Caution, fear, anxiety, weariness. Such emotions were contained in a medium sized room. Pale cloths remained folded on the untouched bed, and a dim ray of light shone trough the window covering. Though darkness was all that could be seen, several balls of an unknown substance lit the room in a soft white-blue hue.

Standing in a messy semi-circle were the remaining seven men of Taskforce Spare. Though there was no need for such a title, they were just ordinary men apart of a military organization that didn’t even exist anymore. In time each soldier found their place on a single bed no larger than the broad shoulders of Sergeant Malkovich.

It wasn’t long before the dark light of the evening hours had set upon the Kingdom of Yondel. In these hours a small debate had broken out between the Rangers and the current topic was regarding the availability of ammunition and other supplies. Currently, a three-way divide had broken out. Captain Thompson mitigated the conversation, yet his hunger and growing headache made it hard to prevent things from getting out of hand.

“-We can’t trust them with manufacturing ammunition.” Corporal Richard began. “I mean-haven’t you looked around; this shit is medieval!”

Sitting across from him was Sergeant Malkovich. “I understand your reasoning Richard, but if we don’t approach them about our lack of supplies, there will be more dire consequences than politics.” He explained while shifting on the bed uncomfortably.

As the one leading the main conversation, Simon nodded his head in affirmation as he understood what Malkovich was trying to say. “Sarge is right.” He added on. “That’s why it’s paramount that we find some way for either the government or a local company that can produce our bullets and supplies.”

Cutting into the conversation, Staff Sergeant Baker provided a question to the discussion, “Weren’t they in some kind of financial trouble? How would we find a way to get the king to pay for it? Hell can we even get the money ourselves?”

The group fell silent to the question poised, and Simon shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Look, what we need is standard ammunition; 7.62, 6.5, .45, you know the usual. If we have the kingdom supply us with at least that, we can rely on the locals to provide specialist rounds and more common supplies like food, water, and clothing.”

“Specialist rounds?” Randall asked confused as he looked around the room to see everyone in a similar confused state. “Why are we trusting them anyway? It’s very possible that we will be disposed of whenever we complete our “task.” He asked while Thompson took out a piece of gum from his pant leg.

Standing from his seat and motioning his body like that of an artillery piece, Simon indulged the others in his thorough explanation, “Well, it’s not like we have artillery batteries or air support anymore, and with the fact that the U.S or Pakistan, let alone Earth not existing anymore, it would benefitable to fill in some of our combative gaps.” Done with his explanation the Private First Class provided a compromise, “Provided that the king doesn’t launch an investigation into our technology, we could have the kingdom manufacture ammunition while leaving the majority of the things we need to local businesses.”

Before anyone could say another word to the compromise proposed by Simon a sharp nock came from the closed wooden door. Patterson and Richard’s hands snapped to their handguns sitting comfortably in their holsters, while Baker and Randall moved next to their rifles. With a loud groan the wooden door opened and gave way to a brunette petite maid. Slowly she gained the necessary courage to speak to the seven men who were glaring at her with hostile intent.

“U-um, the Princess has called for both P-patt-erson? And Randall to her quarters!” She said loudly making the men in question flinch.

The maid quietly bowed and exited the room as fast as she entered. Thompson covered his face with his hands letting out a heavy sigh.

“So, what now?” Patterson asked as he removed his hand from the holster sitting on his belt. “I’m not in favor of going out there and getting killed.”

“It could be an opportunity to learn something we don’t know of.” Randall argued as he stood up. “It would be useful if we did Captain, otherwise we’d be no better than a hermit a the bottom of the ocean.”

Thompson let out one final sigh as he stood up and massaged his temples before shutting his mouth. He felt clammy and a cold sweat ran down the side of his face as he came to a decision, “Randall, go and meet the princess. Patterson, shadow him and make sure nothing happens that won’t get the both of you killed.”

Without putting up much protest, Randall equipped his helmet and double checked his handgun before stepping outside of the room where the maid waited nervously. After confronting the timid maid, Randall soon found himself walking down the hallways of the castle once more. Even though this could be considered his third trip throughout the castle, he couldn’t help but gawk at the stained-glass windows, grand chandeliers, and velvet carpets, much to the amusement of the maid leading him to the princess.

Reaching a set of wooden doors, the two stopped short.

After knocking on the door rhythmically, the maid opened the door letting the Sergeant inside. Taking in his surroundings, the medium -sized room was lightly lit by several orbs at the corners of the room and a single chandelier in the middle. Next to a large luxurious bed was a wooden table that had several documents, a candle, and a quill with empty ink canister.

Randall side-stepped the furniture as he moved towards the doorway that led to the balcony. A swift cold breeze flew through the room making Randall shiver, and as he stepped outside, he spotted the First-Born Princess and her butler glancing at him.

He stood dumbfounded for a moment in the late-night harvest wind before he thought of something to say. “Should I call you Princess? Or something else?”

There sitting on a small, white-painted wooden chair, Leccamaradel sat quietly sipping a cup of tea under the moon witch beamed upon her and the capital city Her silver glimmered in the moonlight as it shifted under the soft breeze.

Observing the Sergeant before her, Lecca was concerned on why only Randall had answered her summons and not Lieutenant Patterson. Gently, several strands of her silver hair fell over her eyes as she lowered her teacup while Randall called out once more. “Princess?” He said unsure of his current position.

With an icy voice Lecca provided her answer to the Sergeant’s question, “You may call me Leccamaradel or Lecca for short. Your name is Mike Randall if I remember correctly?”

“Correct?” Mike said cautiously as Lecca motioned him to take a seat across from her.

“May I call you Mike?” She asked with a softer voice.

“Sure…”

With his hand hovering near his handgun, Mike sat down and kept watch on Lecca’s butler as he poured him a cup of tea. The weary Sergeant silently refused to take a sip as he feared of some assassination or kidnapping attempt. Every move he made was calculated to give him an advantage, or enough time to escape danger.

Lecca took a deep breath as she focused on the environment around her. She was well aware of the man waiting just on the other side of her bedroom door listening to their conversation, so she steeled herself to gain answers to the questions that had plagued her mind since the beginning.

Before she could break the awkward silence that had plagued the two, Mike broke the ice as he spoke his mind, “I don’t think your guards particularly like me or the others. They seem to be wary of us everywhere we go, but I don’t blame them. Guard duty is tough.”

Albeit taken aback by the sudden voice of opinion, Lecca steadied herself. “I’m sure they mean no harm, but it is just their duty to defend the Royal Family and other important governmental figures.” She explained in a hope to get Mike to relax. “Have you performed similar acts to what the guards do?”

“Uh?” Mike rubbed the back of his head as he recalled a mission he had back in Angola, “Yeah, we had a couple of missions where we helped escort some US personnel, though missions like that are mostly handled by mercenaries and contractors.”

Reminding herself that Mike and the other Rangers came from another world, Lecca calmed her inner curious self . In the Kingdom of Yondel and many other nations, mercenaries primarily paid a role in home defense and monster containment. It was quite uncommon for a mercenary group or “contractor” to perform escort duties, due to the constant chance of coming across a foreign nation being so large.

No one wanted to start another war over escorts being brash.

“I see. If you do not mind, I would like to hear more about your past and how you and the other “Rangers” fight.”

Wearing a small smile Mike spoke with a tired voice, “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say much, but the least I can do is provide some basic information available to the public.”

“Then let’s hear it.” Lecca commanded with a soft smile.

“We as Rangers are our army’s premier light infantry fighting force. We tend to specialize in conducting raids and assault missions behind enemy lines. Our training consists of tough physical and psychological evaluations as they only look for the best.”

Processing the information provided, Lecca tilted her head to the side, “Are you similar to how our heroes work? They too specialize in sabotage missions.”

Mike scratched his chin as he thought of a response, “I don’t really know what your ‘heroes’ are like, but we are considered a Special Operating Force that works under JSOC.”

“Jay-sock?”

Mildly caught off guard by the additional information he provided, Mike brushed off her question, “It stands for Joint Special Operations Command, but uh, don’t worry about it! Just know that me and my men are trained more in specific specializations than the average soldier.”

A bright idea popped in Lecca’s head, and she suddenly snapped her fingers making one of the guards come over with haste. After making her request she was faced with a confused Mike who questioned her sudden actions, but she brushed it off and told him to wait.

In the time between the two talked about a small myriad of topics mostly regarding Mike’s experience with modern combat. Lecca was surprisingly intrigued about the intimacies of how the war machine worked beyond the year 2090, but she kept her intrigue subdued as Mike worked around topics of when he was deployed to some of the nastiest conflict zones.

“-five of them, they rode with a small convoy that we ambushed-” As Mike was telling one of his most recent deployments, he was rudely interrupted by the guard that had returned with a butler at his side.

“Princess Araish, the message has been delivered to the King.” The guard said

An annoyed Lecca gazed at the guard with narrowed eyes, “What did I say about addressing me as “princess” when in private?”

“You’re not the princess type that’s for sure.” Mike snickered gaining an amused glare from Lecca.

The guard watched this interaction with annoyance as the Princess followed up with another question, “Anyways how old are you, Mike? You seem quite young for such an esteemed warrior.” Lecca chimed as she took the object from the guard.

Tilting his head in confusion Mike answered the question with some speculation, “I’m 25. What about you? Don’t you seem a little old to be a princess?”

A small vein bulged on Lecca’s forehead as she attempted to keep a smile on her face, “23, and yes I would’ve been a queen through an arranged marriage were it not for this.” She picked up her silver hair with her left hand.

“Why so? I do believe you hair looks fine, although unnatural.” Mike questioned as he stared at her moon-lit hair and face.

“Silver hair is normally associated with our elders. It is unnatural for someone to have such a color of hair; in fact, I had brunette hair when I was just a child. Such a situation prevented me from looking appeasing to those who wished to court me.” She said dejectedly.

“May I ask why your hair suddenly changed color?”

“When I was a child, I was deathly sick. Thankfully I recovered, yet the disease ravaged my body and ruined my ability to have my normal brunette hair.”

Much to Lecca’s dismay, Mike didn’t respond as he sat in thought. When he came to a conclusion, he shared what was going through his mind, “You could have a case of Vitiligo.”

“Vitiligo?” Lecca asked.

“It’s a condition where the melanocyte cells are destroyed. In your case it could be due to your immune system destroying the cells when you were sick, thus the silver hair you have now.” Mike calmly explained. “Oh, I’m sorry. Your way of medicine must be completely different than ours?” Mike inquired gaining a small nod from Lecca.

“Are you some cleric or sage?” Lecca asked while looking at Mike with wide eyes.

Mike’s smile fell and his voice grew weary, “No.” He said sharply forcing out his words, “Our medic was killed in action long before we came here.” He suddenly sprung from his seat startling Lecca and her guard. “I think we’ve had a good talk. I’ll return to my room to check up on my team and to get some shut eye.”

“I see. Then goodnight, Ranger.” She said softly.

Mike nodded his head as he responded in the same manner, “Goodnight, Princess.”

As Mike left the Princess’s room, a black-red sludge maneuvered its way from a pouch on Lecca’s belt and soon traveled down her right arm.

Publicly Available Information: Magical Powers:

Through the evolution of humanity, documented reports of supernatural and inhuman abilities have been recorded over the generations. These powers have been both passed down through family lineage and through artificial means.

Each power is dependent on a class that the user inherits, and though elemental powers can be obtained, there have been cases of more abnormal abilities.

Magical Classes:

Fire

Water

Earth

Wind

Dark

Light

Nullification