position to fight, but making themselves defenseless.

Simyaldee's first step was lightning quick; he closed the gap between himself and three Elites and cut through their Personal Energy Shields. The Elites roared in pain as they tumbled back; life left them before they hit the deck. Another of the Spec Ops pounced toward Simyaldee's back, but he was long gone, splitting the group in two and moving with an almost fanatic pace. His energy sword was a blur of motion, and he never stopped. Every move was deadly; cutting off limbs, stabbing, tripping, kicking, punching, all affective and precise. Soon the power on Simyaldee's sword began to fade, but taking the moment to pick up a fresh sword from a fallen warrior could leave him exposed. He gripped the powerless hilt in his hand and began to melee the remaining warriors. Blood spray from their wounds began to stain the walls, blood trails from his sword hilt streaked across the phantom's main holding bay until the last of the Spec Ops had fallen.

Simyaldee had gone into a warrior's trance, focused only on defeating his enemy and surviving. The pain of killing his kin, his brothers in arms who were only following orders, had yet to register in his mind. He held the hilt of the energy sword so tightly in his grip that his fist shook from the tension. His eyes were wide open, yet his breathing was calm and steady.

From the forward canopy Punishment watched, his mouth agape in pure shock. "Twelve… you would slay twelve of your kin to kill me?"

Simyaldee slowly turned to face the prophet; the blood of his kin dripping from his armor. "To save my race, I will defy anything and anyone. Their blood is on your hands." He knelt down a gathered a fresh sword from one of his fallen kin. He stepped toward the prophet and looked through the forward view portal and saw that they had arrived at the nearest ship, and they were nearly about to enter the landing deck. He was out of time.

"Your time is up. Soon this ship will be crawling with those who are loyal to the Covenant. You will die for this treason, heretic!"

"I am no heretic." Simyaldee lunged forward, powered off his shield and landed on the Prophet's throne. Punishment was shocked that he was able to penetrate his shielding. Simyaldee's blood stained hand grabbed the Prophet's cloak and he snarled. "Your shield repels opposing energy, but with my shield off you can not stop me."

"No! Release me!" Punishment pleaded as he pulled away from the Elite. Though Punishment was much larger than Simyaldee, he was nothing compared to the Sangheili's strength. He attempted to push the comparatively small Elite away, but Simyaldee held him tightly. He gripped a plasma grenade from his hip and stuck it to Punishment's face.

"This is for my Master!" The grenade began to glow with a bright blue haze and fused into Punishment's skin. The Prophet screamed for help as he attempted to brush away the grenade, but it was too late for him. Simyaldee jumped back and eyed the Elite pilot. The pilot jumped away from his seat just as Punishment exploded in a glow of blue mist, followed by a cloud of red blood and flesh.

- - - - - - - -

The phantom rocked back and forth as it came to a rest and then suddenly fell to the deck. Several maintenance grunts opened the hatch and raced inside as smoke began to drift out of the interior. What they found bewildered them.

"Dead! All dead!" The grunt screamed back to the Elites. The Elites walked into the phantom and inspected the bodies of their fallen comrades. They then noticed the smoldering chair of the Prophet. It was covered in fragments of flesh from what was once Punishment's head.

They found the pilot, covered in blood on the side of the cockpit. "What happened?" One of them asked. But the pilot could not muster any words. He fell into shock as they carried him off the ship.

"A heretic did this?" An Elite Ranger stated as he entered the rear ramp. "The last report was from the pilot, he said that a Heretic was attacking his holiness." The Ranger scanned the main holding bay of the blood soaked phantom. "These warriors were killed by an energy sword however some were killed by a blunt object. Perhaps his sword's power faded and… my word, he killed them with his hilt!" The Ranger looked the corpses over. "I want a body count." The other Elites began to sort the bodies as the Ranger counted. "There are only thirteen, including the pilot! One of them is missing. He couldn't have gone far, he would be heavily stained in blood and perhaps injured."

The Ranger's com channel burst to life in his ears as his Ship Master checked in for an update. "Status."

"Sir, only the pilot survived, we will get his details when he awakes. The Prophet of Punishment has been murdered."

"Damn. The Hierarchs will not be pleased. Find the Heretic! Someone's head will roll for this."

The com line faded and the Ranger continued to search the inside of the phantom. He walked toward the Prophet's throne and noticed that the Hierarch was leaning in an odd manor. "A plasma grenade was stuck to him. A creative way to kill, but this throne had an energy shield. And…" He looked closer and noticed that the Prophet's blood, which was normally red, was dripping under the throne. However, there was another trail of blood dripping, Sangheili blood. He quickly gripped the Prophet's lifeless corpse and pulled it forward. Bundled behind Punishment's lifeless body, and almost completely covered by the Prophet's massive robe, was the body of an Elite. His body was covered in plasma burns, similar to those of the Prophet's.

"He was killed in the blast radius of the grenade. He was close to the Prophet, but how did he end up inside the throne? And… his armor is missing…"

"Sir!" An Elite minor shouted toward the cockpit. "I found bloody Spec Ops armor in one of the weapons lockers!"

The Ranger spun around and glared at the armor as if his heart had stopped. He activated his com. "Medical detachment! The Pilot is the Heretic!" Do you copy? Come in! Curse you Heretic!"

After several minutes of searching the ship the Ranger and his team of Spec Ops were greeted by a small pack of grunts. "We find Medical team. Unconscious. Heretic not found." Behind the grunts was the medical team that had carried the injured pilot out of the Phantom.

One of them spoke. "He attacked us before we knew what was happening."

"He disguised himself as the pilot and we let him slip right passed us." The Ranger gritted his teeth, clinching his mandibles in frustration. "How could this happen on my watch?" He turned to one of his accompanying warriors. "How many troops have gone down to the city below?"

"Sir, we are preparing to leave orbit, so supply runs have been frequent all day. Minor's have been going to the surface for the past two hours."

"By now he is long gone." The Ranger sulked. "I will go and report this to the Ship Master." The Ranger turned and began to make his long journey to the command deck. "Thirteen Spec Ops and a Prophet were killed by one Warrior. If his deed were not so dark, his skill would be honorable."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"
High Charity
Covenant Armada Base of Operations
Location: Unknown
March 8, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Truth turned off the visual recording of Regret's sermon and looked to Mercy. "He continues to step beyond our collective decisions."

"Yes." Mercy pondered. "His youth and thrill for conquest garners him too often. But he has made it easier to settle things. And since his sermon began its broadcast yesterday, we have seen an overwhelming turn around in the Sangheili. Their loyalties seem to have become stronger."

"It will only delay the inevitable." Truth countered. "The politics with the Sangheili council is shaky at best. They will once again falter to the side and question their place. We need the Jiralhanae. Within three Cycles, we must have the Brutes at our sides."

"What of Halo?" Mercy questioned. "We should send one of our fleets to it."

"No. That it is not an option. Going to Halo now would be unwise, not until we have properly made preparations."

Mercy floated closer to Truth. "This discovery will be for nothing if we do not go to Halo. The Sangheili will demand to walk upon the soil of the Gods and begin preparations for the Great Journey."

Truth rubbed the stubble upon his chin in thought. "We need more time and to convince the Sangheili that going to Halo now is not our best interest. Their Great Journey will come when the time is right."

Mercy sat up suddenly and shouted, "The Luminous Keys!"

"The ship cores?" Truth questioned. "Perhaps… there would be hundreds of them scattered across the universe."

"Let us begin this -- Age of Reclamation as Regret has dubbed it, with a grand declaration to the Covenanat."

"Yes." Truth smiled with a sinister gaze. "We shall send the fleet to the far corners of the Universe in search of the ship cores… no… the Luminous Keys. Not only will the ship cores expand our ships potentials, they also contain the star maps needed to find Halo. Yes. I believe this will give us more than enough time to gain the 'Brutes' loyalties."

"We have searched so hard to find the Forerunner Artifacts and piece together Halo's location, and now that we know of it, we can add one last quest to our cause."

"Yes… and now that the Yanme'e are within our hold, it is time to reconstruct the Armada."

"What do you mean?" Mercy questioned.

"If we are to employ the brutes, they will need a fleet of their own. Once they join the Covenant we will integrate them onto all of our ships, however…"

Mercy interrupted, "It would be best to have a separate Fleet for them. Perfect, Truth you have seen this through to the end."

Truth glared into Mercy's eyes. "Indeed I have, Mercy. Indeed I have."

The holographic generator in the center of the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, began to hum as the image of a ship master appeared on screen.

Truth graciously responded, "What is the purpose of this communication."

"Your holiness, we have just received word from the evacuation front line. There was an incident."

"Do not stall, Ship Master. Speak!" Truth snapped.

"The Heretics have struck again. Though, this time there target was much worse than before. His Holiness, the Prophet of Punishment has been slain." Truth and Mercy glared at each other before turning their eyes back to the hologram.

Mercy spoke. "Has this Heretic been found?"

"No, your holiness, we are still searching."

Truth breathed deeply. "Ship Master, are you aware that in the two hundred years of our Covenant, no Prophet has been killed till now?"

"Yes, your holiness."

"It would do you well to contact your High Council and prepare them. The Council will convene tomorrow and someone must answer for this!" Truth turned off the communication as Mercy slammed his palms against his armrest.

"Assassinated!" Mercy spat.

"Yes, that is very clear." Truth thought. "The Sangheili are working deeper than we first thought. These Heretic issues were merely thorns before, but now it is getting out of hand. We will need to increase our guard patrols even further, though we must be aware that our Honor Guards are nothing more than Sangheili themselves."

"We must weed out those who are not loyal…" Mercy began to speak but Truth lifted his hand to halt his words.

"Another transmission." Truth powered on the holographic generator and glared at the image of Regret.

"Rumors are pouring in from the evacuation fronts. Is it true that Several Prophets are dead, including a high ranking official?"

Truth replied. "I … we, have not been fully briefed, but an assembly of the council will convene tomorrow. Take great caution, Regret, the Heretics have begun to grow far stronger then we first thought."

Mercy motioned closer to Truth and added, "Yes. We must also discuss your recent sermon to the Covenant. Perhaps this time you have gone too far."

- - - - - - - -

"Balmaedee, we can not wait any longer." Domadree stated over the com. "If I hold over the city any longer we will begin to look suspicious."

Balmaedee leaned against the metal hull of his Wraith Tank as Ship Master Domadree's ship lingered overhead. He was calm and simply watched as the last cargo create was lifted into the ship's hull by its massive gravity lift.

"I mean no disrespect, but that was the last of the supplies we were scheduled to pick up for the Council. Board your tank, get into the gravity lift and let us be on our way. There are far more IMPORTANT issues to consider."

M'atralee sat at Balmaedee's side and stood as Domadree's tone became more aggressive. "Sir, he is right. We know that he was successful, but perhaps he was unable to escape. He knows his duty, he is strong and will not break if tortured. He will take his honor to the afterlife."

"Simyaldee was one of only three warriors to do something that many have tried to do." Balmaedee began. "He defeated the master upon graduation." Balmaedee stood and climbed into the wraith and turned on the power. The massive blue tank began to hover, as it hummed loudly with a mechanical wail. "He maybe late, but he is far from captured." Balmaedee closed the canopy and turned the wraith toward the purple beam of the gravity lift, and was lifted into the hull of Domadree's frigate.

M'atralee turned and gazed into the city one last time, wondering if he would see Simyaldee appear from the corner of a building. But there was nothing. Silence filed the city streets as he stepped closer to the Gravity Lift.

His com link crackled to life, "Do not fret, Simyaldee will catch up when he can. He's one of us now; the best of the best." Balmaedee's words were meant to encourage him, but M'atralee knew all too well what it meant to be a Mirratord.

"How many of our brothers were you forced to slay today, all for the sake of a name?" M'atralee questioned to himself as he stepped into the gravity lift. He was instantly pulled upward but maintained his gaze upon the city below. It was lifeless and no one was there. "I feel your pain brother, I know your heartache. To be Mirratord also means that we have crossed path with our kin, and spilled their blood. We fight to protect our kin, yet we are forced to slay those that stand between us and our target." The gravity lift faded from view and the frigate began to rise away from the world below.

To be continued

NOTE: As you can imagine, a lot has happened to young Simyaldee in the past few days, but you still have yet to see the Simyaldee that has earned the reputation as the most Feared Sangheilli warrior, or what made him into the soldier we know so well in S,FFH. After all, a lot can happen in 120 years that changes anyones perception Opps... have I said too much? The next chapter will bring to light the darker side of the Mirratord and the mentality of ourhero.

This story was intended to run 7 chapters, but it will now run for at least ten chapters and then hopefully I can start working on Book 3.

-Soulguard