Her days of waiting, of being locked in a cell, were over. Life in the cold depths of the Capitol – the center of the High City – hadn’t been too different when compared with sleeping on the streets. However, she hadn’t seen the sky in so long. She missed the sun – the mornings and evenings of watching the sun appear and then disappear at the edge of the world. She missed running over the rooftops, the wind chilling her skin. And now she would never see this world again. She had made a mistake and she would surely die. Her punishment would be death, and the Seven Sins would not be gracious enough to grant her one last request.

Now was the time. They had drugged her – how and when was unknown to her. But they had taken her from her prison and transported her somewhere else. Metal walls were now her cage – and they seemed to hum with energy. Gathering strength, she pulled herself to her feet. She rubbed at the raw skin at her wrists which were finally free of the cuffs that had bound her. She could still feel the weight of her pocket knife that still somehow remained in her pocket. Circling the area, she tried to find an exit, but the walls were seamless. But as time drew on, the hum seemed to grow and she could feel the vibration of the floor beneath her. The only explanation she could come up with was that she was in a machine. The ground shuttered, throwing her into one of the metal walls. Fear filled her as the temperature began to quickly rise.

Over her beating heart she heard a loud buzz and the sound of static. “Prisoner 162 found guilty of thievery and treachery against the system. The Seven Sins have blessed you with disintegration.”

The words chilled her to the bone. Being of the High City, she knew that she possessed certain traits that people of the lower worlds did not have. But there was no way to survive disintegration. Out of all the options of how to die, she did not want to be pulled apart atom by atom – to leave nothing behind. The thought was too much to bear. And to die in such a confined space … all she wanted was to be free.

The floor beneath her rocked and her cage grew louder as the gears whirled and electricity crackled. And then the world around her went quiet. The world turned white as a resounding bang resounded through the air. The machine rocked back and her head slammed into the metal. Blood dripped down the back of her head, and as she lifted her gaze, she felt as if the world had slowed around her. As the white haze thinned, time seemed to still. It was then that the wall seemed to melt away and she found herself falling backwards. The world of metal was replaced with bright blue.

Phoenix could feel the wind whipping through her hair and she was enveloped in the sensation of falling. Instinct took over - habit developed from running through the High City. In seconds her feet slammed into the ground. Her knees bent and her hands slammed into the ground, trying to absorb the shock of the impact. Her muscles and bones ached as she remained still, crouched down in the small crater. Her rapidly beating heart was evidence that she was still alive.

---

The routine was always the same. Wake up early in the morning to tend to the animals. Fresh water was always needed as well dry feed. After that, it was to the fields to tend to the grains and vegetables that grew there. His hands were rough and covered by calluses, no longer smooth like the royals in the palace. It was rough work out here, but it was a good life. Fate had led him to this tiny village, to the Rivers who did not care to know of the young boy’s crime.

And it was upon this farm he had been raised. Things that he had learned were of no use out here, except for maybe the small practice he had with a sword. But then again, he had learned much more from the boys in the village. He had at least learned to hold his own in a fight without weapons. Straightening his back, he dug the shovel into the ground and leaned against it. Whipping his forehead, he surveyed the area around him – enjoying the peace that was present.

Jaxon had no future besides what lay before him. It was a future he still found difficult to accept. Every day he interacted with commoners, people who worked more and earned less than those in the castle so far away. And there was nothing he could do for these people, not as a criminal. Lifting the shovel, the man made his way to the farm house, where he placed the shovel before making his way around to the path that led to the village. There was going to be a royal decree, and he knew what it would be about. His father was dying, and therefore the decree could only be an announcement of his father’s death and the official announcement that his uncle would rise to throne.

However, as the man dressed in royal garb spoke, the prince could barely believe his ears. "And thus it is decreed that whomever shall present the Thief of Time to the Royal Court shall be the one true heir. His Royal Majesty King Edward."

Finally his chance had come. He could have to leave this village and try to recall as much of the legend as he could from the tales his mother had taught him. Perhaps the future was not set in stone, and maybe fate would give him back what was stolen all those years ago.

Hunter

The man was more than angry he was enraged – outrageously enraged that his ears were red. Lord Thomas Hallowgem, King Edward’s brother-in-law and most trusted advisor, sat behind his desk, grudgingly signing papers. He lifted his gray head when the assassin entered the room and looked at him as if he was just another bothersome child instead of the assassin that he himself summoned to his study. Lord Thomas didn’t bother to mask the frustration he was feeling, he simply let it crumple his already wrinkled face and gestured for Hunter to take a seat.

Truth be told, Hunter would rather be chained inside enemy territory, interrogated by those who had perfected the art of torture, than be sitting in the same room as the late queen’s brother. Lord Thomas Hallowgem was not a pleasant man in general, more so when his face was red with fury.

Not that he was afraid of the man. Although stripped of all his weapons, Hunter could kill Lord Thomas with his bare hands if he thought it beneficial. But the lord was Hunter’s patron, which therefore exempts Hallowgem from the assassin’s whim.

“You are the brightest of Mooton’s boys,” said Hallowgem.

Perhaps, because Hunter already had an idea what was making this man so mad. Nevertheless, he kept his face straight and nodded without a word. He learned that he was more formidable looking that way and that people responded positively with fear. Sometimes even Hallowgem seemed afraid of him, but not that morning.

“I have a special assignment for you, Hunter Pyne. An assignment that will land you a position, a title, and a land should you succeed,” the older man continued. His voice was calm when he spoke and some of the lines that denoted his anger seemed to disappear. He had placed down all his papers and was instead seemed fully interested in memorizing the face of his assassin, who still spoke neither a word nor showed any emotion in his presence. “Have you heard of the artifact called ‘Thief of Time’?”

Hunter answered truthfully. “I have, on occasions, heard of it when I was a boy learning about the culture and lore of Westlands.”

Hallowgem leaned back on his chair and clasped his hands together on his stomach. The man was old enough to be Hunter’s father, but Thomas Hallowgem was a lean man with an almost flat stomach and straight back that could only be from years of discipline in the military. “Good to hear that Gerrad takes care of his boys’ education as much as their training. Now, I want you to bring back the Thief of Time for me, Hunter.”

Bring it back? Did the old man hit his head? Hunter cleared his throat. He was not used to questioning authority, but bringing back a fabled artifact was insane. He was an assassin not a treasure hunter. Perhaps Hallowgem had been wrong to summon Hunter in the room. “With all due respect, my lord, there is no evidences” the assassin started slowly, choosing his words as they came out of his mouth. “That such an artifact exists. I recommend consulting a scholar to research the possibility that it is real.”
Hunter expected a harsh rebuke from his superior, but other than the burrowing together of Lord Hallowgem’s brows, there was nothing. “That is a viable first step. I am giving you only until the first snow falls to the earth to bring me the artifact. If not, it shall be your head that will be brought to my feet,” the lord said.

He would want to see the men that Thomas would send try to take his head from his shoulder. If it was another man he was talking to, Hunter would have snorted at the idea.

“The person who will return the artifact to the castle shall be crowned the king.” Hallowgem showed the document that he was signing with a snarl. “This is the last decree of our late King Edward. The high council supports and shall enforce it. Once the edict is out every man – highborn and peasant – shall vie for the throne, but none is more fitting than I to sit on it. I am giving you a head start by telling you the information in advance. I expect to have the artifact before the first day of winter.” He leveled Hunter with a cold gaze, a silent threat saying that Hunter could not think about taking the throne for himself.

“I understand, your highness,” he said after a short pause.

Hunter was granted funds and all the resources he would need to find the artifact. He left the castle early the following day and started riding disguised as a young heir of a lord disguising as a peasant.

Lilliana

It had not yet been a week since King Edward passed away and the whole kingdom was still in mourning. Suddenly black was very fashionable. Even in a place as far away from the capital as the province of Larton, one could feel the heavy atmosphere brought about by the loss of a well loved leader. At least Lilliana felt the lingering grief in her solitude.

That day was the day that the Westlands would lay their king down to his final resting place. Her father and brothers together with her mother went into the capital to pay their last respects to the late king. Lilliana had been left behind, not of her own will, of course. Sometimes she wondered whether or not she was a daughter borne of her parents’ flesh and blood. Not that she neither look like her parents nor her siblings, but because her parents treated her differently from her brothers when the only real difference was that she was a girl.

The young woman sat on a fallen tree trunk with moss softening its bark in the middle of a clearing. Her dress would be ruined and her mother would not approve of her sulking alone in the woods. Then again, her mother would not see her in a few days or even weeks so Lilliana didn’t care.

There was nothing to do inside the house and nobody to stop her from preventing her to do what she wanted to do. The woods were a lovely place, which she frequented with her brothers as a child, but as she grew older, her mother became strict when it comes to her daily itinerary.

As she sat there though, with her legs dangling over the edge and a book balanced on her lap, the sound of rushing air caught her attention. She looked up to rustling leaves, then higher towards the clear blue skies. Her eyes widened and she felt the sudden hammering of her heart on her chest as the sight of a bright ball of fire falling down from the sky towards… her.

Lilliana didn’t have time to react. Actually, she did, but fear and surprise stunned her where she sat. The ball descended fast and hit the ground with a sound she could only compare to a thunder clap. The earth shook and she fell off the tree trunk. Curiosity pushed her to look into what fell off the sky.

“A woman?” she asked more to herself than to anybody else. Still shaky, she got to her feet and cocked her head to the side. A woman was indeed at the center of the dent on the ground.

“Are you alright?” she called out. But in her mind, she kept on thinking how could the anybody be alright after falling off the sky?

The air felt thick as she drew in a long breath. It rested upon her lungs. The air also seemed to lack the taint of pollution. It was fresher and less stale. She could feel the rays of the sun warm her back as she remained still within the crater. The impact may have proved fatal to someone else. But for the thief, a few aching joins was all she was suffering from. That was a good thing though. She was breathing. She was hurting. Such things would be impossible if she had been pulled apart atom by atom. There would be no flesh or bone to worry about harming.

So she had to be alive. By some miracle she was alive. The idea sent a chill down her spine, the hairs on her arms prickling in response. She had escaped death once before, which had given her name. But to escape death twice, that seemed impossible. Yet here she was. But where was here? The world around her was strange – different from the world she was used to seeing. The ground was green, concrete and desolation no longer in sight. She had seen grass before, mostly mixed with the measly weeds that tried to grow through cracks. But this was far different; she lifted her head as she gazed at the world around her.

While in the Capitol, she had seen the murals, the pictures that portrayed a world such as this. But the sight of it before her amazed her. Perhaps this was heaven – or the afterlife. This was no the lower lands, for it seemed that this world was untouched by human hands. While the High City was desolate, there had to be some evidence left of the time when the High City was first created. Or perhaps she was just ignorant, and all the legends that the world below were far better were all true.

All these thoughts and speculation were pushed aside as she heard a voice – and realized that the voice was directed towards her. Turning to face the woman who did not look like anyone she had ever encountered in the High City. “I’m fine,” she answered. “Far better than I was, I think.”

Perhaps her words didn’t make sense – but neither did this place. Phoenix lifted her gaze to the sky, expecting to see some large land mass blocking out the sky – but she saw nothing. She had fallen, that was for sure. But the sky was far more brilliant than she remembered.

“Where is this place?” she wondered as she turned her attention back to the girl who could possibly be the only person that would be able to answer all the questions floating around in her head.

---

In the center of the small village square was a block of stone. For most of the year it seemed like a meaningless spot in the market square. However, days like today revealed its true purpose. For a man in regal garb with a finely pressed suit and frills stood upon the block. He seemed out of place with the fancy attire he wore, the bright colors contracted with the dull, worn clothes of the farmers and peasants. Yet the man did not stand to be a spectacle. The stranger lifted the parchment in his hands.

“Our great King Edward has left this world to join the great kings that had come before him and to be reunited with his dear late queen. The Westlands – we shall morn our loss.”

Sorrow took root within his heart as the words of his father’s passing filled the air. Even after all the years that had passed, he held no grudge towards his father the king. Or if he had, any hatred had vanished with the knowledge that time had stripped him of his last opportunity to see or speak to the man who had tried to teach him what it meant to be a crown prince. Aged bitterness and hate seethed to the surface, suffocating the feelings of sorrow. Time was not to blame for his loss. It was the high council and his very own uncle. With the beloved Lord Thomas Hallowgem on the throne, Jaxon wondered how long he would be able to remain in the village that was on the outskirts of the kingdom. Surely the new king did not want someone wandering around spreading lies that the newest king had been involved in plotting his own sister’s murder.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Jaxon moved to leave the crowd. He slowed his movements however as he noticed the strange actions of the messenger. The man seemed to be sweating a bit, as if he was nervous about what he was about to say. The exiled prince lingered to hear the rest of what the royal messenger had to say.

“The man who shall inherit the throne, the man who shall maintain the peace of the Westlands, shall be the very person who presents the Thief of Time to the high council. Whatever history this man may have, whether he be rich or poor, a criminal or innocent, does not matter. For the person who finds and returns the precious artifact to the castle will be a man worthy enough to inherit the throne. Blessings unto whoever may embark on this quest. Such is the last decree of the late King Edward.”

Shock spread through the crowd, the murmuring of whispers all around. And for once in long time, Jaxon felt there was a way to change his fate. Memories of his mother filtered through his mind, the stories she would tell of the legend that was well known throughout the kingdom. The first to break from the crowd, dust stirred beneath his feet as he rushed towards the farm house. This was his chance – it was time to leave this small village behind and to venture after his future. And while he was not quite certain where to find the artifact, he knew that it was in this village. He needed to go someplace else – a busier town that would be a buzz with rumors of where the legendary artifact would be found.

Hunter

The High Council was older than its white-haired members. It was formed over a hundred years ago to serve as the king’s advisors and trusted allies. It was composed of the lords of the four most influential houses in Westlands. Their power and wealth was borne from the fact that the King chose them to be among the privileged member of the High Council. However, a position in the High Council was not permanent. It was all dependent on the ruling monarch’s whim.

Hunter thought that there was therefore no reason for the old men of the High Council not to take advantage of the King’s last proclamation.

The assassin stood amidst the crowd of peasants before a well-dressed noble. The man was standing on a platform with knights in polished armors at his back. He was reading a copy of what Lord Hallowgem had been signing the morning that the lord sent his assassin away on a mission. This meant that the head start was over and everyone who was ambitious enough to take the throne would be on the move.

He waited until the messenger dismissed the crowd. He walked with them, senses alert, and listened to every conversation within earshot. It was a good time to gather information, because the people would be brainstorming what they knew about the legend.

That night, Hunter sat with middle class men inside the Twin Head Pub. It was not the best place to spend the night after a full day of research, but he was not yet done with research. He learned that men were more cooperative when possessed with the spirit of alcohol. This was why he had been the one paying for the food and drink of his new found friends.

Lilliana

Lilliana fell off her perch on the log. Her bottom hurt, possibly bruising, and she scraped her palm against the bark of the tree. If she landed the wrong way, she could have broken a bone. On the other hand, the red-haired woman fell from the sky. Lilliana’s gaze lifted to the clear blue sky spread above the leaves of the trees then back down to the woman who had affirmed that she was fine.

“You fell from the sky,” she said, just barely a whisper. Her heart was hammering in her chest from the shock of her fall and this stranger’s. There was much difference between her fallen log and the sky. She was hurting, this red-haired woman should be too.

Sensing that she was gaping at the stranger, Lilliana took a steadying breath, brushed dirt from her skirt, and lifted her chin high. “I am sure there is a good explanation for all of these,” she said in her imperious voice. “You are in our property, my lady, in Bromwich. My name is Lilliana Ironsmith. I am afraid you are trespassing in our territory.” It was not their territory, of course. She was not that rich as to own the woods. “However, if you would tell me where you are from, and,” she looked the stranger over, from her read head to her toes, then back to her head again. “And what are you wearing? Did you need a tailor? My mother knows excellent tailors that she may introduce to your mother. And – and I am blabbering, am I not?”

She sighed and bent down to pick up her book. The pages were soiled, but thankfully the letters were still readable. “I cannot believe what I saw. You fell from the sky, miss, and it is just not possible.”