~Archean Year 859~

The Nameless Lord stood before the Valley of Gods, the great pillars of light descending down from the vermillion heavens, their hollow, crystalline structures serving as a gateway for the armies of the Primordial to enter their world. From beneath his hood, his all-knowing eyes watched with disdain as his two comrades stood on either side of him, their own army sprawling out across the upper valley like a shimmering forest of gleaming silver, flags of black flicking in the wind, the golden crest of Ingaurn plastered across them.

The Nameless Lord drew his blade, it's edge humming as it gave off a silver glow like that of the heavens themselves. He watched as the sky yawned open and a great figure concealed in gold descended from the gap. The god's golden eyes were pressed upon the mage, malice and rage coming off of him in waves like the crashing flow of a riveting ocean.

The god came to land upon the valley, the earth spiraling at his feet as though it were being pressed through time. And then he spoke, his voice calm and hushed, yet it echoed across the valley to all ears with shivering rage creeping into his tone.

"The gift I granted unto you, nameless one, you have tossed to the winds of sin. The power you have been granted is not one which man is meant to behold; you were to be my blade upon the world to guide the eyes of mortals. Yet you would give your own gift away to those you deem to be worthy, as if it were your right. You are no god, and for your carelessness, your land shall be ripped up from the world and torn from history."

The Nameless Lord gave no response. He only stared back at the god with contempt and anger, but despite his own hate, his hand stayed steady as he raised his blade to the god. In turn, the Primordial armies let out a cry as they rushed up the valley unto the armies of man. The mortals made no move, as they stood still as though encased in time. No fear, no hesitance, no cowardice. The Nameless Lord lifted his blade unto the heavens, a ray of primordial light shooting up into the sky, splitting the clouds to reveal the stars, which shone in response as though they knew they were being called upon as the light dispersed among them.

The god raised his own arm, a wave of burning light sending tremors through the earth as it crashed on towards the mortal armies, but it would be to no avail. The Nameless Lord lowered his blade, lifting his head as all the wrath built up within his heart now lashed out through his eyes which, flared upon the armies beneath him.

"Your divinity.." he finally spoke, "means nothing in the face of mortal determination."

And as he spoke, the stars fell from the sky, a blast of wind rushing through his armies, clinging at their cloaks and flags as the sound of the charging divine seemed to be washed out and the stars crashed down from the skies. Where the stars came to land, the earth split open, releasing waves of destruction that sent countless of the immortal to their ends, cast into the abyss of the beyond.

~end prologue~

A boy watched from within his rickidy closet as men in black cloaks and masks entered his home. He could hear his father thrashing, swinging about a rusted sword while his mother screamed. But her scream was cut short, a blade shimmered in the dark, crimson leaking from its edge. The boy closed his eyes and whimpered, curling into a ball as he heard his mother's body collapse, blood gushing onto the floorboards. His father was next—two assassins struck him at once, one blade through his heart from the front, another through his throat from behind. When the boy opened his eyes, he came to regret it instantly, seeing blood spilling from his father's open mouth, the assassin's sword protruding from his agape jaws. The assassins pulled out their swords at once, and his father's body spun as he dropped, his glossed eyes landing on where the boy hid. He watched in horror as the pools of blood converged, the crimson liquid slowly creeping across the floor towards him.

The boy felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he whimpered. An assassin approached the closet, thrusting the doors open, causing the boy to scream in horror.

Darius woke with a start, his tattered cloak coated with sweat as he gasped for air. Sitting up upon the grass, he placed a hand to his chest. Though he was breathing rapidly, his chest made hardly any motion at all. It was hard to the touch, smooth—like glass.

He looked around frantically, but all there was to see were towering trees, gripped by ivy and moss. His nails sunk into the dirt beneath him, blades of grass caressing his fingers. He let out a sigh, calming himself. That was twelve years ago, he'd tell himself. He needed to move on now. It was all he had left to do.

The rays of the sun beamed down from above, cutting through the oak trees and casting a green glow through the canopy as a soft breeze whispered in Darius's ear. Brushing his messy black hair from his face, he stood to his feet and gathered his things; a satchel with little bits of food he'd gathered here and there, some coin, and a knife concealed within it. He slung the satchel over his shoulder, making his way through the trees to a rock which he jumped up onto and looked up at the sky. The breeze blew the clouds lazily through blue sky to the west. He turned about and pointed a finger forwards.

"East I go." He said. As long as he was moving away from Inguarn, that was all that really mattered to him. And soon, he'd be far, far beyond the reach of the Nameless.

And so he made his way through the woods, walking leisurely through the game trails. Despite never being allowed to leave his house when he was a boy back in Ingruan, in his twelve years of eluding the Black Rose and making his way through the countryside, avoiding any big cities, he had managed to learn a lot about the wild and how to fend for himself. He'd learned how to make traps, fish, create little homes, make his own campfires, cook, all on his own. Well, maybe not on his own entirely. He took anything he learned from places he visited, usually small countryside villages.

When he was nine, a nice family had taken him into their home in a small hunting village. It was there that he had stayed for about a year and he had learned how to make pelts, cook, skin, hunt, and fend for himself. But he would soon learn that he can never hunker down. It wasn't his fate. The Nameless would never let him. As after that short year, he would once again watch the Black Rose kill everyone he'd grown to care about. He often thought on those memories quite fondly. But it always ended in him feeling regret and guilt accompanied by crushing sadness. But he couldn't let it hold him down. Even if he didn't know why, he was still alive, so he had to live, right? To the fullest. Whatever that meant.

He relished the smell of the woods, the feeling of the dirt and grass beneath his boots, the soft wind that carried the scent of oak across his senses. It had become his home, the woods. He'd come to avoid towns entirely. He was to afraid of what he could bring upon them. So he found comfort in the forests that hid him from the searching eyes of Inguarn's mages like a mother holding him in safety.

Ultimately he knew he didn't have much longer here. That's why he was relishing it so much, but if he ever wanted to be safe, he knew what he had to do, hence why he was going to the small town of Tellinur, a fishing village. He'd been saving up his gold for a long time now, and he finally had enough to buy himself a boat. And with it, he'd leave to Rimor. A whole other continent. Surely he'd be safe there, right?

As he came to the forest's edge, a blast of harsher wind struck him, the scent of salt mixed into it. Below him, he saw a large windmill and a light tower. Small stone buildings dotted the little homely hills, and a few larger buildings where all the fishermen brought their hauls to prepare and sell the product. The road sprawled off in the distance with its curving arc, wagons rolling across it pulled by horses; traders going about their days picking up goods to transport.

It had been some time since Darius had been to Tellinur. What has it been, a year now? When he had seen the town, he knew what he was going to do. It was the only hope he had left really. There was nothing for him on the continent of Seimier, aside from regret.

He began to make his way down the hill, his spirits higher than usual as a smile crept across his lips. Pulling up his hood, he made his way into the bustling little town. He watched as people talked passing him by, wearing their little thatch clothes and pelts over their shoulders to keep them warm in the wind. The sun shone brightly down as if blessing the little town while children laughed boisterously, running across the stone paths and playing their little games; a childhood that Darius had never gotten. But he never felt any jealousy towards those children, rather, he was glad for them. It made hopeful, if only slightly, that maybe the world could be good, and maybe these kids would never have to see the ghosts that follow him.

Darius greeted anyone he passed by with a warm smile. Depsite the warm tone of the town, he wasn't relaxed. He was always looking over his shoulder, watching the shadows for any movement. The Black Rose was good at hiding, but they weren't invisible. Not like him. He wasn't as worried about the town guards. While they did work for Inguarn, they likely didn't have any knowledge of his existence. The Nameless Lord was pretty content on hiding his existence from the masses. A thirteenth mage not under the Nameless's control? It would be yet another mark on his rule, a stain he doesn't want. There were already three mages he had no command over, and one that was just gone to the wind.

Darius checked over his shoulder once more as he walked across the docks over to a man wearing a leather outfit and torn up pants. His boots were stained and his coat covered in fish blood while knives hung from his belt. His long, scrambled gray hair hung over his eyes from beneath his cap. He was busy tying down a large boat as passengers came off of it. Traders visiting from Rimor for goods unique to Seimeir.

"Bright tidings, sir." Darius spoke as he came a stop behind the man, who fastened the last loop and stood to look at the speaker. His eyes lit up.

"Ah, D, you've returned then, yeah?" He spoke, his voice hoarse. "I expect yer travels went well then?"

Darius pulled his satchel forward and dug out a bag of coin that he'd been saving for the past year, holding it up and shaking around the coins inside with a jingle.

"Well, I'll say. Took ya long enough. But I got some bad news for ya."

Darius furrowed his brow as the man reached out for the coin, which Darius pulled back. "Oh?" He asked.

"Ah," the old man spoke, his hands retreating, though his eyes remained on the bag. "The boat ya were lookin at has been sold, sadly. I do apologize, sir, but the only option I've got for ya is to ride a trade boat to Rimor."

"A trade fleet?" Darius asked. "I expressed my preference for a ship I could operate myself for private passage."

"Yes, sir, but there are none left. If ya would rather wait, we could see to wait for a boat to be given up, or for a newly made one."

"And how long might that take?" Darius asked, looking down at the bag of coin in his palm with a still furrowed brow as he tossed it up and down, the old man's eyes following it all along.

"Ah, about maybe four or five months, sir."

'Damn.' Darius thought. 'I don't have that kind of time. The Black Rose has been getting closer and closer with those damn stories following me everywhere I go.' He studied his coin, thinking. Then smirked.

"Alright, I'll take a trade ship. But your price will be cut to half."

"But-"

"But nothing, old man. The deal was you provide me a ship, I provide sixty gold coin. A private ship. Which you are not providing. So in turn, you will be paid thirty, and I'll be on my way." Darius said with a grin as the man's expression turned sour.

The geezer then looked about, and leaned forward, speaking through his stained beard in a hushed tone, "You're that ghost everyone's been talking about, yeah? The one goin around killin bandits and stopping raids on traders?"

Darius's expression fell, becoming serious as he flared at the man.

"I don't know of this ghost." Darius said.

In turn, the man looked past Darius at the guards walking the docks talking amongst themselves, the crest of Inguarn emblazoned on their silver armor as the ends of their spears stamped the wooden planks where they walked.

Darius scowled. "Forty gold."

The old man grinned slightly. "Fifty."

Darius's scowel grew. "Forty old man."

"Fifty and I'll be hush hush. The Nameless has been interested in the ghost, you know, wants him to be brought in for questioning. Doubt it would go very well if it were to be reported. I imagine the Black Rose might even inject themselves into the situation."

Darius clicked his tongue, "Fine. Fifty. Just shut your mouth. If I have any bastards following me, I'll assume you were responsible, I'll cut out your tongue myself, yeah?"

The man's eyes widened slightly. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke "Ya really are the ghost.." he shook himself, his eyes returning to the coin, "yes yes, fifty coin and I will tell the captain of this here ship that you'll be comin along."

Darius dug through the bag, taking out ten gold coins and dropping the bag in the old man's palm. The geezer grinned ear to ear, counting the coins before pocketing the little bag. His grin suddenly became warm and his tone loud and welcoming.

"Right this way, good sir."