Prologue
Dusselmont
We will pay a visit to the broad and regal Re-Estize Kingdom today, and wander through that country of meadows and mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are overgrown with lush grass and healthy forest trees. Let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields at their summits, and descend again to the green meadows beneath, through which rivers and brooks rush along as if they could not quickly enough drain into the ever open arms of the sea. Fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys, as well as upon the heavy masses of snow which lie atop the mountain peaks, occasionally falling down from the sharp crags to the yawning cliffs below.
Salmon and trout dance in the clear cool waters and leap upriver with their crystalline scales blazing in the sunlight. If one were to observe their upriver habits in where they would settle down and begin their complex mating rituals, many would find mates and begin their downstream retreat only for fishermen to catch them on their downstream return, filling the bellies and hearts of the men, women, and children who made their homes in the mountain villages that dotted the base and steeps of the mountains.
During the early months of year the snowy accumulations high above the meadows and rivers thaw and fall in rolling avalanches, or are piled up in shining brilliant glaciers. Two of these glaciers lie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the eastern and the western mountain ranges that protect the Re-Estize Kingdom from the harshest of northern winter winds, near the little town of Dussel where trails and hiking paths cross the mountains in an intricate and well worn series of dirt trodden roads. They are wonderful to behold, and therefore in the summer time strangers come here from all parts of the Kingdom to see them and walk the trails through the mountains.
They cross snow-covered mountains, and travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher and still higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and lower as they proceed, and become small as if seen from a dragon's eye. Over the lofty summits of these mountains the clouds often hang like a white veil; while beneath in the valley, where many brown wooden houses are scattered about, the bright rays of the sun shine upon the fields and meadows, making them appear akin to lands carved entirely out of shining emeralds.
The waters of the streams and rivers foam and dash along in the valleys beneath; fed from mountainous springs and lakes that trickle and murmur as they fall down the rocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silvery lines upon the earth.
On both sides of the mountains stand these little wooden houses; and, within, there are many children and many mouths to feed. Each house has its own little vegetable and root garden along with goat pens and the occasional pasture. These children rush out in swarms surrounding any approaching travelers, whether on foot or in carriages. They are all clever at making a bargain. They offer for sale the sweetest little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottages in Dussel. Whether it be in rain or sunshine, these crowds of children are always to be seen with their wares at hand.
About this time of year, that is to say as the last reluctant whispers of springtime in the winds that blow give reluctantly way to early summer, there might be seen occasionally, standing at a short distance from the other children, a tiny little boy, who was also anxious to sell his curious wares. He had an earnest, expressive countenance, and held the box containing his carved toys tightly with both hands, as if unwilling to part with it. His earnest look, and being also a very little boy, made him noticed by the strangers; so that he often sold the most, without knowing why.
An hour's walk farther up the mountain from Dussel lived his grandfather Dalon, who cut and carved the pretty little toy-houses. In the old man's room stood a large intricate chestnut crate, full of all sorts of carved things—nut-crackers, knives and forks, small jewelry boxes with beautifully carved foliage, and several solid silver coins in a cloth pouch given by his father's father decades before his birth. They were somewhat of a heirloom that he wished to one day pass on to the earnest boy.
The crate contained everything that could delight the eyes of a child. But the boy, who was named Gareth, looked with still greater pleasure and longing at some old swords which hung upon the rafters, under the ceiling of the room. His grandfather promised him that he should have them some day, but that he must first grow big and strong, and learn how to use them.
Small as he was, the goats were placed in his care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a good climber, and such Gareth was. He sometimes, indeed, climbed higher than the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds' nests at the top of high trees.
He was bold and daring, but was seldom seen to smile, except when he stood by the roaring cataracts fed by the nearby rivers, or heard the descending roll of an avalanche in the distance. He never played with the other children, and was not seen with them, unless his grandfather sent him down to sell his little wooden houses. Gareth did not much like trade; he loved to climb the mountains, or to sit by his grandfather and listen to his tales of olden times, or of the people in Re-Estize, the place of his grandfather's birth.
His grandfather had taken him in after his father had died in the ever-ongoing war with monsters, and his mother had gone mentally infirm after that happened and ran away never to be seen again. It was a sore subject for the both of them, and neither of the two liked to speak on such matters. Over the boy's young childhood, the two moved from the city to the far away mountainside where not much of anything seemed to happen. Even the monsters left these mountainsides alone as there wasn't anything there to hunt or fight outside of the occasional bear, Lynx, or pack of winter wolves.
Today was a particularly sunny day, and summer was just beginning to rear it's hot and bright head as Gareth found himself climbing up the rocks on a cliff he had traversed many times before with very little hesitation.
The stones were firm and dug quite deep into the mountainside; allowing him quite a large degree of freedom in where he decided to make his grip and holds. Also, since he was a light and springy boy, he had very little issue using the less supportive holds as he climbed up the cliff face.
As he climbed across the gray rock, his blonde hair that was short and looked almost white due to it's brightness under the sun shifted under his small brown cloth woodsman's cap that had been sewn by the local seamstress for his eighth birthday. His bright blue eyes were accentuated by his slightly tanned skin that was usually pale as a ghost when he wasn't out and about exploring some hidden cliff or rock face.
He quickly made his way up the large cliff that was almost one hundred feet tall with practiced and deliberate movements, and came across a large field of rough tufts of grass sprinkled with boulders and reddish brown clay deposits.
It wasn't an odd sight, in fact there were hundreds, if not thousands of these little alcoves and ravines like this in the mountains. No. What was interesting and also quite frightening for the young boy was the man lying there upon a red clay deposit that had begun to stain his raven black hair with a reddish-brown clay tinge.
The young boy, bold as he was was not stupid. An unknown man lying atop a cliff high in the mountains was a queer sight, and very much went against all proper sensibilities, even for a young mountain boy like himself who's grasp of sensibilities and propriety was at the bare minimum for a human his age.
He approached the lying man and stopped a few feet away from the incapacitated fellow, warily taking in his surroundings.
"Mister", He called out to the man. His young light voice was fresh and free from the gravely roughness of age that his grandfather carried in his chilled years.
The lying man gave no response or sign that he heard the boy at all whatsoever.
"Mister" The boy called out again, this time much louder. If this man was a traveler or adventurer that had gotten lost or hurt, he could be in great danger atop the cliffs, as when night came, even in the summer, cold winds from the mountaintops could chill any man, woman, or child to the bone.
Yet again, the man gave no response or sign that he was even coherent at all.
The only thing the boy could make out about the man was the slow rising and falling of his chest under his strange colorful garbs.
The man, looking to be in his late teens to early twenties and if the young boy were to guess with his limited scope of knowledge and experience, was quietly breathing with short inhales and exhales. His black shirt was cuffed at his bicep and from how he was lying face up, he could make out his light unblemished face. His black shirt had two strange symbols on the chest in a vivid red. The man had an orange bandanna similar to those the woodcutters wore when they went out to chop timber. On his legs were a pair of blue pants of some unknown material that the boy had never seen before and on the man's hands were several bruises on his knuckles.
The man didn't wear climbing boots like those in the mountains would, but instead had blue shoes of a cloth-like material that was slightly shiny and reflective. It seemed that he had struck something quite hard before something happened to him, causing him to fall into such a state.
The boy tensed up and shivered at that realization. He might very well be in danger, but he couldn't see anything that was directly dangerous of course.
Deciding to wake the man, the young boy knelt by the man's right shoulder which was closest to him and shook the man lightly. The man wasn't expressly heavy, but he was a young boy barely older than ten years old, and was quite small, so shaking the man took a degree of strength he barely had. He would not be able to carry the man down the mountainside, and instead in the case he needed help or assistance, climb back to the village and inform some of the hunters who could help this man better.
The man still gave no response. In fact, his breathing had begun to slow ever so slightly, as if he were sinking into a deep relaxed sleep.
"Mister, wake up. You can't sleep on the mountainside without a tent" the young boy pressed his hand firmly on the man's shoulder and pressed hard, rolling the man over and out of the clay with some effort.
Letting out a pained gasp, the man's eyes burst open, and with a feat of incredible agility, he leapt into the air, spinning several times midair before landing with a grace the boy had never seen from anyone before. The man looked around with the countenance of a wild dog, his eyes wide and frightened as his head whipped side to side.
He looked as if he had stared death in the face and lost the ensuing confrontation quite badly.
His breathing came out in several quick rasping successions, and was erratic.
"Cell!" he shouted in fear and anger, which quickly turned into confusion as he seemed to take in his surroundings. Whoever this Cell person was was no longer here, and he was instead greeted by the terrified Gareth who had fallen to his back and was almost crawling away on his back.
The man then raised his arms in front of him and clenched and unclenched his bruised fists as if he were looking at something that should not be.
"But Cell absorbed me" He said hoarsely. Clearly he didn't expect to be alive.
Gareth, who was approaching the edge of the cliff rolled over and stopped, seeing that the frightening man had composed himself somewhat. It was obvious seeing by the man's flips through the air that this man was not an ordinary man. Given the boy's limited experience with anyone outside of his small village, strange scenarios began to play in his head.
The most vivid one was that this man would destroy their village and turn into a monster. this caused the young boy to quiver involuntarily with a tremor of fear.
The man seemed to come to his senses enough to notice the boy and called out to him.
"You. Can you understand me?" the man asked, approaching the boy with narrowed intense icy blue eyes.
"Y-yes Mister. Please don't hurt me" The boy stammered before shakily getting to his feet.
"Easy there kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to know where I am" The man spoke, looking around himself in an attempt to figure out if he recognized this place. None of the data Dr. Gero put into his mind spoke of a place like this. At least the boy and him could communicate verbally.
The boy took a deep breath and regained some of his nerves, answering the man as best he could.
"This is Dusselmont, and we're not far from my village of Dussel. Do you want to come back to the village with me?" The boy offered, now that his composure had returned to him in full, seeing as the man was not hostile to him. While reserved, his bold nature caused him to bounce back from just about anything.
"Dusselmont...Dussel...I've never been there" The man slowly ruminated before speaking up again.
"Very well. Take me there" The man spoke, and for just a slight moment, it seemed he had come to a realization about something the boy was not privy to.