Part 1 Chapter 3

The new recruits were funneled into a large circular room. Instead of the normal stone or wood floors of the other buildings, this room had a sand floor. There were no more than thirty, yet the small group seemed to fill the entire room. “’Ello, new blood.” The voice came from Tyrell, who was partially cloaked in the shadows of the torch light. Ivan stood at the side to observe. He adjusted his glasses and spoke. “This is commander Tyrell. He is the leader of the Aeon Scouts. Tyrell is skilled in many aspects of scouting out enemy territory and remaining hidden.” The elderly looking man bowed his head towards his commander. Ivan nodded and continued. “You are not here to audition for the Scouts today. Oh no, you have a long way to go before that happens.” Both leaders gave an ominous laugh. Tyrell stepped forward so that all could see him. “You are here today, because each of you show the capacity to use magic.” The group of recruits chattered quietly in excitement. “Now then…let us begin.”

            Tyrell stood at ease; hands clasped comfortably behind his back, a stable stance, and back straight. “Now then, all at attention!” The recruits snapped to a proper attention form. “Now then, you,” Tyrell pointed towards a shorter boy, “What is magic?” He swallowed hard. “I-it is power, sir. A power to overcome your foes.” Tyrell nodded. “But that is not all.” A pale blue light shone from the man’s left arm. His left eye began to glow the same color. At the same time, a vivid green light shone on his right side. The two lights mixed and swirled around him as his eyes glowed a ghostly green and blue. Tyrell smirked. “It is a psychological weapon as well.” Tyrell looked to the same kid. “Charge me, please.” The boy took a few steps forward and ran at the commander. A few feet from contact, the light around Tyrell flickered much brighter than before. The boy was startled and changed direction immediately.

            “See? All I had to do was make him think that I was going to use magic.” He pointed to the group and the boy went back into place. “Now then, magic is not just power to overcome foes. It is the power to overcome ourselves.” There was some chattering from the group. “The greatest enemy to your success is yourself. Own yourself, be in control. That way, you can control others, like I just did.” Tyrell took a few steps back and nodded. “Magic is in the air we breathe,” He spread his arms in a dramatic gesture, “in everything around us. But where are they most concentrated?” A few people raised their hands and Tyrell called on one. “The pillars?”

            “Correct, miss. The pillars are where magic concentrates. It is a unique phenomenon that not even scholars can figure out. So I’m not even going to try.” Tyrell got a few nervous laughs out of that one. He smiled again. “What I do know, however, are the elements. The abstract elements: Light, Dark, Time, Space. The natural elements: Fire, Water, Wind, Earth. Each of these eight elements form the foundation of magic. The elements are, ironically, Pillars for magic.” Tyrell closed his eyes and looked up. “Now then, there is one element I wish to discuss now; Dark. Who here uses one of these?”

            Not a single person put up a hand. Tyrell nodded again. Commander Ivan spoke. “This is good. Dark magic is hard to use, and is the only magic used by the Sirens.” Whispers rippled through the crowd. The Sirens were getting more and more brazen. The two mercenary groups had been in a turf war since the civil war broke out. Mercenary life was not easy, but the Sirens lived to make it harder. The commander continued. “I do not want Dark mages in the Mage Corps. It only exists to hurt and kill. Raw power can only get you so far and the Sirens do not recognize that. Besides that, when you work with select types of magic, you learn how to counter that kind of magic. I don’t want to give the Sirens any advantage.” Ivan turned the recruits back over to Tyrell. “Thank you, Boss. Now then, I’d like to get to know what magic you fools can use. I’ll start with the natural elements. Who here can use Wind magic? Step forward.” A large chunk of the recruits stepped forward. Col was famous for its wind mages. Tyrell anticipated that many of the recruits would use Wind. After all, the Aeons did originate in Col.

            Tyrell pointed at a girl and asked her to explain Wind magic as best she could. “Well…um, Wind magic affects the user physically by making the user faster. It also improves balance. Also, Wind magic is the only element capable of healing, right?”

            “Is that a question or a statement, miss?!”

            “Statement, sir!” He smiled. “Well, Light magic can heal small cuts and broken bones, but not to the extent that Wind can. Good work. Next, Fire magic! Step forward!” A smaller group stepped forward. Again, Tyrell picked on someone. He spoke up. “Fire magic allows the user to produce fire. It improves the user’s natural healing ability and gives them enhanced energy.”

            “That could have been worded differently. But yes. Fire magic is best used for long fights. Just pump a bit into your body and you will feel refreshed and ready to go. Although it is not intended for extended use. Finish the fight and get the magic out of your system.”

            “Yes sir!” The Fire mages stepped back. “Water mages?” A smaller sized group stepped up. “Well…aren’t you the lucky bunch. Alright, tell me what you know.” There was silence. “Okay then. Water magic allows the user to manipulate water. It also improves muscle durability and improves the brains ability to calculate. You become a sprinting economic advisor. As silly as it sounds, it is quite useful for field commanders and scouts. I may be calling on you to join me in a few years.” The group nodded in shame but stepped back into place. “Any Earth mages?” Nothing. “Onto the Abstracts then. Time?” No one. “Space?” Still no one. “Gosh. Well, okay then. How about Light?” A young man stepped forward. He was pretty average looking. The only unique feature about him was his silver hair. It looked out of place on him. “Looks like you’re my man. What’s your name?”

            “Alec, sir.” Tyrell gave a low chuckle. “Listen up, Alec: I want you to tell me what you know about Light magic. But let’s make this harder for you.” Alec stood up straight. “I also want you to tell me about your focus.”

            “Light magic boosts the user’s affinity for and defense against magical attacks. A Light mage will be the strongest magical force on the battle field. It allows the user to distinguish the terrain and can even isolate specific colors into their vision. Useful for tracking down a particular mark.” Tyrell smiled. “Absolutely right, kid. Absolutely right. Now, your focus.”

            “Right, sir. My focus is capable of cushioning up to six spells.” Tyrell nodded. “Good. That’s a decent size. Now then. Why are foci so important?” Alec remained collected as he thought. “A focus is necessary to channel magic from the body and surroundings into a usable form. It also attempts to limit the amount of damage done to the body when magic is used.”

            “Gosh boy, were you born a mage? All of that is right.” Tyrell exclaimed as he reached for a training sword on the wall. He tossed another one to Alec. “Now, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, huh?” Alec brandished the weapon and faced Tyrell from the opposite side of the arena. The youth slowly sunk down into a standard katana stance. Alec leaned forward slightly and took a stable stance. He held the wooden sword at his side as if it were in a sheath, waiting to sink into his opponents flesh. Tyrell stood in a basic dueling stance; dominant arm at his side, holding the blade, and his other arm behind his back. “The rules are simple. You win if you can survive my onslaught. However, I’ll restrict this bout. You may only use a burst or inoculation spell.” Alec nodded. Tyrell began to light up as he did earlier in the demonstration. This time, Alec did the same. The boy began to glow with a silver light. His eyes shone with a confident white light. The two mages faced off.

            Tyrell made the first move. Faster than Alec could track, the instructor was within striking distance. “’Ello.” The leader jabbed the butt of the sword into Alec’s side. The boy rolled with the blow and ended up crouched on the ground. He sprung up and slashed at Tyrell. His weapon fell short. Tyrell smiled, “You see, Alec, Wind magic allows me to move incredibly fast when inoculated. You won’t hit me like that.” Alec grit his teeth. “Okay then, I’ll just have to outlast you.” Tyrell ran forward again. Before impact, Alec swept with his sword. If he could move before Tyrell had time to react, he thought, the magic that Tyrell had infused into his body would be dispelled. His blade clattered against Tyrell’s. Alec was stunned. Tyrell pushed him back.

            “You see, Alec. I’m a dual mage. I can use two elements. Time magic, my second, increases my reaction speed while inoculated. It looks like you have to outlast two types of magic now.” Tyrell rose his blade and pointed it at Alec. “Come now, lad. I thought you could use magic?” Alec grit his teeth again in defiance. The light around him flared and grew brighter. “How’s this?” He yelled as a ball of white light shot towards Tyrell. He tried to dodge, but the magic hit his right arm. The green light faded away. “Well done. That’ll be a pain to undo later.” He turned to address the rest of the recruits. “Burst magic, like what Alec just used, attacks a mages ability to use magic. It is even more powerful because Alec is a Light mage, meaning my smaller focus was completely drained.” He said as he pointed towards Alec. “However, his focus is also drained. Meaning that he has to pay the penalty for using magic.”

            Alec stumbled from the spell, but focused in on Tyrell. “Light magic causes a loss of vision. The damage is more severe and permanent without a focus. Alec will have blurry vision for a while.”

            “Not now.” Alec’s body glowed brighter and he rushed Tyrell. The man sighed and parried his next blow. The attacks kept coming, however, and Tyrell was slowly losing his Time inoculation. He poked at Alec with his blade and forced him back. “Light inoculation allows you to drain a foes magic with each strike. And, it temporarily undoes the penalty for using light magic.” Tyrell dropped his sword. “Now then, one last test, Alec.”

            “What is it?”

            “I want you to use your Miasma spell.”

            “But…That is for use only in a last resort.”

            “Come now, we can’t just let the duel end like this. If you’re so worried, I’ll start off.” The blue light faded and the green light returned. Tyrell clutched his heart and repeated a chant. The chant had no effect on the actual spell. Some people believed it was tradition. In reality, it kept the casters mind off the pain. A sudden gust of wind ripped through the arena. The sand pelted Alec, but seemed to glance off the bystanders. Alec lost his concentration, causing his inoculation to end. “I am going to keep this up until my left lung explodes. I think this counts as a last resort.” Alec bowed his head to keep the sand out of them. The winds forced him to his knees in order to avoid being blown away. It was as though a monsoon and a tornado had collided. Alec clutched his heart and said his chant. “By the powers of Light, I command thee: be gone vile magics!” The light flowing around Alec vanished instantly instead of fading slowly. But, in that one moment, all foci in the room were drained of their reserve magic. “Now that is how you end a duel.” He turned to the recruits and dismissed them. As soon as they left, Tyrell began coughing uncontrollably.

            “By the Pillars, Tyrell: I thought you were going to kill the boy.” Ivan admonished. Tyrell shrugged. “I knew what I was doing,” He said, “I wasn’t going to kill him or myself. I just had to be sure that he could what we need.” Ivan, Tyrell, and Alec sat in the commander’s office. Alec was carrying a cane while he recovered from his miasma. That particular type of spell drains the focus at an alarming rate. Ivan was right, even though Tyrell wouldn’t admit it. Either one of them could have been seriously injured if the room hadn’t been filled with mages. “Can you see, son?”

            “Yes father. My vision has returned enough.” Alec said. “Good. I was worried. How about you, Tyrell.”

            “Eh…I’ll be coughing for a bit, but I don’t think I did any real damage.”

            “Boss Ivan?” The voice came from the outside. “Enter.” A boy a few years younger than Alec entered. His light blonde hair was in a ponytail, and he wore some noble recreational suit with a blue cloak. It looked rather well on him. He and Alec were built the same way. It was odd to see such similar people in the same room. “Excuse me, but some of your men said I could find you here.” Ivan stood and motioned for Tyrell to leave. He left coughing. “What can I do for you, lord…” The boy sat politely and bowed slightly in greeting. “I am Ryan of house Edmund.” He said. Ryan pulled out a scroll and presented it to Ivan. “I have been searching for a tutor. I found one, a Dosen named Gobehyz.” Ivan looked over the documents. “I don’t like dealing with those from Argondos. The war still seems too fresh to me.”

            “I meant no disrespect, sir. But I was hoping you could escort me to Atlantis where I can meet him.” Ivan looked over the boy and back at the scroll. “It just so happens that we have business in Atlantis as well.” He thought for a moment. “Very well. We will only charge you half of our normal fee. It will increase to normal if we encounter any bandits though. Is this alright with you?”

            “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.” Ryan bowed again. The three men left and went to work on the preparation. “So, what are we doing, boss?”

            “We will be escorting the boy to Atlantis.” Ivan said. Tyrell shook his head. “Are you worried about Calvin?”

            “I’m just afraid he will get in over his head. You know how he is.” Tyrell nodded. “I am positive he already has. We shall see, soon enough.” Ivan nodded. Tyrell waltzed away to make sure that all the supplies were ready.

Part 1 Chapter 2

The road was easy. The soldiers had removed many trees around this area in order to minimize the chance of an ambush. Stumps and small shrubs dotted the otherwise bare green scenery. His horse trotted along at a brisk pace. The pounding of hooves put the rider into a trance. The waste spread out before him again, the dull gray and muddy land. The knight clad in black was waiting for him. “Welcome back, Calvin.” The trance seemed too real. Calvin could no longer feel the horse underneath him, no longer hear its hoof-beat. “I do not wish to test you with the shades. Come at me at your full strength.” Calvin was more than happy to oblige.

            The two clashed blades yet again. This time Calvin held the advantage; his experience from their last duel and the whole of his strength available allowed him to fight for longer. Calvin noticed that the black knight was not using his full strength. He was still not match for this knight. The battle would end the same way. The knight played with his foe, dodging each blow deftly. The way the knight dodged reminded Calvin of how Tyrell was able to skate around through a crowd. The knight used his sword to toss a clump of mud at Calvin’s face. The mud mixed with his hair, matting it down across his eyes. “You need shorter hair.” The knight said, taking great measures to cleave off a large chunk of Calvin’s hair. The mercenary struggled to keep pace with the knight.

            Though he dodged and fought his foe off, the knight kept on the attack. He punched Calvin in the chest and tugged on his hair. Calvin roared as the knight swung his blade. Calvin broke the grip and twisted out of range. Or so he thought. A black glob of hair fell to the ground. “If you cannot toy with and utterly dominate your foes, you will stand no chance against me. Fight. Kill. Get stronger.” Calvin ran forward enraged. A black claw cloaked the knights left arm. He stabbed his hand forward at Calvin, impaling him.

            Calvin shook himself awake. The horse had made it in sight of Atlantis, but was now at a lazy pace. Calvin ran his hands through his hair and noticed it was actually shorter. His ‘dream’ had been something more. But he did not know what. He decided it was best to put off thinking about that until he returned from Atlantis. And after a proper haircut.

            The city guard of Atlantis was strict, unfriendly, and sometimes rude. Each one normally had only one of these characteristics. Today Calvin got the guard that was all three and more. “Halt! None shall pass without papers.” Something resembling a voice assaulted Calvin’s ears. He assumed it was a side effect of the size of the guard’s nose. Calvin reached into his pack and handed the papers to the guard. He became indignant. He pushed his chest out and pointed his nose upward. “Dismount your horse and show respect for the Atlantian Guard!” Calvin glared back at the man. “I said. Dis-Mount!” The guard reached for his sword. Calvin complied. Landing with a thud, he marched as loudly as he could up to the guard. He stood easily three heads taller than the Atlantian. “Here are my papers.” Calvin said. Everything he did was to intimidate this puny man that had bothered to cross him. The guard turned his nose up even higher when he read the reason for his business.

            “Pft! Leave this place, mercenary! We don’t want or need your kind.” Mercenaries were not liked. But Calvin wanted to make sure that this man had reason to fear this mercenary. “You see, little man, I was called here by none other than your commander.” He pointed to the papers in the soldier’s hand. “If you could read in the slightest, you would know that.” The shorter man attempted to push Calvin. He didn’t budge. “I demand your respect, mercenary! I am your better, you lowlife, mud-born, whore-raised, gutter-fiend!” Calvin respected his vocabulary in a morbid kind of way. But Calvin had some choice words of his own. He bent over to whisper into his ear. “If you don’t want my help, I’ll gladly leave. But come crying to me when your nose doesn’t win the war, and I’ll chop it off.” Calvin couldn’t tell if his words had angered him or embarrassed him. The man whispered back. “Fine. But keep your excrement in the pot, barbarian. I can smell it on your breath.” Calvin figured that was a fair enough trade of insults and entered the gates.

            The first thing to meet his eyes was the market. And it wasn’t even market day. Brightly colored cloth decorated the canopy of most stalls. An assortment of various fruits and vegetables, mostly fresh, were laid out before him. Choosing to head straight for the keep, he pushed past or knocked over shoppers and progressed towards the palace. A young child ran into him. Calvin knew the boy was not a pickpocket, but he still backhanded the boy. The child lay crying on the cobblestone. “Stay out of my way, urchin!” Calvin said. The voice that haunted him returned. “Well done. You struck out at a defenseless child. You may have the heart to be a warrior yet.” There was no hint of sarcasm or distain. Only genuine commendation.

            The march up the path to the palace was uneventful. The cheerful plants and multi-colored flowers seemed to deny the fact that a war lay on the Atlantian’s doorstep. When he eventually did reach the top, Calvin’s mannerisms changed. The Royal Col Guard ruled the land beyond this point. Even at his strongest and most aggressive, Calvin would not pick a fight with the Royal Guard. A City Guard was weak in will and strength. A Royal Guard was not. Their unmoving eyes seemed to see all in their domain. Since their founding during the First Empire, not one has failed in letting a foe escape death or imprisonment. Their daily training put the Aeon hazing of new recruits to shame. Only those who survive initiation and a month of training can become a Royal Guard. The fatalities and drop-out rates were high.

            A special method of forging the royal steel armor made it just about invincible. Apparently, Col had gained access to the Oricalcum demon forge. Oricalcum was an ancient metal thought to come from demon’s bone. Whatever the case, a small bit of Oricalcum strengthen the metal mixture ten-fold. Sunlight glinted off the dark gray armor as Calvin approached. “Papers.” One word was enough to strike fear in Calvin’s soul. He calmed himself and handed over his documents. “You may pass.” The man said. The soldier pivoted to allow Calvin entrance. “Mind yourself, mercenary.” This man spoke with more respect than the previous guard. It meant Calvin was viewed as a threat. He moved briskly, accompanied by a squire. The guards were watching him; at every turn, before every door, and dotting the hallways. The giant felt small.

            “This is the power of a true warrior.” The voice said. “A power that not even you test. It shows that you are on equal level with them. Temperance is key to victory.” Seeming contradictions appeared in almost everything the voice said. Temperance leads to victory, but he was commended for striking a child? Calvin hated being confused. The lad spoke up as they approached a door with two guards before it. “Right’a this way, sir. Gen’ral Norton’ll see you yonder.”

            “For the love of Marquee Rodah – the great Lord or whatever; boy, I hate your voice. Your diction is also abysmal. And do not get me started on that pathetic excuse for grammar I just heard. It is ‘General Norton’, not ‘Gen’ral’. Understood?!” The squire cringed but nodded. “Yessir, General.” The man began to rub his forehead. “Just leave.” The boy left before the General finished. “General Norton, I presume?” The man was taller than Calvin imagined, but still about a head shorter than Calvin. Norton’s brown hair was cut short. The man wore the royal armor, but he had the waist coat and cape dyed brown. It made him stand out from the rest of the guards. Hopefully that was a good thing.

            The General wasted no time in getting to business. “I hate presumptions. What do you want? Are you a jester, poet, performer or the like?”

            “A mercenary.”

            “Same difference. I still hate you.” He turned and motioned for Calvin to follow. The General led the mercenary to a table with a map. “How much of my letter could you read?”

            “I had some help, but I managed to get to the sketches. I thought the flower was beautifully illustrated.” The General glared up at him. “I feared the few lines before them would stump you worthless sell-swords. I’m glad to know it helped.” He pointed to the southern capital, Syl. “This is where they are based. I want to march in three days. Can you assist?”

            “I was sent by my leader to see if you are worthy of the Aeons’ blades.” Calvin said. The general snorted. “Clever.” Then he snapped. “I hate clever. How much do you want?” Calvin shook his head. “You don’t understand, Sir. I cannot make that decision.” He was at the end of his fragile patience. “Pah! Fine.” He pointed to a few other positions and thought about what to do about them. “If you are here to shop for contracts, leave. My offer was stated in the contract.”

            “You drew a line for the amount.”

            “Exactly,” Norton said, “I left it blank. Take what you want; Col has the resources.” The voice returned. “Fighting for fame and money, or the chance to kill rebels?” Calvin, his anger rising, gave in to the voice’s prodding. “We get a flat thousand upon hiring. Three hundred coins, plus whatever upkeep is needed on our supplies, per day. I also get three coins per head, and another seven for each commander I kill.” General Norton nodded. “You will have it. I wish to speak to your commander before the march, however.” Calvin nodded at the General. He opened his mouth to say something when a loud ringing spread across the city. Several green flares shot up into the skyline. Norton sputtered out a stream of curses and ran to the window. 

            After another round of vivid expletives, the General ran out of the room. He kept calling for the troops to rally and to meet him at the South gate. This was all intermixed with his standard cursing and complaining. Calvin followed. The General stood on top of the South wall, watching a small group of soldiers run towards him. “The third unit of Imperial Dragoons. They abandoned us for the rebels.” The General sighed. “I hate Dragoons. I can’t kill what I cannot hit.” He scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Mercenary. I propose a test.” Calvin nodded, but was listening to the voice of the black knight again. “See the leader, the one with the spear? Kill him.” Calvin’s mind wandered to the battle, him feeling his blade strike the flesh of the commander.

            “…will you do it?” Calvin nodded. “No charge.” He pointed to the commander. “But that one is mine.” Norton agreed. “Kill away then.”

            “I’ll show you what an Aeon is capable of.” With that, he left the wall and stood at the gate. “Go. Kill them all. Leave none alive.”

            “As you wish.” Calvin said to the voice. A soldier called from above. “Oi! The gates be openin’ now! All soldiers, Opal Position! General’s orders!” A small detachment of soldiers lined up beside Calvin. Opal Position was the command given when the soldiers need to defend the gate until it can be closed again. Calvin readied himself to jump into the fray. The voice kept repeating its demands: kill, get stronger, more. Calvin was going to obey.

            The gate began to swing open. As soon as he could fit through, Calvin rushed out. The Col guard followed shortly after. The Dragoons could jump the wall if they wanted. Calvin hesitated. What if they didn’t want to fight him? He was nowhere near fast enough to keep up with a Dragoon. The voice drowned out his worries and hesitations. Calvin resumed his sprint, unsheathing his blade mid stride. He let his sword hang just above the ground. The enemy in front of him paused and readied themselves.

            The gate slammed shut, leaving Calvin alone. Multiple Dragoons took to the skies in great leaps to close the large gap between the opposing sides. A grim smile darted across Calvin’s face. The Dragoons were not focused on taking Atlantis, they would land nowhere near the walls. They were intent on killing Calvin. And that was just what he wanted.

Part 1 Chapter 1

Another faceless soldier fell to the earth. The killer was breathing heavily. His heavy boots sunk into the mud as he ran forward towards his next foe. A disembodied voice called out, echoing in the gray-black world. “More.” Three more enemies materialized in front of him. A single swing from his blade was enough to fell all three foes. The swordsman collapsed to his knees. “Where are you!? Show yourself!” The voice repeated its command. More enemies materialized. “Enough of these pawns!” Another swipe of the hunk of steel ripped apart those that stood before him. “Still not strong enough.” The man ran straight ahead. The ground moved with him. This swamp was to be his prison. He let out a roar of anger, which invoked another wave of enemies.

            This pattern repeated for what seemed like hours. Groups of three or four proved too easy for him. Groups of seven or eight fell with effort. He was able to fight up to fifteen at a time. The voice would call out. “More. Get Stronger.” Each time, another soldier would be added to the group. As he cut them down, the voice got closer. “More. Kill more.” He kept slashing, taking risks, diving into groups of enemies. Twenty soldiers fell. A group of thirty rose from their ashes. This new group was slaughtered without mercy. Forty. Their blades cut deep into his flesh, but rage kept him going. Blood dripped down his body as a group of fifty set up to challenge him. They were simply no match.

            The voice was practically a whisper now, directly within his ear. “More.” One hundred armed shades formed to face him. Weakness no longer washed over him; he was now drowning in it. But the voice motivated him to continue. A whole unit was slain. He turned as two hundred appeared before him. “Kill them.” The voice spoke and he obeyed. The fog cleared, revealing a gray landscape as far as his eyes could see. He was battered, half dead, but victorious. A bright red sun rose on the horizon. “Come.” He turned and saw the owner of the voice. A figure clad in armor too dark to be black, with eyes as crimson flames. A faint aura of disaster surrounded him; it made him feel truly evil, perhaps demonic. The black knight threw off his midnight cape and drew his obsidian sword. “I am your final challenge.”

            Somehow, the man was able to stand against the knight. The two charged. Blades locked. Sparks flew as blows were exchanged. The man had no hope of winning. Exhaustion had paid its toll. His wounds did nothing to help him either. “You have…disappointed me.” The knight said, eyes dimming down. “I had hoped you would put up a better fight.” A quick parry was all it took to disarm the nearly dead fighter. Another kick brought him head first into the mire. As black boots splashed just outside of his blurring vision, he heard the knight speak. “I would know you name before you die.”

            “Calvin.” He managed to say. “Farewell, Calvin. You shall know me as the embodiment of calamity. We shall meet again, soon.” The knight paused, then drove his sword deep into Calvin’s back.

            Calvin jolted out of his cot, sending a ripple of sounds around his room. A wooden sword grated across the wall before falling with a clatter. That was the only sound audible over the thumping of his heart. A deep breath or two calmed his nerves enough to get a grip on his surroundings. Calvin was in the small quarters provided by the Aeon Mercenary band. It was barely livable. Calvin had been working for the mercenaries for over ten years, yet they never bothered to move him into a Commander’s room. Those were bigger than the current soap-box he was shoved into. Well, only slightly bigger.

            A small desk sat right next to his bed. The oil lamp that sat on it had fallen during the night, but had not broken. As he adjusted that, the other training sword clattered onto the floor next to the first. His uniform hung loosely on a mannequin. The swords lay in the way of the small wooden door. Finding a place for the swords was difficult. Calvin finally stowed them under the cot and readied himself for the day. A nagging feeling gnawed at his soul. Every last detail of his room had to be checked.

            Dreams had this effect on Calvin; he became paranoid. Worried that witches or demons lurked in every shadow. He began checking the greenish-brown walls for marks he didn’t recall. Any spots on the floor were also the subject of his scrutiny. When he was satisfied that nothing was out of order he left the room. The door squealed shut. But before the click of the latch, something caught his ear. It was a faint whisper, or maybe a memory of one. But Calvin distinctly heard the message. “Kill more. Become stronger.” The click seemed to echo inside Calvin’s mind. The waste he had just spent an eternity in spread out before him.

            A familiar voice broke him from this trance. The Aeon Scout Commander Tyrell waltzed down the hallway. “Greetings, old friend.” The man was about a head shorter than Calvin, but then again most people were. He looked like an old Col gentleman, complete with the gray hair and ‘old-man’ attitude. His uniform was straightened and creased perfectly. Tyrell smiled broadly and leaned forward. “You look like you have seen a ghost.” Calvin sighed and shook his head. “I’m fine, Tyrell.” The old man raised an eyebrow but acknowledged the end of the discussion. He turned on his heels and walked alongside the larger warrior. He pulled a small black book from his belt and got to reading. “O, Cal; I can’t believe I forgot – must be the age again. The boss wants to see you. He said something about a mission for you to take.”

            Aeons scrambled to work as the sun finally poked its head over the horizon. The hallways were filled with a mix of natural and artificial lights. The magic lamps were turned off as the last watch was relieved of their duties. Even though Calvin was constantly bumping shoulders or pushing people out of the way, Tyrell deftly avoided all contact and was still able to read his book. A pale blue aura radiated off of him as he flowed between bodies and objects as if he were water. “Where is the boss?” Tyrell began to walk backwards to show off his near omniscience. Even with his back turned, he skated around persons and furniture with a hairs breadth between him and a collision. “He said to meet you at the training fields. Now, if you shall excuse me.” He put the book away and the aura faded. He turned around and walked off in a different direction, “I have other business that must be attended. Farewell, Commander.” Calvin nodded in respect.

            Out on the field, several new recruits were being tested. Today was day four of physical training. After a week of physical training, a week of combat training. Then finally, a week of magical training. Calvin leaned up against the Head Quarters wall as the newbies were ran ragged like dogs. The grizzled veteran would have laughed if he hadn’t been exactly like them. The physical strain put on these kids was enough to kill a grown man. It was only their sheer will and limitless passion that kept them going. Mercenary work was not glamorous or honorable, but it put food on the table. And judging by some of their broken forms, they needed any job they could find. “Boss." Ivan, yelled out orders like a tyrant. “Give me twenty more!” The recruits complied. “Now another lap!” The broken forms broke out into a sprint around the track. “So…the new bloods are almost ready, huh?” Ivan nodded without turning. If the boss had not thoroughly proven his ability to beat Calvin, he would have been offended this gesture. However, he bit his tongue and waited for Ivan to speak first.

            “They are weak: too many are here for ‘honor’ or ‘glory’.” He spat in disgust. “There is naught but vomit and nightmares in this occupation. They have skill and potential, but their mind is elsewhere. Damnable wars. Who would have thought that such Hell on Earth would bring out the pups seeking their own death?”

            “But when the time for words has ended, fighting must occur. Even Tyrell believes that.” Ivan nodded. “My son is among the recruits.” The boss pointed out a silver-haired boy as he kept with a majority of the pack. “He’s going to be put in the Magic Corps. Do you approve?” Calvin paused. “I’m not sure.” He admitted. “I have no relation to those mages. I do know that they are in desperate need of a Fire Mage.” Ivan nodded, thinking.

            Without his glasses, the man looked handsome. He was built like a statue - chiseled features, blank expressions, perfectly defined proportions. To top that off, he had the posture and mannerisms of a prince. Most people mistake him for a member of the Royal Guard of Col. The pause grew longer. “Calvin. I need you to go to Atlantis for me.” Ivan said at last. The trip was not too far. A few days on foot, less on horseback. “Why?” Ivan held up a hand to indicate a pause. He barked a few orders at the recruits and left another commander in charge of the training. “Come into my office.”

            The two walked through the twisting hallways to the lounge. Past these commons was Ivan’s office. A room spacious by mercenary standards, it contained a desk, three chairs, and a small bookshelf. Very accommodating. Tyrell had opened the window and was sitting inside the frame. His book was open yet again. “I’ve been waiting, boss.” He said after slowly rising and giving a salute. Ivan nodded and told both of them to sit. The wooden chair creaked softly as Ivan planted his feet on the desk. Tyrell closed the shutters and leaned back against the wall, holding his hand up to decline the offer. Ivan reached into his desk and pulled out a pair a spectacles. He put them on and looked over a document.

            “The Atlantian Royalists are asking for help against the rebels. However,” He tapped the document and handed it to Calvin, “We have a counter offer from the rebels.” The figures were outstanding. Each deal would set the Mercenaries for many years to follow. The leader pulled his feet off the desk and folded his hands. He put his head down so that Calvin could only see his glasses above his fingers. “I want you to go to Atlantis and assess the situation.”

            “Which side are we thinking about assisting?” The pause was concerning. Ivan glanced over at Tyrell, who had his head down. Tyrell removed himself from the wall and walked over to the desk. “An Argondosean mercenary group has joined the rebels.” Ivan and Calvin paused to look at the leader of the Scout Division. He was in charge of the intelligence gathering. Tyrell’s lacking report was startling. “Is that it, Tyrell?”

            “They are a secretive bunch.” He said exhausted. “Most of what I learned I...received from their contact in the rebels. The only ones who know about the mercenaries are the Argondoseans themselves.” Ivan nodded. Tyrell paused. “They spotted me.” Ivan straightened up in his chair. Calvin jumped out of his. “They spotted you? Tyrell!” Calvin’s voice resounded in the room. “I don’t know how. Half-way back home, I was attacked by one of them. She wore a mask and black armor. There was a strange pattern on the mask; like tears.” He traced from his eyes down to his chin. “Bright red and glowing.” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed three long gashes that had been sealed with healing magic. “She used a Claw spell. It grazed me, but…well, you see the damage.” He said as he rolled his sleeve back down. “That arm will be out of commission for a few days more, sir.”

            Ivan nodded again. It was hard for him to absorb this information. “Is this attacker dead?” The scout hung his head. “No. She chased me all the way back to Atlantis. I spent a few days laying low before I was able to escape.” Calvin and Ivan grew silent and fell back into their original positions. “Calvin, I want you to go and examine the Atlantian army.”

            “Are we looking for longer employment or more money?” Ivan took off his glasses and rose. “We are looking for the safest option. I don’t like the sound of this group. If they could spot Tyrell, we won’t be able to send any kind of spies.” Ivan did not like making rash decisions. “Yes sir. I’ll bring back all the information I can.” Calvin said. He gave a brief bow and exited. The door thudded to a close. “How did you know it was a woman, Tyrell?”

            “The voice.” Ivan turned. The two locked eyes for a time. Tyrell finally spoke up, “She told me that I would live.” Ivan understood. “Tell the men to triple the guard.” He said.

            “Sir, I already did.” Ivan looked out the window at Calvin. “Let us hope that he isn’t attacked.” The head commander shook off his melancholy. “Come, Tyrell: we have some recruits to train.”

            Calvin approached the barracks. He wanted to take a set of armor and his personal weapon if he was going on as a pseudo-ambassador for the Aeons. His suit lay on the ground by his sword. Calvin was not a fan of heavy armor. At most, he would wear a chainmail skirt, heavy steel-plated boots, and a leather cuirass. He had put a special metal plate inside the leather to cover his heart. Today, he pulled out his shin guards and put on a pair of gauntlets. He adjusted the fit and turned. He was face to face with the Aeons’ armorer. “Calvin.”

            “Luther.” The man pulled out a measuring tape, evoking a groan from Calvin. “Again?” The man held up his hands, “I’m sorry, but it needs to be now Calvin. It isn’t my fault and they won’t let you in without updated documents.” Calvin sighed and stood up straight. The man pulled the tape and measured him from head to toe. “Be thankful he didn’t change the weight measurements this time. Remember when he tried to get everyone measured by the weight of fully grown hens?” Calvin chuckled slightly. The ‘he’ they kept talking about was the Emperor. Emperor Rickard Col II had attempted multiple times to change the standards of weight and length. He had succeeded with the weights, though not from the measuring everything by chickens. For some reason, he was obsessed with uniformity. He changed the measure of length at least once a month.

            “Me thinks our Emperor is mad.” Calvin could not believe it. How had this man let his empire fall into a civil war if he was so obsessed with everything be uniform. Luther made a few more remarks before getting Calvin a horse and sending him off. “If you ride now, you will make it there before sundown. Just don’t dawdle!” Calvin nodded spurred the horse on. He was not one to waste time.

            The wind rushed by his ears as the horse reached its top speed. The guards on watch waved and called out to Calvin as he departed. But he didn’t hear a single word. The only voice that reached his ear was a sinister whisper.