Rafe looked at him warily, his eyes scanning him once more. "My past is none of your concern."

The man looked at Rafe and breathed out slowly. "Of course it is not…perhaps I should ask a more direct question…is your true name Kaid?"

Rafe's eyes quickly glazed over as memories washed past him, enveloping every sense of his body as if he relived his past once more.

* * *

Rafe's hands slightly shook. His large mug, filled to the brim, splashed its sweet brown liquid over his dirty hands, the prospect of sticky hands unnoticed by the nervous Rafe.

Slowly, Rafe took a sip. His mind numbing as he began to drink another. He smiled at the two men who were buying his drinks for the night. His nerves needed a break after a thorough beating he had just received from the Black Rivers. His body was blackened by bruises, the aching pain slowly diminishing as Rafe downed a 4th round. The drink was sweet, mildly potent, but he knew his liver could only handle so much.

He felt his body lose its sense of balance, harmonious with a feeling of invincibility…a feeling of happiness. The feeling was ambrosia to the downtrodden urchin. Kaye was a teacher, a mentor, but he could not bring joy to the boy. He could not create happiness after such a fight. It was one of innumerable beatings Rafe had experienced; they always hurt as much as the next…that or became progressively worst. Rafe found it hard to remember much of the time.

Rafe did however remember the two men joke with him, treating him well. As the memories passed, the night passing by, he remembered the two men asking his name. He told them a name Kaye had informed him was best left remembered, but never informed: Kaid.

Rafe's blurry memory remembered naming himself as Kaid, his mind laughing hysterically at a nonhumorous joke. As his eyes focused on one of the men buying him drinks…he saw the man's red eye…matched by another black one.

* * *

Rafe stepped back as the man said the name. His mind rushed with guilt, anger…and fear. He realized that his name meant something...something that was enough to have him killed…something which had cost Kaye his life.

Rafe remained silent for a moment, his mouth mute as he blubbered out inaudible noise for several moments, his mouth opening and closing without the slightest response.

"No," Rafe replied quickly, turning face and beginning to walk out of the captain's quarters.

Rafe's feet hastened as he left the room. His heart did not beat in his chest, but choked as if it were a lump in his throat. He heard the man calling out his name, Rafe, as he moved through the barracks, quickly coming smashing through a door to the training floor. He ran through the mass of bodies, weaving through the mass to cut the line of sight with the man chasing him. He came to the back of the room, a window revealing daylight…Rafe jumped through without hesitation.

His clothing fluttered in the air as he jumped from the fort. His body clenched around his stomach and legs, time seemed to slow as he curled in a ball, his eyes bleeding into a stormy dark green, the iris clouded over as he closed his eyes, his teeth gritting as he smashed atop a shingled rooftop.

Rafe somersaulted over the rooftop, the clay shingles cracking into bits of stone, splinters of hardened clay. He felt his skin cut, the smell of blood filling his nostrils as he opened his eyes, quickly seeing himself sliding down the breaking shingles. He kicked his feet, slowing his dizzying descent, yet his body still fell over the edge.

Rafe's hand reached up as he began to fall over the edge, his fingers snagging the steel gutter of the house, the steel straining as he swung to and fro over an alley.

Rafe felt the blood pump through his arm, his eyes looking down to find that there was a balcony below his feet. Rafe felt his lips peel back into a smile for a moment, his good fortunes pushing away his aching, bleeding, body. His fingers let go, his feet softly graced the white wooden balcony, his knees bending upon the impact, causing him to crouch down, his eyes quickly surveying the alleyway. His eyes glinted at the clothesline, the white cord swayed as a gentle breeze passed through the alley, Rafe jumped from the balcony with no hesitation.

His hands clamped upon the clothesline as the cord stretched down. Without delay, Rafe's core flexed, his legs swinging up, he jumped off the cord letting his body glide through the air. Rafe felt his body's speed crash to a halt as his came to a landing. His feet smashed into a stone wall which surrounded the building next to the house he had jumped from. His feet quickly pushed away, his progress slowing enough for him to land upon his feet.

Rafe looked up for a moment, waiting to see if the man had given chase. The moment passed and Rafe's instincts pressed him to run on. His calves and thighs boiled in pain as he dashed through the streets of the High District, the guards paying no attention to him save a lighthearted smile at his presence.

Blood dripped down Rafe's forehead, tracing down his face, into his ear. He quickly cut through the alleys, wiping the blood upon his shirt, the dark red streak sure to cause a fresh stain. His back spasmed as his muscles clenched, his obliques cramped into fists, he felt his last meal slowly rise into the back of his throat, all the while he sprinted away, sweat and blood dripping off his brow, the diluted blood droplets, falling upon the ground as Rafe hastened away.

Rafe did not stop running until he finally found himself in the old alley between the tavern and burned down warehouse. His eyes widened at the charred ruins, his small hideaway was completely scorched, the scalded stone walls revealing no hint his hideaway remained.

It was in the alley he collapsed, his body's pulse bulged the veins out of his calves and arms, his mouth remained agape as Rafe gasped, gulped for air. For a long time Rafe did not move, his body burned in pain as he sat down, his mind telling him to move to avoid his soreness the next morning. To those who have never lived as Rafe lived, they would not understand the impact of such fatigue is when your life depends not just upon guile and cunning, but speed and the ability to quickly disappear into the maze of city streets.

Rafe massaged his sore arms with his hands, his shivering body soon felt his sweat turn cold, his soggy clothing soon sent chills down his spine, made his stair stand on end. Rafe finally groaned as he began to push himself up, the time had passed without notice and though he could not see the sun behind a ghastly gray cloud, the winds blew thrown away refuse into the streets, either it would be a pouring storm, or night would eventually come…likely both. No matter how it happened Rafe was in the dire trouble of losing his good health as he was about to live as a homeless street urchin once more.

As Rafe stood up, rubbing his both his triceps as he repeatedly, and rapidly, exhaled the man turned into the alley, his presence congruous with a foreboding shadow lengthen down the alley's path.

"Please wait Rafe," the man called out, his tone pleading for him.

Rafe's legs cried out against running more, and as he looked down the alley he looked back at the man. His face was saddened, despairing, yet Rafe saw no treachery or foreboding feeling, his gut feeling, unexpectedly, was that he was not working to kill him.

Rafe looked back at the end of the alley once more, his brow slightly furrowed, and he let his legs give out, the boots sliding away as his butt dropped to the ground. He did not look at the man, his eyes remained looking forward, his head slightly tilted, his ruffled hair slightly tussled by a passing wind, he had nowhere to run to.

"How did you find me?" Rafe questioned, his curiosity sapped by his exhaustion.

"Because I knew where you lived," the man responded, his feet cautiously shortening the gap between himself and Rafe.

Rafe looked at him warily, the response did not make sense, it needed an explanation.

"Almost one year ago I was sent by King Shalom to find out what had happened to his good friend Kaye, and more importantly…the boy he was protecting, mentoring, and teaching," the man quickly explained, his breathing labored as he slowly sat down as Rafe had.

Rafe did not look at the man; he quickly scoffed at the notion's ridiculous implications. "Why should I believe that?"

"Does it matter? Why the hell would I chase you and lie to you about it? Why would you be almost assassinated with Kaye? Why would I know this was your old hideout?" the man responded. "You don't have to believe me, but I'm here to bring you to King Shalom's court, to announce you as the heir to the Alcatas throne…why wouldn't you want that?"

Rafe sighed and looked up to the overcast sky, his response was silence.

"Shalom had you when he was a mere prince. He secretly married your mother due to his father's bigotry, however, when you were born your mother died, he could not keep you not after the woman he loved died, so he called upon a trusted friend, Kaye. Since then Kaye has sent letters to the king updating him of your progress, though the reports stopped…leading him to believe something terrible had happened," the man explained. "I have spent months looking into every place Kaye ever visited with you, each place showing signs of desertion for months. When I came to this place and saw it had been burned down…I was frightened you had been assassinated as Kaye had been. I soon went to every place Kaye had ever visited in every Nation…it was by chance I visited this city once more, hoping to find some trace of you…and I did."

Rafe lowered his head, looked at the man, and opened his lips. "Am I supposed to fall in love with a stranger who is connected to me biologically? Am I supposed to follow you with joy and happiness to see my real 'father'? Why the hell should I love a man who I've never known?"

"I don't expect you to love him," the man replied dryly. "I am merely offering you the opportunity to a better life. You will have your dreams within your grasp, teaching, training, everything you wanted with the city guards will be given to you tenfold. You have what boys' dream of, all you need do is accept it."

Rafe looked at him, the question's answer was obvious, yet Rafe still felt his gut and mind relentlessly reminded him the folly of hastened decisions. Rafe closed his eyes and, his neck slightly relaxing, and looked at the man with a stone face.

"If I'm going to travel with you…what do you go by?" he asked.

"Call me Sherd," the man replied.

Rafe soon found himself following Sherd as he made his way through the streets of Celyia to arrive in the Delya Fort. Rafe arrived once more, Sherd quickly escorted him through the quiet corridors to the spiraling staircase. The man and the boy quickly ascended the stairs, Rafe slightly bewildered as why they had returned. As they came to Marque's quarters, the door creaked open, Marque looking up from his paper work with mild surprise.

"I assume you lost him again Sherd?" Marque asked, Rafe still hidden behind the man.

"No no, I knew where he would go," Sherd responded confidently, turning his head back looking down at Rafe with a subtle wink.

Marque saw Rafe appear from behind the man's shadow, his face stone cold as he looked at the man who had worked with him for months. Marque laughed, a deep rumble from his gut springing forth.

"I'm impressed Sherd. I assume he didn't jump for the opportunity to live the life of a prince?" Marque smiled, his face looking down at a paper as he scrawled over it.

"He took some convincing…but he did," Sherd admitted.

"Well Rafe," Marque looked up, pushing his chair back. "You've been more help to this city than you know. The effects may appear small at first…but given time your actions could have profound consequences for us…consequences for the better thankfully…you're a real hero you know."

Rafe looked at Marque, and sighed. "I'm not a hero."

"Regardless, you're going to have a long trip to Sordstorm. Marque has a generous offer to give you," Sherd explained, nodding to Marque.

Marque smiled as he pulled several books off his book shelves, they were worn, the pages slightly torn, many pages showing marks and notes scrawled through them.

"I thought you'd like these books," Marque smiled. "I thought you'd like ones with notes already written in them instead of brand new, gives you a perspective to debate against while reading…you always enjoyed verbal and ideological conflict while studying."

Rafe looked at him, his thankfulness dug away at him as acid against him impassive nature. He saw himself hugging Marque for all he had done, yet he held himself back.

"Thank you," he replied calmly, his hands greedily grabbing to the books, his knuckles pressing white as his fingers dug into the leather flaps.

Rafe stepped back, as if turning to leave. "Thank you for everything."

"You've been like a son to not just myself, but my guards," Marque said, his smile disappearing as he appeared with a solemn seriousness. "Never forget what you've done here."

Rafe nodded, his green eyes sharpening as he turned and followed Sherd down the stairs to his personal sleeping quarter. Rafe found the brown leather bag his tutor had given him months ago; he quickly put the new books inside it. He picked his cloak from the floor, whipping it in the air to rid the dirt and dust which had attached to it while he used it as a blanket.

As Rafe was about to leave, the guards had already started to switch shifts, and of course Marque had let them know he was leaving.

The guards quickly swarmed him, both old and new, each man saying their farewell to the boy. Rafe was overcome with sadness over leaving them, an emotion he never would've predicted to feel. It had been years since he had felt attached to anything, but to his own surprise, he had in fact grown to care for the guards, all the time he spent watching them had revealed their true colors to him…something which endeared each of them to him.