The guard shifted his feet, stamping them slightly to get some feeling back in them. Just two hours, he told himself. Two hours, and his watch would be over. Then he could go home and rest for a few hours. Pity he had to do it all over again the next day. He rolled his shoulders once or twice for good measure. It wouldn’t do to get too stiff.

“Stop fidgeting so much,” his fellow guard, on the other side of the door, snapped at him. “You trying to get us in trouble?”

The guard sniffed disdainfully, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The simple action, especially in the dusty antechamber of the Elder’s meeting room, immediately made him want to sneeze. That would be a bad move. Disturbing the peace of the Elders while they were preparing for the invasion would earn him a one-way ticket to the dungeons. And that was if he was lucky. Rumor was the last man to displease the elders had been fed to beasts.

While he was struggling with the overwhelming urge to sneeze, the door he was posted in front of burst open. The guard did his best not to jump, but to stand as if he’d been expecting this change. A tall, powerfully built man burst out of the meeting room, pacing angrily away. Both guards recognized the thorny crown that was placed upon his head. They were already at stiff attention, but that pose became stiffer at once. Stephan Knarlick was not a man that appreciated sloppiness in his soldiers.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” the guards chorused, as they were expected to. The prince ignored them.

Prince Knarlick took several deep breaths, an action which, as the guard had already noticed, immediately created the urge to sneeze. Which the prince promptly did. He let out an outraged yell, and turned back to the meeting room. He paused just inside the doorway, his head turned to the first guard, the one who had also felt the urge to sneeze.

“Something you want to say, guardsman?” He said, his angular face cruel and uncaring. “Enjoying yourself at my moment of discomfort, are you?”

“N-no, Your Grace,” the man quickly replied. “It is quite dusty in here. I sympathize with your struggles, Your Grace.”

The prince stared at him in silence, his half-elven features twisted into a sneer. The guard wished he hadn’t agreed to take on this shift. Well, he thought, he’d done it. Twenty-four years of life, and he’d finally done something stupid enough to get killed. It wasn’t a good life. He cursed himself mentally. Why couldn’t he have been born in a different country? He heard Knireth was a peaceful place, if you didn’t mind the crazy war maidens. But no, he had to be borne into the Mitene Union. Worst of all, he had to be born in the Knarlick’s land.

“You are aware I can hear your thoughts,” the prince said, his voice dry. “You’re a brave little man, I’ll give you that.”

There was less anger in his words then. He almost seemed amused. Frankly, this did nothing to curb the guard’s fear. If anything, it amplified it. The prince was hardly ever amused. Maybe today was just a good day, he thought. Maybe the prince was in a rare good mood, and would forgive him the slip of the tongue. He was still thinking this comforting thought when he felt an odd tickling sensation in his stomach. That was odd. He tried to look down to see what it was, but before he could, his vision went black.

Stephan Knarlick flicked his fingers, and the dagger returned to him from where it had stabbed into the guard’s abdomen. He turned to the other guard, his face calm and collected once more. “Get that fool out of here, and find someone to fill his post. Or you’re next.”

He ignored the salute that was given in his direction, and returned to the meeting room, closing the double doors behind him. He let out a sigh of impatience as he stared around the room. He’d stormed out in frustration. What had happened to irk him so badly? Ah, yes. The Elders. The highest power in the Union, apart from his father. They advised the leader and used their considerable influence to enforce his orders. They were the ultimate ruling body, and they were all petulant old men. Well, four men and one woman, who happened to be his least favorite.

“Finished with your temper tantrum?” That was her now. Elder Zolda, the youngest and most cunning member of the group. “If you’re ready to be a big boy, we’ll continue.”

“Don’t be so harsh on him, Zolda,” Said Elder Morrick. “He’s a lot on his plate, ever since his father fell ill. He’s busy ruling the barbarians from five different territories.”

“We’ve all been busy since Lord Ferrin fell ill,” Zolda said. “You don’t see us storming out when we’re told no.”

“That is because there is nobody to tell us no,” Elder Nortra said. “Without the King here, we are the highest authority. The boy is used to getting his way.”

“Guard your tongue!” Morrick hissed. “With his father ill, he is the ruling regent. If he so wished, he could strike you down where you sit.”

“He could,” Zolda said, her shining green eyes peering imperiously down at Stephan. “But then who would convince the people that it is his divine right to rule?”

“That is enough,” That was Elder Nezca. He was the newest addition to their group, appointed by Stephan personally after his predecessor’s death. “Your Grace. Please, join us once more. Let us discuss what must be done.”

The prince held the man’s gaze for several seconds. He reached out with his mind, passing along a silent message. Is everything ready? Nezca’s face didn’t twitch in the slightest as he replied with a silent nod. Zolda, unfortunately, noticed this exchange. She jumped to her feet, one hand pointing in condemnation at her fellow.

“Nezca! What is the meaning of this? Have you been conspiring with the prince behind our back?”

“My title,” The prince said, his voice deadly smooth, “Is King. You will address me properly, or pay with your life.”

“You are not yet King,” Zolda said, turning her glare upon him now. “You are but a mewling babe, who plays at power while the true King rests in his chambers. You have no authority to command us while His Holiness still lives.”

“Correct,” Stephan said. “But my father no longer rests within his chambers. He rests in the void.”

Before Zolda could even form a reaction to the news, she felt the iron grip of the prince’s mind around her own. Her very senses were strangled, focused to a tiny pinpoint of light, a thin tunnel that cut her view of everything but the man’s eyes. She struggled with all her might, but she could not throw him off. He took several steps closer, bearing down on her with his sheer presence. His black eyes bore into her mind, into her soul.

You will address me correctly, Elder Zolda. Either accept my rule or perish. Kneel. Or die.

The other elders watched in silent horror as the two stubborn figures stared silently at each other. They knew what was happening. There was no mage alive who could best Stephan Knarlick when it came to a contest of wills. His mind was a steel fortress and an unbreakable spear. He’d gripped her mind tightly, and only sheer luck could save her now. They waited for the conclusion, eyes locked on Zolda’s stricken face. Finally, her lips parted, and she whispered something. And then she collapsed.

Knarlick turned to face the other elders, who all hurried to clamber off their seats and stoop into bows of fealty. “Your Holiness.”

“Good,” Knarlick said, and his voice was a purr of contentment. “Now. As Elder Nezca so rightly put it, let us discuss what must be done.”

“Our two greatest enemies are the cub of Tokugawa,” Nezca said. “And the King, of course. He is a gifted commander, who could devise a way to crush us if we are too hasty.”

“There is one other you do not mention,” Knarlick said. “The Mind has a Champion now. He is a great threat to our plans if his loyalty lies with the royal family.”

“There is also Ciayol,” Morrick suggested. “He is a powerful foe, and could wipe out a regiment all on his own.”

“Ciayol is no threat to us,” Knarlick said. “We have gifted his god with important knowledge that should keep him distracted for some time.”

“The Tyrant Queen,” Nezca muttered quietly, and they all nodded. “But if Gorteau orders him to fight…”

“He will refuse,” Nezca said firmly. “He will refuse any order that does not come from Bahamut’s will. He is a driven man, and powerful to be certain, but he will not care for us.”

“How can you be certain?” Morrick asked. “The man has lived in Gorteau his entire life. Surely, if we attack, he will defend his home.”

“He cares not for the city,” Nezca retorted. “He cares only that he fulfills his god’s orders. He can receive those orders from anywhere.”

There was a long silence from the others while they considered his reply. Truth be told, they couldn’t be sure that any of the people they mentioned were threats to their plans or not. They were just the most powerful and influential people they could identify after years of espionage and careful study of the nation. The purpose of their meeting today was to discuss any potential threats and ways that they could deal with them. The death of Stephan’s father left him in charge, and he could finally realize his ambitions of invasion, instead of being stuck forever just discussing.

“I will not repeat the mistake of my father,” he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “He was in favor of gathering more information before acting. The problem is that there is only so much important information. We must prioritize quick action. Gorteau has seen no trouble from us for nearly three years. If we act now, they will not expect it.”

“I agree,” Nezca said at once, perhaps a bit sycophantically. “But to tell the truth, we should at least see to Bragg and Tokugawa. One of our elite assassins will do for the King. What should be done about the other two?”

“Tokugawa will be tricky,” Morrick mused. “He’s rumored to be a master of more than a dozen weapons and styles. I doubt we have many who could match him, and even then, he’ll have allies.”

“We could hide the assassin amongst the armies,” Nortra said, speaking for the first time in some minutes. “He can wait until Tokugawa is vulnerable, then strike amongst the confusion.”

There were muted mumbles of agreement from them all. Truth be told, they’d already made up their minds before the idea had been floated. There was a perfect candidate for the job as well. Kariva, a chaotic and sadistic servant of the Tyrant Queen Tiamat, was a highly-skilled assassin. She was as duplicitous as they came, but never crossed an employer. She was also expensive enough that very few could afford her rates. Luckily for Knarlick, he was the newly crowned King of a nation.

“But for Bragg,” Knarlick said, letting his words drag out. “I confess, killing an Ancient is not an easy thing. No mortal has ever managed it, as far as I know.”

“But do we know with certainty that he is Ancient?” Morrick asked, his face skeptical. “We’ve only come to learn of him recently, haven’t we?”

“They say he was born over a hundred years ago,” Nezca supplied. “He’s only well-known now because he was gone for a hundred years.”

“Gone?” scoffed Morrick. “Don’t tell me you believe that rumor that he was in the Ethereal Plane. Nobody could survive a hundred years of that, even an Ancient.”

The Ethereal Plane was one of the few untapped secrets of the world. Only a dozen or so mages in history had ever claimed to have entered and survived, and fewer of those claimed to have learned anything from their trip. Stephan Knarlick was one of the latter, having accidentally traveled to the plain some twelve years prior. It is said that was where he learned to dominate others with his mind.

“If he is Ancient,” Nortra said, causing the others to glance around at him. “Then we do have one man who could do the job.”

“Who?” Nezca asked. Then, as he met Nortra’s eyes and understood the meaning, grimaced. “Surely not. Are we that desperate?”

Knarlick’s head snapped up, broken out of his thoughts. “Who are you speaking of Nezca.”

“Err,” it was clear that the subject made Nezca uncomfortable. However, he was terrified of disappointing his leader, so, after clearing his throat a few times, he finally spoke. “We’ve had a prisoner for about two decades, Your Holiness. He’s an unusual type.”

“What is he?”

“If he is to be believed, he is the original head of the famous Rajlen Clan. But he’s corrupted, sir, and completely mad. We can indeed mark a target for him, but we cannot control his actions.”

“He’s also unique in one other way,” Nortra said softly. “He can nullify magic.”

Knarlick jumped to his feet, eyes wide in shock. Anti-magic, while being a fairly new idea, was well known. There were plenty of spells that could be used to counter the magicks of another mage. But nullifying magic completely was thought impossible. It had been agreed long ago that such a feat was in the realm of dreams, never to be fully achieved. But if Nortra was to be believed, he could be a great weapon. To think that he’d had such a treasure within his reach all this time.

“Can we be certain that he will hunt down Brag quickly?” He asked. “Or is there a chance he’ll take forever to do it?”

“Oh, we know for sure that he’ll waste no time in pursuing Bragg,” Nezca said. “We just don’t know what he’ll do on the way to him. He’s volatile.”

“I don’t care what he does outside of killing Bragg,” Knarlick said at once. “Send for him to be released, and have him target Bragg.”

The steel in his voice told the others it would do them no good to hesitate or discuss the matter further. They all bowed their heads in agreement, declaring that they would make it so. He dismissed them then, exiting the meeting room and castle, strolling outside at a leisurely pace. His father had always insisted that he travel with a guard, but he scorned the idea constantly. A guard was for a weaker man. He was not a weaker man. He was an alpha hunter, an unchallenged warrior-mage. He’d traveled the world and even beyond to acquire his skills, and he had yet to find one who could best him.

And yet, there had been one goal that had eluded him for all his years. The ultimate goal of any mage. To acquire the powers of the Mind. To become his highest servant, his Champion. Knarlick had read all the ancient tomes he could get his hands on, looking for the tiniest clue as to the fallen being’s location. He craved the knowledge and had honed his body, mind, and soul to the point that he could carry Arcana’s essence.

Then, of course, he’d received word that almost six decades before he could, another had already claimed the title that he wanted so badly. Samuel Bragg. And unknown nobody. But Bragg had vanished from the world, rumored to be dead. He had hoped again. He’d renewed his search but to no avail. Now Bragg had returned, and news of his skill had spread far to reach foreign ears. Knarlick suppressed a flare of rage. He was the proud descendant of a long line of prodigious mages, the perfect blending of elven and human blood. Service to Arcana should have been his legacy.

He’d even gone so far as to enter the Ethereal Plane. The experience had warped him, to be sure. Strange entities in the plane had scarred and ravaged his mind, and he’d only just escaped with his sanity. But the suffering had given birth to his greatest strength, the ability to reach out and touch the minds of others. To conquer them and bend them to his will. He was the alpha, and all inferior men would bow before him. He let out a long, quiet sigh. It mattered not. He would do away with Bragg, without having to lift a finger. Then everyone would know that he was the greatest mage.

Miles away, Samuel Bragg, mid-conversation with a group of farmers, sharing his plan to make irrigation for the crops more efficient, stopped suddenly as a chill ran down his spine. He didn’t know what had caused it, nor the sudden tingle of fear that encompassed him. Raw, mortal fear, the kind that only a struggle for his life could cause. But it was a peaceful day, and there were no threats around him. He shook the thought off and continued his discussion.

Thousands of miles away, on the northern-most coast of the Mitene Union, mages reluctantly undid their seals, releasing the lock on an old door that had been closed for decades. In no time at all, they were dead, devoured by the monster that came out. He staggered out into the deep snow dropping to his knees and scooping the white powder into his hands. It had been ages since he last felt cold. Since he’d last felt anything. Decades of nothingness, where all emotion had been wiped from him, leaving only one thought. Hunger.