ONE

a vagrant

The tracks were still fresh. He'd been hunting them for two days; it was only a matter of time before he caught up.

As always. His gaze was stoic, observant, his head cocking to get a better look at every detail, long strands of blue falling across his shoulder as he bent down. One boot trailed the edge of a print, already beginning to fade into the damp earth. One gloved hand brushed against sharp branches, noting where they had been split and broken by a rough passage.

It was quite a large group, about eight.

Here.

A small, narrow clearing against the dense trees. Scuffs, an indentation in the ground.

A confrontation- no, an ambush. A group against one, over quickly. Only a bit of blood.

Something old and ugly stirred in the back of his thoughts.

Cowardly pigs.

In his mind's eye, he could see a little girl, her thick blue hair flying in the wind as she ran, arms outstretched; laughing, tripping over her own feet in her exuberance. She fell, tumbling a short distance.

When she got up, her hair was tangled and matted, dirt smeared across her face. Eyes, terrified and wild. She stared in shock at the two corpses soaking in their old blood.

Mother, and father. Father, and mother.

Run.

Run! Her gaze was blank, her body frozen to the spot. She blinked, once, twice, and slowly began to back away.

No, don't –

She screamed.

An unseen man cursed, spat at her. She was shrieking hysterically now, the sound rising higher still as another man grabbed her by the hair, dragging her small body along the jagged ground. He couldn't see her anymore, but he could still hear her, screaming and screaming, even from his prone position. He heard the muffled scrape of metal, and the timbre of her voice changing abruptly.

And he stabs her, the sharp knife plunging into her shoulders, neck, head. After she falls down, the other man kicks her, over and over and over and over and over-

Choking gags, a wet gurgling, and then silence.

That was a long time ago.

He remembered how long ago it was.

Every day. And that is why …

He tossed his head to clear his thoughts, refocusing them and turning his attention back on the tracks he had found. He crouched down, one knee to the ground.

The more he examined the evidence, the more he realized how odd this struggle seemed. First, the location. Since the falling of the so-called Sorcery Globe and the dramatic increase in hostile monsters, there were very few people who would wander, unaccompanied, so deep into the woods. Particularly not this area, with the bandit presence well-known by all the locals he had spoken to. Whoever had been ambushed here had either come knowingly, with purpose – whatever purpose that may be – or was an extremely lost traveller. Then, there was the result. To provoke this sort of conflict with such a large group … it was strange that there was no body. Nor any evidence that someone had met an untimely end.

Strange.

The footprints, of course, continued deeper into the forest. Wherever they ended, answers would be found.

Getting to his feet again, Dias resumed his hunt.

…

It was nearing nightfall again when he finally tracked the brigands to their base.

Two entrances, exactly as he had gathered from his investigations. He could see the outline of horses tied up by the trees, clearly indicating which one the bandits had used. He moved silently towards the other entrance, staying a good distance downwind, avoiding the possibility of skittish beasts that could give him away.

He entered the underground passage cautiously, one hand against the rocky wall.

The first chamber he came upon was still, very still; it seemed to be a storage of sorts, poorly organized, with empty crates stacked on their sides and cluttering the room. A lantern hung from a hook, set deep into the cavern wall. The shadows mimicking the dancing fire were the only motion visible. There didn't seem to be anyone in this area.

No, wait. In the corner, barely discernable from this distance, in the dim light. He could see a motionless figure lying on a crude floor made of wooden planks: head tucked in towards the chest, body curled up in a fetal position. As he neared, he could tell that the ankles were bound tightly together, arms tied behind the back.

A hostage? Dias recalled the ambush he happened upon earlier in the day.

Closer now, he made out a faint breathing, soft and fairly regular, somewhat muted and distorted by a gag.

Whoever he was, he was still out of it.

Dias knelt down, studying the unconscious form. It was a young man with short, pale blond hair, long bangs falling over closed lids, partially obscuring the face in subdued shadows. Mud and dried blood splayed down the side of his head, across his cheek. In spite of this, even in the poor lighting, one could see that his complexion was fair, out of place in these surroundings. Apart from his injuries, which must have been sustained in that attack, he seemed to be in good health.

In very good health, actually.

The chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. The stranger was dressed in a simple black shirt, sleeveless; stained white pants, encrusted with dirt at the knees …

… And the most bizarre shoes Dias had ever seen. Thick as boots, but low-cut; glossy in texture and heavy in appearance, with unrecognizable patterns, emblems and straps. He glanced back at the hostage's face.

Odd. The man's features seemed vaguely familiar, but Dias couldn't place it.

The swordsman soundlessly got to his feet again, scanning the remainder of the cramped chamber. Noticing a small heap of items piled carelessly on the ground, he proceeded towards it, looking it over.

The items must have belonged to the young man; they matched the strange shoes he was wearing. The cropped coat, the fingerless gloves – not only were the designs peculiar, but the material caught light like nothing he'd ever seen.

Dias crouched down again, removing one glove, reaching out to run a hand along the material. Durable yet pliable, impossibly smooth, yielding easily to the touch. At the same time, it seemed unaffected by the dirt on the ground, which brushed effortlessly off its surface. He picked up the coat, examining it.

In one pocket, he found yet another unfamiliar object.

Whereas the other items were at least recognizable in function, this one was completely alien to him. It seemed metallic, but had been hammered into, again, an impossibly smooth sheen and shape. There were no rough spots, no sharp corners anywhere. At one end, a small knob could be pulled out, extended, and pushed back in. Inset against the metal was a glass-like material, with illegible symbols and runes running across it, constantly changing. Below the square of glass, there was a soft, malleable pad inscribed with similar runes, and each rune could be pressed in.

Without warning, it let out a single beep. Dias blinked in surprise.

There was a light, wooden squeal behind him. He dropped the device back on the pile of clothing, whirling around, hand immediately at the hilt of his blade.

Piercing, bright eyes, a startling blue, glared back at him alertly. Shoulders were tense, the entire body ready to react.

- wasn't really asleep ... ?

Somehow, in spite of his bound predicament, the youth had managed to silently roll and maneuver himself into an upright position. But when he shifted his weight to maintain balance, the uneven planks he was kneeling on betrayed him.

"Shh," Dias hissed, shaking his head. No. He had to make it clear that he wasn't one of the brigands before the other man did something stupid. He still had no idea where the bandits were – at least eight of them at a safe estimate, from the tracks he'd been following earlier in the day.

If they realize an intruder is here – His mind settled in relief as he saw understanding dawn immediately in the clear eyes, shoulders relaxing. Slightly.

He put his glove back on. "I don't know who you are," he continued in low tones, just audible enough for the other man to hear, "but I don't want you getting in my way." He turned to exit the room; there was nothing else here. Looking over his shoulder, he warned: "Don't move. I'll untie you after I take care of them."

The other man glowered, displeased, but did not make a move.

Good.

As Dias continued down the passage, he could hear voices; faint, muted at first, but steadily increasing in volume. He paused, half-crouching, against the chamber opening. It was hard to tell how many there were; the reverberation in the cavern was distorting the voices, and they kept talking over one other.

"You see all the stuff he had with him?"

"Some real fancy Heraldry goin' on there, I'd say."

"Don't seem to do anything, though. 'Cept that square thing, made a bit of noise but not much else."

A jeer. "Scared you though."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"You both shut up. We kin ask later. We got time. Garl and the rest are checking out the other one right now."

"Looked promising."

"What do you think it is, some weapon?"

"No idea."

"How much you think they going to fetch?"

"Like it matters. We got a king's ransom right there!" A guffaw, the slapping of a hand against the table at the literality of the statement.

"You sure?" a raspy voice was saying. "To find 'im around here- "

The indignant rattling of glass being slammed down. "'Course I'm sure. Seen him times over and over again 'round the castle." There was a loud gulp, the swilling of strong beer – he could smell it, even from here – and an uninhibited belch. ""He ran away less than a fortnight ago-"

"Yeah, yeah. We all know the story, that arranged-marriage thing."

Dias raised an eyebrow.

A snort of derision. "Nobles, think they know it all. Can't see a thing past their face and finery. Makes sense he's lost out here. Serves 'im right."

"Serves us right, too." Snickers.

"Frankly, me, I don't get that kind of thinking. Power, money, a pretty face – what else you want?"

"S'long as she's good down there, if you know what I mean." The voice wavered suggestively, drawing lewd laughs of agreement.

The rest of the conversation turned to bawdy descriptions and wild tales that left nothing to the imagination. The swordsman ignored the bantering and focused on the useful details he'd overheard.

Of course. The bandits had explained a great deal. The hostage's complexion and physical condition – extremely healthy and fit, but barely any signs of days spent under the sun, nor any harsh manual labour. And no wonder he looked familiar. As a mercenary who had handled several jobs through Cross Kingdom, Dias had seen the young prince once or twice from a distance, never meeting nor being introduced directly.

That also accounts for the strange clothing and equipment. There were many things that common folk had no knowledge of. Nobility had odd tastes and odd whims, and the resources to fulfill either.

Dias had heard rumours about the scion's disappearance, but had paid it little mind; he cared nothing for scandalous gossip about some royal this-or-another shirking duty.

If it were true ...

From one side, understandably, it was a critical issue; the arranged marriage would have built the foundations for a powerful alliance between the kingdoms of Cross and Lacour. On a whole, however, all of Expel was entering a difficult time; most people had no patience for what they considered to be the petty affairs of nobles.

Cross' resources are strained already, and having to send out a search party large enough to ensure the prince's safety while not attracting unwanted attention is … problematic enough on its own at any time, without having to worry about leaving the kingdom defenceless against roaming monsters. The palace would be very hush-hush about the entire matter, not wanting to shake the people's confidence in the royal family – nor attract unwanted attention.

Howls of laughter interrupted his thoughtflow, causing him to focus his attention back on the bandits in the room.

Ruffians like these would be eating up this sort of information. Of course they wouldn't kill him; not for what they could get.

A gruff curse. "Goin' out."

"Me too."

Hoots. "Drank too much, eh?"

"Better watch where you piss!"

Through the loud exchange of insults that followed, Dias heard chairs being pushed back. He backed away from the door opening, ducking into a hidden alcove. Grunts, scraping footsteps, the squeaking of wood. The air chilled suddenly, a cold freshness slightly damping out the thick smell of the men's drinks.

That must be the other entrance, where the horses were. He peered out, ensuring their backs were to him; one was a heavy boar of a man, the other a scraggly tree.

Dias waited till they were gone from view. Numbers are down. This was a good chance. The gloved hand tightened its grip on the hilt, the blade drawing out: slowly, silently.

Now-

Astonished faces glanced up. "The hell-"

Instinct kept him moving, but inside was surprise.

Only three?

The sword came slashing down, carving strips out of the wooden table, sending glass bottles tumbling. The robbers scrambled out of the way, shouting in shock and anger. As one, three blades flew out around him; three points hovered in the air, uncertain.

A dark smile grew. Dias shook his head condescendingly as he surveyed the trio surrounding him. It was plain to see that the swords were shoddily-maintained; if they had been decent once, they were barely passable now, not against his blade. And the stances of the bandits, the way they handled their weapons, even after accounting for the drinks they probably had – pathetic. Their strength had been their numbers.

It takes two of them to kill even a little girl.

"Dogs," he snarled, and attacked.

Caught off-guard, the bandit on his left cried out with a start, swinging blindly. One swipe and the man was disarmed; the next second, Dias' blade cut clean across his throat, littering the air with blood.

One. As the man toppled backwards, sliding down against the wall, the two bandits opposite struck.

Dias whirled around, sidestepping the first blow, deflecting it with ease. The second man, stabbing wildly, was also countered. This sword snapped, causing the robber to recoil, howling with pain.

The other brigand grabbed at a glass bottle with his free hand, smashing it against the wall, spilling shards and liquid onto the cavern floor. Grunting from the effort, he flung the broken bottle at the mercenary.

Dias twisted, pulled his cloak up and shielding himself from the sharp edges of glass. At the same time, he stepped up and into the next blow, anticipating the bandit's follow-up attack. His blade thrust out, a deep, rising slash across the belly and chest.

The man's shriek pierced the air. Two.

The last bandit, still unarmed and clutching his wounded hand to his stomach, pounced on the weapon dropped by the first robber Dias had killed. With a bestial cry, he jumped up, raising it high over his head-

Three.

The last bandit collapsed, the mercenary's sword buried in his chest.

Dias braced his boot against the dead man's side, pulling the blood-encrusted blade out of the body.

There was an exclamation behind him.

The swordsman looked up, turning to see the two brigands who had gone out earlier. They were staring at the swath of glass, blood and bodies in the room; as soon as Dias' eyes met theirs, the heavyset man cursed and backed away, out of sight of the door frame. The thinner, scrawnier bandit dashed after him.

The swordsman raced to the door. If they get to the horses again-

The corridor appeared empty.

They couldn't have gotten outside that fast. As he stalked through the passageway, he silently cursed himself for losing track of the other two. Where were they? Damn-

There was a roar of fury.

Dias spun, catching the fleeting flash of a dagger. His sword arm lifted immediately into a blocking position –

And there would be no impact. He caught sight of a figure behind his attacker: the wide sweep of a leg, and the bandit was yelling incoherently as he stumbled to the ground at the swordsman's feet. The yell was immediately cut short.

He had landed on his own dagger.

Effectively, the brigand had slit his own throat. The fine blade pierced the exposed flesh at an awkward angle, probably slicing diagonally into the windpipe and the jugular. A bubbly, frothing gasp of air, spittle and blood, and he was still.

Well.

Dias looked up. It was the hostage again, standing over the robber's body, half leaning against the cavern wall, breathing heavily through the gag. His arms were still tied behind him, but his legs were unbound.

"What are you doing?" Dias demanded. "I told you to stay out of my way."

The body straightened, blue eyes glaring at him. Dias shook his head, then reached out and removed the gag.

"Well, I don't know you either," the youth shot back, as soon as his mouth was free. "Would you just lie there, waiting for your lumps?"

Heh, true. "Fair enough." Dias acknowledged. "Turn around."

"Wha- " the other man started, but the swordsman had already pushed him to face the other way, slicing off the rope and freeing his arms.

"How did you get out of your leg bindings?"

"They were already loose. I wasn't out of it when they actually tied me; I just braced my legs." The young man stuck out his tongue uncomfortably at the memory, then smiled flatly. "Thinking on my feet?"

Dias snorted at the bad pun. The other man rubbed his arms. "Anyways, thank you."

The swordsman shrugged his shoulders. "Your lucky day. I just happened to be tracking these dogs." He turned his attention back to the hallway.

"… Still, I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me. There's still one mo-"

"Don't think you'll get away so easily!"

The owner of the raspy snarl leapt out, a thick arm swinging around the hostage's neck, another knife blade drawing out with a sharp metal keening. "One false move and this gu- augh!"

Before he was able to bring the dagger close enough, the young man had ducked his head, biting down painfully on the robber's wrist. While the robber yelped, left hand closed over right fist and pushed back, elbow digging fast and hard into the fat gut. The bandit released his grip, reeling, hacking from the blow. The youth stumbled forward, quickly regaining his balance and hastening out of reach.

"You-!" Outrage. Oversized hands flew to the hilt at his side.

Dias wasted no time: the hungry sword lunged, ruthless.

His blade slid effortlessly into the brigand's chest; twisting, pulling out, drawing a stream of red. A scream, and the bandit met earth, limbs sprawled out and lifeless, the unused sword clattering as it hit the ground.

After a moment's silence, an incredulous voice.

"You … you killed him ..." One hand covered the mouth in shock.

Dias pointed his blood-stained sword past the youth. "So did you."

The other man turned his head, following the blade's line to the bandit that he had tripped earlier. He gasped, finally noticing the self-impalement, the thickening, darkening fluid seeping into the ground under the corpse. He swallowed, turning away, then bent over sharply, dry heaving.

"If that's how you feel, I suggest you not look in the other room."

The other man turned to look back at him, his face a sickly pallor, drained of blood. He nodded mutely.

Good. No further complaints. At least he understands the inevitable. Dias wiped his sword clean with the edge of his cloak, then sheathed the blade in one smooth motion. "You might want to pick up your belongings."

Another pale nod, and the youth turned, heading back to the room where he had been held.

Dias looked down at the fallen bandit's sword.

Unlike the weapons of the others, this blade was rather high-quality. He knelt down, examining the edge, the handiwork. He turned his gaze to the dead man, then got up, prodding the body with one foot, turning it over. He leaned down again, unfastening the sword belt from the corpse's waist, sliding the sword back into its scabbard. Carrying this package, he followed where the other man had gone.

When Dias entered, the youth was sliding his arms into the coat that had been on the ground. His gloves were already on, and a red band was wrapped around his forehead, somewhat managing to keep the long bangs out of his eyes.

"Thank god," he was muttering quietly to himself, rifling through his pockets. "… didn't take … pha … g … n off safety after dad gave …o me … obviously … underdevelop … civiliz … n their hands … would've been …" He stopped suddenly.

Dias cocked his head at the prolonged silence.

"Holy. Hell," the youth gaped, and started checking frantically through his pockets again. It appeared to be an unsuccessful search; he soon gave up and began digging through the room, tearing through the debris. When this too proved fruitless, he jumped up, dashing past Dias and lunging out the doorway, about to head down the passage – but soon stopped short again, evidently recalling the mercenary's warning about the other chamber. The paling of his face confirmed that.

"What?" Dias followed him, shadowing his movements, keeping an eye out for any other robbers.

"M-my phase gun," the other man exclaimed, spinning around. Intense blue eyes turned back on him. "Where is it?"

"What are you talking abou-"

"Did you see it? Do you know where it is?" Both hands clutched at the lapels of his cloak. "My phase gun, the one I was carryin- augh, what am I saying?" He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, then lowered them, spacing them out as though measuring something. "Small, ah, metal object, about this size …"

As he spoke, his fingers flew through the air frantically, gesturing and emphasizing. "Has a ... kind of ... handle, like this, and a ... a barrel ... thing ..." He trailed off as he saw Dias' blank expression. "... No?

"... Damn it." One gloved hand dropped, clenching into a fist.

Dias shrugged. "They probably took it to an underground trader."

Silence. Then: "Are you telling me it's on the black market!"

"Be quiet!" The swordsman clasped a gloved hand tightly over the other man's mouth, irritated. "When I tracked the bandits to this hideout, I was expecting at least eight of them, but there were only five. I don't know for certain where the rest are, so don't shout." He removed his hand.

"... Sorry," the youth finally replied, sheepish. "I didn't realize ... I never saw them all at once. I mean, I did, when they first caught me, but I wasn't able to count ..." A sigh. "Great. Just great. Quantum physics on the medieval black market ..." He began to mumble incomprehensibly again.

Dias raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar terminology. I know Lacour has been working on some advanced Heraldric experiments, but not Cross ... What exactly is going on? Did the prince really leave because of the betrothal to Rosalia of Lacour, or does Cross have another hidden agenda?

Out loud, he said, "They may have. From what I overheard, it seems the main group split up, one leaving to check the value of some items. I doubt they've let go of it that fast."

There was another sigh. "At least they didn't take the communicator." The youth rubbed his forehead tiredly. "I wonder why." He pulled out the strange device Dias had held in his own hands earlier, studying the moving symbols, pressing the pad here and there.

Dias recalled the beep, and the bandits' taunting. "One of them said something about a noise."

"The autoscan probably scared them off," the youth answered, smiling weakly, then stopped and covered his own mouth. "Or, uh, something." He hurriedly shoved the device – the 'communicator'? – back into his pocket.

What is that?

There was no point in asking right now. "We'd better get moving." Dias nodded in the direction of the exit. "I don't know when the others will return, or what the situation will be when they come back."

The youth nodded, and followed the swordsman, averting his eyes as they passed the corpses in the hall. Dias heard him cough, but there was no further comment.

They made their way out to the main entrance, where the horses were tied. Dias paused, giving the animals time to notice their presence to avoid startling them. Then he moved in, calmly, efficiently, checking their condition.

All of the steeds appeared well-trained, and their coats were quite clean; they had been well cared for. Dias untied the two that appeared the sturdiest and most alert: a blue-gray gelding and a dappled mare with white socks.

"Here." He handed the other man one set of reins.

"Uh ..."

"What?"

"Nothing." The youth took the reins and patted the animal on the silken muzzle. The mare whinnied in contentment. "I just haven't had much experience riding horses, that's all ..."

"Really."

"Ah ... where are we going?"

"We?" Dias didn't look up as he busied himself inspecting the straps, making sure nothing was loose. He bundled up the sword-and-scabbard he had been carrying, affixing it to the side of the saddle.

Silence was the only reply.

"You're free. The bandits are done with, for now. There's no reason for you, or me, to stick around." Dias got up and looked over his shoulder. He nodded at the mare, which had begun to chew happily on the youth's jacket collar. "Take a horse. Go where you want."

The other man hastily tugged himself away, almost stumbling as the mare released him. "Please, wait. I … I need your help." He bit his lower lip. "I don't know this area very well, and I need to find some information- "

A-ha. Dias faced him squarely. "If you want my help, you had better tell me what's going on."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Who you are. Why you are here. What's so important about that ... 'phase gun'. Explanations."

"Uh …" The youth frowned at the demand. "I don't know if you'd really want to know what's going on ..."

"I suppose not." Dias turned, setting one foot in the stirrup and grasping the saddle to pull himself up. "Good luck."

"Ah- Wait!"

The swordsman paused at the panic in the voice. He waited.

"I ..." Fidgeting. "I can't really tell you."

"Then I can't really help you." He started to mount again.

A hand grabbed frantically at his cloak. "No, wait!"

Dias stopped for a second time.

An exasperated sigh. "Okay, I'll tell you, but don't blame me if you don't believe me."

"Try me."

The youth hesitated, stalling. "I'm … I'm lost, and I'm trying to get back. I came from, uh, a really far away place, and, um …"

"Where is this place?"

"… Somewhere really, really far away."

"What's it called?"

"… I, ah, forget?"

Dias set his foot in the stirrup again and pulled, raising himself up and easing into the saddle. The horse shook its head as though wakened by the weight, the mane flying. It flicked its tail, scuffing eagerly at the ground with one hoof.

The youth stared down, fists clenched. Dias tugged the reins with one hand, and the blue-gray turned obediently, ready to leave.

"Okay."

Dias turned in his saddle at the unexpected, emphatic word. The other man's eyes were shut tightly as he raised his head, inhaling deeply. He opened his eyes.

"My name is Claude C. Kenni. I'm from a planet called Earth, which is situated in the Solar System of the Milky Way Galaxy." He pointed up at the black sky. "I was travelling aboard the spaceship Calnus, which was hovering around the planet Milocinia; the communicator cut out and I lost contact. So now I'm trying to find my way back."

The young man looked up tentatively. The two stared at each other as silent moments passed.

The gelding snorted.

Dias' lip twitched. "You don't really expect people to believe that, do you?"

The man calling himself Claude threw his hands into the air and gazed up at the sky. "Apparently not."

Dias eyed the youth. "Who are you, really?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"Sure thing. My name is Claude and I'm from outer space." The voice was dancing now, uncaring.

Dias tried again. "What information are you looking for?"

"Hmm, what planet is this?"

And again. "… What is this phase gun?"

"Oh, that. It's just a harmless little weapon of mass destruction that I'd really like to have back."

I'm losing him. Dias reoriented his questioning, changing his approach.

"Why did those bandits want you?" he pressed. "They would have killed anyone else immediately."

Claude paused, looking quite taken aback at the statement, as though it were the first time he had considered it. The ironic expression faded away. "I … I don't know."

His story needs work, but he's putting on a good act. "So what do you expect to do now?"

"I … I don't have anywhere to go." The youth paused, then corrected himself. "I don't know whereto go. I have no idea where to start … and I don't want to risk what happened with the bandits again. But … but I have to find my way back. Somehow. And I have to find that phase gun."

Is he still trying?

Sensing incredulity, Claude frowned.

The mercenary waited. The other man shrugged helplessly, palms out in the cold air.

Moments passed.

The mare nickered.

Dias looked off into the distance, then turned his head back and nodded in the mare's direction again. "Get on."

"Thank you," the young man said, gratefulness evident in his voice. "I know I sound like a maniac, but I'm serious, uh ... ah ..." He scratched his head. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Dias Flac." The swordsman wondered idly if the young man would recognize his name.

He didn't seem to. "Oh. Nice to meet you, Dias." He laughed again; it was a pleasant sound, though somewhat bitter in tone. "I guess."

Dias made no reply, but merely shifted in his seat, waiting for Claude to get on his own horse.

The youth paused for moment, looking back at where Dias had been standing when he mounted earlier. Then he turned back to the dappled mare, set one foot into the stirrup, braced himself, and pulled: a respectable imitation of the swordsman's technique. Soon he was settled comfortably in the saddle, guiding the mare to a steady stop beside Dias' steed. He turned to the older man in anticipation, attentive, watching his movements.

A liar, or a quick study.

"There's a way station about a day's ride from here." Dias nodded towards the distant path. "We can talk later."

"Roger."

Dias raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He kicked in his heels, and the blue-gray was off. Behind him, Claude did likewise. Soon, the two horsemen were shadows drumming the earth, speeding through the dark trees.

Author's notes: This is a concept I've been mulling about in my head for a while now. The basic question was: how might things have turned out if Claude didn't land so conveniently in Arlia and met Rena?

Perhaps my favourite thing about the concept of the Star Ocean series is the interaction between civilizations at different stages of development, which is what I really want to focus on here. Save the prologue (for setting the scene), I chose to write from Dias' POV, because I thought the story would be much more interesting this way. But but … writing Dias is haaaard and I suck at fight scenes xD; Somewhere along the line, the mood of the story and the characters became somewhat sarcastic – not "haha" sarcastic, but rather a "Life is so ironic and I'm a bitter child" sarcastic. XD;; Not sure what happened there …

Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed my experimentation. I don't quite know where it will be going myself, if anywhere. Feedback, particularly on writing style, ideas and characterization, is very much appreciated.