“Are you sure it's the [Princess]?” a cloaked man asks another as they walk up the slope. Behind him, a dozen more draped in cloaks follow at a distance. With the sun setting behind the mountain, many of them are able to jump from rooftop to rooftop with little fear of being seen.

The leading figure nods. “Yes, I saw him jump out of the castle window with the [Princess] in his arms. He then disguised her with a cloak and mask. I trailed them ever since.”

“And where are they now?” he asks as the streets of Kurzix become narrower and the paths look ill-repaired.

“Up there, at the orphanage,” the man points, and the leading figure looks up. He sees a wide but squat building, nestled up against a cliff face. It’s high up compared to many of the buildings in the city, but not exceptionally so. Its placement still has it above the top of the city’s wall.

“Is she inside?” Robert asks.

“No, she’s in the back with her bodyguard and the other children,” his subordinate answers. “Last I checked, the bodyguard was cooking food and the [Princess] was playing with the other children.”

The [Elite Rogue] frowns. At a time like this, when the siege is about to occur and [Assassins] plot to kill the [King], the [Princess] is alone in a remote location with only a single guard. Nobody has raised an alarm, nobody seems to know that she’s missing… It’s the perfect opportunity for a perceptive [Assassin] or [Rogue] to take care of one of their targets.

And therein lies the problem. It’s convenient. Too convenient. It’s as though she’s dancing in front of the [Rogues] with a sign that says, “I’m ready to die now!” Everything about this, according to convention, screams that it’s a trap.

But, if it was a trap, his skill [Trap-Sense] would have warned him as he approached the orphanage. The other [Rogues] would have noticed any ambushers laying in wait. Even a [Hunter] wouldn’t be able to hide from so many eyes.

“Have you any idea why the [Princess] was taken to an orphanage of all places?” he asks but gets the expected head shake.

“And the bodyguard? Do you know his class and level? You have the [Analyse] skill, don't you?”

“I do… but it didn't work on him at all. It's not even bouncing off him, it’s like he doesn’t even exist. I can't tell how strong he is. For all I know, he could be a second tier; that's why I called you.”

The [Elite Rogue] nods. Depending on the guard's class, it may very well be impossible for those of a lower level to kill him. Hell, not even he might be able to kill the guard.

But… killing the guard isn’t the job.

He looks at the sky. The sun has set behind the mountain and the mountain’s shadow covers the city. Skoll and Hati still stand above the horizon, two bright gleams in the gloaming. High in the sky, the brightest of the Midgaard Serpent’s eyes peek through the firmament. Already, the city’s streets are deep in shadow.

As he arrives at the entrance of the building, he quickly crouches and drops into the shadows.

Cheerful sounds of music, laughter, and a man’s voice, chanting in time, come from the back of the orphanage.

It seems that they were having a party. Odd, considering the approaching army. People rarely celebrate when their impending doom is on the horizon.

After waiting till he can barely see color, he starts to move. With his skills, it only takes a moment for him to scale the building and clamber onto the roof. The other [Rogues] take longer, but scaling a worn, stone, two story building is a relatively simple affair.

Keeping himself low, he reaches the top of the roof and looks down at the backyard.

A bonfire blazes in the center of the yard. To one side, an old crone tends slabs of meat grilling on a metal sheet. She smiles and watches dozens of children, all in six rows, dance to a masked man’s chant in the flickering fire light. They giggle and step in time to music as they follow the gibbering man’s words.

“To the left,” the man at the front of the children orders.

The children step left.

“Take it back now y'all,” he says again, and the children step back to their previous spots.

“One hop this time. Right foot, let's stomp!”

“Left Foot, let's stomp!”

The children move to his voice with smiles on their faces. The [Princess] is in the center of them, doing the same.

“Cha-Cha real smooth.”

The children go wild and start moving erratically. They wave their arms and legs, giggling and screaming with glee.

The song continues, as do the simple commands. The tempo picks up, their movements become faster and, almost as magic, meld into a synchronized dance, all to the beat of a sourceless, eldritch tune. All unwitting, Robert’s finger starts to tap the roof in time.

Only after ten minutes does he realize he has been staring at children dancing to music. Shaking his head, he focuses on the yard and picks out avenues of attack, of which there are many.

He raises his hand and signs out directions to his squad. He waits but hears no acknowledgment or motion.

He frowns. “What are you waiting for? Get into posi-,” he pauses as he looks to one side, then the other.

The corpses of the other [Rogues] dot the roof, staining the metal shingles red.

He opens his mouth to shout a skill, but a pitch-black scythe-like blade impales him through his chest, ripping apart his lungs and interrupting his scream. With his remaining strength, he looks back. A faceless monster stands there, perfectly still; its three-bladed arms hang, ready to slice and kill. The monster’s fourth arm, embedded in Robert’s chest, already has.

The undead construct retracts its blade, letting the [Elite Rogue]’s limp, unmoving body fall to the roof. It acknowledges its objective completed and fades into nothingness.

Robert dies silently, unnoticed, listening to the joyous laughter of children.

_____________________________________________________________________

On Orbis, civilization has existed for millenia. A thousand kingdoms rose and fell before the gods even influenced the world. A thousand discoveries made and a thousand secrets buried deep with their fallen empires.

Few survive the test of time, lasting for tens of thousands of years. But even the mightiest fall, whether through a slow death or a swift and unexpected strike. New eras of new [Kings]. Leaders come and go, and peace never lasts. Many times, when a new [King] takes the throne, they will remove all knowledge that could paint them in a negative light, especially that of recent [Kings]. This has led to the destruction of knowledge and history, a loss that keeps many kingdoms in a terrible cycle of ignorance and violence.

It’s a cycle gods would see unbroken.

Around the circle, the [War Priests] convene. They assume their positions and marshal their enormous mana reserves to fuel the summon. When all are poised and ready to begin, the lead priest steps forward, staff in hand. He smiles and calls up his mana. The [Blood Priest] raises his staff, activating a spell that [Dark Mages] are hunted and killed for.

“[Odin’s Admonition]!”

The runic circle bursts into silver light.

“[Offering of the Son]!”

A mournful wail issues from the casket and blood flows from its bottom seam. The silver radiance turns red as the blood traces the lines of the circle.

“[Summon Archangel]!”

The wind shifts and the body in the center of the circle starts smoldering. Bernard's skin cracks and curls and blackens and smokes. The blood boils. The wind swirls, gathering the sanguine vapor and corporeal smoke into the center of the circle. At once, all the priests lower their staffs, each striking the edge of the circle. They release their mana and the circle activates. The wind howls and the writhing, bloody brume gathers in the air. It condenses into a scarlet sphere, then explodes outward till its radius is that of the circle.

The magic takes hold. Arcs of lightning corruscate throughout the sphere as terrible energies gather to a point, ripping through space and time, opening a gate to another world.

The [Blood Priest] exhales through his manic grin and unleashes his crimson aura. It touches the erratic energy.

“Archangel Michael, come forth and lend us your strength.”

The portal stabilizes as more and more mana is poured into it. A connection forms for but a second, but that is all it takes. He feels his mana connect to a superior being.

The circle cracks, the ground quakes, the clouds disperse as a being descends from the heavens in a shower of blinding light.

______________________________________________________________

Edwir yawns as he leans over the wall, glaring angrily at lights far in the distance. He could be asleep right now if not for the Shival army. But no! He needs to be here while caltrops are being scattered in front of the walls.

Caltrops of all things…

Maybe it can work? It doesn't seem very reasonable to throw good metal on the ground, even if it is spiked. He guesses it would be effective at stopping cavalry… but then, couldn't you just remove them? It's not like they are being put on dirt. The ground is made of stone, so it's not that difficult to have a [Wind Mage] blow them all away.

He shrugs after a second. Why is he worrying about tactics? His maul can crush anyone who does make it to the top of the wall, and he, himself, is nigh invulnerable. So long as he doesn't have to deal with any mages, no [Soldier] will be able to even injure him. His armor is over an inch thick and reinforced with adamantine. He welcomes an army to even try to hurt him.

He yawns again, but stops halfway as a blinding light explodes in the distance, practically illuminating the sky for a whole second. Then he starts coughing as some spit reaches his lungs.

_______________________________________________________________

Enderan sits upon his throne, his lovely wife beside him. Her expression is thoughtful and relaxed as he stares down at a [Noble] petitioning him to stop restricting trade.

With a great deal of effort, he keeps himself from sighing. [Nobles] are supposed to be the leaders of the country, examples of which the commoners may hold themselves to. And yet, time and time again, he finds them lacking. He is vexed, especially because he can’t find any suitable suitors for his two older daughters. They are teenagers now, and he must look outside his own kingdom to find proper, diligent husbands for them.

He looks at the middle-aged man in front of him, about the age of thirty; older than his daughters by about double, but still within an acceptable marrying age. He’s a strong man, built well with distinguishing features.

Unfortunately, he’s only using half a brain. As a [King], he must remain polite and stand on ceremony, but there is something deep within him that wishes to throw his crown at the idiot and slap him across the face.

Enderan puts on his best ‘understanding smile’ and speaks calmly. “Maxis, I understand fully how the restriction of trade is making it difficult for you to import many of your usual goods, but there is an army at our gates. If I allow trade, then the gates have to be opened and the enemy army can then enter and kill our people.”

The man folds his arms as he thoughtfully considers the [King]’s words. A surprise, considering most people would take them at face value. The fact that he is even thinking shows how the blunder with Bone is weakening Enderan’s authority.

“If that is all, please move aside. There are many more who wish to speak with my husband,” the irritated [King] hears his wife say. He can feel her use a skill, though he’s not sure which one, and at the moment, doesn’t much care.

The man bows silently and walks off to the side. The [Steward] steps forward and calls the next supplicant.

As Enderan waits, he looks to his right. Trinity stands beside him, eyes constantly scanning the room for threats. Her shield and spear are in her hands and she looks like she will jump and stab someone at any moment.

On his left, Jess stands relaxed, hands clasped and lowered in front of her. The masked woman has stayed in that position ever since they returned from the mountain and started the annoying judicial duties in the castle.

The next person shows up, and the [King]’s short respite is over. He continues holding audiences for the next hour, meeting the influential people of the kingdom, listening to their gripes and fears. Mostly gripes.

Eventually, as the sun begins to set and the last few petitioners are heard, a woman arrives beside the throne, trailed of [Guards].

The woman, a [Maid] Enderan recognizes as Amber’s handmaid, rushes forward with a panicked expression.

“My [King], Amber has been kidnapped!”

“What!?” he exclaims aloud, heart suddenly racing.

“Where is my child!” he hears and feels Mercia yell, the throne room reverberates with her voice.

The [Maid] drops to her knees, the Monarch’s anger and fear hitting her like a slap to the face.

Enderan, unlike his wife, refuses to lose control of his emotions. An angry, panicked interrogation won’t get them anywhere. He pushes out his aura, wrapping it around the queen. Her usual calm has been fully broken by the news of her daughter

He takes his wife’s hand and holds it with reassuring firmness.

“Brianna, please,” he speaks to the [Maid], “stand and tell me what happened.”

Brianna takes a breath and then slowly stands. “My [King], I was with Amber in her room earlier today. Everything was fine, until Amber had a tantrum and wanted to go outside,” she takes a breath, “then her bodyguard used a skill on me that forced me to sleep. I think he kidnapped her and escaped through the window.”

Enderan frowns. The whole story sounds confusing and unlikely. Bone had none of the tells of a secret agent or a [Spy]. He is a bit abnormal and cocky, sure, but not nefarious.

He looks at Jess. She stands, tiredly rubbing her mask as though palming her face.

“Do you know something?” he asks, unamused. At least, by her reaction, Amber’s life doesn’t seem to be in peril.

She sighs.

“Bone wouldn't kidnap your daughter, but if she wanted to go outside, he would take her unless he was ordered otherwise.” She peers at me. “You didn’t tell him to keep her in the castle, did you?”

“What? He’s a bodyguard! He should know the safest place to protect her is in the castle!” Enderan exclaims, annoyed, one set of fears exchanged for another.

He waves his hand and turns to his [Steward]. “Send out the [Guards] to find my daughter. I want her back in her room as soon as possible,” he orders and the [Steward] runs out to relay.

As he leaves, the warm firelight of the audience room is overwhelmed by a blinding flash of light.

“What was that?” Enderan asks after a moment. Everyone starts looking around, trying to understand what happened. The Amazon steps in front of the king and queen. She raises her shield and readies her spear.

“[Danger Sense]! Prepare for combat!” Trinity orders.

Not a second later, the far end of the audience chamber bulges then shatters in a violent and fiery explosion.