THE ARDEN CONFLICT

PROLOGUE

The lonely streets were quiet save for the wind, which guided the snow through the bluish darkness. The deep, resounding boom of Big Ben echoed through the dark alleyways and shook the ground with its midnight call. A single, tall figure was walking through the flakes, moving with effort, like ooze through the night mist of ice crystals and fallen leaves. The snow crackled under his weathered boots, the scarf around his neck drifting about his body of its own accord. His wide shoulders bent against the harsh weather, as tattered, towering buildings climbed around his shadowy form. The blizzard drove against his body, the clothes that covered him fluttering violently against the storm. His pacing slowed, until he came to an aged, marbled building. The stairs, weathered and used, led up to two bronze lions, their ruby eyes winking in the snowy moonlight. The windblown figure climbed the marble stairs and entered the wind-torn maple door, his gloved hand pressing against a worn, faded plaque reading "London Public Library." Gold candelabras hung from the vaulted ceiling, and an elaborate red carpet stretched down the hall, golden laces slithering like snakes elegantly down the aged material. His dark cloak just barely touched the red carpet below him, gliding along like silk upon glass. He walked on until he saw his destination, lit by flashes of firelight, cast upon the wall ahead of him. He approached the hall to his left, and entered. Lavernius Black removed his scarf and lowered his hood, the dark black eyes taking in their new surroundings.

"Ah, the Sanctuary," voiced Lavernius' raspy breath, "as hauntingly beautiful as ever."

A fireplace crackled and popped, casting shadows on the blood-red wallpaper of the crescent-shaped room. The maple mantelpiece sat above the flames, holding up silver pieces and heirlooms. Twelve pairs of eyes reflected the dancing flames as they sat around each other in a half-circle around the fire. Lavernius' slicked back black hair shone out in contrast to the gray-black hoods of his peers as he took his seat.

"The High Committee of the Society is now in session," boomed a deep voice from a hooded figure near the left side of the stone fireplace, "it is about time we came together again."

"The time has come," The voice continued, "to begin our age-old plans. A half-breed has been born among us, just as the holy book foretells. Now is our time to act."

"but what if his soul is good?" Questioned one shorter, stocky man, as his mustache shivered with each word. "How can we convince him?

"Ah," said Lavernius, "that is my cue. Not only do I have a solution, but I know the family of this child rather… personally."

"Do we know the name of this boy?" asked a skinny, older man to the left side of the fire.

"Yes," Said Lavernius, with a menacing laugh, "the boy's name is Nick Arden."

Nick Arden awoke quite early that Saturday morning, fourteen years later. He wished he could have slept at least a bit longer, but regardless walked into his family's sparse but clean kitchen.

The year was 3011, but the kitchen, as well as the remainder of the house, would be medieval by 21st Century standards of technology. Wooden chairs and floorboards lay dust-covered in the main room, no television nor radio anywhere around the house. A homemade dinner table sat at the far end of the room, small bowls and clay cups adorning the places set in front of the large chairs. The room, however, was empty.

The sword of medieval times has begun to rule the Earth once again, an Earth without gunpowder or chemical weapons, without airplanes or cars. The stones and blocks remaining from Britain's dirtied, aged buildings gave birth to the quaint towns and grand castles of Ofelia in 3011, like Legos passed down the generations.

Amidst this desolate outcome of Earth; medicine, the printing press, and a handful of other modern conveniences were salvaged, and the struggle to survive became less of a struggle. Simple joys of life were emphasized, and with most people fed, clothed, and comfortable, men could once again contemplate the pulls of opportunity, and power. It is this yearning for power, eternally instilled in the human heart, that begins the story of Nick Arden, a boy targeted for his differences, and for another's ulterior motives, as the waters of discrimination, control, hate, and greed begin to boil once again.

The Arden Conflict