The Revolt | SLOW UPDATES

| Chapter One |

The dark clouds loomed over the Vast City of Acirema, the Palace casting a dark shadow over most of the land. The sun was slowly coming back to life after the Destruction, almost 300 years ago.

Maxwell sighed and pulled his leather jacket more tightly around himself, drawing in every bit of warmth it provided. The days were short and cold, with the sun coming out for longer periods of time each day that went by. Today was the longest by far, with about 3 hours of pure sunshine.

Sidestepping a rider on a horse to avoid being run over, Maxwell nearly ran into a cart of fruit. He quickly dodged it and darted through the large crowds of people in the market that day. 

Finally, he arrived at his destination--a blacksmith's shop. He stepped inside and sighed as the warmth of the fire washed over him.

"Can I help you?"

He whipped his head around to see a young blacksmith watching him curiously, no older than seventeen years of age. He was lanky and dark skinned, with messy black hair piled on his head. 

"I've come with a request from the Head Archer. He requests your assistance for his sword."

The blacksmith seemed surprised at the order, but quickly nodded and went to grab some tools. Soon enough, he had gathered all his supplies and followed Maxwell out the door and back to the King's army. Those enlisted in the army were known as Archers, their primary weapon being bow and arrow, even though all of the Archers also carried a sword. Guns were a rarity, and only used when necessary. 

The two young men weaved around the city, dodging and pushing their way through the busy crowds. The end of the week was always the busiest, making the market seemingly impossible to get through.

They eventually made it to the army headquarters, where Maxwell led the young blacksmith over to the Head Archer.

"Here is the blacksmith you requested," Maxwell stepped aside to reveal the lanky young man behind him with his bag of tools.

The Head Archer, Eiten, nodded, surveying the young man a few times before leading him over to his tent. After a few minutes, the blacksmith got to work, and General Eiten made his way back over to Maxwell.

"The King's adviser wishes to speak with you. Meet him in the courtyard."

Maxwell nodded, concealing the confusion that was coursing through his mind. He darted around the camp, avoiding the nasty Archers that took any chance they got to fight someone for money. He shook his head at the thought of all these men fighting for a lost cause--the Outsiders, enemies of the Crown--were certainly going to back down on their own soon enough.

He continued on and pushed his way through a crowd of Low Society members, all begging him for a coin or food. He set his jaw and avoided eye contact, not wanting to see the desperate look on their faces that would send a pang of guilt through him. I can't do anything, Maxwell thought, I'm not their leader--the King is. He stopped momentarily and corrected his thoughts, Or rather, the Queen.

Maxwell was just a poor member, comparatively, of High Society. Most of his fellow members were extravagantly dressed, owning mansions and servants. He shuddered at the thought of owning one of Low Society--how could one own a fellow human being, simply because of the society they were born into?

At long last, he made his way through to the Palace gates which were opened up for him to pass. He stepped into the large, securely protected courtyard and searched for the familiar face of the King's adviser. Having an adviser for the king was rather pointless, in Maxwell's opinion, when their ruler simply submitted to the wishes of his queen.

Soon enough, he spotted the King's adviser, seated on a decorative bench across the courtyard. He hastily walked over and waited for him to give him further instructions.

"Atticus," the tall man said in a low voice, "take a seat."

Maxwell quickly obeyed and took a seat on the bench across from him. The adviser stayed silent for the longest while, stroking his long, black beard, his dark brown eyes narrowed as though he was deep in thought.

Maxwell's gray eyes searched his expression, trying to determine whether he was about to give him good news or bad. He determined it was bad, but of what importance?

After moments of silence, the adviser, Cayn, cleared his throat. "I suppose you've heard the...rumors?"

Maxwell frowned. "What rumors?"

The tall man stood and started pacing back and forth. "The rumors of the ancient book. Pre-Destruction. We have sources that believe the Seeker is already aware of the artifact and is seeking it, as we would expect him to."

Who said the Seeker was a man? Maxwell thought. "What is so important about this...artifact?"

"It encourages rebellion, that's what's so important," his voice raised slightly.

Now that's interesting.

He continued, "If we do not get our hands on this artifact, the entire kingdom could go down in ruins."

"Sir," Maxwell began hesitantly, "what if the Seeker doesn't want rebellion? Whose side is he on?"

"That we are not sure of yet," he continued to pace, "but it's best to assume the worst and prevent chaos, isn't that right, Atticus?"

Maxwell nodded quickly. I'd like to meet this Seeker and find out for myself.

"So, what I need is for you to locate this artifact and bring it to the King. Only he will determine whether it is rebellion or not," More like the Queen, "Can you do this, Atticus? For the Crown?"

Suppressing a sigh, Maxwell nodded. The King's adviser then pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slipped it into his hand.

"Here is all you need to know, and all the contacts you will need," Cayn said in a low voice, almost a whisper, "Report to me whenever you make substantial progress. I don't want to hear any of the worthless things, all right?" Maxwell nodded. "Good. Now go, your job starts this moment."

Maxwell got up from his seat and walked hastily back to the gates. He exited the Palace courtyard and made his way into the streets, darting to the right and running until he found his small house. He stepped inside and immediately opened the envelope, reading off the contacts list.

The Seeker.

Maxwell scoffed. No one has ever found out who the Seeker is, how do they expect me to find them? He rolled his eyes and continued reading.

Alton Eves.

He bit his lip, testing out the name in his mind to see if it was familiar. Was it? He couldn't recall. He shifted his gaze down and located the address on the sheet, proceeding to step back outside into the dim street and find his first contact.

Let the mystery begin.