His face was red, the skin about his eyes puffed and raw. Prince Daric of Sankria, only living noble left in the country, picked himself off the ground, swaying like a drunk. Giving one last futile scrub of his eyes, he let his arms hang loosely at his sides. Everyone-- gone. His brother, his father-- dead. His eyes slid shut, his breathing calming from the rough, sob strewn rasping he'd done for the past hour. He would join his family, join them in the afterlife. Mechanically, he started forwards, towards the palace armory-- an armory that hadn't seriously been used in countless generations-- to kill himself. He stumbled, as his eyes were still closed, and tumbled to the ground. His eyes automatically fling open upon impact. He lay sideways across the body of an old servant, a man who he had befriended during his youth. This was not what caught his attention. No, what he saw could be nothing short of a miracle. A woman, a beautiful, beautiful woman, lay curled on her side. Pale blonde hair, the color of cornsilk, splayed about her head like a halo of gold. Her arms were wrapped about her knees, knees brought up to her forehead, face buried in the folds of the cloth of her simple white dress, a dress that shimmered like silver. She shivered, a half-sob echoing through the room, but even as he watched, her visage vanished, and he was left wondering if he had been hallucinating. Drawing himself back to his feet, Daric tried to avoid looking at any other those around him, at any one of those bodies with their asisine smiles, and wide, dull, lifeless eyes. It hurt to much, and he skirited the bodies as best he could. He couldn't stand this, he just wanted to leave-- leave and join his family. ~What about Sankria?~ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He didn't feel the niggling sensation of an intruder in his mind, nor did he acknowledge the question in itself, only that he had a duty to Sankria. In the centre of the room, Daric stopped, his fingers curling into a fist. ~Look around,~ the voice purred once more, the sharp tones of a man obvious to the prince-- even if in his dispair he did not realise that it was not his own. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Gates of Time Begun by Lady Brick This chapter by Sugar-chan "Minutes into Hours" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Beliel sat back, rubbing his forehead. He didn't really want to help any cause other than his own-- but he didn't want Corneria to win this one. He rarely got along with any of the Fates, and Corneria was one of the ones he hated the most. It was why he'd lashed out so roughly at Yumina; he hadn't wanted to deal with Corneria any time soon, aside from simple manipulations of those that would futher his plans. So he pushed Daric towards a bloody war with Corneria. It was better than a slaughter, but only by a small margin if the army was to be commanded by village milita. He might have to use his brother's temple, a circle of mages that worshiped a man Beliel himself had destroyed a timeline ago. "Damn," Beliel hissed, sinking deeper into his seat. "Yumina, you've messed up one to many times. You're playing in the big leagues now" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A pair of fingers were lifted to a pair of sightless golden-amber irises. Lethargically, the fingers touched the eyelids, drawing them down over the lifeless orbs. The hands turned to the eyes of the woman wrapped in the man's embrace, and they trembled. Steadying, they drew down her eyelids as well, and Daric stood. Turning to face a sea of corpses, Darics dry, cracked voice was tinged with sarcasam, "Long live Sankira" It had taken hours upon hours, but he'd done it. He'd pulled the bodies into a corner and-- oh, by the Gods-- stacking them as though they were sacks of flour. Each one, he'd closed their sightless eyes, whispering a prayer for those he knew, and offering solemn silence for those he did not. There were three things Daric had noted. The first, was Jehane Lin Raan. The second, the Fool. Neither of which were amung the bodies that littered the floors in a bloodless dead. The third was that Joy was not amungst them either. But that was why he had left, and that was why he had survived. Why he had not died. He was positive that Jehane Lin Raan was the cause of this-- the notorious Grandmaster of Assassins. She had killed so many, killing her own daughter would probably not have wounded her soul at all. How she had done it, while she had been watched the entire night, had to have been the Fool. None would take him seriously, so if he snuck off, he could have killed each and every man and woman there without preamble. Daric had never been one to be called stupid. He had a guess as to how the deaths of all those in the room had happened, but he was unaware of how exactly it was pulled off. He was also unaware of how Joy fit into it all. Perhaps she had known? Perhaps she had been in on it with the Bloodmoon? No, if she had, why would she have left? She must have known about it, somehow overhearing the plans, and luring him outside to keep him alive. For why would the Bloodmoon have killed her daughter, who was to marry his brother, to have him survive? Jehane must not have known he had left. "Damn you, Jehane," Daric whispered to the room of souls, "I will see that your soul burns in the darkest pits of the Dark Lord's realm," his voice rose as he clentched a fist in front of his chest, eyes looking heavenwards, "This... this I swear on my father's throne. Long. Live. Sankria." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She stired. Her senses were flooded with wisps of echoing pain, rippling outwards from bruised, and possibly broken ribs. Blue eyes fluttered open, tears that had sealed delicate lashes shut finally falling away, not even marking the floor upon which she lay. Fingers unknitted, releasing dress and knees, and she warily drew herself to her feet, pain turning the edges of her vision black. Yumina's hand went instinctively to her side, nursing the spot where Beliel's heavy boots had hit. Slipping over to a wall, she sunk down so that she sat agaist it, head tilted back to rest against cold marble, eyes closed. How could she have been so niave? So stupid? Of course there had to have been others! When she had begun this exsistance-- and she could remember no other before-- she had believed to be alone. Then the Lord of the Frozen Wastes, Bhaal, appeared, as true as she, and just as able to manipulate the strands of the tapestry of time. After... After, came Beliel, Lord and Master of Lies and Deceit. It had been those two and herself for so long, she had forgotten the possiblities of others, forgotten the limitations she had been given: Do anything to reach the objective. Do not repeat the same mistake over and over. Do not become emotionly envolved with any person. Do not use pawns from those outside your realm. Pulling herself away from the wall, she prepared to weave a new problem into the timeline. Slitting her eyes open, she cast a glance at the ballroom. The bodies! Piled in one corner, sunlight drifting over the horizon to sprinkle them with shadows, lay the bodies of the men and women of the court and their servants. Who in the world had done this? Who had managed to escape Corneria's-- "The Silver Lady's"-- plan? "Long. Live. Sankria." came the dry, emotionless voice, and Yumina turned to face the front of the room, still cast in shadows as the mage lights had faded as the sun bgan to rise. The shadows seemed to cover him, swirling around him as though they were reaching for their master, clawing and biting to win his favor. Hair ruffled and forehead beaded with persperation from his work, dresscoat wrinkled and dirty. Prince Daric had a fist lifted, knuckles white from the force of his clenched muscles. To Yumina, the Prince bore a strong resemblance to Beliel, standing half in the shadows with that malicious sneer upon his features. His eyes turned from heavenward to the balcony, then to the exit. Striding confidently out, Daric's face drained of emotion, leaving a hard shell of a man in their place. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was not openly spread, not broadcasted nor spoken of in the markets, but they came. Daric stood upon the self same balcony that stood outside the room where his father and brother died. Strong in stature, he was tall and stiff, regal in bearing. The pressed white of his militarian coat was stark agaist the black banners of mourning that adorned the palace proper. A sash of black ran diagonally across his chest, a sign of the prince's personal mourning for his lost family. To his left stood a sharply dressed woman. She wore a black tunic over black dress pants and thick black boots. To his right stood a male, his heavy blood red armor glinted dully. Directly behind him stood another man, in glistening white robes. Ailuros, Kindar, and Phair stood strong alongside the Prince, each just as emotionless as he. Daric's face became harder, harsh lines etched into it from the last three days of planning and deciding. "People of Sankria!" his voice echoed through the imperial grounds, "We have come to a fork in destiny!" Silence now, not even a whisper amung the steetrats. The Prince, and soon to be King of all Sankira if the rumors were to be believed, was speaking. Not just to nobles, or the the temples, he was speaking to them. To all of them. "We can either sit here, living our lives normally, allowing this travesty that has befallen us to fade from our memories..." He cast a glance at the two of his new advisors that he could see, and continued, "Or we can avenge it! The Grandmaster Assasin, Jehane Lin Raan-- the Bloodmoon of Corneria-- killed the King. She killed my brother, and hundreds of Nobles, alongside the servants and commonpeople invited." In back of the crowd, face hidden by a scarf of ruby red, Joy's face paled. She had hidden for the three days, afraid to go home and face her father. After hearing about the deaths in the palace that night, she worried that the blame would be set upon her shoulders. The young woman stared up at that handsome man that she had danced with, at his solemn face, and almost weeped openly. Daric looked out over the still silent group, "We can prevent this from ever happening again. The Temples are joined now, sharing knowledge and power to save us from falling to Corneria's fist," he motioned with one hand to Ailuros, "Even the Temple of the Lord of the Frozen Wastes is helping to fight" The silence was shocked now, but it was still a deathly, all encompasing silence. The people didn't want to fight. They didn't want to die. Joy closed her eyes-- she would hate herself for this. Raising her voice above the crowd, she called out, "We will fight! To save Sankria! Long live the King!" It rippled outwards from her, pouring into the crowd. They weren't doing this for themselves, it was for Sankria. "For Sankria! Long live the King!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Notes: It's short. I know that. I wasn't strapped for time-- I was strapped for ideas. I used all my good ones in Eye and ATM (All Things Mechanical). And even then I'm not doing so good. Shadowz asked me if I had a plan once... I replied that I hadn't gotten that far. I would like to thank the Board of Psychos (Ceci Taryn, Nataku Chang, Seiya Hedge, and Mika Yui) for attempting to preread this. Key word is attempting. I don't think sending it back with "Good Job!" written on the bottom is prereading. They're usually better than that too... ~Sugar-chan