The sun was setting on yet another productive, if not somewhat disappointing day. It seemed as if his days in Feiyan had slowly degenerated to living with such disappointment, but he was not one to worry about such miniscule things. However, two more students had dropped out of his classes today. That made a total of five for the week, and his small training grounds just outside of the village's outskirts was slowly becoming quite large in comparison. With as many students as he still had left, he was just barely making enough money to support his family, but he knew he would continue to perservere and make up for the deficiency in coin.

The mile long trek home to his cottage was his time to unwind and ponder what he would have to do to keep supporting his wife and son. It seemed as if his walks were becoming longer and longer, as he lately became more and more thoughtful of other ways to cover the expenses of food and repairs. Tasks began to scroll through his head, from repairing the roof to prepare for coming rain to obtaining the materials he required to reforge and strengthen his slowly dulling blade. The latter he wanted to focus on the most, but he knew, along with everyone else in the quaint little village of Feiyan, that having a well-kept blade was hardly worth the effort, time, or expense. The village he wanted to protect needed no protection. Perhaps that was why his students found it a worthless venture to train in the art of swordsmanship. Personally, he liked to believe the villagers were simply lazy and uncaring of the dangers that lurked out in the world.

His eyes laid sight on his family abode as the sun just began to dip below the horizon. Set atop a hill and surrounded by trees that he had planted, it was a vision of peace that still took his breath away. Images of war and blood had all but stained his memories, and this simple household seperated from the world was his way of escaping his own personal demons. The only thing that made the simple cottage any more appealing was his loving wife and growing son, both of whom he could never imagine living without. They were the family he had always dreamed of having, and that one of his dreams could have come to fruition was a pleasant thing to have.

Reaching the front door and idly kicking the caked mud off of his boots, he pushed open the light wooden door and stepped inside. The cottage itself was only three rooms, consisting of two bedrooms and a central room for a kitchen and dining area. All of it was fairly cramped should people ever visit, but no one ever did. One of the bedrooms belonged to him and his wife, the other to their son. Although, two beds sat in the second bedroom, but the second had not been used in a very long time and was covered in dust.

At the small hearth kneeled his wife, preparing dinner as always for the family. Hearing the door open, she propped herself up and inclined her head, smiling at the man who stood in the doorway. "Good evening, honey. Dinner will be ready soon. We're having stew tonight. It should be amazing." Her smile lit up the room for him, and he kicked off his boots inside of the door, walking over to her and placing a small pouch on the already set table. "It does smell heavenly. I brought the money we've earned for the week." He motioned to the pouch, and his darling wife rose from her task, picking up the pouch in her hand and weighing it thoughtfully. The smile evaporated from her face. "This... is much less then I imagined we'd have this week. What happened, dear?"

The man, tired and worn, removed his leather vest and sword from him and placed them off to the side, sliding himself into a seat at the table. "I had some more students quit... More than I expected. But there's nothing to worry about. I hear that the local grocer is looking for part-time work. I hope he won't mind having such an old geezer as me stocking his stall every morning." He chuckled, but the joke was lost on his wife, who still had a worried look on her face. She turned away, looking at the simmering pot at the hearth. "Perhaps I should have made something that was a little thinner..." The man, distraught at his wife's words, slowly stood and walked toward her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "It will be fine, Eline, I promise. You know I will do whatever I can to support this family."

Eline, sighing and resting back against her husband, nodded absently at his words before leaning down, retrieving the kettle from the hearth and lifting it onto the table. "Terin, it's time for dinner." Terin emerged from his room, a makeshift wooden sword still gripped in his right hand. Her husband smiled, releasing his wife and walking over to his fourteen year-old son, placing a sturdy hand on his head and ruffling his hair. "Been practicing, have we? Mind showing your old man how your practice has been going after dinner?" Terin looked up and smiled half-heartedly, shrugging his shoulders before turning and placing the sword back behind his door. "Sure, Dad. Whatever." He walked past his father to the table, taking a seat while leaving his father to sigh despondently and take a seat as well.

Eline, having by that time finished dishing out plates of stew to both of her "boys", took a seat herself, folding her hands in front of him and pressing her forehead against them. Terin did the same reluctantly, his attention set on the fourth plate that was across the table from him. A silent prayer for their meal took place, and they began to eat quietly. Terin was only picking at his food at first, taking another look at the plate before sighing. "I wonder how he is..." Eline stopped chewing the current mouthful of meat she had eaten, casting a glare at the empty seat herself. Slowly swallowing, she shook her head. "I'm sure he's fine. Baleron was always a very strong young man. I'm sure he's found a place for himself somewhere out there."

A sudden fist slammed down on the table, causing Eline's husband's bowl of stew to fly off of the table onto the floor, shattering it into many pieces. Both his wife and son looked at him surprised, and he stood from the table, his eyes downcast. "That boy is nothing but trouble. He killed a man with that power of his, and he should have been executed as a consequence." Eline stood up quickly, too, glaring at her husband. "How can you say that? He is our son, Gero!" Gero turned his gaze to Eline, shaking his head and grabbing his things from the wall. He stalked toward the door, opening it as he hooked his sword around his waist. "That boy... Baleron is no son of mine." The house shook as the door slammed, leaving Eline and Terin alone to their meal.

Feiyan--a fog covered little town of no more than fifteen thousand citizens, a number which wavered and diminished every day, and not just because of the townsfolk that left the city at their own will--no, that was actually quite rare. People died their natural deaths every day, and if two of the elderly died for every one child that was born, it was simply statistics, in the end, that decided the town's inevitable fate. Perhaps years from now, its cold, mist ridden streets would have less life than ever before, dwindling with each year, until it came time for the stray cats in their permanent winter coats to rule the town.

The economy was a slow and progressive failure, but at a guarantee to stagnate: it could never truly fail, but could reach two steps above rock bottom and stay there, unmoving, until no one was left--and then, and only then, could finally strike that bottom and cease to be. As such, it was only inevitable for jobs to become scant and few, while there still so many people in the town, so many more than most towns in the rest of the world, but paled in comparison to the capital city of Algeroth--a metropolis that made most cities and towns look like backwoods villages.

It wasn't often that anyone lived outside of town, but a few did. It allowed them to escape the seemingly bleak look of the streets, how gray the town looked while set in the fog caused by the constant bereavement of a malicious sun upon an ever-cold surface--how sunken the faces of some of those that attended church three days a week, and how unfortunate the homed beggars appeared dressed in ratty clothes but not once leaving town. No, it was rare for one to leave town deliberately.

Not school or work brought a citizen of Feiyan out of town, and in general when it did, they came back soon enough and established their lives there once more, to die out in their own bleak reality--to name it their own gray paradise and let themselves be ignorant to the world outside of their own, and when something went wrong, they could simply "blame the city council," and return to paradise. It was those like the former soldier and militiaman who could live beyond the realm of an ignorant, sunken, dying Eden, and for that, he was lucky.

There was a knock upon the door, but not a friendly wrapping. It was violent, it was desperate; a quick and hasty pound, followed in short by a groping of the door knob and a repetitive and violent twist--and once that did not work, it came to slam into the door while twisting the knob with all the strength in the body that assaulted it. It was a being that was trying to force its way in like a hungry wolf near a den of hiding rabbits, scratching and clawing malevolently and doing anything and everything it could to get in, but never succeeding, not once, for the door was locked from the inside . . .

Eline and Terin both watched the door of their house for a few moments after Gero had left, both surprised that he had taken such a brash stand against Baleron. Terin was the first to turn back to his meal, spinning the stew around with his spoon. Eline turned her gaze to watch him, and she raised a comforting hand to his shoulder. "You know how your father is... He's a proud man who wants to protect his family. We love him for that."

Terin stopped, letting the spoon drop to the side of the bowl. "Baleron never did anything wrong. If he hadn't found that book, then none of that woulda ever happened! Then he could still be here and not banished like he was."

Eline sighed, letting her hand drop into her lap and lowering her head. "Yes, I know... But, it's too late for that now. We can only hope he's safe, doing what he can to protect the people he's with." She raised her head, a determined look on her face. "Of course he is! He's probably protecting a great queen right now! That's what my son would do!"

Terin turned a look toward his mother that showed obvious disbelief. "I think you daydream too much, mom."

Eline turned her smile to Terin, and he in turn smiled as well, both of them silently laughing to themselves. Terin resumed eating from that point, as Eline stood to clean up the mess that Gero had made as he had left. Only a minute later did a knock come to the door. Having just finished cleaning up, Eline stood from her bent position at the kettle to stare at the door, confusion lighting her features. Terin slowly stood up, not quite thinking of the implications of opening the door, and headed straight for it to see who was there.

Thankfully, Eline was much quicker than her son, and she raced around the table to grab Terin's arm, pulling him back before he could undo the lock. "No, no... That's not a good idea..." She was beginning to become truly frightened by the sudden knocking, and how it sounded... She was unsure of whether to answer the knock or not. If the person outside was someone in trouble, she wanted to know she had done something to save the man. However, if that person was the trouble... Gero would not be there to defend them. In the end, Eline's good-natured self won out.

"Who's out there? What do you want?"

On the other side of the door stood another human being, yes--a person whose gender at first could not be discerned. It was covered head to toe in clothing, thick clothes to fair against the cold climate, layered on top of one another, but each article was torn, tattered, and aged--not quite as if he or she had just come from a battle, scuffle, or anything of the sort, but as if he or she had been wearing these particular clothes for longer than should have been healthy. The smell certainly suggested a lack of hygiene, but then again, in this day and age, it was going against the norm to bathe more than once every week or two. Some bathed only once a month, in fact.

The individual had multiple hoods over its head, one for nearly each coat, essentially hiding its face. Likewise, with poor lighting, what could normally be seen simply could not. It wasn't very tall, just a little over five feet and five inches, possibly less, considering all the thick clothing and the like.

The individual seemed panicked as soon as it saw Eline. Immediately, it backed up, hands up in front of its face as if light was shining upon its face, though that was far from the case. Surprise had turned to panic, as if the individual hadn't even considered the possibility that the house was occupied . . .

As if on instinct, it looked as if ready to run, but with frantic twitches and a spin in place, it looked as if it panicked even more, and without skipping a beat, attempted to charge into the house, to tackle into Eline if necessary, and as if escaping some sort of foe, race into a structure populated by potential foes--but far less intimidating . . .

Eline screamed as the form approached the door at a rapid pace, backing away quickly as the door burst open, one of the hinges breaking from the extreme force that collided into it. Scared out of her wits, Eline quickly moved to the back of the room toward the fireplace. Meanwhile, her son Terin, almost by instinct, headed straight to his room without a second's notice and grabbed his sword, heading back out into the main room and pulling it from its sheath.

The exceptionally crafted metal did nothing in the hands of the younger son, though, as his hands shook from sheer fear of holding it against a real assailant. The blade seemed to quiver in his hands as he held it up, his eyes wide with terror. "W... w... we want no trouble... Please go away." The entire intrusion had eliminated his courage, and he was now set between the intruder and his mother, hoping desperately that the person before him would leave them be of its own accord.

Meanwhile, Gero had walked a short distance away from the house, heading to a spot that he frequented often in order to practice his swordplay. As the sun glinted off the metal as it swung to and fro, Gero allowed the anger within him to slide into his strokes, cutting up the air with deadly efficiency. He would have much rather seen the blood from his enemies penetrate the air in haze, but as there was no one about to allow him such a pleasure, the simple act of practicing moves that were set in stone in his mind allowed him the time to relax and join himself with the gods of battle.

It was only upon instinct that he stopped and turned his gaze to the direction of his house, his eyes piercing past the horizon to the distant hilltop. Although he could not see it, he knew that something dangerous was happening, and it took him no time at all to resheath his sword and quickly break into a strong gait. Whatever the danger that he had sensed, he hoped that his family would be safe and secure in the small cottage. Unfortunately, only he knew that such a situation was quite far past.

A grunt and a grumble of fear and shock escaped the being, whose form, function, and mode still gave way to no discernible gender. The grunt of fear sounded as incomprehensible as the last, and just the same if it were uttered by a man or a woman.

A boy with a sword, shaking loosely in his hands, intercepted the figure, and it instantly stepped back, nearly falling to the floor--or out the door, perhaps, in an awkward stumble that begged for no more. How awkward, indeed, that it could not muster the courage against something as small as a young child.



Was all it heard.

With a horrified mutter, it shot its hands into its coat and fumbled for something that didn't seem to be there. The boy had all the time in the world to slay this intruder--but alas, in the end, the boy was no warrior, and the intruder, with panic all about its shaking and shivering body, withdrew a metal object, a barrel pointed at the boy, a thumb against a hammer, death in a chamber--it didn't release that death upon the youthful figure, but it was a means of instilling fear in a foe, and as it backed away from the boy slowly, perhaps the boy, too, would run away.

Terin immediately faltered as the gun entered his view, taking two quick steps back. Eline, very afraid for her son, quickly went to his side and hit the sword out of his hands to keep the intruder from using the instrument of death against him. Her arms enclosed about her son, pulling him down on the ground to both of their knees. "Please... Don't shoot... Take whatever you want. Just leave us alone!" She trembled against Terin, and her son held tightly to her as well, deathly afraid of the outcome of the situation.

It was at this moment that the door burst open, the hinge that the door still rested on snapping in half. As the door fell into the house, Gero stepped in, sword held in front of him to prepare for any adversaries. With the intruder's back to him, he saw no cause for hesitation. "Get away from my family, you creep!" He charged forward with all of his mass, sword drawn high in the air to slice down upon his foe.

Panic struck once again. A new person--a new threat, smacking a blade away, a new enemy-- a new . . .

It shakily aimed the pistol up at the woman, hasty to take aim, hesitant to fire--to use valuable ammunition on something that may or may not even be a threat at all! But at the same time, what if they were threats? Foes? Enemies? What if they had to be eliminated? Would it merit the use of valued ammunition? Too small, too young--but could looks deceive?

The intruder's hasty contemplation was interrupted by a slam.

It scrambled to turn around, but by that point, the family's father was already in the house--but at a distance enough that he'd need a second or two to reach the intruder. The gun was hastily aimed, the intruder's eyes dead center on the newest foe, the one that now posed the greatest threat.

This time, however, the intruder fired the gun. Twice. Thrice. Four times. All with wild abandon, but at close enough range that they couldn't miss by any sort of poor aim. The family's father was right there before him, perhaps even too close to avoid taking shots to the legs, stomach, and chest . . .