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.