Hey guys. This is an unedited part so there might be errors along the way. Don't forget to comment and vote at the end of the chapter. Also, I'm sorry that this chapter was long. I just needed to explain the story. Would love your feedback :D

Herivus overlooked the rolling plains from his father's stone mason, built by his ancestors, stones brought together in what had to be a massive effort of will. Shortly, they would depart on yet another dangerous job past the safety of the Empire's walls. Oh, how he hated those trips. The bloody thing was fun, yet it was as insane as insane could ever get. The sky was barely lit and the commoners were waking en masse. He had begun following his father on these trips ever since he turned 10, when he had an adequate understanding of the Air art. He heard footsteps approaching and he spun immediately, sword leaping free from his scabbard in a flash. He parried an exceptionally fast downward stroke and a flowing upward stroke from his assailant. He rolled to his left and made an enormous leap, bringing his sword to his side and twisting suddenly, barely avoiding skewering himself, which would have been embarrassing, seeking to strike his enemy in the belly.

It was parried rather contemptuously and was struck with a powerful hit to his left shoulder which faltered his balance. The attacker, never relenting, rammed into Herivus, hitting him against the railing. Herivus knew his dueling blade would be of no use in such close quarters, but in his excitement, he had left his gladius and his hunting knives in his wardrobe. He felt cold steel pressed against his throat, hard enough to make a soft trickle of blood flow.

"How many times have I told you, Herivus, to never let your powers overrule that thing you have for a brain. I also recall telling you that when you wish to execute the Grizzly, relax your fingers and your shoulders to make the thrust clean. Had I been a Dragan, you would be dead already." The man was huge, golden hair and green eyes all bearing down on Herivus. He was heavily muscled and was exceptionally tall, stretching out to seven feet. He was also dressed in Legion lorica. And the bloody thing was freezing Herivus. He winced.

Herivus recognized the voice at once and let out a sigh of relief as soon as the pressure against his throat eased. His cheeks flushed and his voice cracked for a few seconds. He cleared his throat.

"I didn't realize you were the one, my lord. I just sensed someone coming and I attacked," He bowed. The man gazed at Herivus before relaxing his stance. "No need to apologize, boy. Get ready. We'll leave in a while."

"Father, why must we keep going? If the Dragans attempt anything funny, the alarms will blare in time enough for the Legions to battle."

"We need to constantly know whatever maneuvers are going on and a rough estimate of numbers. In the case of a confrontation, we would be miles better off."

"But still, we'd be looking for trouble where there is none. If the barbarians ever caught any of us, we would die. They are extremely protective of their bloody territory." Herivus complained. His father let out a belly laugh at that.

"You may have a point. Maybe one day, you'll explain to the fart we have as a King why this is pointless. But for now, we do as we're told and without complaint too. That's what makes us who we are, son"

Herivus digested that for a while. The air was filled with the regular chimes from the blacksmith's shop. The commoners outside the manor were already about their daily chores, children even younger than Herivus were rushing to the farms and into the hills to herd their flock. Once in a while, a merchant passed by with a wagon full of supplies, and then the children took them into the huge storage barns of the city. The soothsayer by the lane kept selling those amulets and charms, though she had been warned several times by the Council to stop the illicit trade. So they turned a blind eye to whatever she did.

"Father, why do some good-hearted folks suffer for a decent living while their actions merit a good position in the Empire?" Herivus inquired. His father kept silent for a while before looking down at Herivus. He bent until he was at Herivus' eye level.

"That's a complicated question, Heri. The good folks of today, once in power, sometimes become a black-hearted people. As you remember, the tale of Berini explained it to good effect. And more often than not, the selfless ones almost never ascend to the life we live. Hence the saying 'Life is unfair'. Do you understand?"

"So how do we live this life, while knowing that others are suffering and still have little more than the clothes on their backs? What makes us better?"

"I see that you've spent a lot of time in the archive section of the library, Heri. This discussion has been had so many times since we came into existence. Truth is, no one is better, Heri, only more fortunate"

"But it is said that luck is for fools"

The Lord of Grets laughed heartily at that. "You think a lot, chap. Maybe you can bring the much needed change to our world. If only there were more decent folk like you in places like Councils and the Senate, we would be better off. Now, run along and get your things. It's going to be a busy day, son"

Below, the team had finished packing their bags with what had to be tent-making equipment and food, engaging their muscles in exercises for what would be a long flight. The men set about cracking sinister jokes to each other. One member of the team sent himself face-first into the ground after his maneuver was disrupted by a mischievous man there broke his concentration.

"Milord, the team's ready! We're awaiting your orders to be on the move!" One member of the scouting team below said. The man that fell dusted himself and made for the man who disrupted him. A rumble of laughter followed.

"Tell the team to move into the v shape. We'll be along in a minute"

Herivus nodded once and walked away briskly, evidently deep in thought. That boy's gonna crack his skull one day with his thinking, the Lord of Grets thought and walked away. There were important things to do.

Within the next quarter hour, the scout team had begun their flight, the distance between Grets and the Dragans' kingdom. They flew in a v-shaped alae, more than 20 men-strong, each of them powerful in at least one art. Herivus noted that the only reason he kept up was as a result of his raw abilities at flying, and still he was at the tail end of the v. He focused on the horizon, trying to sieve the air to magnify his view. His talent was still very raw, so his view was sketchy, like looking through murky water. They had approximately 100 miles to cover, and in order not to exhaust themselves on flight before the main mission commenced, they flew at a leisurely pace. Heri sighed and looked below him at the forest. It was enough reason to make him sick, because even as this was considered leisurely, it was still very fast. He signaled the man on his left and the man drew himself back mildly, though it was enough for Heri to catch up.

"How long till we get to the outposts of Ren?" Heri asked. Ren was a large city towards the south east of Jora Krana, the capital. It was the last large city before they reached Dragana.

"Approximately 6 hours, young sir"

"6 bloody hours of flying. No matter how many times I've gone on this trip, it seems always new and irritating"

"I feel the same way, young sir. Though when your Air art becomes more refined, you'll be possibly less tired and irritated"

"That seems impossible. The bloody barbarians there. They're no loving sight to look at. I still don't understand the logic behind this. We're stepping on the tiger's tail here and what do we get for it? A week's rest, then we're away again"

The man snorted "Used to feel that way too. They're just so many of the bloody pale bastards to fight if it ever comes to that" Herivus glanced at the man and laughed heartily then the man went back into position. A storm was brewing ahead. Just great, Heri thought. Adding more hours to the bloody journey. If only the stupid East artists would stop trying to show they were better than the West. In truth, they were strong, strong enough that when the West tried to reply with a gale of theirs, the East simply swallowed it up and a massive storm came down on the West. He vaguely remembered reading an article on that from a scholar. The group flew on without incident and Heri became increasingly bored and irritated. He wondered what kind of spirit entered him when he said he wanted to join the scout team at age 10. The storm though, had other ideas concerning the peace of travel. Lightning struck right in front of his eyes and left massive spots of color in them. He tried to blink them away and just when he found success, another bolt came down, inches from his nose.

Heri nearly wet his pants and tried to fly faster. A bolt came down close enough for him to feel heat on his armor. He tried to remember the man's name. Jeri, Deri, Ari, that was it.

"Ari!" Herivus cried, terrified that yet another bolt would come down, this time striking him. Strong as he was in the Air art, he still wasn't able to manipulate electricity "Lightning disturbance! Signal the leader to stop the flight at once!"

Ari looked back and grinned at him. The bastard was having fun, Herivus thought. He made a mental note to cut off Ari's air supply sometime in the future. The group began descending to the thick forest below and decided to make camp till the storm waned. They were still a long way from Ren, and Ren was still miles south of the tip of the Dragan territory.

His father shot him a grin and walked over to him, still barking orders to his men, trying to get them in order. The team set about trying to cut trees with their axes. The earth was sticky and the men basically had to waddle through it. The trees provided some sort of cover for them, branches and leaves of the trees spreading over them making it almost impossible to see.

"You got scared, huh?" His father said, teasing him. Herivus just looked at him.

"I wouldn't use the word scare, I'd prefer the word cautious to-" A particularly ferocious bolt of lightning struck, a few feet from Heri. He staggered back, his ears ringing and his eyes couldn't even see where he was going. When finally his ears stopped ringing, he heard all the men laughing heartily at him. His cheeks went red instantly. His father had brought down that bolt to precisely prove his point. He muttered something under his breath and walked to begin setting his tent.

He took in his surroundings, though he still couldn't get the smell of ozone out of his nose, thanks to his father and his eyes still had spots of color in them. The forest was particularly thick and according to all the journals, this kind of place was a terror to travelers. They were miles away from help. He shivered as he remember that Timares hunted this area regularly. There were stories of campers who were mauled by two Timares, hardly leaving enough for a burial.

He didn't even notice when his father came and put his hand on him. His sword was already clear of its scabbard. He whirled and lashed a distracting kick towards the belly. The attacker simply grabbed his leg with monstrous force and flung him away. He flew a few yards backwards and landed in a heap at the base of a tree.

"Bloody ravens and eagles, boy, it's not everything that wants to attack you! Your sword has impressive speed, no doubt, but if you're against a master of Air, that won't do you any good."

Herivus rubbed his head and winced. His father was right. He was too swift in drawing his sword. He didn't even think for a second. He shook his head like a dog fresh out of water and bowed.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know you were there" His father spun on his heel and joined the men, moving far away from Herivus. Herivus decided to sit and rest his muscles. The hairs on the back of his neck rose sharply and his nose picked up a musky scent. He got up immediately, his instinct telling him to draw his sword and he obeyed, focusing behind the canopy of trees. Something was moving with alarming speed towards him. He looked around him warily. The others hadn't noticed, too busy with their work. The forest exploded into motion and revealed...

A Timare.

An actual Timare.

A really big Timare.

Towering at over eight feet, the thing had a bulky body, girth greater than the combined size of two bears. It had particularly vicious-looking teeth, its face sporting two scars that crossed in an 'X' shape at its forehead. Its nose was covered in slime, its ears flattening in an attack gesture. Its gleaming red eyes looked around and settled its eyes on Herivus. The thing was surprisingly swift for its' size, fast enough to take Herivus who had sensed it off-guard. The Timare's claws darted at Herivus who slid under the blow and the Timare's claws dug themselves deep into a tree's bark. Had he been a second slower, his head would have rolled on the ground. The Timare recovered very quickly and turned the miss into a well-directed kick to Herivus' chest. Herivus rolled to his left and barely avoided the blow once again. He could vaguely hear his father bellowing at the men in panic. Was his father afraid?. The Timare lashed out yet again at Herivus' leg, Herivus jerked the leg but discovered an instant too late that it had been a feint. The Timare slashed at Herivus' arm, ripping it open all the way to the elbow, blood pouring freely. Hot pain coursed through him and his vision went white for a second. The Timare never slowed, taking advantage of his brief blindness, its right hand lashing for Herivus' throat.

The pain threatened to overwhelm him. Move.

He felt too weak to move.

Move now, sleep later.

He rolled out of it in reflex, the years of training kicking in, bouncing lightly on his feet. Support had finally arrived as a guard reached Herivus, wielding an ice lance, ramming it deep into the Timare's thigh.

It whirled around and broke the lance contemptuously. Herivus, no longer at the centre of the Timare's attention took to the air, staying a safe distance away from its head, hovering around the Timare in concentration. His sword gleamed as he poured his metal energy into it, at the same time, his blood poured in a fountain from the extreme strain. He would have to visit the surgeons for quite some time. Below, the Timare bit its teeth deep into the man who struck with the ice lance on the shoulder, blood pouring down.

He yelped and dropped his weapon, trying to release his leg from the Timare's grip, his face squeezing in pain. The Timare shook its head violently and Herivus heard a bone snap like a twig. The man screamed in immense pain, the leg completely deformed. Rage washed over Herivus. He let that rage pour into the sword, his vision going red for a bit.

He snarled something under his breath and the veins on his head became very visible, almost bulging out of his forehead, heart beating too fast, blood pumping much more quickly than it should have in normal circumstances. With a cry, he flew to the Timare's head, one move in mind. He had practiced it over and over again. He released the tense energy from his shoulders and fingers, his arms popping with effort. He mentally forced the pain he was feeling in his arm back to his subconscious. He brought the sword to his side, twisting suddenly and with a precise upward stroke, took the Timare's head from its shoulders. Dark-red blood, so dark it was almost black, erupted in a fountain. The thing let out its last roar, its body shuddering, then it fell to one side.

Well, he thought, it wasn't named the Grizzly for nothing then.

The men cheered and clapped at his show of great swordsmanship and he dropped from his hover to the earth, feeling exhausted from the effort and cleaned the blood from his sword on the Timare's fur. The men were calling for a medico immediately after, the man the Timare dealt with unmoving but conscious. His hands felt very heavy all of a sudden. It was more than anything he thought he could have achieved at present. He knew he was a raw talent, some raw talents often killed themselves with their swords while trying something most professionals did. But he survived. He felt like a man. Lord Gretrus frowned when he saw Herivus' arm and shoved a medico at him. The medico quickly made a fire-induced treatment, heating Herivus' arm massively. Herivus clenched his teeth. The pressure reduced gradually and the medico molded water and fire together, closing the wound and replenishing the lost blood at the same time.

The storm made itself known again, lightning and thunder turning the peaceful melancholy of battle to a cacophony of the elements. The men looked upwards in dismay then went over to the wounded man, hauled him from his position and went over to the medico's tent. The wind whistled violently, the trees bending over to one side, leaves thrown up into the air and rustling around in a mini-tornado. The campfire, barely lit a few seconds ago, abruptly went out, leaving the men in the dark. This storm seemed pretty bad. Herivus let the rain fall on his face, taking in the scenario. He looked at the Timare he killed, feeling sympathy for the animal. It wasn't its fault it was naturally aggressive. Yet, he killed it. The triumph he felt when he killed it had evaporated. He went over, already drenched in the rain and closed its massive eyelids. He hadn't eaten anything that morning, so he couldn't retch. He knew that if he hadn't struck when he did, the Timare would probably have killed the man it had in its' clutches. He sat on his bedroll and removed his boots.

He didn't know how much time had passed but the men were ready to fly once the rain abated, the wounded man had been made whole by the medico, but was still tender. They were flying in the direction of the wind, so it shortened what would have been long moments of the journey. They reached the outposts of Ren in a short while to find archers, expertly on one knee, aiming at them with cool precision. Herivus blinked. One moment, no one was on the battlements, the next there was a full century on the walls.

"Who goes there?" One archer asked, clearly the centurion. The man was quite small, he was short and was thin, sandy hair making him look more like a refugee than a centurion.

Lord Gretrus laughed at the sight. "Archer, can you tell me why you are taking aim at us?" Lord Gretrus asked, quite quizzically. Herivus glanced at him then back to the centurion. "I thought it was Derius in charge of the archer century."

"The old fart decided to take a break, to get vacation time with his family. It's about time he retired though. Or one of us would have overthrown him."

"Acting Centurion, do I detect insubordination in your tone?" Lord Gretrus asked, raising both brows, head tilted to one side. He laid a slight emphasis on the word acting.

The centurion gave him a cold stare in reply. "Not insubordination, Your Grace. All I'm saying is that people don't know when to take a break from the army. High time some of us boys got a little more time in control."

"Still, he's your superior, legionnaire. Though I would have found it more intimidating of you if you weren't more of like...a shrimp" Herivus pitched in, trying to taunt him. One of the archers laughed then covered it with a cough. The acting centurion gave Herivus a murderous look.

Lord Gretrus cautioned Herivus with a glare before waving the centurion off.

"Best we get going. We've lost a lot of time already on this bunch. Tell Ari and Merius to get the men ready once again. We move once we get back to the group"

"Yessir"

With that, Herivus spun on his heel and stalked back to the group, ready to get to Dragana. His last reserves of feeling safety were eroding at an alarming rate. Something was going to happen; he just couldn't lay his finger on it. 

Author's Note:

Breaking this chapter into two. Wouldn't want my loving readers to grow bored now, would I? Each read encourages me to keep writing more and more. Let me have your feedback. The continuation will be placed in-between Chapter One and Two, so those of you who stopped halfway can continue.