Chapter One:

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Ten years ago my father and brothers left for war and to defend our country, only to die in the heat of battle and win victory for our kingdom, but to never return to mother or I after the heart wrenching wait.

At mother's heartache after the massive loss of our loved ones, a loving husband and three courageous sons, I was left in charge of our farm and lands at the illness of my mother, seeing she was in no condition to do any herself.

A year after my mothers passing, eleven years after the war, I was almost living alone to care for the property and ravish our crops, care for the animals and do all the house chores, as well as market the gathering of the year, to prevent the harvest from getting spoiled by farm vermin and weather. Half of the massive harvest is often donated to churches and shelters, and the rest is sold in the market.

After all, I could not eat it all, and I could not sell it all in large quantities either, because it was bound to spoil before it had the opportunity to be of use, so donating a portion of it helped by making the village a better place, and to ensure that no one slept hungry.

It was something I learned from my father; never turn back a hungry man, for life goes around and if you help strangers who are in need, life is bound to help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation. But also, be careful for some weeds have thorns, and there are bound to be ungrateful people among the good. Being kind does not mean being a fool, and one must determine when one's help is being of good, and when it is being of useful advantage.

Every week I take my carriage and stock it with the good I aim to sell, and then ride into town to sell them and with that money, deal with the more important necessities I need for my daily life.

Being alone in a large home meant that I had to handle the house and property on my own, as well as fend for it and protect it.

Being the only daughter of four children, when younger I had trained regularly in swordsmanship by my father, who was a grand fighter and known for his swordsmanship, so I as well was trained to handle the sword, to be able to fend for myself if my brothers were not there to aid me in times of need. I appreciate the training rounds supervised by my father, and I treasure the memories dearly.

I cling to them whenever I feel alone or sad, for those bittersweet times are nostalgic and feed my passion, they help me go on with my life for I know I am never lone, as long as I have those memories to comfort me.

I train on wielding the swords whenever I find it possible in my spare time, for there are so many tasks to be done around the house. I hardly find time to indulge myself in a relaxing activity, such as reading.

I also train because of the thieves who like to lurk around or sneak into my lands to steal.

Some of those don’t manage to dwell in too deep, and that is because the night owls keep those lurkers well away from the storage. Those twice larger than average barn owls, could easily scare anyone out of their skin with their intimidating and dark looks alone, and that is why I train them frequently to scare off any unwanted guests.

With their huge and almost glowing yellow-golden eyes, that reflect the faintest of light in the pitch-blackness of the moonless night, their black feathered bodies and sharp clawed feet, their small but jagged beaks along with their sudden, loud and deep hooting, is believingly more than enough to spook any petty thieves right out of their wits, and have them run in seconds.

The owls' sentry around my home during the night, and like their kin they sleep during the day. I do think they gain a restful slumber during the day because their nests are set over the roof, well concealed to prevent the sunlight from disturbing them. One nest is set over the front porch where the leader of the three sleeps, another nest atop a tree near the house's backdoor, and the third is hidden well over the barn house.

Boone, Alfred and Glaze are their names, all three are males.

They have been living in this farm since they were little hatchlings, discovered by my father when he first purchased this land.

Instead of scaring them away like some other farmers do, my father decided to keep them since they were here before us, and cared for their health, fed and trained them as if they were hunting eagles. Seeing after we had moved in, their parents never showed up, my father decided that the three hatchlings were too young to be cast out to fend for themselves, so they were domesticated and trained to protect the farm when we aren’t home.

Father had trained them to be loyal and treated them like family, therefore he did not mark or brand them as his, for he believed they were free to leave whenever they wished.

Every year since the three owls had matured, almost as if in agreement, two of the owls would leave and the third would remain here, while the other two travel away for a month or two. It had happened before when father was still alive, and he explained that it was probably to find a suitable mate to start their own little family.

There was this one time when Glaze and Boone left, leaving Alfred to protect the farm, but Glaze came back home later by two months. I was worried that he might have been captured by hunters, then realized he just lagged back, because he had injured his left leg somehow. I think he had found a suitable female but in competing with another male, he had lost and returned home empty handed and baring wounds.

Glaze, downhearted by his loss and failure, had been stuck inside the house and confined for a while, and that is why I don’t leave to do grocery shopping as often as I should, because I need to make sure he doesn’t scratch or try to pry off his gauze with his beak or other clawed leg. He had been so frustrated; his behavior was almost human in exclaiming his distaste.

I have always found it easier to communicate with farm fowl, and my father explained that I probably just have a knack for the creatures of the sky, which allows me to understand them better. I admit I do find it easy when I listen to their hooting, and tell the difference in their notes when they're hooting in warning, or trying to gain my attention for some reason or another.

Also, most of the thieves who try to trespass into my home are too cowardly to try and cross paths with Bernard, the family Cerberus. Though the canine has three heads and looks viciously terrifying, and is a bit of a hard maintenance due to his gluttony nature and current age, the dog is quite the empathetic, mothering and friendly fellow it is almost hard to believe.

My mother picked him up when he was a tiny abandoned pup, back when she used to be a young peddler, an acolyte in training, long before she met my father, and Bernard had naturally picked up her mothering nature. I can't remember all the times he was there besides me when I was sad, lonely or hurting, he helped and protected me from those who dare try to hurt me.

With his ruby red eyes, pearl white teeth and marred-like muddy reddish brown fur, it is easy to mistake him for something bloody and vicious. And yet, though quite uncanny of a canine, but still it is what makes him special, he has the skill to tell the good people from the bad, therefore he is a good judge of character, and knows where to put his trust.

Today, I woke up early at the first threads of the dawn's morning sun, and checked on Glaze the owl. I am glad to say he is healing nicely and will be able to fly out and go back to his nest in a few more days, so I think it is safe for me to go and get some shopping done.

I've got more than enough harvest last year to last me for a very long time, and I need to sell this week's portion before it rots. Winter is coming and rain is bound to spoil half of it if I'm not careful.

I have lots of crops to sell and I need to buy some meat as well as other home necessities.

I've lowered the farm's previous heavy maintenance and sold most of the farm's animals, simply due to my inability to care for them all, and for the fact that I don’t trust anyone to help maintain the farm land for me. Being a woman means the disadvantage of being used and pressured, and I do not want to give them to option to do so if I am unable to keep an eye on them. I know the townspeople are good people at heart, but greed is blinding and I do not want fate to play its cruel games with me.

I lost my family and I have no one but my animal friends to keep me company, to keep me sane, I need no more hurting in my life.

I sold the other animals because I couldn’t care for them all, but kept my father's willow, Anoshka, to pull the carriage and ride my way to town. Some people call willows the beastly version of their relatives, the buckskin stallions, due to their nearly lion-like golden-cream colored coat and larger bulk and strength, also for the fact that they're quite aggressive if treated badly.

But truth be told, Anoshka is harmless, simply because she is getting very old as well, and I will sadly need to find something younger to help me.

I've attempted breeding her, but after a few years of unsuccessful and fruitless attempts from the neighbors' males, she is clearly sterile and cannot breed. I dearly don’t want to part with her, not any time soon. I've ridden on her back since I was a small child in the same guidance of my father's caring arms, and I have many wonderful memories to share with her while growing up.

Nostalgic but having to follow up to today's busy schedule, I dressed in nice, clean and warm clothes, put on my shawl and wrapped another headpiece to keep warm, and to protect my slightly curly and brunet hair from the flying dirt in the air.

Winter is drawing closer and the south wind is blowing harder, I need to keep warm so I would not catch a cold and get ill; because that would just be troublesome and very inconvenient.

Once done, I exit the house at the break of dawn, because that is the time I wake up and sometimes it's barely early enough to accomplish all the day's tasks. I stowed the baskets I prepared the earlier night from the storage, and then neatly and carefully loaded them onto the carriage, one by one. After I was done, I went to the stable and greeted Anoshka and she snorted from over her breakfast.

Straws of hey few about when a playful breeze swirled across the floor, and I mentally noted the need to have the barn warmed up somehow. I don’t want Anoshka to catch a chill in here, and I don’t have the time to get the indoor stable ready. I will have to try and have it done soon, though. I don’t want her cold and alone in the stable during the night.

Anyway, once she was comfortably and securely strapped to the carriage, I went to check around the house one last time before departing, and then came across the Cerberus, lazing after his breakfast at the front door. He perked his middle head happily when I approached him to stroke his head, and then panted and whined in complaint when I stopped and pushed up to my feet once again.

"Bernard, I'm going out to the market, be a good boy and care for the house, alright?" I cooed him gently, and Bernard barked happily and his bushy tail wagged enthusiastically in approval.

Some people might wonder why I don’t give all three heads different names, and all I can say is that Bernard knows I'm talking to all three as one individual. After all, all three heads share the same body, and giving each a name might cause friction. Three heads, one body, literally and figuratively speaking, Bernard understand what I mean, and I feel he is fully satisfied with one name.

And besides, he middle head is the casual one, the other two are mostly indifferently staring and interacting, but only become expressive if he is angry or sad.

I smiled at his child like antics and made my way down the dirt path, climbed into the carriage and gently nudged Anoshka to start walking.

Soon, the sun races into the sky and the day begins warm and friendly with a gentle sweet breeze blowing about.

I rode down the road and came across the path that led towards my closest neighbor's house.

I often pick Mrs. Scott up on a weekly basis whenever I pass her place on my way to town, because she is old and could use a ride instead of wearing her old bones in walking, lugging her goods to sell them in the market.

With my farm behind me placed atop a hillside for all to see, and the village a fair distance within sight, I mused about all the people I meet on my way to the marketplace. From the children playing by the rice fields on either sides of the road, those going to school early in the morning, and the adults traveling from their homes to meet at town's square, the usual weekly market where and when the best fresh crops are sold.

Many people of all shapes, sizes and races have tried to get closer to me in hope I would pick one of them, claiming a beautiful damsel such as myself should not harden herself by tedious farm work, where as a capable male could easily do those heavy chores for me.

I know better than to fall for their sweetened words, because I can tell if none of them care for me, and that it is merely their greed to get my properly with legal means that brings them to woo me with affection, and the only way to do that is to win my heart, and then con me into giving them all I have.

I stopped at the junction in the road, the place where most of my neighbors meet whenever they travel from their homes and into town. I spotted the somewhat short but full body of the grandmother, Anna or often called Mrs. Scott. With her graying hair in a bun and that thick shawl over her shoulders, I can tell from her demeanor she was feeling as young as ever, in spite of her forty-some years.

"Good morning, Vivian." Mrs. Scott greeted warmly as she walked up with her basket of goods over her frail arms. As she climbed onto the carriage and with a low groan, I had accepted her basket and placed it with the rest of the load, while she settled comfortably besides me, and smiled gently when I ushered the willow to continue down the path.

"Good morning, Mrs. Scot." I then replied after a short pause, "A nice weather we have today, no?" I smiled warmly.

"Yes, indeed it is." She nodded with a brief smile and sigh.

She rested for a moment on her seat and absently gazed at the rice field that adorned either sides of the road. These lands are owned by a rich man, the mayor of town actually, Mister Myst. Jeffery Myst. He's a kind loving man but unfortunately a bit of a dolt and doesn’t always notice the bad things before they happen. Often times he puts the town's needs ahead of anything else, which can be hasty and planned badly, but with the towns people being cooperative and supportive, the town had developed fairly.

Since we're in the Eastern lands and considered shared between Utina and Kalibia, the least industrial developments arrive here. We're what people tend to call the countryside, because of our lack of advanced technology. Although we live near Kalibia, the heart of industrial technology, we're really too- the phrase it more fittingly, crude in natural resources accompanied with the lack of well trained arms.

We're more an agricultural environment like Utina, just farther down east, is all. Our efforts are mostly focused on supplying the world and the surrounding cities with enough food to last us all, and we do not wish to use technology that might taint these lands.

I believe that was exactly the reason my father chose this town, aside it being his hometown.

It was because of its peaceful nature and friendly people, a perfect home.

Distracting me from my nostalgia, as we continued down the golden dirt path, drawing closer to the bustling market, the passenger besides me started mumbling and at first I assumed she was talking to herself, before I realized she was addressing me.

"Pardon?" I began, not wanting to be rude.

She stopped mumbling to blink at me, before she smiled sheepishly, "Ah, I'm sorry child, old habits are hard to break." She slightly shrugged, "I merely asked is you have heard the ruckus that happened last evening. They say the fight was quite the vicious one." She said nonchalantly.

I frowned, more confused than curios, "No, I've not heard of anything mentioning a fight." I answered at first, and then wondered if the bar at the edge of town had another brawl.

The bar keeper really should restrict who can enter his bar, and how much a person should drink to accommodate and corner the aggressive ones. There are just too many strangers who are trouble makers who arrive here.

"They say a stranger arrived late last night, been wondering the streets and stirring trouble." Ann mumbled with a small snort of distaste, "Glar claimed that the stranger tried to kill him when he was walking home." The old lady's eyes were a bit wide and curious, if not with a tint of confusion as well shone in those deep but tired blue eyes.

"But then again, this is Glar we're talking about, that beast is quite sly, and I don’t trust him." She then wrinkled her face, "But it appears there is no reason for anyone to attack him for no reason, so I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, for now."

I nodded once to agree with her reasoning, "Well, we must not forget his profession," I reminded her gently, "Glar was a thief in his youth, a mercenary and from the city of Yaisa no less." I said casually, recalling the lessons I've learned in school.

Yaisa is one of the rundown cities and the evil's core, as they say. It is a place where all the evil people gather, where mercenaries get their missions, where the shunned and outcasts claim as a home. The city is so wicked, no power on this planet can remove it for the force of evil in its people, and therefore it was left alone by the surrounding kingdoms.

And yet, other kingdoms keep sentry around it to prevent it from expanding and from ever coming near their borders.

Like a cancer, once set free into the body of the world, like an itch we can not scratch, it will corrupt whatever comes in its path.

"Whoever attacked him was probably searching for revenge for someone Glar had killed." I explained briefly, a frown knit tighter between my brows, "People aren’t all forgiving, or can easily forget the pain caused from a heartless stranger." I frowned lightly and listened to the clacking of Anoshka's hooves as they hit the dirt coated floor beneath us.

"The raging passion of those who had lost a loved one can fuel hate, and the fire of corruption would drive any sane person mad. Vengeance is a dark desire in a dark jagged path, and very little survive it long enough to understand that though revenge is soothing to a hurting soul, it is never the answer." I concluded quietly, and gazed ahead as the town drew nearer.

The sound of the willow's hooves make contact with the stone-compressed city streets were louder, like a calming rhythm of a song it echoed in my ears and helped me clear my thoughts, to filter out the hurting memories of those I lost.

The older woman stared at me for a moment in thought to weigh my words, and then smiled faintly with a satisfied nod, "Ah yes, your father raised you well, Vivian. You have such a leveled head on your shoulders, and I would hate to see you lose it in a moment of rage as well." She confessed with her motherly smile. "Marline and Galip would be so proud of you." She smiled sweetly, sadly, and her expression played with the strings in my heart.

I smiled weakly at the mention of my parents, but offered no more words.

We had arrived into town, and I needed to focus as to not run over any of the playing children.

I can not really express myself too well, unless I have the drive to ramble on my thoughts, without stopping to wonder if they were the right choice of word, or if I had phrased them correctly. Most of the time, I would rather stay silent and listen to the people around me talk and chatter, to gather their tales and learn from their experience, because I know that though I may never leave this village, I am still human and similar situations will accrue.

Suddenly, a strange sensation tingled on the back of my neck as we nearly reached then town's square. I tensed and glanced over my shoulders at the surrounding buildings, gazing at the nooks and crannies of the allies that ran through and between the houses, wrapping them into one bit net. I tried to direct my senses to where this uncomfortable feeling was coming from, but for a moment nothing came.

Mrs. Scott eyed me strangely, but when the sensation disappeared I smiled casually at her, and she smiled back and simply brushed away the unspoken questions. When I finally stopped the carriage so she could step down, I glanced behind us at the road from which we had come from, but there was nothing there, the nearly empty road with the miles of land and grass swaying lazily with the softly blowing breeze, was free of anything remotely suspicious.

I was probably imagining it, nothing to worry about.

Mrs. Scott sent me a concerned smile which I mirrored with a casual nod, and after I handed her basket, she seemed to want to voice her concerns, but then those thoughts had to wait, because Mrs. Scott and I arrived at the loud, bustling streets that were at this hour of day full of people, going about their daily routine and chores.

I smiled at the old woman and we took our separate ways, agreeing to meet again here at noon for the journey back home.

She will head a distance closer to the town square to sell her goods, while I will deliver mine to a nearby bakery.

It had been in agreement between me and the bakery owner, Mr. Stevens, I will provide him with the needed ingredients to make his bread, from wheat and corn and such, in exchange that I get at least three loafs of bread a day. One for me to last me through a day of hard work, one for Bernard which I often mix with soup and meat, and one to divide between the owls that I will also mix with other ingredients to keep them healthy and well fed.

After delivering my load at the bakery, I acquired my fee and headed to the butchers shop for some meat. Bernard had been growing weaker due to his old age, and I need to keep him well fed to restore his strength. He is growing older bas the months go by and so are the owls, and I will be alone once they are no longer with me.

I had gotten used to living alone with only them for company, after mother died, and I miss her and father and brothers dearly.

I feel so lonely sometimes when I look at the villagers all together, happy and having so much fun with each other.

I've gotten old, maybe too old. Though I am only twenty five years of age, I sometimes feel like an old granny, bones aching and spirit extinguished and exhausted beyond relief. I wish if there is some way to be who I used to be, the spunky little tomboy who picks up trouble with the boys and rise a ruckus, and then have her father drag her home to enlist her a proper punishment.

As bittersweet as the memories are, the more I delve into them the less I find them refreshing, and the more disheartening they become.

Living in the past will not change my future, and only I can change myself if I chose to change.

I can not change who I am today if I don’t try, but I also know that change though sometimes good, is always a frightening task and the experience might be for naught, if I am not careful with how I go through with it.

But then, once more pulled away from daydreaming thoughts, I heard the bustling crowd cheer and loud crying of joy boom louder the closer I get to the town square's center. Startled and confused at the sudden and excited uproar, I frowned and stared towards the Inn. It appears someone famous had stopped into this little town, and the people have all gathered to greet the new arrival.

"Oh my god! It's Sir Miguel!" one of the women gasped in suppressed excitement, stars dancing in her eyes.

More cheers and squeals of swooning girls pierced through the air for a moment, and they could easily be heard from a fair distance away, for they were very loud and practically defended my ears with their sharpness and velocity.

I winced inwardly and stepped away from the crowd, and avoided the busy crowded streets.

I don’t feel very comfortable in the crowds, and I find it very annoying when I go shopping in the middle of a very bustling day, because I can barely get home and stay awake before nightfall, and still manage to finish all my chores. They're so exhausting, I wish if I could lessen the load or share them with someone for a change. I'm sick and tired of having to do everything myself.

After a while the loud cheers and cries have calmed down, as a giant figure of a terrapin man walked out of the crowd.

His skin the soft and light shade of jade-ocean green, a faint hint of blue would show when veiled by the silhouettes from the shadows of the fleeting birds above. His eyes are of that of a wolf, golden yellow with a sharp and fiery reddish orange tint. His voice is soothing and gentle as he talked to the women, warm and friendly as he chattered happily.

The Zodiac symbols tattooed on his skin show his grace and his rank. In the royal Mage's classifications, from what I remember from my school years, and if I identified the symbols correctly, he is a High Sage level, nearly one of the highest magic ranks there ever was. In this world, Aollum, the highest rank is Oracle, and the Mage and High Mage come soon after.

Only Lord Daniel, Sir Miguel's older brother I believe, had achieved the High Mage level.

Lord Shawka is still the only Oracle on the face of this planet, though.

Notwithstanding, however, that Lord Shawka is actually their foster father.

Of course, as popular as he is being one of the four most famous warriors on the planet, one of the only apprentices of Lord Shawka himself, not counting Sir Miguel's other titles, such as Lord of the Mercenaries and the King of Thieves, there is very little known about him.

Of course it goes without saying, most people practically worship Lord Shawka for his wisdom and long aged knowledge. It is said he is one of the very few Cursed ones, that's why no matter how old he is, he will seem younger because he can not have a normal death. Also, he is the one who took in the four terrapin children and raised them as his own.

Lord Daniel, as the oldest had mastered the arts of magic, and though he could hold his own in a battle, he is recognized as a kindhearted man and a reluctant fighter. He would rather use his powers to create, protect and heal than to fight and bring destruction.

His kin, Lord Miguel is the second eldest, he is agile and is quite skilled both physically and in the arts of magic, either those magic be black, while or blue. He is also dubbed the master of the Katar blades, and there had yet to be anyone capable of defeating him with those weapons.

Their younger twin, Lord Roan and Sir Leon are more adapt to the physical strength, than that of wizardry and the arts of magic. It was told they are spectacular in magic, but opt to use their own strength than depend on something that could easily be cloaked.

A double edged sword, they say, and magic can not be trusted in the wrong hands, and that is why the younger twin prefer to depend on their own strength that than of magic.

Tired of the noise of the city, I decided to ignore this parade and go home after making a stop at the butcher, for needed meat.

After a few more stops for other ingredients that my own farm could not provide, I took my leave after meeting up with Mrs. Scott. It was a good day with good profits after all. Although, she was very excited and thrilled that Sir Miguel was staying in town for another few days. He did not say why he was staying, but people assumed he was looking for someone.

After all, he is a mercenary and his target is probably here in town, wouldn’t it?

It wasn't strange to see a non-humans here, it was very common, actually. This planet carries the weight of millions and millions of people and races of all shapes and sizes in it's folds and bellies, and there is very little to not be surprised in seeing once it is up in public view. From different beliefs and origins that often clash, it is hard to find peace when one race resents another.

But overall, most kingdoms live in harmony and understandings, and ever since the global truce between the five royal kingdoms, I believe it is safe to say the colorful rainbow after the storm had just arrived, but will probably not last for very long.

And in a way I wonder how long we do have to enjoy it while it lasts, before the proverbial roofs come falling on our heads.

Sometimes, I dread the answer to that question…

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