Presage

Prologue

A/N: Above is a photo of Hachal.

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"When our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors."
-William Shakespeare

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Orchswal, Mamoria
10 years earlier

The thick dark forest located at the southeast part of the continent was designed for one particular activity, hunting—be it a monster or a person.

It was the most visited place in the continent, primarily to test one's combat skills and survival ability. However, one must be warned of the dangers of this place for it was home to vicious creatures as well as a free to kill zone.

Brittle branches snapped as Hachal ran past them, making the sinister forest to look even more sinister. It wasn't the best place to run around because it was naturally dark, but thanks to the aurora lights across the night sky, there were enough faint rays of light for him to see where he was going.

Being in a place like this wasn't his kind of thing, for the fact that he was a historian. He preferred walking activities or better, seated in the library and surrounded by books. But what could he do? He had been kidnapped by unknown men and brought here to be hunted.

If only he knew that this would happen, he might have taken a self-defense class or two. But now, it was too late. All he could do was run for his life and get out of this place to find help.

His long black hair suddenly loosened when the ribbon embracing them tangled with a branch, causing them to stick on his face drenched with sweat. But it didn't bother him.

He just kept running until his knees betrayed him, making him stumble into bushes. Out of desperation, he crawled with his shaking knees, feeling the soft, damp dirt. He reached an overgrown root and hurried to hide in its shadows, pulling his sore legs closer to him.

"I can't die just yet," he panted.

His emerald green eyes wildly darted side to side, but all he could see was pitch-black. It only meant that he was deep inside the forest because the older trees were much bigger and blocked the aurora lights. The whole forest was bathed in a terrifying silence, which made him curious if anyone could hear the loud beats of his heart.

"Oh Gods, at least let me hand this to someone."

The historian's trembling hands clutched his journal closer to him, afraid to lose a life's worth of knowledge. Every single detail of his research about their history was in it. And just a few days ago, he discovered something very important, which could greatly affect their future.

He immediately informed every Leader of each continent and scheduled his presentation—today at early afternoon. Unfortunately, that was when his kidnappers appeared, pretending to be his escorts.

After his breathing somehow recovered, Hachal began running again and hoped to escape a possible death. He must overcome this; not only because he held an important information, but for the sake of his daughter.

After his wife died two years ago, he doubled his effort to support their only child, resulting in more time for work and barely enough time for his daughter.

Now that his work had come to a significant realization, he wanted to make it up to her. After all, she was only five years old and he didn't want her to grow up without a single parent. Being an orphan himself he knew how cruel life could be.

While Hachal went deeper in his thoughts, he momentarily lost his focus and tripped over a vine. He rolled down the sloped ground accompanied by ragged screams.

His heart joggled in panic as his face hit the soft grass followed by bone cracking sounds as he hit the protruding rocks. Pain surged through his body, almost causing him to faint from the searing sensation he never fathomed of experiencing.

When he stopped at the flat ground, the familiar taste of iron and salt exploded in his mouth. He clutched the brittle dead leaves caressing him as pain flowed through his body. He knew there was little hope for him, but he already went this far, he must not give up.

His bony hands desperately searched around him for that leather-bound notebook, raking the damp soil beneath the dried leaves.

"No, where is it?" Hachal mumbled and tried to sit up, turning his face into a distorted expression. "Where—"

CRUNCH!

The historian instantly froze at the sound of footsteps, sending cold beads of sweat to dribble down his bruised face. Although this might be his death, he wasn't afraid. He only hoped that the enemies wouldn't find his journal. But even if they did, it was written in codes only he understood and it would take them years or maybe even centuries to decode it.

"It's already too late for you to be wandering around, don't you think?" said by a deep voice Hachal was so familiar.

He glanced to its direction and was relieved to see a pair of glowing golden eyes.

"Your Highness," he cried, dragging his body towards the man in robe, "I was on my way—"

"I know," the man interjected.

Hachal swallowed as a dark thought hit him out of nowhere.

"What are you doing at a place like this, your Highness?"

His heart began to race, afraid to hear what the other man would say. If he was to scrutinize their situation, there was a huge possibility that the man in front of him had set up this stage. But would a King betray them? He hoped not.

"Isn't it obvious, Hachal?" the King answered in a tone that denoted a smile, "I came here to hunt."

Hachal's eyes grew wide after a strong force struck his chest. His head involuntary looked down and he saw a glinting sword protruding from his chest, red liquid slowly tainted the beauty of the silver metal.

He dragged his emerald green eyes to his attacker and glared at his amused golden eyes. But before the historian could even shout the traitor's name, his body disintegrated into orbs of white light and ascended into the night sky.

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Dedicated to Tara676

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