Chapter 1: Byron II

"You're gonna go out looking like that?"

"It's better than what uncle wants me to wear."

"You could at least fix your hair."

"I prefer the natural look. I look old when it's straight."

"With age comes more respect from your lords."

"As does immeasurable responsibility. Not too keen on having either at the moment."

"And what are you keen on having?"

Byron Phoenix walked out of the gates of Castle Pathus and into the markets of Stormwynter. At his side was Ulrich Coast, commander of the kingsguard. A lax and carefree soul, Ulrich's nonchalant approach became quickly favored by the crown prince, eventually naming Ulrich to be his personal guard when he chooses to leave the grounds of the keep.

Ulrich was just a few years older than Byron, but their upbringings were considerably different. Ulrich grew up an orphan, indicative of the surname Coast, and fought his way into Stormwynter's tournaments for a chance to make a name for himself. Despite the differences in upbringing in Ulrich and Byron, a close bond was forged between the two.

As the two talked and walked through the streets of the multi-district marketplace, Byron stopped. He looked to Ulrich, then motioned towards the crowds of people in front of them.

"When my father ruled the realm," Byron said, "he walked these streets not as their king, but as their equal. Did you know? Every day, he walked to this marketplace. And every day he checked on these locals here who ran their shops. Every day he made sure they were taken care of. If a vendor was struggling, do you know what my father did?"

Ulrich cocked a brow.

"My father paid for their goods. He paid for their services. He didn't need to. If he wanted quality armor, we have the castle armorers on the job. A sharp sword? The finest smiths working the forges. Perhaps even a good meal? Nonsense, the chefs in Castle Pathus are the best in the realm."

Byron began to take a step towards the marketplace, turning back to his companion.

"My father loved these people. When news broke of his condition, these people became heartbroken, but they held on to hope he would awaken. They were the only ones who prayed for his full recovery, whereas the nobility at court immediately began to pamper me to succeed him. What am I keen on having? Well,"

Byron extended his arms out to the marketplace, facing it once more.

"This is the only place left that has faith in our king waking up. I want to be around like-minded folk."

Ulrich crossed his arms as he watched Byron.

"A pretty speech, that was. I'm sure the people at court swoon over words like those."

Byron sighed, "Ulrich, I've been locked in the keep all day. If I stay any longer, I'm going to lose my rather-important mind. I would rather risk the potential robbery of thieves than watch those noblemen fawn over another one of Uncle Maximillion's magic tricks or listen to Alrem's stories of Giles Falker or Gar Sakev or whatever hero is on the other side of the world."

Ulrich reluctantly agreed.

"Fine, but just because you chose the lesser evil doesn't mean we should be seeking it out. This is meant to be my day of rest, after all."

"Well, lucky for you, not even the gangs in Shiver would dare test their luck against the Highlanders of the Thyme district. There's a reason this place is unaffected by the growing unrest in the city."

"They are a scary sort. Those new rifles can carry a musketball a hundred feet in less than a second I hear. Almost makes me want one of my own."

"All you'd have to do is ask."

Ulrich shook his head, "Thing about guns; they're good for keeping the peace with small folk like these. But when you're in a real fight, against a real threat," he paused, "they're next to useless."

Byron looked to him quizzically.

"Do you honestly think your sword is beating a highlander rifle in combat?"

Ulrich chuckled before smirking at Byron, "You were never taught the true value of manasteel. Are you planning on training with us next week?"

"Not particularly, no," Byron shrugged.

"Come train with us. I'll make sure you're shown why swords will beat a gun in a fight every time."

The two continued their walk through the marketplace, occasionally getting recognized by the citizens. To each of them, Byron greeted with a smile. This is what ruling really is, he thought. Not the games of politics at court or getting on the good side of wealthy lords. Ruling is this; Caring for your people and ensuring their prosperity.

Since the day he was born, these ideologies were what Byron's father ingrained in his mind. With no father beside him anymore, all Byron can do is hold on to the mantra that was his father's. The people of Stormwynter are the memories of his father.

A baker approached Byron, expressing his great love for his father and the crown. The baker told Byron of his struggling business and the lack of buyers in the recent market. Reaching into his pocket, Byron retrieved a coin pouch, giving thirty gold coins to the baker.

"Will that be enough for your family?"

The baker nodded, giving his thanks to Byron and to Ulrich. As the two were left alone once again, Byron began to walk towards the fountain of Derrick, the comatose king. As he took his first steps, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. When he turned around to face the individual, Ulrich shook his head.

"Don't go off on your own. We're getting closer to the border of the district."

Byron let out a frustrated groan.

"I won't be alone if you keep up."

Byron shrugged Ulrich's hand off his shoulder and continued walking towards the fountain. As he approached, he saw a boy who appeared to be blind on the verge of walking into the fountain itself. The boy looked poorer than most, his clothes resembling that of a labor worker, suspenders holding his pants up and his tucked-in shirt clean. If he were to fall in the fountain, who knows if the boy had spare clothes to change into.

Byron began to jog towards the boy, who appeared to be extending his hand out to a man facing the fountain. Right before the blind boy could reach the man, however, Byron grabbed him, facing the boy towards him.

"Careful, you were about to fall in."

The boy opened his sky-blue eyes, Byron could swear he saw fires of red in them. Astonished, Byron let go of the boy, taken aback by his lack of disability. The man facing the fountain began to run.

"What the – why were you pretending to be blind?" Byron asked.

The boy looked for the man running, eyeing him carefully as he appeared to be in thought.

"I wasn't pretending to be anything. I was following the wind."

Byron took on a perplexed look. There wasn't even the slightest bit of a breeze, not even a cloud in the sky.

"You do know wind can traditionally only be followed when there is actual, you know, wind blowing, don't you?"

The boy sighed, "I don't expect you to understand. Look, I'm sure you have plenty of words to tell me, but…"

The boy took off towards the man again, stepping onto a shopkeeper's counter, then propelling himself onto a balcony, then to the rooftops of the city. As he parkoured, a shiny insignia fell from his pocket onto the pavement. Byron sighed and shook his head at the boy, still confused as to what just happened, but walked to see what it was he dropped.

As Byron examined the insignia, his eyes widened. A giant snake in the ocean, wrapping its tail around a galleon, preparing to devour it whole. This was the insignia of the Leviathan Guild. As he finished examining the badge, Ulrich approached again.

"What was that about?"

"It seems the Leviathan Guild hires kids now. He couldn't have been a few months younger than me."

"Here, I'll take it. I heard the guild is still getting settled in by the north gate. It's for the best we introduce ourselves to them anyhow."

Byron shook his head.

"No, I'll handle it. If he dropped something, it's only right we return it to its rightful owner. He ran east, I say we follow him."

"You're going to make me run through the streets, aren't you? On my day of rest?"

"We've gotta catch up somehow."

Byron began to sprint in the direction the boy was heading. Trailing close behind him was Ulrich, barely breaking a sweat. As they navigated the alleyways and streets of Stormwynter, the appearances of the people appeared to get poorer and poorer. Crowds became much larger, and the stench got worse as they kept running.

Ulrich called out to Byron in realization, "We need to turn back!"

Byron kept running.

As Ulrich tried to maintain speed with him, a large crowd of people blocked their vision. Byron, naturally, ran through the swath of people. As Ulrich attempted the same maneuver as Byron, he was met with much more resistance from the crowd, being shoved back and even slapped by annoyed citizens. Once he was through, Ulrich had not the slightest clue where Byron went.

Byron, on the other hand, had just found his objective.

From the rooftops, he watched the boy jump down into an alley.

"H-hey, wait!" A man stammered, "Don't hurt me!"

Byron peeked around the corner.

"Hurt you?" The boy said, "Gods, why would I ever do that?"

He reached towards the belt of the downed man, withdrawing a coin pouch strapped to it. After peering inside, the boy strapped the pouch to his own belt.

"I just wanted my gold back. I worked hard for it, you know."

The man grunted, recomposing himself, "Spoiled brat."

Byron began to walk around the corner.

"Pretending to be blind, then stealing from the less fortunate. I'm sure your captains would love to hear all about this."

"Stealing?" The boy asked, "This was my gold in the first place. The real thief is right here."

The man glared at the two boys. Byron walked up to him, hands behind his back.

"Well?" He asked, "Is what this boy here says true? Are you the thief, or is he?"

The man continued to glare at Byron.

"You're way out of your element, boy."

"Perhaps," Byron said, "But thieves who steal from the esteemed Leviathan Guild are also out of their element, are they not?"

"Easy enough to say to a downed man," the thief snarled.

"Yes, it is. As is stealing, I suppose, which reminds me; Who are you?" Byron looked to the boy.

The boy, amusingly watching the two bicker, lit his eyes up briefly.

"I'm with the Guild, as you said. And you?"

Byron began to speak but paused briefly, not wanting to divulge his true status without his guard nearby.

"Byron!"

Ulrich rounded the corner, flustered and clearly nervous.

"Ulrich," Byron said, "I was beginning to wonder if you got held up by ordinary passersby."

"Byron," Ulrich spoke anxiously as his voice dropped, "We have entered Shiver, we need to leave now."

Byron's stomach sank.

He slowly nodded, "Aye, let's go."

"Hold up there lads!"

As Byron and Ulrich began walking towards the main road, a group of men turned the corner armed with knives, longswords, and daggers. Out of instinct, Byron startled behind Ulrich, who had placed his right hand on a flintlock holstered at his belt. As the men rounded into the alleyway, at least a dozen strong, one man stepped up.

Brown hair tied into a knot, cloth mask covering the face, and mischievous eyes that appeared inhuman, the man spoke with the voice of a charmer. Although his face was covered, Byron could tell the man was smirking.

"Seems you've gotten yourselves lost, friends. You look highborn, and we're all lowborns 'round here. This is no place for folk like you."

Ulrich's voice dropped into a serious, deadly tone.

"We'll be on our way then, assuming there are no further problems."

"Ah," the man stepped forward again, "That is the catch, isn't it? See, lads, it's hard to find a good meal sometimes here in Shiver. Everything is too expensive. These merchants come in here, find good shops ran by good folk, and buy them all out and put their overpriced junk in its place. If I wanted to get a good salmon steak a year ago, I could go right down the street and eat for no more than three copper. Now? A good salmon steak goes for no less than five silver, and it's not even cooked by a good chef. How about that?"

"I fail to see where this concerns us. Are you going to let us be on our way or not?" Ulrich's other hand reached for his second flintlock.

"You see, though, it does concern you. You're a kingsguard, aren't you? Way I see things, you're helping the very same system that puts folks like me down in the dirt."

"All I do is protect," Ulrich said, "I have no part in who buys out what shop. I tried being polite, but I think the time for manners has long passed. So if there's nothing else, can you kindly piss off?"

"Er, no," the man said, "This is very much a robbing. I wanted to be nice about it, but it seems a man like you has no intent of playing along, you even interrupted my story."

The man unsheathed his sword, prompting his posse to follow. Byron looked around; These were not dull blades, but instead sharpened by a skilled smith. Ulrich's eyes remained on the men in front of him, raising his voice to those behind him.

"You're with the guild, aren't you? Take him and get the hell out of here, now."

The boy behind him nodded as he examined the environment around him, walking up to Byron. The masked man, however, simply scoffed.

"Yeah, nope. You two are going to stay right there. You, too, while I'm at it."

As Byron started for the boy, a voice in his mind echoed until it became the only thought he could process.

'STOP'

Byron found himself unable to move, unable to think of anything but not moving, and as he looked over to the boy and then to the thief, it appeared they could not do or think of anything else either.

Ulrich, however, still maintained control of his body, but looked back to his allies with fear.

"Don't tell me…" he started as he turned back to his would-be assailants.

The masked man smiled through his cloth.

"That's right. You should feel lucky, not everyone gets a fighting chance. I just really wanted to see a kingsguard in action."

Ulrich grimaced, "A man with your talents, you could be anything, yet you choose to be a common robber. I'd heard rumors, but never thought they'd actually be true. What a shame for the realm."

"A shame? How so?"

Ulrich closed his eyes, then smirked, determined, "A member of the kingsguard is about to be known as the slayer of an Arcane."

Ulrich drew his flintlocks, firing on the masked Arcane, watching him narrowly dodge both musketballs, two men behind him dropped dead.

The Arcane began to step back, signaling his men to advance.

"Kill him. Take the highborn boy."

Ulrich threw his used flintlocks at the nearest assailants, withdrawing his spares. With another series of loud booms, the two closest men to him dropped to the ground.

Ulrich threw his remaining flintlocks out of ammo aside and unsheathed a shortsword of his own.

The narrow alleyway prevented no more than two men to approach Ulrich at once, the perfect environment to fend off the untrained attackers.

The first two eyed him closely, both swinging their daggers at him at the same time. With a thrust then a pirouette, he turned one dagger on the other before cutting down the second of the men. His sword still in the man's chest, Ulrich retrieved his sharpened dagger, holding it reversed tightly in his left hand.

The next two men served as no challenge. With a few blocks and parries, the men dropped dead in a near-instant.

Byron and the guild boy watched the fight intently. Only four assailants remained standing, and Ulrich was getting closer and closer to the entrance of the alley – to the masked Arcane.

Ulrich fell another couple, leaving his taken dagger in the neck of one of the fallen opponents.

Two more left.

As the final men took their stand, the Arcane smirked through his mask.

Ulrich sliced through his enemies. The final two dropped.

His sword stained with blood, his breath heavy, Ulrich glared at his final foe – the masked Arcane.

With a yell, Ulrich charged at his enemy. He leapt over the bodies of the fallen men, coming face to face with the Arcane as they clashed swords.

All Byron could do was watch as two experts of swordcraft exchanged a series of blows. It was impossible to tell who was better than who, but a sinking feeling crept into his mind; Ulrich can die here.

With a pirouette, Ulrich turned the Arcane around, his back facing Byron.

'I can kill him here!' He thought.

'STOP'

Byron cringed as the thoughts began intruding again, louder than last. He was unable to help, he was forced into watching this fight between two swordsmen play out.

Ulrich snarled, then continued his assault on the Arcane.

Byron saw it, something only an onlooker could notice – Ulrich was slowing down. Sweat drenched his clothes, his breathing got heavier, his movements were less refined. The arcane, on the other hand, had not changed his form or even shown a slight sign of exhaustion.

As Ulrich pulled back briefly, regaining his composure, a loud boom echoed throughout the alley.

In his left hand, the masked Arcane had fired with his own flintlock.

Ulrich looked to Byron, shock and fear in his eyes.

Byron returned the look.

Ulrich fell to the ground with a thud, his sword clinging on the pavement the last signs of life.

Byron dropped to his knees screaming.

The last thing he remembered was the smug look on the Arcane's face before he lost consciousness.