Guardian Fighters Era: The New Disciples

By Deren Somsanith, Nathan R Large and Socrates Mota

Guardians carry a heavy responsibility. By settling the conflicts of Nations in single combat, they prevent the horrors of War. The Nations that emerged from the chaos of the Pangaean War know that another war could destroy everything they rebuilt. The last war's weapons not only shattered the old world, they unbalanced its Ki, creating both res

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bamboo Lotus
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985031911

Book preview

Guardian Fighters Era:

The New Disciples

by

Deren Somsanith

with

Nathan Large

Illustrated by

Sócrates Mota

Copyright: Deren Somsanith, 2021. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format – written, electronic, recording, or photocopy – without prior written permission of the authors.

Guardian Fighters Era created by Deren Somsanith.

Please do not use this setting or its characters without permission of the creator. Your support of authors’ rights is appreciated.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by Bamboo Lotus through Ingram Spark. Books may be purchased through Amazon.com.

FIRST EDITION

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021920417

ISBN-13: 979-8-9850319-1-1 (ebook)

Prelude

"We shall not wage War.

Nation may not turn against Nation in bloodshed.

All conflicts between Nations shall be resolved by a Challenge of Guardians.

A Guardian shall protect their Nation and its people as their champion.

The protection of their Nation is a Guardian’s first and only concern.

A World Council shall oversee the conduct of Nations and Guardians.

Upholding this Guardian System is a Councilor’s first and only concern.

In this way, we ensure that War will never return."

Very good, Dynas. Now, explain the fifth line. What does it mean to you?

The boy fidgeted as he thought. His fingers ran through his long, sandy hair, just beginning to show glimmers of violet as the rigors of his training changed him. Wielding so much Ki, so young, did that. He didn’t mind, even if his hair turned completely purple. He just hoped his skin wouldn’t turn purple, too.

He looked at his father for clues, but the Guardian’s face was a careful blank. Saeyr sat quietly, across from his son. Both were resting comfortably on cushions on the floor of the family dojo, Saeyr’s favorite classroom. Slatted wooden panels lined with rice paper disguised the stone walls, giving the space an illusion of delicacy.

For a change, Saeyr’s long, muscular frame was simply dressed, in shirt and pants of undyed raw silk, matching Dynas’ own training gear. The Guardian’s hair, faded white with golden flecks, was shorn short by preference. His eyes were fully golden, reflecting the late morning sunlight.

They had paused after a round of sparring, shifting abruptly to lessons on world history and politics. Dynas’ father, his occasional teacher, had a habit of leaping between challenges as if to test his pupil’s balance.

What was he asking now? A simple answer? Something polite and safe… or was this one of those times Father wanted cleverness and insight?

Dynas gave up in frustration and spoke his first thought: The protection of their Nation is a Guardian’s first concern, because that is their duty: to protect their Nation’s safety, prosperity, and honor. That is why a Guardian exists. If they acted otherwise, they would not be a Guardian. A Guardian who fails to fight a Nation’s threats will be removed, sooner or later.

What kind of threats?

Well, other Guardians, of course. Law-breakers, I suppose. Bandits and rogues and… troublemakers… and monsters.

Monsters?

Dangerous animals… or reshapes. It’s happened before, in Xymetria.

Not for a long time. Before your grandfather’s time, I believe. I suppose if something powerful and aggressive did emerge from the Waste, the Guardian would have to deal with it. And... trouble-makers, Dynas? You mean like Minister Kahdahl?

No…!

He causes a lot of trouble.

I mean like someone who defied the World Council or someone who hurt citizens.

By charging high taxes they couldn’t pay?

Yes… no. Dynas sighed, shifting on his seat. "I know, ‘a Nation’s laws are not a Guardian’s concern,’ but the taxes are unfair. Chandis told me how much citizens have to pay."

Saeyr nodded. "Actually, a Guardian can do some good by speaking out against unfair laws, but he cannot act against those laws nor create them. I am the servant of the people, through their government. A great deal of behavior can be called troublesome, but a Guardian may not decide who to punish and who to spare. We only prevent harm. Unfortunately, the legislature decides what is harmful and what is not. They tell the Guardian when to act, although I do choose how to solve each particular problem. Sometimes, the legislature is wrong and needs guidance."

Dynas chuckled, pleased to hear that his father agreed with him about some matters. Minister Kahdahl was harmful to many of Xymetria’s citizens. Unfortunately, the citizens he didn’t harm – or the ones he harmed least – kept electing him. What could a Guardian do about that?

His father brought him back to formal lessons. "What about the second part of the line? The protection of their Nation is a Guardian’s ‘only concern?’"

Dynas straightened and answered with mock gravity. A Guardian does not serve to enrich themselves. They must not pursue personal grudges or desires. They must be continuously vigilant against threats, always prepared to fight and win challenges, and diligent in maintaining their household. Any distraction which does not serve these purposes is discouraged.

The tilt of his eyebrow toward his father betrayed him.

Why does that amuse you, my son?

The boy huffed and leaned back more comfortably. "We’re rich. You have lots of money, and you have hobbies you enjoy. There’s nothing wrong with that… as long as you’re a good Guardian, and you are. The Code makes it sound like a Guardian has to be obsessed with fighting all the time. That would be boring. You’d go insane after a while."

His father shook his head and looked stern. "Don’t mock the Code. Personal interests are fine. After all, I never would have met and won your mother without my art. I also agree that balance is important. I’d be horrified to meet a Guardian who only enjoyed battle and nothing else.

"But that’s not what the Code means. It’s unlikely that a truly distractible or lazy person would be chosen as Guardian, much less allowed to remain in office. What it means is that one must not abuse the power of that office to serve petty ends. Guardians have twisted their role in the past, using it as an excuse to murder enemies, steal riches, and dominate the citizens they are supposed to serve. Sometimes, their superiors permit this behavior. Horrible things happen as a result."

I can imagine, but that’s why the World Council exists. To make sure the Guardian System works… that Guardians don’t misbehave.

True. Although it is also a mistake to think that the only answer to power misused is greater power. What do you do if the most powerful person alive is the problem? What if the Head Councilor became a tyrant?

Dynas’ mouth gaped open. The Council wouldn’t allow that! We talked about that… there are laws to remove a poor leader.

"If people follow those laws, all is well. Just like if we all follow the Guardian Code, theoretically, we need not fear another war... but people are people. Mistakes happen. Evil happens. I want to make sure you understand that the Code isn’t just for Guardians.

Everyone has to agree to it, to follow it… to hold their leaders to it. If a minister tells their Nation’s Guardian to do something that hurts their Nation, that also violates the Code, even if the Guardian is supposed to obey and serve. If a Councilor tells a Guardian to act against their Nation’s interests…

Dynas rose to his knees. That’s wrong! He was appreciating this lesson more and more.

It is, but remember, also, that doing the right thing is rarely easy, especially not alone. I have been fortunate to face so few serious troubles. My father’s time was more difficult. He nearly had to put down a mass riot.

I know, the Boulder Uprising.

Good memory. Glad to hear my stories aren’t being ignored.

Father!

Saeyr stood up, laughing. My apologies, but my point is, we all have to uphold the Code, even when it’s hardest. If we don’t, it falls apart. A leader has to show the people how to act with honor, so that they in turn can support him with their strength. That’s how it works. If the Nations stopped supporting the Council, it couldn’t rule. The same is true for Guardians. You’ll need the support of every person you serve, citizens and representatives alike. Don’t take peace for granted. The Code is difficult, but the alternative is always worse.

I understand. I remember. Dynas rose, following his father’s lead.

He turned somber, remembering his father’s lectures about War. It was awful: people dying, more people dead than were even alive now. The world was literally ripped apart, land and sky and everything living reshaped by unimaginable powers unleashed as weapons. Even more death, as the old laws fell apart and tyrants ruled. The Code had been created to end those dark times and to make sure they never came again.

The Guardian System wasn’t perfect, but it had brought centuries of stability and growth to the Nations that had emerged from chaos. Dynas was proud of his father, not only for being a powerful Guardian, but for being a noble and heroic one, determined to do his job well.

His father nodded, pleased at Dynas’ serious look. Good. I’m glad you remember. All right, you’ve earned a break. I think I smell dumplings. Shall we intrude upon the cook and see what’s coming for dinner?

Yeah!

Chapter 1

When the battered body of their Guardian crashed into the center of Tailush’s main marketplace one morning, few citizens witnessed it personally. Most residents of the area had already retreated to their homes. They might not have known what, exactly, was happening, but the alarms and crashes coming from the Guardian’s golden palace had suggested trouble.

Guardian Skabil seemed to be the target of said trouble. He looked half-dead, in fact. When the brave souls who remained in the market emerged to look, they were shocked to see their Guardian sprawled in the dust. His tall, athletic frame wasn’t quite as imposing when flat on the ground. His dark skin bloomed with even darker bruises. His black hair was scattered and dirty, full of grit. He was not wearing his typical finery, but only a pair of torn, pale silk pants, as if he had been roused roughly from bed.

Who could have battered the mightiest fighter in all Sailaam Dailaam? Was another Guardian present without warning?

An explanation followed shortly, in the form of a slight, uniformed woman leaping into the cleared square. She followed a similar arc to Skabil’s flight, but landed neatly, under her own control. If not for that feat, she might have been underestimated on sight. She was a foot shorter than the mighty Guardian and much lighter. Her light brown hair was cropped short, and her features were so plain as to be almost forgettable. Her strange clothing might attract attention: an archaic uniform of impossibly fine white fabric, with a shirt squarely cut at shoulders and pants smoothly fit at hips, studded with silver badges and topped with a felted flat cap. A short cape wrapped around her shoulders, fluttering in the dusty breeze.

To those who recognized it, the uniform explained much: The World Council. Only Councilors dared to wear military clothing, the remnants of the old world’s power and authority. When the woman finally spoke, she revealed more:

Skabil, Guardian of Sailaam Dailaam, I, Fultora, formally challenge you to a public match, to the death, in consequence of your repeated violations of Council law. By my authority as Head of the World Council, you must accept this challenge. Stand and fight… or run again and die.

The few bystanders backed further away, yet remained within range of sight. Their guesses about what constituted a safe distance were aided by the belated arrival of three more uniformed figures, who formed a perimeter around the two combatants.

The warders stood like ancient statues: a bald, bronzed god, a black-skinned athlete with improbable pale red curls, and a tall, pale, silver-blond nobleman. Their pristine, white uniforms matched their leader’s, but without the accents of cap and cape. The three did no more than stand and watch, but their presence added weight to Fultora’s words.

A public fight had a limited radius. The combatants were not supposed to pass beyond a hundred meters of their starting point. Any attacks – even blasts of projected Ki – should not extend much further. Yet, accidents could happen, and any bystander caught in the wake of a lawfully declared fight had only themselves to blame for injury. Damage to shops, carts, and other property might occur, but was supposed to be minimal. Similarly, the responsible fighter was supposed to repay the costs of breakage… but who was going to sue a Guardian or a Councilor for damages? Or, considering the usual outcome of a death match, sue the estate of the losing side?

Despite the risks, the people of Tailush were not about to miss this fight. They watched out of a perverse fascination, curious to see how the match would unfold. Could their Guardian actually defeat the Head Councilor? It seemed unlikely, considering he had been defeated just recently by Guardian Dynas of Xymetria. Then again, Dynas was a Grandmaster and the third-greatest Guardian in the world. The Head Councilor was only a Master, like Skabil, and she no longer participated in ranked combat. Perhaps her skills had declined after years of governance.

The bystanders also wanted to hear why the fight was happening. What had the mighty Skabil done to earn the Council’s wrath, much less the Head Councilor’s personal attention? There had been rumors of his misbehavior, but few believed that any Guardian, much less the Guardian of their Nation, would do such awful things. Still, if Fultora was acting with Council authority and not on her own, she must have persuasive proof.

Guardian Skabil was not easily beaten, not by another Guardian nor by a Councilor. He slowly stretched and lifted himself from the ground, taking time to recover. The bruises on his skin began to shrink, healing rapidly as he circulated Ki. He stood, shaky but proud, and faced Fultora.

Skabil shouted back, Violations? I have broken no law. You abuse your authority, Fultora. This match is only an excuse to silence a critic… someone who sees you for the tyrant you are.

Fultora, standing back only a dozen meters, scoffed loudly enough for the crowd to hear. Do not pretend to innocence. If you are not guilty, why hide in your palace when I arrived? Why didn’t you answer when I called for your presence? You hid behind walls and guards and servants… as if those would stop me! You refused to answer my challenge privately. I was forced to drag you out, bring you into the public square, and try you before the people of your capital… to kill you, publicly.

Her words struck hard. The accused Guardian flinched. He struggled again to protest: I resisted because you have no authority to challenge me. I have committed no crime! These charges are false.

Fultora stretched, her hands held to her side, fingers splaying and clenching. I have heard the witnesses. Even your people do not believe you, though your ruler fears to remove you from power. The citizens know your evil. You have abused your position as Guardian for far, far too long. You exploited your disciples and their families. You accepted money to choose certain disciples for training above others. You instructed disciples to lose at tournament challenges in order to win money betting against them.

The head councilor scowled as she pointed at Skabil. "You demanded… intimate favors… from disciples and their families. You even allowed disciples to die during training, so that you could replace them and reap more profit from newer students. You terrorize the citizens you are supposed to serve, stealing from them and even injuring them without apology or compensation."

Lies! All lies! screamed Skabil. His eyes darted about the street, as if searching for his betrayers among the populace. The grudges of failed students. They accuse me in order to benefit themselves. Extortion and blackmail! Councilor Fultora, do not be misled…

Silence! shouted Fultora in return. "You have been given ample patience and mercy. These accusations are not the first, nor the second, nor the third case against you; you have been accused and warned before.

We have waited years for you to heed the orders of the Council and repair your behavior, and once again, we hear of your misdeeds. There is no more mercy left, Skabil. The Council is behind me on this… finally. You are not fit to be Guardian, but you would not step down. There remains only one remedy.

As Fultora concluded her speech, her hands began to shimmer and glow. The light was dim and the effect subtle. Many in the crowd missed it. Skabil, close by and knowledgeable about the powers of Ki, saw the energy and knew its meaning.

He straightened fully, regaining what pride he could manage. His skin, nearly clear of bruises by then, darkened once more, but evenly. It dulled to the color of raw iron, reddish-black. His eyes gleamed with the same power that illuminated Fultora’s hands. He raised his fists, taking a fighting stance.

If you are determined to be unjust, then I must accept your challenge, he spat with fatal bravado. I may die, but the world will see that I fought well and made the Head Councilor suffer for her folly.

Fultora lazily assumed her own stance: feet arched, knees bent, hands raised and tapered into points. Fight, then. Your words are worthless.

At that insult, Skabil leapt, lashing out with his leading hand while pulling back his other fist for a powerful blow, ready to smash through and crush her after he tore aside her defenses.

Instead, Fultora stepped away, escaping the Guardian’s opening swipe. Skabil still attempted his follow-up, but that attack also met empty air.

The onlookers gasped, surprised not only that their Guardian was missing so badly, but that the Councilor needed to move so little to avoid him. She was not only swift; her defense was controlled to the minimum motion required to stay out of range. The two fighters ended their movements nearly side-by-side. When Fultora countered the attack, ordinary eyes could barely see her limbs move.

Her pointed hands lashed out like striking serpents, once each, stabbing at the elbow and shoulder of Skabil’s outstretched arm. Though his punch was neither slow nor clumsy, Fultora treated his retracting arm like a stationary target, tapping it with selective precision. Skabil stumbled backward, his limb hanging weakly for a moment.

He struggled to lift his arm back into position, the muscles responding sluggishly. He looked confused. How had the small woman not only struck hard enough to hurt him through his potent defenses, but also surgically enough to disable his strength?

The Head Councilor did not give him more time to consider his position. She slid forward through the dust, her feet drawing arcs as she advanced. When Skabil tried to raise his hands in defense, she struck aside his forearms, opening his guard. She closed further, striking repeatedly, stabbing him in the neck, chest, and good arm. He lifted a knee in an attempt at a clearing kick, but that leg, too, was smashed aside and weakened.

Skabil swiped with clawed fingers, his palms shimmering with destructive force. Fultora again evaded this desperate flurry and punished him in return, ducking under a long swing and coming back up with a pointed toe near his throat.

For several more seconds, the pair exchanged attacks. For each Ki art the Guardian revealed – Scorching Hand, Blinding Flash, Illusion Kick – the Councilor had an answer, making him pay for each mistake. The dark armor protecting Skabil’s flesh proved insufficient to spare him pain and weakness. In time, even that defense faded, as his energy was spent.

At the end of their last exchange, Skabil went down on one knee, his arms dangling pathetically. He was shaky, his eyes dimming as his Ki plummeted. He was struggling to rebuild his armor and heal his disabled limbs. Fultora stood over him, neither breathing heavily nor showing any sign of excitement.

The Guardian managed to raise his face and one hand, calling out, Stop! Please! I admit my crimes. I ask the mercy of the Council. I surrender! Just don’t kill me!

Fultora laughed, but it was bitter, without any real humor. "If it were only a matter of your prior crimes, you might even find mercy, but you continued to violate the Code, even after the Council corrected you. You defied our lawful orders. You tried to hide from justice… from me. I have no confidence you will not sin again, even if you retire as Guardian.

No, Skabil, I have no mercy left.

She said nothing more, but spoke instead with her hands. One sharp edge flashed downward, knocking aside Skabil’s upraised palm, audibly cracking the bones of his hand and wrist. His hand had barely fallen before Fultora’s second strike plunged down.

The edge of her hand shone briefly with power, pure white and intense. The movement was nearly invisible due to its speed, but the afterimage of that light showed its path: just above Skabil’s shoulder, cleanly across his neck.

The Guardian’s head flew free, separated by the slicing blow and launched by its force. The head spiraled upward and flew through the air, landing and rolling across the floor of the dusty marketplace. It came to rest against a stack of wooden crates.

Fultora stepped neatly backward to avoid the spatter of blood spraying from the man’s severed neck. After a long moment, Skabil’s body fell forward into the street.

The Councilor spared no further attention to the head, its former body, or the gathered citizens of Tailush. She said nothing more. She did not need to. Her message had been delivered in unforgettable terms.

Her guards said nothing, either. The pale man spared a glance at the separated head, but quickly returned to attention, heeding his superior’s gesture to depart.

Chatter among the gathered citizens immediately began to analyze the event and its importance. The news would spread: the Head Councilor was still a powerful fighter, perhaps more so than before she joined the Council. Skabil had been tried, found guilty, and executed, all according to the Code.

Most important, Sailaam Dailaam needed a new Guardian. Perhaps one among Skabil’s remaining disciples would be qualified to represent the kingdom. Perhaps another fighter would rise to the challenge and gain the Shah’s blessing. Until then, Sailaam Dailaam would fall in the world’s fortunes, unable to defend itself.

Skabil had been a flawed man, but he was at least a competent fighter. His ability had ensured that Sailaam Dailaam held onto its resources and prosperity. Without him, the Nation would suffer.

Even so, no one would complain to the Council about Skabil’s death, not even the Shah. His Nation’s loss was Skabil’s fault, for violating the Council’s laws… the world’s laws. The Guardian Code ensured peace and prosperity for all. Defying that system – or the Council that enforced it – meant going back to the strife and suffering of the past. No one wanted that.

Guardians who defied the Council were intolerable. They betrayed their own people as much as they broke the Council’s laws.

When the Head Councilor walked away, few faulted her actions, and no one spoke against her, even after her honor guard followed her out of the market square. Most residents were simply grateful the conflict had caused no further damage. Their main concern was the cleanup of blood, a head, and a corpse.

When Fultora returned to the train station to depart Tailush, she received only quiet respect. She left Sailaam Dailaam to consider her lesson.

Chapter 2

Dynas tried to rest in the back of his personal transport, a relatively slim, quiet steamcar. It was not a relaxing setting, despite its luxury. Its boiler chuffed distractingly and its heavy tires crunched and bounced on the gravel road.

His long, pale lavender hair scattered in the breeze from the open window as the vehicle rounded a grassy knoll. In the distance, his home came into view: a walled castle, full of sparkling turrets and arched outbuildings, surrounded by manicured lawns, pristine pools and perfectly trimmed trees. The late summer sun, glimmering through the overhanging clouds, rebounded from the silvered tiles of the manor’s rooftops. The effect perfectly fit the estate’s name: Sunsteel, traditional home of Xymetria’s Guardian.

The sight, always pleasant, was especially welcome on this return trip. The capitol city of Albaq was also beautiful, but it was crowded, noisy, and far less green than Sunsteel. The adoration of the masses was always appreciated, but sometimes people pressed too close… especially the press. Reporters were always pushing for an update or a quote from their illustrious Guardian.

The capitol was also full of Ministers and their attendants, few of whom it pleased Dynas to encounter. At least Minister Kahdahl was almost gone. Age was forcing the old despot to step down, leaving the business of tormenting Xymetria’s poor to his successors.

Succession, it seemed, was the theme of the day.

Dynas shook his head to dismiss unpleasant thoughts. He called to his driver: More speed. The ‘car accelerated, bouncing pebbles off the roadway into the grass.

Like everything Dynas owned, the steamcar was a work of art: a burnished steel body like a slipper seashell, accented in unnecessary gold, with plasglass windows and a perfectly maintained engine which clunked only as much as strictly necessary. Wide, tall tires spun and bounced on spring-balanced axles, absorbing a fair portion of the bumps.

It was a warm day, like most days in Xymetria, but Dynas still felt goosebumps rising. He held a letter in his hand, an official document written on a piece of expensive machine-pressed paper, its pure color and stamp proclaiming its authority. The letter had come from the World Council, hand-delivered to Dynas in Albaq. It said nothing Dynas did not already know, yet its phrasing and timing troubled him every time he looked at the message.

The Council’s most recent complaint about his procrastination came especially unwelcome. They advised him – not for the first time, but the eleventh – of his obligations as a Guardian. He had a duty to select disciples who would follow him, walk in his footsteps and learn his duties. At least one disciple should always be ready to succeed a Guardian.

In theory, Dynas saw nothing wrong with these requirements. They made perfect sense. Ensuring the peaceful transition of power between one Guardian and the next was in everyone’s interest, particularly the interest of the Council and each Guardian’s Nation.

The problem was, problems began to spring like water from an aging dam as soon as a Guardian named their successors. You had to defend your choice to every overlooked candidate and their family. You had to deal with challengers, who would see an untested student as a tempting mark. You had to manage the disciples themselves. If there was more than one candidate, they would compete endlessly for favor. If you trained only one student, they might immediately start plotting to supplant you. A bad choice was worse than no successor at all… in Dynas’ opinion, if not in the Council’s calculations.

His father had simplified matters: Dynas was his son, heir, and sole disciple. He could be sure of his child’s qualifications, having molded him from birth into a perfect Guardian. Dynas hardly felt perfect, but he had been proven more than competent, and the family had saved their Nation a great deal of time and turmoil.

Then again, Dynas could have turned out flawed, rebellious, or worse, corrupt, only biding his time until his succession, then ruining Xymetria as a terrible Guardian. You could never be certain who a person truly was inside, even your own child.

Dynas did not have the option of raising his own heir. It… hadn’t worked out that way, at least not yet. If he was to meet the Council’s demands, sooner and not later, he would have to look outside of Sunsteel, bringing in new blood for the first time in nearly a century. How could he hope to find someone capable and trustworthy?

Dynas had no desire to train disciples, no more than he looked forward to aging. As soon as he admitted to any weakness, some partisan would start finding reasons to plot against him and remove him as Guardian. Dynas had discouraged talk of succession among his Scouts – the experts and agents who served a Guardian, within and outside of their Nation – and forbade them from recruiting or even documenting potential disciples. It was not a subject he would discuss.

Dynas especially wanted to retain his seat of power, his beautiful home. In Sunsteel, Dynas was the supreme authority. There were no kings in Xymetria, but in his castle, Dynas was as close as anyone came. He protected and promoted his country well, and in return, the government rewarded him handsomely. Combined with his personal, inherited wealth, Dynas enjoyed the best of life’s comforts.

Dynas also enjoyed the peace and quiet of his solitude. He had worked hard to become Guardian. He fought hard to gain and hold a high rank among the world’s champions. He served Xymetria ably, defending her interests. Was it wrong to want more time to savor the fruits of his labors… alone?

Eventually, the steamcar turned onto an asphalt drive, passed through marble gates, and pulled into the rounded cul-de-sac that marked the entrance to the manor proper. Rows of trimmed trees flanked the driveway. Two fountains – one round, one square – sat equidistant from the front entrance and from one another. Overhead, towers, spires, chimneys, balconies and other architectural flourishes flowered like the blooms on a cherry tree in Spring. The air smelled like pollen and mown grass, with a hint of roasted chicken and steaming dumplings flowing underneath, leaking from the open windows of the kitchens.

Dynas’ stomach rumbled, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since the previous night.

The letter had ruined his appetite. It drained his strength. It sealed his destiny. Its command was unavoidable. Dynas had managed to shrug off the Council’s demands for years. This time, there were no polite reminders, no avoidable requests. The message contained strict orders and warnings of sanction. It also spoke of dangers on the horizon, threats against which every Guardian needed to prepare: rogue Nations agitating, Waste-born beasts multiplying, outlaws taking advantage of every lapse in security. Dynas needed a successor, and he needed to work quickly.

He watched out the window as his vehicle pulled up before the manor’s entry. A serving man in dark livery sprang from the porch’s shadows to open Dynas’ door. Dynas stepped out of the car, still clutching the letter beneath his cloak. The elderly doorman, Chandis, bowed.

Have my trunks brought up right away, Dynas ordered, and send Scoutmaster Audra to my office in thirty minutes. Until she arrives, I’ll take lunch on the veranda.

The footman nodded. Without a look back, Dynas advanced through the open front doors, entering the foyer. The chamber was filled with beautiful things. A grand marble staircase rose before Dynas, dominating the room. Its iron railings were trimmed in gold leaf, and tiny shoots of ivory bamboo wound up its oak banister. The floor was covered in the finest tatami mats, which kept the footsteps of the manor’s many servants whisper-quiet.

Dynas had a personal fondness for paintings, and so the entrance hall was covered with them. Xymetrian landscapes showed bamboo forests, rolling hills, and craggy cliffs. Men and women in armor crouched in fields of blowing grass. Portraits of all Xymetria’s past Guardians lined the far wall on the upper level: his father Saeyr’s self-portrait, of course, and Saeyr’s painting