The Darkness Within Part 1

Prologue:
A secret place, a child’s fate.

The rain fell in thick sheets, obscuring the view of the burned-out buildings; the few that remained standing. Puddles formed in the stone streets, reflecting a scene of past terror. A nameless town, concealed in a small valley, forced into ruin by darkness: a darkness that threatened to spread across the rest of the world like a plague. The shells of the once-happy homes echoed their tragic stories… And not a soul remained in this forsaken place. Save for one.

A faint cry sounded above the tempest, the cry of a young boy. The lone survivor of the horrid tragedy that shattered his fragile world. He walked alone down the street, clad in a soaked tunic, dragging behind him a child’s toy- a rag doll, in the shape of a bear. The old doll was patched in many places and it was missing eye. The child stopped walking, lifting his free hand to wipe tears and rain from his eyes. Another cry rise above this storm, followed by a weak voice. “Daddy… Why won‘t you wake up…?” He bowed his head, “Where is everybody…? They all left me…” He dropped to his knees, hugging his bear close to his chest and squeezing it tightly. “I’m all alone…”

The boy’s tears stopped as the sound of hoof beats come from up the road, and he saw a black horse appear through the rain. It slowed to a stop before the boy and its rider cast a glance down at him. His face was completely shadowed by the black cloak he wore. Only his eyes shown outward. Another dark rider appeared from out of the rain, slowing to a stop next to the other. He, too, was hidden within a cloak.

“You heard the orders…” A gruff voice came from the second man, “Not a single one is to be left alive. Finish him off. Now.”

The small child lifted his head, looking upon the two men on horseback. His luminous eyes, blue as a spring sky, were soft and wet with tears and raindrops. He spoke in a broken voice, “F…finish me? Why…? What did… I do wrong…?” He bowed his head again, fresh tears mixing with the rain and flowing down his cheeks.

“…” The first horseman spoke, his voice softer than his companion’s, “He is but a small child… What harm could he bring us…?” He turned his gaze upon the other.

“Hmph,” Replied the second horseman, “You’ve grown soft. If you won‘t do the job…” He opened his cloak slightly, a glint of metal flashing.

“Wait!” Exclaimed the first, “We need not kill him…”

The second glared at the first, his voice questioning. “You dare to disobey orders? You know the consequences of insubordination.” His cloak was still open.

The first horseman thought quickly, “Perhaps we could raise him… Then he can join our ranks… And...”

The second horseman closed his cloak, not speaking as he considered the idea. “…I see.” After a moment’s consideration, he nodded slightly, “He could be the one... With the proper training, of course... You will handle this, I take it?"

“Yes, sir.” The first horseman nodded.

“Very well…” Agreed the second, “But show him no mercy. If he passes the training, he is welcome among our ranks. If he fails…” His horse took a couple of steps backwards, turning around. “Well… You know what happens to failures….” He whipped the horse’s reigns, and with a neigh, vanished into the rainstorm once more.

The eyes of the remaining horseman fell upon the weeping boy once more. Reaching down, he placed a gloved hand on the boy’s chin and lifted his head until their eyes met. “Boy…” His voice grew softer as he spoke, “What is your name…?”

The child sniffed, holding back tears. “S-Slade…” He answered, boldly as he could.

“Slade, eh…?”

“Yes, sir…. Slade Dyne Kevins…”

“Well then, Slade… I am Heolstor.” He removed his hand from Slade’s chin, extending it before the boy, “Take my hand.” Slade did as he was instructed, and Heolstor lifted him, placing the boy behind him on the horse. “Slade… If you wish to survive to see daylight again, you will henceforth do everything I instruct. Do you understand me?”

Slade was shaking, from a mixture of cold and fear, but managed to choke out a response, “Y…yes, sir…” He clutched the man’s waist tightly.

“Good answer…” The man flipped his horse’s reigns, it bucked wildly, and then dashed down the road, its hoof beats echoing on the stone road once again. Slade glanced over his shoulder, looking upon the remains of his home, fearing this would be the last time he would ever see it.

Chapter One:
What is to become of the one you lost?

His orders were given, and Slade set off through the darkness of the forest. They were simple enough- assassinate a man of noble status in the nearby village of Dawn. An easy enough task for one such as himself, a member of the Knights of the Dark Sword. This was their business, after all. A gang of cutthroats, thieves, assassins, and mercenaries. People that would do anything for a gold piece. And Slade was one of them.

It had been quite some time since Slade had been found, the last survivor of his small village. Seven years had passed, to be precise, and he had grown into quite a stout young lad of seventeen. His body was toned but still quite thin, short black hair topped his head with spiky bangs, and cold blue eyes looked out on the world. Heolstor had trained him well, and Slade was as good with a sword as any of his comrades. A large, two-handed weapon of this sort was strapped to his back; cloaked in black with the rest of him.

This was Slade’s first trip alone from his hideout, yet he still knew the area within the thick pine forest well. Much of his training had taken place amongst these trees. Following the small trail used by his comrades, he soon found came upon the dirt roadway that cut through the woods. He stepped onto, his boots kicking up some dust from the well-worn path, and glanced to his left and right. No one else appeared to be around.

“Excellent…” The swordsman said lowly, “No one saw me come out. Shouldn’t be far off now…” He glanced upward, spying the sky through the branches. The sun had just begun its descent to the west. “I should reach the village by nightfall if I start walking now… Granted I meet no opposition.” He set off down the road.

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Back at the Dark Sword’s hideout, Heolstor was restless. His boots echoed as he paced the length of a large stone hallway, his shadow dancing in the flickering torchlight. “Blast…” His voice was echoed, “He’s not ready… He should not have gone alone…” The years had taken a small toll on this one as well. Gray streaks danced through his hair and beard, and his form seemed to have lost some of its youthful vigor. He continued his pacing, “Ergh… Where is that old fool!?”

“Stop that incessant pacing, lad…” A voice rang out from down the hall, “Thou art only wasting thine energy…”

“Geoffrey, you ancient sack of bones, where have you been!?” Heolstor stopped his pacing, turning toward the source of the voice. An old form, covered in dark robes and hunched over, stepped forward from a shadowy corner, “I have been waiting here for ages!”

“Time passes slowly for those who wait for it…” The old one spoke in a calm voice, one that seemed wizened with years, “Now, what troubles thee so?” Geoffrey stopped before the other, glancing up. Two calm eyes were visible beneath the hood.

Heolstor glanced down at the ancient one, expressing his feelings in a much calmer tone. “Slade…” He spoke, “His first assignment was given today. I was hoping…” He trailed off as Geoffrey turned his gaze.

“Ah yes…” Spoke the ancient one, “Thine young apprentice… Many a troubling vision hath I received on this subject…”

“Tell me, O wise mystic.” Heolstor’s voice took a pleading tone, “What have you seen? Will he be alright?”

“Thou seems to hath taken to this boy…” A dry chuckle came from the robes.

"Not in the least." Replied Heolstor quickly, "I simply worry that things may- go awry, so to speak."

"Aye, the same fears thou spoke last time, Heolstor, and each time before. Thou art going to worry thine self to an early grave." Geoffrey could not help but chuckle again.

"This is different." Heolstor's voice contained a hint of indigence, "This is his first solo assignment, albeit an easy one, but should something happen- should we lost control of the boy..."

“Aye, you hath swayed me, Heolstor. Such an occurrence would be most troubling, to say the least... Follow and we shalt look into this…” Geoffrey walked forward a few steps, stopping at a large wooden door. A hand appeared from within one of his sleeves, holding a golden key. He inserted it into the iron lock on the door, and it lurched open with groan of the hinges. The scent of incense and herbs wafted forth from within. The only light inside was a large bonfire, burning in the middle of room. It illuminated the several wooden tables against the wall, a variety of potions, powders, and books resting atop them. The smoke from the fire drifted through an iron grate built into the ceiling. Geoffrey entered, followed by Heolstor. The door shut as the latter stepped in.

“Now then…” Spoke Geoffrey again as he moved toward the nearest table, picking up a small leather sack full of something, “If thou wouldst move toward the fire, I shalt impart onto thee all the knowledge I can.”

“Very well…” Heolstor answered, taking a couple of steps toward the fire. Geoffrey stood on the opposite side, muttering foreign words beneath his breath. Heolstor listened silently as he watched the flames dance beneath him. He was almost hypnotized by the orange light when the ancient mystic broke him from his trance.

“Ignite!” He shouted suddenly, reaching into the sack and taking a handful of some sort of dark powder. He tossed it into the flames, and the shot upward in a burst of green fire! Heolstor took a step backwards, taken off guard by the display. The fire settled, growing into a weak blaze of some shade of blue. Geoffrey seemed to be studying the flames with intense concentration, and Heolstor watched his robed form with interest. “Ah yes… Thine fears are most warranted, it seems.” After a few moments of silence, the mystic spoke again, “There ist danger nigh.”

“Danger…?” Heolstor responded lowly, “What sort of danger..?”

“I cannot be sure… All I canst say ist blood will flow on this night. Look…” He pointed an outstretched finger toward the flames. They began to change, taking on a crimson hue. “’Tis a bad sign, Heolstor. Go to Slade.”

“I shall… Thank you, old one.” Heolstor bowed, turning to the door. He opened it, and with a glance back toward the mystic, stepped out with a hurried pace.

“Any time…” Geoffrey spoke as the door closed. He sighed, “It may not be Slade’s blood that was meant to spill this night… Take care, Heolstor.”

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A gust of wind ruffled his cape as Slade surveyed his surroundings. The dirt road came from the forest, becoming the main road through the village of Dawn. The swordsman raised his hood and began walking into the village. Night had fallen and not a soul wandered the streets, though lights shone out onto the road through the windows of buildings. Looking only straight ahead, Slade made his way through the village to his destination, soon reaching it. A large house stood in the middle of town, an ancient iron fence surrounding it. It reached three stories, with countless windows. A fountain stood on the front lawn; behind it was the set of double doors leading into the house. Slade stepped up to the gate.

“Hm…” He looked about, “One would think such a rich man would have guards or something… He seems to not care much for his safety.” Shrugging, the swordsman took a couple of steps back. Running forward, he leapt toward the gate, managing to get a grip on its top, and flipped himself over to the other side. He landed neatly and dashed toward the front door. He stopped, leaning his back against the wall, even holding his breath. Not a sound was heard. “Strange…” He thought, trying the handle and finding it unlocked, “Even stranger… A trap? Guess I‘ll find out soon enough…” He sighed quietly, stepping into the house and closing the door.

Slade found himself in a large room, a staircase to the second floor directly before him. Candles against the walls to his sides revealed passages to other rooms, more illuminating the second floor. The bedroom… Slade thought. That would be the most likely place… Without a moment’s hesitation, he took silently to the stairs. ‘Never linger in one place too long.’ Slade had been told this at one point, and now recited the advice in his head as he reached the stop of the staircase. ‘Always seek shelter in darkness.‘ More advice passed through his mind as he placed his back to the wall at the top of the stairs. He looked left and right. Rooms went in both directions, leaving Slade clueless as where to begin. He began to walk left when…

“Yes, m’lord. I will return shortly with your tea.” A woman’s voice, along with the sound of a door opening, came from behind Slade. He cursed silently and backed against a wall as a woman dressed in a dark blue dress stepped out of a room to the swordsman’s far right. Obviously one of the noble’s servants, she walked closer, and Slade held his breath… It was inevitable. Another piece of advice formed in his mind. ’If at risk of being caught, take a hostage.’ Just as she was about to pass by, she caught sight of the intruder. Her eyes opened wide with fear, her mouth opened and ready to scream. Acting on instruction, Slade leapt from the wall and clasped a gloved hand around the woman’s mouth. She pulled at his arm, but to no avail.

Slade whispered into her ear, “Keep quiet if you wish to live…” She nodded, and Slade felt he could trust her. He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, and She remained quiet. He relaxed a bit, and pushed the servant against the wall. They locked eyes for a moment, and Slade was first to speak. “I’ll keep this short. I’m here on assignment to slay your master. Any objections?”

“…!” The servant was stunned, covering her mouth in horror. She could do little but stare at the intruder, unable to find words to speak. Slade found this to be a little disheartening, and was about to walk away, when a small voice reached his ears. “Can it… be?” Slade looked back to the woman, recognition apparent on her face, “…Is it you, Slade?”

The swordsman was taken aback by this sudden occurrence. He took a step backward, glaring at the servant with mixture of shock and hatred, “What? How do you know that name!?” He almost spoke too loudly, but caught himself before his voice was heard.

“So, you have forgotten me.” The woman looked away, her features growing sad. “It's been so long, though, I guess it can't be helped... But I'll never forget those eyes. Just like your father's.”

This shocked Slade even more so. She spoke of his father… And of him, as though she knew them both. But who was she? Someone from a time long past. Someone whose face was little more than a blurred image now. The swordsman found himself lost in memories, trying hard to search for something… A hint, perhaps a name of some sort… Then it hit him with such force that he was instantly drawn back to the present. “Catalina..!" He studied the woman once again, “You're Catalina... From... home."

“Oh Slade! You didn't forget me!” The woman ran forward, no longer able to contain her feelings, embracing Slade as tears ran down her face, “I was so worried... That I would never see anyone again... But you're here now."

Slade returned the embrace, his heart filled with emotion at the thought of finding someone familiar, “Catalina… How?”

“It’s a long story, Slade… I was away with family at the time, but nevermind that now, I have questions as well…” She released Slade, studying him intently. The black robe, the sword… She could tell this was not the same childhood friend she had lost, and it hurt to see him this way, “Where have you been all this time? What happened to you? And why do you want to kill my lord?”

“Catalina… I…” Slade started to explain, finding it difficult to express it in words, "I..." A thought crossed his mind. Why do I want to kill this man? It was the first time he had ever thought to question his orders. Never had he even considered the why of what he did. "I was... ordered to do so?" His voice seemed foreign as he found his answer.

Catalina raised her hands to her mouth, “Ordered? Who would order such a horrible thing? And why did you listen?"

“The Knights of the Dark Sword! My comrades... Ahh!" Slade began to speak, when a sudden intense pain pierced his mind. The swordsman dropped slowly to his knees, holding his head between his hands. Memories flowed to the surface all at once, memories of all the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Dark Sword. The pain grew more intense as each thought passed through his consciousness until, as quickly as it had started, the pain ceased. It was all familiar, but at the samed time seemed as if he had been watching another person's life pass by. Everything looked familiar, however it was as though he was not in control of his own body. A small sigh escaped Slade's lips as he gazed up at his Catalina. His voice was weak, "...What have I done?"”

The girl knelt down beside him, placing an arm around her his shoulders, “Slade…” She spoke with a soft forgiving voice, “Slade, it’s okay... I'm here."

"Catalina, you don't understand. The horrible things I've done. Somehow, somehow they were using me? It's all so confusing." He gripped his head once more, "It's as though I've not been myself, and yet, I remember it all so clearly." Catalina simply watched him in silence. He could tell nothing he was saying was making sense, "Are you- are you afraid of me, Catalina, knowing now what I am?"

No sooner had this question been asked when the door downstairs was kicked open. Everything instantly forgotten, Slade leapt up, hand instinctively on his sword hilt. He peered down the stairs, spying a figure in the doorway. His silhouette against the night was enough for Slade to recognize him, “Heolstor!”

“Slade!” He called out from below, “You are unharmed?”

Rage built up inside the warrior. The very sight of this man threw him into a frenzy. “The same cannot be said for you!” Slade let forth a vicious cry, darting down the staircase. He drew his blade, holding it before him.

“Slade Dyne Kevins…” Heolstor locked eyes with Slade, speaking calmly, “What has gotten into you, my apprentice…?”

"You used me…” Slade answered, his voice bordering on hysteria, “You and all those bastards used me… I don't know how, I don't know why, but I do know every sick and twisted thing you made me do. Was it some sort of spell? Mind control?! Answer me, Heolsor! Why did you take me from my home to raise me as some sort of... of monster?!” His hands shook with suppressed anger as he continued to glare at his teacher.

“Tch….” Heolstor replied, more to himself than anyone else. “I see, so the real 'real you' has returned, has it now? However, you know very well that betrayal has its consequences, and that no one ever leaves the Knights of the Dark Sword..."

“Then I’ll be the first!”

“Then you shall die!” Heolstor tossed his cloak to the floor, reaching to his side and drawing a broadsword.

“Bastard!” Slade charged in blind rage toward his opponent, swinging in a downward arc. Heolstor easily stepped back, the blade clanging against the ground. He swung horizontally, Slade ducking it narrowly. He glared upward at his opponent, “Bastard…” He breathed heavily, “Bastard.” He lifted his sword. “Bastard! Bastard! BASTARD!” Slade was losing control. His eyes showed his insanity. He began screaming at the top of his lungs, swinging his sword wildly toward Heolstor, "I'll kill you!!!" With each cry, with each swing, a dark aura surrounded Slade, growing more intense until waves of darkness seemed to emanate from his body- for that is the only way to describe the phenomenon: darkness given a physical form. Heolstor managed to parry the crazed swordsman's blows, but he was slowly losing his edge. Slade's insanity, the cries of rage- with each passing moment, he was enveloped more and more by the dark aura... Heolstor found himself afraid- afraid for the the first time that he might actually die. Yet, though it seemed the fight went on for ages, it ended in a matter of moments with the sound of metal crashing against the floor. There laid Heolstor's sword, a severed hand still clutching the hilt.

“…I see... ” Heolstor grasped his bloody stump, looking down on it. His eye twitched slightly from the pain, and the fear in it was noticable, yet he spoke with a clear tone. “Blood shall flow on this night… Bitter irony, Geoffery.” With all that had occured in the past few moments, he still managed a weak smile. “Very well, Slade... I grant you your freedom this night.” He bent down and picked up his sword. Slade watched him, his own blade still in his grip. The lad’s body rose and fell with each breath as Heolstor lifted his cloak from the ground. Throwing it on, he glanced back to his former pupil, “But do not think the others will be as lenient as I am… Fare thee well, Slade.” He closed the door behind him.

As he watched Heolstor walk away, the darkness surrounding Slade faded. He did not have the will to give chase. Suddenly he fell to one knee, gripping his side with a look of intense pain on his face. “Heolstor… When did he-?" Slade could no longer speak, blood was soaking his hands from the open wound.

“Slade!” Catalina came rushing down the stairs, she fell to her knees beside the swordsman. "Slade... You're bleeding... What happened to you...? Who was that man?!"

“It’s nothing…” Slade tried to stand, “Just a scratch… Well worth it for my freedom…”

“Yes…” Catalina smiled, standing as well. She ceased her questioning, “Yes, you're free now, Slade... And you are welcome to stay here. My lord will gladly allow it.”

“No… I cannot…” He bowed his head.

“I’ll not take no for an answer!” Another voice spoke up from the corner of the room. Both Slade and Catalina turned to look upon an old man in a green robe. He hobbled over, leaning on a staff, and looking up at Slade through what looked like closed eyes. He ran a free hand through a long, white beard, and spoke again, “You will stay here! For tonight at least, young one.”

“Master Avery!” Catalina gasped, “When did you…?”

“I saw everything, deary.” The old man chuckled, “Quite a ruckus for a cup of tea, don’t you think? Heheheh… Now then, Sir Kevins.” The old one glanced toward Slade, “Tell me you will agree to stay with this night…”

“I would rather not..." Slade shook his head, wincing slightly.

"I said I will not take no for an answer." The old man chuckled, “I’m afraid I can be very stubborn at times, you see.”

Slade sighed, lacking the will to argue, "Very well, then. For tonight."

“Very good!” Avery smiled, “Now then, Catalina… The tea?”

“Yes! Of course!” The woman bowed, walking off into the kitchen.

“Heh… Follow me then, Slade.” The old man began walking up the stairs, “I will show you to a room…”


Chapter 2:
A journey of self-awareness…

Early the next morning, Slade awoke from a restless sleep in a cold sweat. His night had been plagued with nightmarish visions. His past, his training, the events of the previous night…. All of these had been repeated in his dreams. Taking deep breaths, he glanced around his surroundings. He was in a sparsely decorated, wooden room… A mirror hung on the wall directly opposite his bed, and a small wooden table was to his left. His sword was lying atop it and next to it was what looked like a change of clothes.

"So," Slade said aloud as he climbed to his feet, "It really happened… It was not some twisted dream- I really have been living a lie." He sighed allowed, "If it is all true… I must atone for my past... I must atone for what I have done…" Another sigh escaped his lips, and he placed a hand on the table next to him, "I cannot stay here… I have lived a life not my own!" He brought his other fist done onto the wood with a crash, "A lie! I… I… I must find the truth of who I am." His gaze fell upon the clothes on the table next to his sword. They moved from those to the black outfit he was currently wearing, "Starting with these clothes…" He rubbed a hand on his side. He winced slightly, but the pain seemed have dulled. Someone had bandaged his wound while he slept.

A short while later, Slade stepped out of his bedroom and into the main hall of Avery's mansion. He looked a new man, clad in a blue tunic with matching slacks. Beneath the tunic, he wore a white long-sleeved shirt. A leather belt crossed his waist, and a familiar sword and sheath were strapped to his back. Covering his hands were leather gauntlets. He stood in place a moment, adjusting his new outfit when he heard footsteps on the staircase. He turned his head in time to catch Catalina descending.

"Oh! Slade… You are finally awake." She reached the bottom of the staircase, smiling gently, "And I see you found the clothes I left you. They look very nice on you. Are you hungry? I was just about to fix breakfast…"

Slade cast his gaze on the ground a moment, thinking of how to word what he wished to say.

"…Slade? Is something the matter?" Catalina asked quietly, slowly walking forward.

"Catalina…" Slade spoke softly, lifting his gaze to meet hers, "There is something I wish to tell you… I will be leaving this very morning."

"Leave…?" The sister placed a hand over her mouth, gasping, "But… Why? We were only just reunited. Why must you leave so suddenly?"

Slade sighed once more, "Catalina… For the last seven years… I have lived a lie. I have been lost in darkness, completely oblivious to the truth. I think finding you here was an act of fate, however, I don't even know who I am. Not to mention, the Knights will not leave me be. I will only endanger your life if I stay."

"Slade…" Catalina's eyes began to water as she watched him speak with such conviction.

"Please don't try to stop me." Slade began speaking once more, "I have made up my mind. I think… I think finding you has given me strength. Right now, my soul is black… My heart aches with the weight of my sins." With a final sigh, Slade stopped speaking. For a moment, not another word passed between the two, "But, at least I have someone waiting for me to come back."

"Slade…" Catalina smiled gently, "I see you have thought a lot about this… And I will not stand in the way of what you must do to find happiness. But…" She looked up, a small smile on her face, "Should you ever find yourself weary from travel, there will always be a home for you here."

"Indeed, lad!" A gruff, old voice spoke up from a corner of the room, and a familiar old man hobbled forward. A staff was held in one hand, and a large haversack in the other. Avery stopped in front of Slade and smiled up at him, "Leaving so soon, eh lad? Heheh… Young ones can never seem to stay still. Well…" He handed the haversack to Slade, "Can't very well send you packing without proper supplies, aye?"

Slade reluctantly accepted the gift, unsure of what to say… Slinging it over his shoulder, he nodded to the old man. "…I am indebted to your kindness, good sir…"

"Bah! Don't mention it. Hahaha!" Avery laughed heartily, "Thank of it as a thank you for not killing me, lad. Now get going!" He waved a hand to the front doors of his mansion and they swung open of their own accord, "Can't have anymore black-clad men sneaking around here, now can we? Go on now!" The old man laughed once more.

Slade smiled… His first real smile in many years. Looking from Avery to Catalina, he felt as though he had found something he had been missing for a long time- He had found a home. And now he must leave it, but this time by choice. He had no regrets, however. He knew in his heart that he would be welcomed with open arms upon his return- if he returned. "Master Avery… Catalina…" Slade spoke quietly, fighting back tears, "Thank you both… The kindness you have shown me is beyond words… I… I will return someday. Please wait for me…" He gave an elegant bow, and turned toward the open door. He walked slowly to it, gave one last look over his shoulder, and stepped outside. The doors closed behind him.

"Slade…" Catalina spoke weakly, fighting back tears of her own, "Be safe…"

"Do not worry, my dear." Avery said with confidence, "There's something about that boy… I don't know what, but he can take care of himself. That is for sure…"

Midday found Slade standing on the road leading out of the village of Dawn to the south. He had slowly made his way through the town, unused to walking through crowds of people. No one had spoken to him… No one had looked at him. It was a strange feeling to one accustomed to being eyed suspiciously wherever he went.

"Well…" Slade spoke to himself once more, "This is the beginning of my journey." He watched the path before him, following it with his eyes as it twisted across plains and vanished into the forests some distance away.

"And quite a journey it will be…" Spoke a voice from behind Slade. It was accompanied by the sound of someone strumming an instrument. Slade turned around, seeing himself face to face with another. A man, dressed in a green tunic, was leaning against the side of a farmhouse. A matching hat rested atop his head, with a large red feather sticking out of it. He was holding some sort of instrument in his hand… A lute or a mandolin. Slade was unsure. "An adventure-filled journey that will go down in legend…" The man spoke again.

"Who… are you?" Slade asked suspiciously, "And what is this of which you speak?"

"Heh… I am a bard, Slade…" The man stepped forward, tipping his hat politely, "A traveling minstrel, welcome in the courts of kings! A singer of songs of yore! Of great tales of heroes! My name is Daimhin. I come bearing a message."

"How do you…" Slade began to ask.

"…Know your name?" Daimhin finished, "Haha! Do not concern yourself with that… All will be made clear when the time is right, my friend." He smiled cheerfully.

"…" Slade was at a loss for words. Was this man insane…? No… He didn't know how to say it, but something about this strange bard made Slade want to believe him. "You said… you have a message for me?"

"I did not!" Spoke the bard, shaking his head, "I said I had a message. It concerns you, yes… But it is not for your ears alone…"

"You speak riddles." Slade spoke flatly, "I have not the time for this."

"Tut…" Daimhin sighed, "Very well… The message goes as follows…" He strummed a cord on his instrument. What came next sounded like words from a song:

A journey to the land of the setting sun…

Over the mountains, across the great sea.

A man will battle with wings of light,

To end this- our world's plight.

First allies must he gain…

One a cursed soul who fights alone.

Another a knight, whose love is slain.

Together, their alliance strong and ideals just,

They will defeat the evil…

They must!

Daimhin gave his instrument one final strum and sighed quietly, "Call it a prophecy, call it an insane man's ramblings… Call it what you will, Slade, but heed it nonetheless."

Slade found himself at another loss for words. He looked blankly at the bard for a few moments, unsure of what to feel… The song was beautifully worded, and the bard's voice was equally beautiful… But there is no way it could be true. Even if it were, how could he be somehow involved in it… "I… I don't know what to say, Daimhin." He finally found his voice, "You mean to say… this somehow involves me? How?"

Placing his arm through the strap of his instrument, Daimhin slung it around his back and crossed his arms, "Ah! But that is something you must find for yourself, Slade… I am but a messenger, you see."

"Messenger…" Slade repeated, "Who sent you, then?"

"Again: all will be made clear in due time, my friend." Daimhin chuckled quietly. Suddenly, he reached into a small pouch at his side. "Oh! I almost forgot this… I also come bearing a gift… Here we are!" He pulled his hand out, gripping a small, wooden object. "You used to play, did you not? Here. Take this." He extended his hand to Slade, who reached out and took the gift.

"What is it…?" Asked the swordsman, looking down at the object. It was obviously an instrument. An oval shape, smooth… Several holes were in it and it had a mouthpiece on one end. "An ocarina…?"

"All will be made clear, I said. Have you not been listening?" Daimhin winked.

"Will I ever get a straight answer from you…?" Slade continued staring down at the instrument.

"Greater forces are at work here, my friend… Forces beyond your mortal comprehension… But trust that all will be made clear soon." Daimhin's sounded somewhat distant as he spoke, but his tone quickly changed, "Now then, I have other matters to attend to… Fare thee well, Slade! Until our paths cross once again…"

"Wait… I have more questions… Ah!"Slade started to halt the bard when a sudden, sharp gust of wind started to blow. The swordsman was forced to shield his eyes until it died. After a few moments, it did die, and Slade lowered his arms… But Daimhin was nowhere to be seen. "Where the devil has he gone? Hm…?" Something caught his eye and he glanced up, "What the..?" Floating slowly downward was a red feather… Slade reached out with his right hand to catch it. "I see, Daimhin…" Spoke the swordsman with a smile as he twirled the feather in his fingers, "Your prophecy says I shall meet two more on my quest? 'A cursed soul who fights alone' and a 'knight, whose love is slain.'" He ran the prophetic lyrics through his mind, "Land of the setting sun, eh?" He tossed the feather into the air, watching it dance in a small breeze, "Very well. West it is… My journey begins now!" Filled with a new sense of purpose, as well as many questions about his destiny, Slade Dyne Kevins started down the dusty road, leaving the small village of Dawn on quest into the unknown future.