It was the end.

The air was full of dead ash.  It drifted like some twisted version of 
snow to cover the now silent, peaceful landscape.

Peaceful, because all were now dead.

Everywhere, bodies lay strewn across the scorched earth, the pain 
permanently etched on their faces that of one whom knows that their life 
was lost in battle for no purpose whatsoever.  And in the end, the 
battle had indeed lacked purpose.  Of the two sides who had clashed, all 
were dead.  Soldiers, those gifted with magical abilities, even the 
nobles who had cast off their silken clothing for weapons with which to 
defend their cause, they had all senselessly cut each other down, 
friends against friends, seemingly eternal foes, all for a succession 
that would now never be filled.

A slender figure suddenly materialized, disrupted the stillness of the 
field.  She moved ethereally, her glimmering silver gown gliding 
gracefully between the dead.  Her hair was pale gold, gentle blue eyes 
peered out from an agelessly beautiful face.  She moved among the ruin 
of battle, taking it all in.  Somehow, the blood on the ground did not 
stain her dress, the ash didn't touch her skin.  Though her form was 
completely human, something intangible about her indicated that she was 
anything but a common mortal.  Watching, some may have thought her an 
angel.  She herself knew better.

She stopped at the body of a young woman, dressed in the red robes of 
one trained in the art of Fire.  Her thin figure was sprawled between 
two rocks, a ragged hole in her chest evidence to the sword thrust that 
had killed her.  Her eyes stared blankly at the soot-filled sky.

The woman knelt, closed the girl's staring eyes with one slender finger.  
For a moment, the woman's face lost its mask-like appearance, and filled 
with an all too human pain.  Tears burned in her eyes, but did not fall.  
It was too much, far too much.  She couldn't even bring herself to weep.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to have been.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Gates Of Time

An Improfanfic by Lady Brick

Part One - In The End

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yumina remained beside the dead warrior, her hand hovering over her 
face.  She was so sure that Ilysa was to be the one to decide the 
battle, who was to take the throne.  How could she have made such a 
grave error?  Averny and Daric were dead at each other's hand.  Sankria 
would be torn apart by the following war for the succession by the 
remaining distant cousins of the deceased royal family.  The peace 
over the land would be shattered, and a dark age would descend.  Her 
grasp of the future was limited, but that much she could see.

Her hand fell to her side, and she swore softly.  She had felt such a 
searing fire within Ilysa.  She had guided the girl to the Temple of 
the Burning One, where she had met Averny, one of the crown Princes who 
was also to study there.  The two had spent years together as students, 
friends, eventually lovers.  Ilysa had sworn allegiance to Averny and 
the Order of Fire long before the battle, and had stood by her prince's 
side until Daric himself had run her through.  

Perhaps she had made a mistake.  Perhaps the girl was a pivotal 
character in the battle, but was not to fight on the side of Fire.  It 
was just so hard to see.  One Prince was to die, one was to live, that 
was all that she knew.  Only one could hold the throne, and only one 
could live for the era of peace to continue.  And if a dark age were to 
descend, many more lives would be lost then the ones in this battle.

Changes were in order.  That was certain.  A fine mist of silver 
enveloped her, and she was gone.  The landscape seemed to wait, silent, 
anticipating.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ilysa was surprised at how noisy the Temple of the Shining One was.  She 
has always heard that those who studied Light magic here were quiet, 
kept to themselves, always engrossed in their studies.  It was a relief 
for her to find that this appeared to be a truthless rumor.  Honestly, 
she doubted that her life would have even taken her here, had it not 
been for the traveling priestess who had seen the gift of magic within 
her and ushered her from her parent's farm to what seemed like a whole 
other world.  She watched the initiates milling about in their white 
robes with the colored trim that indicated their level of study.  
Looking down, she saw her own brown peasant clothing, her red hair 
hanging rough and tangled around her shoulders.  She wonder once again 
if she had made a mistake in coming

Her eyes filled with the polished white marble of the temple, she didn't 
notice the person in her path until she ran into them.  She stumbled 
back, dropping her few belongings.  Turning a deep red, she muttered an 
apology and began picking up her things.

She was so busy trying to sink into the ground that she almost didn't 
notice that the person she had run into attempting to help her gather 
her things.  When she looked up, she was doubly embarrassed to see that 
it was a young man helping her, several years older than her and wearing 
gold trimmed robes that indicated that he was both in his second level 
of training, and was wealthy enough to afford them.   Then she took a 
good look at him, and finding him to be the most attractive male she had 
ever seen, turned an even deeper red.

"You must be new."  The young man handed her things, apparently immune 
to her embarrassment.  He helped her up.  "Do you know where you're 
going?

Ilysa shook her head no.

He smiled, showing slightly-less-than-perfect teeth.  "The quiet type, 
eh?"

Ilysa shook her head no.

He laughed loudly as led her through the doors of the temple, moving 
easily through the crowds of initiates.  Ilysa barely noticed how 
quickly the other people moved out of the way of her and her companion, 
as she still had to struggle somewhat to follow his dark head trough the 
crowd.

"So, what brings you to the *grand* Temple of the Shining One?" he said 
to her as they reached a less crowded hallway.

Ilysa had to look into his sparkling blue eyes to figure out that he was 
joking.  She somehow managed to find her tongue.  "A traveling priestess 
stayed at my father's farm for the night." She inwardly cursed herself 
for indicating her low background.  "She suggested that I may have a 
gift for magic and that I come here for training."

"Ah.  One of the lucky chosen few.  I got to come here because of my 
family.  I was lucky enough to have enough talent in magic to keep 
myself from having to translate texts for the next ten years."

She shivered at the thought.  She also failed to notice how quickly her 
embarrassment had faded.  "Gods forbid it."

He chuckled.  "It's nice to find someone who speaks so candidly.  What 
is your name?"

"Ilysa."  She hoped that he wouldn't ask for her last name, the -kri at 
the end would give away how low her family really was.  "What is yours?"

The young man paused.  "I'll tell you later, when we have known each 
other for a bit longer."

Ilysa followed him towards the high priest's chamber room, wondering 
what could be so important about a name.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Unseen by the mortals that surrounded her, Yumina watched the pair 
disappear through the heavy carved oaken door.  Already they had met, 
time would see how tight the bond between them would come.  She only 
prayed that this time, the battle would have a victor.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Daric," Ilysa sputtered as they left the chamber.  "As in Prince 
Daric?"

Daric sighed, obviously regretting that the high priest had spoken to 
him by name, thusly revealing his identity.  "Yes, I'm afraid so.  I 
hope that you won't hold it against me."

Ilysa stared at him, at a loss for words.  One of the highest nobles of 
the kingdom, talking to someone born of the lowest rank of farmers?  And 
a girl besides?

"Well, you don't have to act so surprised."  Daric's voice was somewhat 
cross.  "Were you expecting me to have horns, perhaps?"

Actually, there *had* been rumors about the Cursed Two, the twin Princes 
who had entered this world at the same instant as they were cut from 
their dying mother's womb.  Many said it was a sign of evil, that their 
eventual struggle over the throne would destroy Sankria's longtime 
peace.  Her own father was among the few in their village who still said 
that the boys should have been put to death the instant they were born.  
Two dead infants were more acceptable than a kingdom torn apart.

Seeing Daric's eyes on her, she realized he was waiting for a reply.  
"N...no you Majesty," she managed.

He shook his head.  "Please just call me Daric.  I get enough fearful 
worship from the rest of the initiates.  If it makes you uncomfortable, 
think of it as a royal order."  He smiled a bit, at her.

"Why is it so important?"

"I was hoping that we could be friends."

She blinked.  "But your Ma-...Daric, why would you want to be my friend?  
I'm just a farmer's daughter, and you're a crown Prince."  Inwardly, she 
cringed at how childish, foolish her words sounded.  But she had to 
know.

He looked puzzled.  "Honestly, I'm not sure.  There was just something 
when I bumped into you, and I just knew."  He shrugged, the gold trim on 
his robes flashing in the torchlight. "Perhaps it was fate."

She shrugged herself, mirroring his confusion.  She too, had felt a 
small twinge when they had first met.  But she was alone in a new place, 
and could use a friend to show her around.  She would simply concentrate 
on that, and leave Fate to itself.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Damn it," Ilysa swore as she hurled the scroll across the room.  Her 
mother had tried to break her of using such language, but it still 
slipped out on occasion.  She looked miserably at the scorched piece of 
wool on the table in front of her.  It was a simple spell to make the 
fibers give off light.  She had seen children of four perform it.  Yet 
she had tried no less then five times, and each time flames had devoured 
the wool.  Tears burned in her eyes.  She was supposed to be gifted, the 
priestess had said so.  So why couldn't she do even the simplest Light 
spell?

"Ilysa?"

She turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and was mortified to see 
Daric standing in the doorway to the small library.  Of all the people 
who had to see her in this state . . .

"Is something wrong?"  He came closer, she knew he could see her tears.

"It's just . . . this stupid spell!"  With an emphatic swipe of her 
hand, she sent the singed wool flying.  "I've been here for almost half 
a year, and I can't even do a simple spell right!"

"They just started allowing you to attempt any spells last week," he 
reminded her as he stooped over to pick up the ball of fibers.  "Hmm, 
looks like you were trying to put too much energy into the working of 
the spell."

"I said the words, I concentrated hard, it should have worked.  Everyone 
else can do it."  A tear managed to slide through her lashes.  

"That's the problem.  You're trying too hard."  Daric fished another 
ball of wool out of the pile, placing it on the table before Ilysa.  He 
walked behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.  His grip was 
gentle, but firm.  "Try it again, but don't try to force it.  You know 
the words.  Close your eyes, say them, and just let the power flow."

Ilysa looked longingly at the print in the spell book, then closed her 
eyes.  She reached for the wool with one hand, but Daric pushed it back 
down.  "You know where it is... you don't need to feel it."

Sighing, she let herself relax.  She began to speak the spell, and was 
delighted to find that she did indeed know the words.  She tried to open 
herself up, not push the power but let it go by itself. 

"Look, Ilysa."

Ilysa opened her eyes and gasped.  The wool was shining without a 
strong, steady light.  Not even a single flicker, a sign that she had 
placed a stable spell.

"That's better than I did my first few days," Daric told her.  I must 
have burnt up nearly a whole sheep.

Ilysa looked at the older boy's twinkling eyes, and had to laugh.  
Perhaps she *would* be all right here.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"My Prince, I know he is your brother, and you care for him, trust him.  
But even he could be manipulated by others into taking arms against you 
over the throne!  You must be prepared at all costs.  Those of the Order 
of Fire will stop at nothing to have a king crowned who will favor 
them!"

"Just as you wish to have a king who will favor the Order of Light," 
Daric said to Phair coolly.  He was please to see the head priest 
flinch.  "I don't care if you suspect that my brother is being 
manipulated, I refuse to be.  My father had us sent to the opposing 
schools in the hopes that we would be able to rejoin them someday.  This 
stupid feud has gone on for long enough, and I won't have you turning my 
country into a battlefield over it."

Phair smoothed his white silk robes nervously.  He was seated behind his 
elaborate writing desk in his study, surrounded by numerous books and 
expensive silken tapestries.  "My Prince, your father the king is a wise 
man.  He has helped to preserve, even further a peace that has lasted 
for over three hundred years.  But in this I fear he may be wrong.  The 
Order of the Bright One split when this great era of peace began, and I 
fear that the world will face its final end before the two Orders can 
ever be joined again."

"I doubt that is true."

"Forgive me for saying so, my Prince, but you are only seventeen years 
old.  You have been isolated for most of your young life, and know 
little of the ways of men."

Daric stood from his seat, anger etched on his face.  He glared down at 
the priest from across the table, shriveling the man with his gaze.  
"Perhaps that is true, but I know a biased fool when I see one.  The 
Orders of Fire and Light will learn to live in peace together, or when 
my brother and I are king, we will rid this kingdom of the both of 
them!"  He turned and stormed out, leaving the little man behind.

Once the Prince was out of sight, Phair straightened, shrugging off his 
cowardly air like a cloak.  He rang a bell, and moments later, a high 
level initiate appeared, the blue trim on his robe glittering in the 
firelight.

"The Prince does not seem to understand the threat that the Order of 
Fire truly poses," Phair said wearily.  "I'm afraid he doesn't truly 
stand with us yet.  Gather the others.  I fear we may need to take more 
extreme actions."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Daric was pacing angrily around his quarters when a knock came at the 
door.  He threw it open, half expecting it to be Phair once more, again 
trying to convince him of the evil that was the Order of Fire.  However, 
it was only Ilysa, glancing guiltily up and down the hall.  As soon as 
Daric opened the door, she rushed into his room.

"I brought it back," she breathed, sliding the small spell book imprinted 
with the seal of Fire from her gold-trimmed sleeve.

When Daric and Averny had first been separated, sent to the opposing 
Orders for their studies, they had sworn to keep in close contact.  Over 
the years, they had sent each other spare spell books, as each was 
interested in the other's craft, and both knew that good rulers learned 
all that they could do defend themselves and their kingdom.  When Daric 
had helped Ilysa with her spell two years ago, and discovered her 
natural affinity for Fire magic, he began sharing the Fire spell books 
with her.  He still wasn't sure why, only that it had seemed an 
important thing to do.  And despite her early troubles with magic and 
spending all of her spare time studying forbidden spells, she had still 
managed to rise above her peers, and become a second level initiate in a 
little over a year.  At her current rate, she would join him in the 
third rank by next spring.

"I hope no one saw me come in here.  There is enough talk around the 
temple about us as it is, what with us off to the library to study all 
the time."

Daric feigned a casual yawn and stretch.  "That is because I told my 
friends that we were lovers."

"How funny.  I told *my* friends that you slept with a candle by your 
bed because you were afraid of the dark."  Ilysa perched on the edge of 
his bed, looking serious.  "Now what's bothering you?"

Daric froze in mid-stretch.  She could always tell when something was 
wrong with him, no matter how much he tried to hide it.  Sighing, her 
let his arms drop.  "It's Phair.  The fool is trying to convince me to 
order arms ready against a possible attack from the Order of Fire and my 
brother.  And I know he would never do such a thing.  My father decreed 
that we would jointly rule after his death, so there is no cause for any 
battle.

Ilysa remembered ho her father had always said that the king's decree 
wouldn't be enough to prevent a war over succession.  She pushed the 
thought away.  "So you think that Phair just wants war on the Order of 
Fire."

"That, and he wants a king that will favor his Order."

Ilysa fingered the trim on her robe.  "I never understood why the Orders 
divided in the first place.  All they will tell us in out studied are 
that those who belong to the Order of Fire are violent, bloodthirsty, 
and a few probably enjoy eating infants."

Daric chuckled despite himself.  "It was after the war with Corneria," 
he told her, more seriously.  "During the last battle, one of are 
villages on the coast, Welsalm, was massacred.  During that time, the 
Order of the Bright One was an important part of Sankria, and the king 
often looked to them on important matters.  Before the battle occurred, 
some of the Order thought that we needed an armed unit at Welsalm, as it 
was the weakest part of our border.  The majority thought that Corneria 
would never attack by way of water, and that if they did, the Bright One 
would protect us.  No armed unit was sent, and Welsalm was lost in the 
attack.  Even after the battle, the Order still argued about what should 
have been done, and on a larger note, what their role was in the hand of 
fate.  Some left the majority, and joined those who had suggested to 
defend Welsalm.  That group eventually spit off and became the Order of 
Fire.  Not to be outdone, those remaining renamed themselves the Order 
of Light."

Ilysa nodded.  "So that's why they speak of the Order of Fire as being 
warmongers.  Because they believe in taking a more direct role in their 
own fate."

"And in the fate of everyone else," Daric added darkly.  "I don't 
believe that either group truly understands it.  One believes in pure 
force, and the other in doing nothing.  And they lost their religious 
beliefs 300 years ago.  They only really exist now to oppose each other.  
If it were up to me, I would dissolve them both."  He plopped onto the 
bed with an exasperated sigh.

Ilysa put her hand on his shoulder.  "Daric, you can't forget all the 
good they've done.  Between the two Orders, hundreds and hundreds of 
people in the kingdom are being educated.  Without them, people like me 
would still be working on farms instead of being trained to do something 
more useful."

"And what would I do without you here?"  His eyes caught hers, as he 
moved in closer.

They kissed deeply before Ilysa pulled away.  "You didn't *really* tell 
your friends about us, did you?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Later on...

"Daric?"

"Yes?"

"You know that, if anything should ever happen, I mean with your 
brother, that I would stand by your side."

"I never doubted you would."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yumina watched the two sleeping.  Peaceful as they looked, their 
thoughts were in turmoil.  She could feel it, like she felt the turmoil 
elsewhere in these walls, across the all of Sankria.  Threads were being 
pulled too tight, some were ready to snap apart.

The battle was coming.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spring arrived,  and with it came the initiate progression.  As Daric 
suspected would happen, Ilysa was moved up to third rank.  She politely 
declined invitation to the celebratory feast, instead choosing to 
sequester herself in the library to study the latest Fire spell book 
from Daric.

She was glad she had passed the level where she required numerous 
supplies to complete the spells; those had been hard to obtain and even 
more difficult to come up with an explanation for why she needed them.  
But now she had reached the higher level magics, those which simply 
required enough concentration, will, and sheer magical ability.

Placing the book to the side, having already memorized the spell, she 
settled into a cross-legged position on the floor.  She had been careful 
to place herself behind the most distant case of books, so she would 
remain unseen should anyone else venture into the library.

Closing her eyes, she quickly fell into a relaxed state.  Then going 
against all her teachings of the Order of Might, she began to pull out 
the magic within her.

She had learned early on, the fundamental differences in the 
philosophies of Light and Fire went deep into their magics.  Fire spells 
generally required more will, Light more concentration.  One manipulated 
the magic, the other simply let it flow.  She couldn't say that she 
preferred one over the other, but she was glad she had the opportunity 
to study both.

Focusing, she chanted the spell.  She felt heat grow by her hands, but 
refused to look until she had completed and sealed it.  Slightly weary 
from the magical exertion, she opened her eyes.

A two-foot tall dragon made entirely of flames looked back at her.

Smiling, she stretched out a hand for the dragon to sniff.  Its touch 
was hot, but didn't burn.  She patted its head and it made a sort of 
quiet roaring sound, like a raging lightning fire, only much smaller.  
She grinned, amazed at how easy the spell had been.  True, this was a 
much smaller working than the one in the book, but a thirty foot Living 
Flame dragon wouldn't have fit in the library...

"Mind I ask what you are doing?"

Ilysa whirled around.  To her horror, she saw Phair standing over her 
frowning.  "You know initiates are not allowed to be alone in the 
library at..."  His voice caught in his throat as he saw the Flame 
dragon.  "How did you-"  He saw the spell book and his eyes narrowed.

"A spy, eh?  I should have known those Fire fools would try this sooner 
or later.  You are the girl who has been seen around with the Prince, 
aren't you?"  He grabbed her arm, yanking her off the ground.  She 
gasped in pain.  "What are you trying to do here?  What do you want?"  
His grin was twisted, crazed.  "I'll have you executed for high treason, 
you little wench.  A covert attempt on Prince Daric's life!  When he 
finds out what you..."

"I am quite aware of the goings and comings of my close friends, Phair."  
Daric strode into view around the corner, face set and stormy.  "Please 
release Ilysa.  And I would like my book back, as well."  He gestured to 
the Fire spell book in Phair's hand.

The priest's jaw dropped.  "My Prince..."

"You were the one who told me I should be wary of the Order of Fire, 
weren't you?  What better way then to study and understand the way in 
which their magics work."  He took the book from the priest's limp hand.  
"This girl, Ilysa has been training along side me.  She has sworn 
allegiance to me, and will fight along side me and my soldiers, gods 
forbid that it never be necessary.   And someday, I hope that she will 
rule beside me as queen."

Ilysa stared at him, stunned.

Phair lost all attempts at formality.  "Daric, you must be joking!  This 
girl is obviously a commoner, not even worth..."

A window shattered on the other side of the library.

"What was that?" Phair asked, forgetting about Ilysa for the moment.

"I'm not sure."  Daric peered around the corner, then quickly dodged 
back as an arrow flew by his head.  It impaled itself into a ceiling 
post.

Phair whispered something, a ball of light growing in his cupped hands.  
He hurled it over the bookcase.  There was the sound of swearing and 
several arrows thudding into the opposite side of the shelf.

"There's a few of them out there, I'm not sure how many," Daric said.  
His brow was furrowed and a sword had appeared in his hand that Ilysa 
had not noticed him carrying.  "I'm going to need help."

"I can blind them," Phair said, his voice utterly calm.  A steady 
warrior had somehow replaced the weaselly priest.

"Ilysa?"

The girl nodded, wiping off her suddenly sweaty palms.  She had no 
weapons, and the Order only taught those well into the third rank war 
magic.  She would have to rely on the Fire magic she had learned, and 
hope that it would be enough.

A nod from Phair, and the other two shielded their eyes.  Even through 
her closed eyelids, the flash still sent spots spinning through her 
vision.

She heard Daric yell, and a harsh sound that could only have been his 
sword cutting into someone.  She opened her eyes just in time to a 
strange man dressed in red fall.  She saw another, rubbing his eyes to 
clear his vision.  Whispering the necessary words, she created a ball of 
fire, sending it hurtling into the man's chest.  She winced at his 
screams as he burnt to death.

A glint caught her eyes and she spun.  Sick with fear, she realized that 
they had missed the archer.  He stood half behind another shelf of 
books, about to let an arrow fly, straight at Daric.  There was no time 
for a spell.  Her mind screamed its helplessness.

A sudden flash of orange hurtled itself into the man.  His bow and arrow 
burst into flame.  It took Ilysa a moment to realize that it was the 
Flame dragon she had created.  She watched numbly as it devoured the 
would-be assassin.

"See, I told you!  Look at their clothing!"  Phair emerged from behind 
the bookcase, an almost gleeful look in his eyes.  "They're from the 
Order of Fire, assassins most likely.  Sent to kill Prince Daric!"

Ilysa didn't know what to say.  Their leggings and tunics were the same 
color as the robes of the Order of Fire.  She noticed Daric leaning over 
the man he had run through, his face pale.

"What is it Daric?" she asked, worried.

He held up a pendant that lay across the dead man's chest.  "The crest," 
she said.  His voice was odd, too thick.  "It's an eagle's head, facing 
east."

This meant nothing to Ilysa.  She noticed Phair's expression had turned 
quite serious.

"It is the crest of Prince Averny," the priest told her.  "Daric's 
brother."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I still can't believe that he would do this!"  Daric paced around his 
quarters, while Ilysa watched him, concerned.

"You've heard nothing from him?"

"All the messengers have been sent back with no reply.  He can't 
seriously be thinking of war!"

Ilysa stood, moving towards him.  "It could be a mistake.  Someone could 
have just copied his crest."

"But then why hasn't Averny contacted me?  I haven't heard from him in 
months, since he sent the last spell book.  He's never gone this long 
without sending some sort of letter."

Ilysa shrugged helplessly.  "I don't know."

Daric fingered the crest on his sword.  Ilysa noticed that it was the 
same as his brother's, only the eagle's head faced to the west.

A knock came at the door.  Daric made no move to answer, so Ilysa did.  
A nervous looking third rank initiate that she did not know pushed his 
way into the room.

"My Prince... it's... something has happened with the King... I mean 
your father..."

Daric looked up, his eyes afraid.

"I'm afraid... he's been poisoned... regicide..."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yumina watched.  The battle had begun.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The two armies clashed.  At their hearts were the Orders of Light and 
Fire, each claiming the other was responsible for the death of the King.  
Sankria's army had split between the two, and many nobles had taken up 
arms to side with the Prince they thought would best address their 
personal interests the best.

Ilysa searched the battlefield frantically for Daric.  Her long red hair 
was tangled, her white robes spotted with soot.  Much to her dismay, she 
had become a central figure in the battle, her Fire magic ironically 
one of the strongest offensive forces the Order of Light had.  However, 
she had lost sight of her Prince while constructing a large Flame dragon 
which was currently devouring an enemy unit of armed knights.

Straining her vision, she caught sight of Daric's face in the crowd.  
Wading through the battle, she coldly burned a few Fire initiates in 
order to reach him.

"Daric," she began to call, but froze when she caught sight of his face.  
It wasn't him.

The blue eyes, the ones she loved so much, were instead a cold, glinting 
golden-brown.  It had to be Averny.

Ignoring the battle around her, she closed her eyes, chanted softly.  
Heat grew in her hands.  When she opened her eyes, a sword of Fire sat 
firmly in her grip.

She headed towards Averny steadily, cutting down anyone who tried to 
block her path.  Averny himself never saw her approach, as he was 
engaged with several Light swordsmen.

She was nearly in reach of his back, trying to ignore how much he looked 
like Daric when another Fire initiate came to his aid, dispatching the 
last of the swordsman.  "Averny, behind you!" he cried.  

Ilysa swore as the prince turns towards her.  Her sword was ready, her 
arm muscles tensed.

But then she saw the expression in his eyes.  Despite the different 
color, they were the same as Daric's the same sorrow and pain and 
disgust at all the needless death around them.  She knew then that this 
battle was not his doing, that he had been tricked into it the same as 
his brother.

She could not kill him.

She was still staring into Averny's eyes when he ran her through.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Daric saw his love fall, watched disbelievingly as she fell to the 
ground and lay still.  Seeing her attacker, her narrowed his eyes.  With 
no thought of himself or those losing their lives for him in the 
surrounding battle, he leapt at his brother with a silent scream.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yumina once again found herself closing off Ilysa's dead gaze.  The 
color of her robes had changed, the name of the prince she had loved and 
died for was different, but the end result was the same.  The death of 
both princes.  The death of peace.

The girl had indeed been important in the battle, but it seemed that she 
might not be the key after all.  Moving her had accomplished nothing, 
and the carnage that surrounded her was the result of something much 
darker then the chess game she had imagined when she first became an 
agent of Fate.  She had always assumed it would be easy to remain 
unmoved by the mortals, yet their lives wasted like this brought out 
emotions in her that she never even knew she had possessed.

It was odd.  She should have been able to read the threads more clearly, 
know which one to pull to let the whole pattern fall into place.  
Perhaps there were darker forces at work than she knew about.

She looked sorrowfully at the dead laid at her feet.  Which one held the 
key to the proper outcome of things?  Which life when properly prodded 
and pushed would grant the ideal timeline of peace?

For the sake of Sankria, she hoped that she would be able to find it 
soon.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When I first set out to write an experimental starter, I thought about 
starting at the end and working backwards.  I quickly decided instead to 
do something with alternate timelines, then mixed the two, to get this 
story, with the end already written, albeit the wrong one.

Yumina is basically an agent of Fate with an interesting problem.  She 
knows that this battle must occur, as only one prince can sit on the 
throne if the peace is to continue, but she neither knows which one or 
how to manipulate her pieces into the correct places for this to happen.  
She is afraid to directly favor one prince over the other, in case it is 
the wrong one, so instead focuses on the 'secondary' characters.

I think that this situation provides an interesting challenge.  There 
are so many possible pieces of the story to explore, write and rewrite.  
It's unstructured and nonlinear, but is logical enough in its workings 
to still need continuity.  All in all, I believe it quite fits the label 
of 'experimental'

Thanks go out to Phoebe and Ardweden for prereading.  *Cheap plug*  For 
something completely different, check out my newbie starter, "The Comic 
Misadventures of a Super-Deformed Newbie"  E-mail all comments to 
Lady_Brick@yahoo.com