The years had all merged into each other. There was no difference from one year to the next. Nothing had changed in the time that has passed. Our lives the same, living in Squalid huts, people dropping constantly from starvation, the war against the necromancers still reigning on.

  Humanity backed into a corner by Morock and his shadows resulting in humanity becoming an endangered species.

  It’s days like these that acted as a reminder to Aaron of what he’d tried so hard to forget.

  The days where the sun hung low to cast out its net, causing long shadows to pan out across every street corner before steadily reeling in the remaining remnants of the day. But as the Sun steadily slips down into its bed Aaron looks out to see if he can spot his brother. In fear that his light too had been trawled away as well in the Sun's greed. Upon squinting he can just make out the sharp haze of a figure. From a distance Aaron can still make out his profile.

  He’s perched on the cobbled steps of the village hall with his chin jutted skywards. His sleek dark hair unevenly proportioned on either side, curling at his nape but falling in swept back curtains at the front. His hair matted to his skin in a shiny gel made up from the day's sordid humidity. Aarons brother could be spotted wearing his usual white linen shirt. The shirt that caused his torso to be made visible by the beams of light that bled through it. His favorite yet rather revealing shirt. A travelling exhibit of the vast variety of stains he had collected over the years. It was drilled into them growing up, “take pride in how you present yourself”. This shirt was his sash of pride, parading around its stains like a soldier's medals. Sweat and dirt built up over the years and had practically caked into the linen.He remembered it so vividly in fear that the memory of his brother at any given moment would slip away into irrelevance.

  Aaron de Muire of the house of Muire stood tall and lean, his hair, a tousled mop of dark waves which framed his face bearing his sharp features. A long scar carved it’s way through his brow and down his cheek, a remnant from a not so distant past.

  His eyes a dirt grey, carried the weight of duty and something deeper, something unspoken - grief, perhaps, or the quite ache of something else.

  Clad in the silvered leathers of the order, the armour hugged his frame.

  As he looked out upon the village to which he called home.

  A mop of charcoal hair belonging to a young, and quite handsome, man, could be seen bobbing through the crowded marketplace.

  He held his head up high with an air of nobility. It was curious that a simple street urchin could transform himself into aristocracy simply through his gait. That and his impeccably clean cloak and polished boots. In actuality he had attacked and stripped a high merchant that had the misfortune to have a similar fashion sense to the boy. He had an affinity for black, partly because it always appears to be clean but it also added an air of mystery to the wearer.

  He also appreciated the cleanliness of the rich and so whenever possible he would take it upon himself to declutter a nobleman's wardrobe by simply taking the clothes off their backs. He rarely kept clothes for himself; however, he gave most of it to others on the streets whose own clothes were too old and tattered to keep a flea warm. It was a rule of thumb that he would keep whatever no one else wanted. This meant he rarely got the garments that fitted him correctly. This morning he had been prowling the streets in a ridiculous purple shawl and misfitting trousers along with a sickening assortment of further layers.

  He looked like a walking laundry hamper. Anyone else would have felt embarrassed but all he felt was grateful to be warm, though he did wish he could have been warm in garments in a darker hue that fit his form slightly better. As he thought this it just so happened a man with similar build passed him in the streets wearing tight black riding trousers and a loose black shirt that was tucked neatly into his trousers. The man had wore a knee length fur lined jacket that made the boy simmer with contempt. Why was it that the rich could parade around with no cares, not having to worry about the cold killing them in their sleep? And with that the young man made up his mind. He followed the other man down the wide street. The sun was still hiding behind the mountains on the horizon and only the docks had their torches lit allowing for just enough light for the young man to stalk without being spotted.

  As the merchant turned onto a sidestreet that became a shortcut to the docks, the young man pounced. Knocking the man to the ground, perfectly styled hair falling out of place as it slammed against the cobblestones, the boy launched a fist into his face, making contact square in the jaw. As the man's eyes lolled to the back of his head, his body went slack and he dribbled out a spurt of blood and saliva. The boy crouched over his target's unconscious body and began to replace his distasteful clothes with the other man's finery. So it was that several hours later when a dockworker stumbled down the alley and onto a groaning man, he determined that not only was the freezing fool hungover but also direly colourblind.

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  Meanwhile the dark haired boy sauntered down the now busy street, head held high. His insides were warm and glowing with pride. The sun was bright and the evening frost was beginning to subside, not only that but he had a heavy money pouch threatening to snap his stolen belt. He went around to the others like him, handing out the coins generously. It was by late morning, when the blue hue in the sky had been fully established, that he had found his way into the main marketplace. He continued to distribute his new found wealth, however he was drawing up some crowd.

  They gathered in hopes to gain a coin or two and earn a legendary wink from the brave soul who stole from a merchant and lived to tell the tale. Looks of sheer awe followed the young man around, unfortunately catching the attention of the City Guard. The City Guard were once respected for their bravery and loyalty, at least that’s what people say. It is entirely possible that even before the fall the Guard were equally corrupt and vicious as they were now, and that, for hopes sake, those who suffered under their control simply made up a time when they were protected by just and fair men. How else were these people supposed to live? In order to hope you have to dream and dreaming was the only thing not yet censored by the Crown and their Guard. So it was that the Guard took an interest in this supposed do-gooder from the merchant class taking pity on the less fortunate.

  So it was that this interest evolved into distaste and distaste into scorn and scorn is as far as the Guard feel compelled to go before they feel their threat. And so it was that this boy, this brave yet foolhardy boy, with mad dark hair and a shit eating grin that could make the dead smile in response, this boy who’s companionship and compassion had helped so many, this boy with the brightest future full of hunger and sickness and fear and friends had his life cut shorter than it should have been.

  I stare at his face now, only his body lies several feet away, his head in my lap. When my best friend's life had been ended right in front of me I had barely blinked, face impassive. Death was not uncommon and after what Torrin had done it was inevitable. Besides if I let the Guard know that I knew this man, I too could end up in pieces. Knowing the reasons why I must remain still and unperturbed did not stop the torment of overlapping screams in my head. My ears filled with a rushing noise like when sand gets sucked back into the sea to be ground smaller and smaller continuously, forever until it is but a speck. I felt like one of those grains of sand.

  My whole life a meaningless point within time and space surrounded by fellow meaningless points, all of us being swept up and around and ground by the whim of an incalculable force of never ending monotony. A soldier spoke, echoing my morbid thoughts “The penalty for assault and robbery of an upperclassman is death. And for you scum who get to watch, it is a warning. A warning to stay in your place where you belong” the soldier beside him wore a disgusting sneer that clenched my gut. He paired that smug look neatly with a spatter of crimson fresh blood.

  I imagined his warm blood cooling in his now lifeless veins. My gut wrenched tighter still as I forced myself to look away from the murderer and into the eyes of my former best friend. She stared blankly back, the spark of mischief behind his eyes gone forever. It was in that moment, when I saw my hope vanish. He was gone now. And when I looked in his eyes, the eyes that had been my solace from the cold, I saw nothing. No more secret glances, no more humorous jokes, no more secret nights together in dark alleyways, no more plots against the tyranny, no more anything, no more life. Still I kept my gaze steady just as any other in the slums would do. Once the murderers walked away, swapping crude jokes as they lazily strolled off, I stood up.

  Decidedly, Luca was the only life I had, or rather the only one I knew. So in my mind it stood to reason that now that he was gone I should leave also, though maybe not in such a permanent way. While I did ponder the thought of committing some heinous crime so that I may join Luca in the afterlife I knew it wouldn't be worth it in the end. He had always called me calculating but we both knew that what we had wasn't true love. He knew it and I knew it. He was just my first love, like I was his. We would always be partners in crime no matter what. Not even death could take that away. My thoughts were not making any sense anymore, I could feel reality slip from my grasp, or maybe it felt like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yes, that makes more sense…That would explain why my vision was all grainy…And why noise felt fuzzy…

  I must have made it out of the slums and left the city on muscle memory alone because I had no memory of doing so but the next thing I know I’m riding through a thick forest on horse paler than my skin. Any lighter and it would be translucent. My first completely lucid thought was that if anyone saw us we would look like ghosts riding through the night, starlight glinting right through us.

  As we rode I began to realise that whilst I was familiar with the woods surrounding the House of de Muire, the only thing I knew about this forest was that I knew nothing about it at all. That and the fact it was much colder than it was in the capital. Just how far North did I travel while I was in my daze? The answer became apparent when I saw the Great River. Luca had often told me of his dream to sail on a ship on the Great River.

  “It flows directly into the sea. We could board a boat and never be seen again. Leave this country to the whims of the Gods and see all the other lands.” He would get this far away look in his eye when he spoke of his dreams of exploration. A distant smile would dance at the corners of his mouth. The amount of times I’d had to drag him into one of our hidden alleyways so I could kiss that smile and taste the dreamy sea salt on his lips was ludacris.

  Just the memory forced my lips to quirk upwards and surprisingly I tasted salt. It took me a few seconds to discover that it wasn't the distant coastal sea spray but tears. Simple, stupid human tears. I slowed down the mare and jumped down. My balance was poor and after barely managing to stumble to the river bank I threw myself in. I screamed repeatedly into the water, gut wrenching, curdling cries. If only they could wake the dead. The fool! Why had he gone off alone? We always worked in pairs, the idiot. Why did he go and get himself killed? Did he even stop to think about what I’d do without him? I surely never thought about it. We had both assumed we'd die together in a raid, or be tortured for information on the imminent uprisings.

  But now that I was left alone I had no idea what to do. It had been a miracle when Both Luca and I made it past twenty. Since then we took it one day at a time. But it was always one day at a time together. Shit, I have to keep it together. I held myself underwater, eyes clenched shut, fingers gouging at my skull, tangled in my hair. I refused to surface until I had rinsed the scarring thoughts from my head. The chilling water turned suddenly bone chillingly cold and I felt myself jerked downwards. My eyes snapped open and I began to struggle furiously against this invisible force pulling me. My efforts were in vain.

  Despite all my thrashing this thing was relentless. As my last bit of air passed through my lips, escaping in tiny bubbles, the world went completely dark. The force seemed to pull me even further down, deeper than any river or ocean. I suddenly lay in a crumpled mess on a dark floor, face pressed against the cold stone below me. I gulped in air hungrily and heaved myself onto my back “For the Gods sake” I muttered as I looked around. The Scareah had called me to his realm.