It was dark and cloudy, but not rainy that midsummer’s night. The full moon was but a patch of lighter gray in the dome of clouds cast over the heavens, occasionally slipping out a weak finger of light to barely brush the earth beneath it. The castle was eerily silent, but that was usual, as none were awake at this hour. Suddenly, there was a creak as a great wooden door was opened, and a pair of men stepped into a small bedroom of the castle. None stirred, for the residents were long used to the sound of patrolling guards walking about at night. The mens’ feet made barely a sound as they tiptoed across the cobblestone floor, their shadows dancing as the fire from the single torch in the room flickered. A man woke the young prince lying in the bed, whose eyes now opened slightly, and helped him out. “Everything will be all right now,” he said softly. “Everything will be all right.”
    A group of young, rag-tag, adventurous-looking men gathered in a small cave, set into a mountain opposite the capital city of the great empire of Erianide. The dirt walls now looked almost orange in the glow of the fire in the back, and the entrance had been blocked off with stones, making for a very small, but warm and secure hideaway. They wore the simple clothing of commoners - dark boots and baggy white pants and shirts, with the addition of long, sharp swords or bows and arrow quivers - but held themselves with a certain subtle dignity not seen in most people, one that showed signs of anticipation and cunning, ones of calculating mischief. Almost like children, but their eyes were deeper, darker. They were only eight in number, but they were intelligent and strong. One man stepped into the center of the lopsided circle they had made, holding a long scroll in both hands. “Schematics,” he said proudly, his voice strong and clear, but only just loud enough for all to hear. He thrust forward the scroll, which he now began to playfully twirl in his left hand like a baton. “If we are to succeed, we must study the territory we are set out to explore and memorize every dead end, false passage, any narrow means of escape. Our job is not an easy one, but it is one we must carry out without fail.” He then opened the roll of paper and set it on the ground for all to see. The remaining men squinted at it, tilted their heads, looking at the piece of paper with a slight suspicion. They could not be cheated at a time like this. Soon enough, one of the men smiled. “You’ve done good,” he said stepping forward, and clapped the scroll bearer on the back. The man smiled in return, and the rest of the men smiled and congratulated him as well. Then they all crouched around the map, beginning to plan their avenue.
    The following day, a young man barely out of his teens, only 20 years of age, sat meticulously perched on a windowsill of a castle. His nimble boyhood skill of climbing high places had not begun to leave him yet. Occasionally, a pleasantly cool breeze would blow through the summer heat, causing his hair to flutter sideways across his face and become disheveled. He hated this, and was subsequently condemned to fussily readjusting his dark blonde locks every few minutes. He still had a childish attitude toward little things like these, and was a bit reckless like a young boy. But he was still the most intelligent and skillful among his friends, which was why he had been able to scale the wall unseen and unheard. The window he stood by had been boarded up for privacy long ago, but he did not plan to enter, so it only gave him an advantage. He only intended to listen unnoticed. There was a loud, husky, authoritative voice inside. “War council meeting in ten minutes, my Lord!” Then a pause. “Everyone else please gather into the room!” The shuffling of feet could now be heard as people began to assume their positions, talking all the while. Their discussion was only mutters of small talk, stressed, by no doubt. But there was really no other way to act while planning a great war. There was silence for a few minutes, and the young man silently leaned back on the wooden board, arms crossed casually, and surveyed the land around him. The castle was atop a great, green, grassy hill, with large farming fields ahead of him and great blue mountains miles behind them. To his left, the rest of the great capital city spread for miles and miles, with merry shops and houses lining the cobblestone streets. To his right stood the sheer drop of a cliff not a mile from the castle wall, a great column of rock plunging into the rolling sea beneath. He stood for some time watching the waves roll back and forth, combining and crashing with each other on the rocks, when he heard more rustling from inside. “Greetings, my Lord,” the men said in unison. They were bowing to the king, no doubt. “You may sit,” came his commanding, yet dignified voice. Not quite rude, but authoritative enough. “We have important matters to discuss today.” More rustling as everyone sat down. The king continued, an eerie calmness in his composure. “The savages of the Verynion kingdom are planning to attack us soon. Our spies have been telling us of their plans for weeks, and we have done everything in our power to stop them. But they have the numbers that we do not.” The man squinted through a tiny crack in the wood, which allowed him to barely make out the rectangular table around which the members sat, a large map of the nine kingdoms of Erianide lying on its surface. There were also varying battle pieces placed upon it, marking the positions of armies around the country. “Eight of the nine kingdoms have already fallen. The enemy seems to have thought out this conquest well. But as long as we guard this city and kingdom-” he moved all the army pieces to surround the kingdom and the capital city within it - “we will be all right. I am sure that there are no spies within the armies, so we have no fear of infiltration through that route. Our men are strong, strategic. They will protect the kingdom and drive the Verynion back across the sea.” “Your grace,” one of the council men began, “aren’t the enemies within the other eight kingdoms already? We are already drowning in their number, victory or not.” “True,” replied the king. “But we are the largest kingdom, and by the word of our spies, there are barely any of the enemy in the other kingdoms; most of them are here, planning to attack us. And besides, we cannot simply stand down to the Verynion. If we are the last shard of hope for this empire we must fight back." His voice took on an intense, more commanding tone; his eyes contained fire. "This empire is not made of shivering peasants who know not how to handle a bow. They are of courageous men who are willing to die for their homeland. We will win. There is still hope. Our kingdom is the very center of the empire; it must be the strongest. We are the steel heart in the clockwork of an immortal being. We will not stand down when there still is a way to win.” There was silence as his words washed over the intimidated council members. The boy continued to stare through the crack, his amber eyes blending well enough into the wood. Or so he hoped. He swallowed, his throat making a quiet “click,” sound as he did so. He was quite concerned with the war, but he had no doubt that they would win. But naturally there was still the slightest doubt lingering in his mind, the seed of an idea that he was resisting to let grow. But he had every right to be concerned. Once the Verynion attacked, the the Erianide empire would entirely fall if the capital city was taken. The Verynion’s victory would result in complete chaos and dictatorship, and the empire would enter a dark age of suffering. He pushed the thought away and chewed his lip, continuing to watch thoughtfully.
A few hours later, the young man returned to the cave. It was already dark outside, but it was still warm for it was summer. “Oi! I’m back, nitwits, let me in!” he called, banging on the stone for the sake of it. His childish attitude was showing as he grinned like a fool, but he didn't mind. Someone slid aside a large, flat rock to create an opening for him to enter. He ducked through it and replaced the stone behind him. “Oh, you didn’t die, blond? I’m so glad,” his best friend called flatly from across the room. There was a friendly glint in his eyes and a hint of amusement on his youthful, but sarcastically straight face. The young man grinned back. “It takes more than a tall column of rocks to kill me,” he replied, mockingly puffing out his chest and placing his hands on his hips. The two began to laugh, and another man clapped him on the back. “Aye, but if a single stone is thrown on your head, we’ll see just how long you’ll last!” They all chuckled at that, and for a moment it was possible to believe that they were just a band of young men sitting together in playful banter. Then the spy readjusted his silky blond hair and cleared his throat. The room was silent by now. “The Verynion are moving quickly,” he began, and the playful mood of the moment before instantly turned to one of dread and apprehension. “The king believes his men are strong enough to hold them back, but we know more of the Verynion’s methods and intentions than he. We must carry out our plan soon if we are to save this kingdom. At this rate they will be ready to attack the capital city in five days. We will continue watching for the right moment. But I warn you, my brothers. It is near.”
    Five days later, the Verynion had already penetrated through most of the country and was near the border of the capital city. That night the band of young men had to make their move, or it would all be over. They sat in their cave that day, finalizing their plans. But the jokes and casual banter, even regular conversation, had ceased to a minimum. Even the youngest man with the blond hair was quiet. The mischievous smirk was absent on his face, and his amber eyes seemed darker, more terrified, often staring off at something far away. He was chewing his lip again. Everyone noticed this, but none disturbed him from his thoughts. They all understood his apprehension, for they remembered once experiencing it themselves.
    The sun sank below the horizon, allowing the pitch blackness of night to swallow up the slowly dying country. The men tiptoed out of their hiding place and slowly snuck their way through the forest surrounding the city, making their way for the castle at its far side. Each of them carried swords-some strapped them to their waists, others to their backs. It was only a matter personal preference. As they crept nearer, they began to hear the sound of the waves crashing against the great cliff. Dread was beginning to fill the young boy’s mind again. He rolled his shoulders nervously, feeling the sword strapped across his back. He swallowed yet again, comforted slightly by the signature “click,” and began to feel his own heart beating in his chest. Beating, beating, beating. He could hear it now as it thrummed louder and louder. It was the only sound in the world, drowning out even the now louder sound of the crashing waves they were creeping closer to. The young man’s best friend, whose red hair now looked silver in the moonlight, poked him lightly in the arm. “Hey,” he whispered, and they slowed their pace to create some distance between themselves and the others. “Don’t let any of this get into your mind. It’s your first adventure, I know you’re scared. Just don’t think about it. Focus on something else. Anything else.” A pause. The boy continued to stare straight ahead and chew his lip. “You’ll do just fine,” the other boy reassured. “I know you will. We’ll all be heroes after this is all over.” “I know,” the younger man replied. They quickened their pace in a comfortable silence, catching up with the others who were just visible in the moonlight. He smiled and ruffled the blond boy’s hair affectionately, causing him to grin for just a moment and readjust it again. The two continued to walk side by side until the group reached the castle, its great stone walls towering above them. The eight ducked behind a bush and reviewed their plans one last time. Before they broke apart, the group’s leader gave them a few words of encouragement-or more like words of pressurement, the young man thought. “Whatever happens tonight,” he began in a hushed yet courageous tone, “is not going to be unexpected. We've been planning for enough time; long enough that this mission will succeed. We are going to end this war before the greatest battle ever begins. We are here to save this land, or die trying.” He looked up. Vast, dark clouds were beginning to cover the light of the moon. “Now is our chance,” he said, looking back at his comrades. “I wish you all the best.” The men stood up and bid each other luck, each trying to contain the apprehension within their minds. Then they began making their way towards the castle, each in separate directions.
    There was no wind that night, and the clouds helped create deeper, darker shadows for the young man to hide in. He crouched in the shadows, counting off the time he had been told to wait before moving forward. After a few minutes, he pulled a hood over his head to conceal his face and golden hair. Then he moved closer to the wall and threw a grappling hook onto the top. It latched on and he began his steady climb up the daunting face of the great cobblestone wall. While climbing, he thought over the plan in his mind. He and his friend were to find the prince’s chambers, while two other men would go to the king’s. The queen had died a few months before. He gritted his teeth as he continued to climb, minutes passing as slowly as snow caps on the mountains would melt. I am here to save this country, he thought to himself later. I am here to restore order to the nine kingdoms. He let out an exhausted breath, pausing for a moment and wiping the sheen off his brow. He was still about two-thirds from the top. He took a deep breath as he continued on, not daring to look down. The world will finally be the way it is supposed to be, he thought. I will be a hero. My friends and I will be heroes. Saviors. I am a savior. His arms were shaking now. There were still about ten yards ahead of him. He paused for a second, closed his eyes. He released the tension from his feet and swung from the rope, eyes still closed. He smiled, remembering when he used to swing from trees, swings, clotheslines-anything he could possibly swing on-as a young boy. He imagined for a few seconds that he was simply flying through the air, that the wall, the entire mission, was part of another world.  Then reopened his eyes, his mind now calm and clear, and reset his focus to the task ahead of him. He scaled the last ten yards with ease. He saw his friend on the opposite end of the wall, his red hair barely visible in the dim light. They met each other at a door on one of the towers. The two boys smiled grimly at each other, finally being able to express a fraction of their uncertainty. My best friend is not going to die here, they both thought. If one of us is caught, it shall be me. The red-haired boy took in a breath and opened the door. They both descended down the stairwell and began to make their way toward the prince’s chambers, melting into the shadows to conceal their presence. There were no guards about, for four of the eight men had already explained the situation to them. The boy pushed his hood back and allowed himself to relax. Everything is going according to plan, he told himself. Everything will be all right.
    The boy glanced out one of the windows as the tiptoed past down the dark halls. It was dark and cloudy, but not yet rainy that midsummer’s night. The full moon was now but a patch of lighter gray in the dome of clouds cast over the heavens, occasionally slipping out a weak finger of light to barely brush the earth beneath it. The castle was eerily silent, but that was usual, as none were awake at this hour. The boy stopped suddenly, and grabbed his friend’s arm. “This door,” he whispered, and the other nodded. They slowly, quietly, picked open the lock, and there was a creak as they carefully opened the great wooden door, and stepped into the small bedroom of the castle. None stirred, as far as they could tell, for the residents were long used to the sound of patrolling guards walking about at night. The mens’ feet made barely a sound as they tiptoed across the cobblestone floor, their shadows dancing as the fire from the single torch in the room flickered. A baby lay on a small bed next to the wall of the room. The boy’s throat clicked as he swallowed nervously, and gently woke the young prince lying in the bed, whose eyes now opened slightly, and carried him up. Held him in his arms. “Everything will be all right now,” he said softly. “Everything will be all right.” His friend was waiting at the door, a strange tension in his face. He looked back into the room. “I hear something. Do it. Now.” The boy closed his eyes. “Everything will be all right,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “Everything will be all right.” He squeezed his eyes shut now. Squeezed stronger. And stronger, and stronger. He was shaking now. But he squeezed even stronger. The baby struggled in his arms for a while. And then it lay still. The boy opened his eyes, which were now brimming with tears. He set the infant back on his bed, tucked into the soft blanket the way they first saw him. If the boy didn’t look closely enough, he could almost pretend it was still only sleeping. He blinked, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Then he turned around, and he and his friend bolted out the door and silently made the escape to their pre designated meeting point. Not another tear escaped the brim of his eyelids as they ran. The last of the king’s lineage had been dealt with. Their job was done.
    The guards could not have done a thing, for the Verynion spies had planned well. Four of them had gone ahead and “spoken to” the guards, only uttering a brief “Hello!” out of mocking courtesy before silencing them. Though they were so small in number, they were silent and quick, making them enough to incapacitate all the king’s staff, which had left the castle vulnerable and defenseless. The king’s death thus rendering the army useless, the Verynion attacked the capital city the following day with the help of the spies that had been placed into the Erianide army. They attacked with great aggression. With fire, with screaming. And with no remorse. And that was the day the world fell into darkness.
A young man with dark blond hair and mischievous amber eyes stood upon a hill far away and watched the battle below him. There was a wind blowing, ruffling his silky hair and condemning him to readjust it often, and he chewed his lip thoughtfully as he looked upon the carnage. His remorse was already washed away by the pleasure of watching the trouble they’d caused. He smirked as he watched the terrorized Erianide citizens sprinting through the streets, screaming, crying in the red light of the setting sun. He closed his eyes for a second and heard the screaming, the clash of weapons. The roaring sound of fires being set, and the distant crash of the waves against the great cliff on which the castle stood. He felt the cool wind and let it push him gently backwards, push him gently away from the city. He listened to the whistling as it rushed past his ears and caused his hair to gently brush the back of his neck. Then he slowly opened his eyes, his mind cleared. He glanced left, then right, watching his seven friends observe the battle before them. After a while they all turned their backs on the scene and walked down the hill together. The highly-skilled swordsmen and archers-troublemakers, they dubbed themselves, though that would be saying the very least. They simply walked on, smiling at what they had done, and never looked back.