Book 4-Cycle's End

Prologue - pt 1

Hi and thank you for taking the time to read some of my writings.

I'd like to take a bit of this time to explain that I haven't actually gotten around to writing the 3 books preceding this one and I'm very sorry that I couldn't have them in chronological order for you. It's just very difficult for me to write that way, I tend to write things from the middle.

I tried not to spoil too much of the plot with the intro to book 4, but it was a spur of the moment for me, sitting in front of my computer screen as the words seem to magically write themselves onto the page. This was the product.

Currently doing the finishing touches to "Book 1 Prologue" and that may have some answers for you but then again, that book is actually ahead of this one in the story. (Explanations will be given if asked!)

I hope you enjoy!

And feel free to ask about anything you have questions about and comment if there's anything you can't follow let me know so I can rewrite it!

Thank you again for reading.

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Book 4-Cycle's End

Prologue- "Left Behind"

"Heavier..." the command came, from a beautiful, barely clothed woman. Her sweat glistened in the soft lunar glow, sparkling dozens of lights off her delicate skin. Her muscles did little to betray her slender physique as it should have, to reflect the strength she needed to wield such a massive sword. Those perfectly honed muscles, crafted to near perfection over the countless years she had spent within the legendary kingdom, mastering herself had the strength to match even the gods.

She moved effortlessly under the soft lunar light, her golden, blonde hair was unusually tied up as to avoid needless distractions while practicing one of the many forms she had been disciplined through countless times, one of the many forms she learned in that exact spot.

"Heavier..." she said again, as the weight of the massive sword multiplied once more, the concrete below her bare feet cracked, as she showed no sign of strain, only calmly exhaling a hot breath of air. She had spoken the command three times before, each time multiplying its already outrageous weight to begin with, but it didn't matter to her. To her -and to the monks of the monastery she was in- physical limitation was only limited to her own thoughts, her own beliefs, and in that particular moment... she had none.

She was in perfect concentration.

She continued on with the next part of the sequence, and if it were not for each step she took breaking the concrete and the visual enormity of the blade, it would have been impossible to ascertain the true weight of the sword swinging through the air so effortlessly in her hands. There was no flaw in the form, no flaw in the movements, no energy wasted; it was all kept within that dance of death. So graceful, so fluid was her actions it was as if every muscle in her body moved to the flow of the world itself.

She was in perfect concentration.

There was absolutely nothing in her thoughts, nothing that could distract her, nothing in that moment could have happened to break that perfect concentration.

She paused once more, a pause before the last sequence of the series.

"Heavier..." as she spoke the word, a heavenly golden light began to engulf her and her sword, but this magical light did not lessen the weight of the sword any, It only served as an anchor, as the concrete below her cracked once more even further. The golden light was only preparation for the final sequence of the dance, the most difficult.

She exhaled slowly, once more.

She went into the dance, the sword wrapped and rolled around her as she spun with it, spinning and spinning, until unexpectedly she stopped, reversing the momentum of the blade out wide in the grasp of her right hand. She held it there for only a brief moment before she swung out, spinning back counter-clockwise, but instead of continuing with the motion she let it fly. It spun, glowing with a heavenly golden outline, and with her left hand glowing the same she guided it with great strain onto herself, but did not show it. It circled her as it continued spinning in a large radius, she continued to guide it with her left hand, bringing her hand over her head, if needed, to continue it circling at a constant speed.

When she felt she had the motion down, she reached out with both hands above her, pulling forth two short swords from a magical extra-planar space, and went into a deathly dance with them before spinning with them held out wide and letting them go. Guiding them as she had the first, spinning in synchrony one full rotation before she reached into the air once more to retrieve two more blades, small daggers which she threw almost immediately into the orbit of swords that was forming around her. She continued spinning and instead of reaching up, she pulled forth a long sword at waist length in same fashion and wasted little time tossing that blade as well, as it too began orbiting around her. At this point she had four rings of blades circling her, each within the last.

She stood there in concentration, eyes closed, focusing on every blade that floating around her, each ring moving at a different pace. It was difficult enough to keep the first six from falling, to keep an empty mind of nothing but moving the blades, but to attempt for a seventh should not have been possible, let alone the eight she was going for.

It took every ounce of her perfect concentration just to reach out and attempt to retrieve her second to last blade. She held out her hand, palm up, as golden sparkles of light began to form around it. The light gathered into a shape of a sword, before flashing into a bright white light and disappearing, and in place appeared a gleaming silver sword. She wrapped her hand around the hilt and opened her eyes in shock.

Six blades fell to the ground, her concentration broken, as she stood there staring at the sword in her hand.

There was nothing particularly special about this blade -other than the fact that it was not the blade she had planned on retrieving- nothing magically imbued into it, nothing worthwhile to anyone who fancied swords. It was well-made for the price it was bought, kept fine and sharp keenly by its owner, gleaming as newly as the day it was given. Other than that, nothing about it stood out as something a great knight like herself would carry.

But she stood there, staring at it, noting all of its features she had come to find and know intimately from all the years she had it. She held it close to herself, its cold blade touching her bare skin, but to her it felt as warm as the summer sun itself. Warm with the thoughts and feelings she had for the man who had given it to her.

"Where are you...Ken...?"