THE NEW WORLD:
The Darkest Hour

Written by S.Lochran
~~CHAPTER ONE~~

ASHES to ASHES

The morning light shone down from the birth of the sun on the tiny village of Hope. Early rising villagers went about their business, doing their jobs, greeting eachother with cheer. The baker prepared bread in his large oven, the bookeeper unlocked the door to the library, preparing for the children that would arrive in a few hours time to be taught, the swordsmith banged tenderly at the white hot blade held in his hands, determined to make this his greatest sword ever. In the distance, away from the hustle and bustle of the village, a lone figure stood. A young boy, looking over the happenings of the morning. He turned, walking back up the hill, to a large house at the top. He passed through the doorway, adjusted his eyes to the dark, and walked up the stairs to the second floor. He went down the hallway, and slid the door at the end of it open. In the middle of the room stood a man wearing heavy metallic armour. He slid his battlesword into its sheath as he the boy.
"Good morning,Azriel. You're up bright and early. Sleep better last night?" the big man smiled. He slid a helmet onto his head as the young boy answered. "I slept better. Dad, do I have to go to Kurr today? Can't I miss practice once?" The large man bent over, kissed his wife, asleep in bed, on the cheek, and walked out of the room with Azriel in pursuit.
"I realise you want to spend today with your friends, I was the same at your age, but you need to train. You're going to be the Guardian of this village someday, and you need to master your abilities before then."
"Dad, I don't have any friends. I haven't been able to make any because I don't go to schooling at Bellet's library. None of the other kids talk to me cause they're...I don't know....scared of me, I guess." Azriel's father smiled again
"Believe it or not, young pup, but you're not THAT scary. Not yet, anyway." The man grabbed an apple, bit into it, and walked outside. Sitting on the back of an armoured horse was another man wearing a battle suit, this one with a beard, much longer than Azriel's father.
"How are you this fine morning, Commander Samara?" asked the brutish looking man. "I'm well, Barbun. How are you and your wife?"
"Excellent. The baby will be born in another three weeks. Nalla is resting at home. Your wife?" The friendly conversation stopped there. Samara had an expression of sorrow.
"I'm sorry. She's still...?"
"Yes, yes she is. It's been seven months now, and still she's as if empty. It's very....disheartening...to say the least." Samara paused, then walked over to a smaller building next to his home. He came riding out on the back of a huge white horse with horned, silver armour.
"I'm off to the central office, Azriel. I trust you can prepare yourself and make it to your appointment with Kurr by yourself."
"Yes, father." Azriel agreed glumly, staring sadly at the dirt patch in the grass.
"I'll see you at sunset. Have a good day, son." Samara said, as he and Barbun rode off, into the town at the valley's floor. Azriel watched after for a long time, long after they had disappeared from view. He sighed, walked back into the house, and began getting dressed into his own battle gear, consisting off a white shirt, metal torso plate, brown Minotaur hair pants, arm and thigh guards, heavy leather boot and short gloves. He took his belt from the cupord, clipped it on and latched his sword and sheath onto it. He walked from his room, and back into his parents room. His mother lay on the bed. He couldn't tell if she was asleep or awoke, so he cleared his throat to see if she would stir. She rolled, eyes wide awake, but empty. She said in a very shallow, very depressed voice
"Are you going to your lesson, Azriel?"
"Yes, mother. Are you going to be alright?" Azriel's mother paused for a long while, deeply considering the answer. She rolled back over, and simply said
"You'd better hurry. You'll be late. Kurr hates it when you're late." Azriel walked out, dismayed. He moved outside, into the barn, where a horse was waiting for him in a stall next to his fathers.
"Hey, Trojan. How are you?" Azriel asked the animal as he fed it some oats. As the horse ate, Azriel strapped on all the riding equipment, neglecting the armour. What was the use of it? Hope was never attacked. He didn't see why his father and all the villagers were so paranoid. He had been told by his father about the Tatsu twins, about the Empire. How the Dragon Guard and the secret police had made life hell. How the twins had kept the planet of Newmilieu in a constant state of terrorised chaos so they could keep control of it. Azriel had also been told of the great warriors. The few who had brought the Empire to its knees. Two mercenaries, a beautiful witch, a wandering girl and the two prophesised ones, Saber and Tao. He'd heard many stories of those two, his personal heroes. Azriel didn't want to be a Guardian, stuck in the same village until the day he died. He wanted to be a travelling warrior, like Saber and Tao had been, going from town to town, learning magic, saving the world, but Azriel's fate had been chosen for him. He would be the Guardian of Hope. That was all there was to it.
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