Cambria: Chapter 1

Blacke was a city cursed with eternal gloom.

The sky was never sunny in Blacke. The mood set by it was never a warm one, and for the capital of the nine Nations, it was hardly a fitting atmosphere for the rebirth of a world.

At night the sky was devoid of all stars in Blacke. Only the light of the two moons illuminated the city, shining off the moist cobblestone streets and the shingles of rooftops. A titanic black spire climbed into the sky, or rather a gigantic lighthouse that was never used. It also happened to be the Imperial Palace as well, a sentinel standing tall at the center of hundreds of victorian style buildings around it in a circle surrounded by a massive wall.

People in formal attire, holding umbrellas walked through the streets silently, a moderate rain cascading down upon them. The streetlamps cast the occasional halo of golden light throughout the streets, acting as beacons to the multitude of dull faced travelers who traversed the streets.

The neon sign of a jazz bar lit up a portion of one of the streets, flickering on and off every once in awhile. An open entryway led to a dark interior filled with all manner of different furniture and a stage, where musicians played a soothing tune to the handful of people who sat around it. Dim lights lit the area from above, casting a shadowy filter over the whole establishment.

A man in a torn black cloak sat at one of the round tables which were illuminated by the dim glow of a candle. He took a sip of his coffee and set the cup down with a small 'clink.' His face would appear rather young, the rest being shrouded by his attire, apart from his pupils which flickered a dull red color. This indicated his mastery over his life energy: Cambria. The ultimate sign of power.

A pale hand reached onto the table to gingerly pick up a pair of black shades, which he proceeded to place over his eyes in order to hide them from the other patrons of the bar. Having the eyes of the Enlightened was nothing to wave about to the masses, after all. Still, a very slight glow of red twinkled from behind the shades, faintly dying the table before him a dull crimson.

The man stared at his white cup of java, as if pondering deeply, before bringing it to his mouth once more and letting the hot, bitter, brew flow down his throat for a brief moment before setting it down once again.

The sound of footsteps approached him, each one ringing out with the same noise before coming to a halt at his table, another shadow mixing with the atmosphere of the bar to loom over him. The man at the table seemed to ignore this figure entirely, taking another sip of his coffee and setting it back on the table.

"... Have a seat."

He spoke, with a voice as clear as glass with a moderate pitch. There was a slight European accent carried with it, along with a noticeable touch of youth. The stranger pulled out a wooden chair and sat down silently, folding his arms on the table and bathing the two of them in another length of silence.

"What a lovely place to conduct business, Cyrus."

The stranger spoke, an almost mischievous grin forming on his face, voice sounding uneven and high toned, yet an essence of age thrown in along with it.

"I have the location of the Iceblood at the ready. We mustn't let the Emperor unknowingly doom us, so please do find it quickly."

Cyrus took another silent sip of his drink and turned to face the man before him.

"I will do so in my own good time, Beckett. Dravis is not experienced enough to locate the Iceblood so early into his... Rule."

"Please don't be too full of yourself. You know what happened last time..."

Cyrus violently slammed his right fist against the table, not moving any other muscle in his body other than those of his right arm in doing so. His drink and the candle

both rattled briefly.

"If you bring that up again, Heavno... Regiment Eight will be getting a new Commander."

He spoke, still in the same voice which was previously in use. Beckett chuckled to himself a little, running his hand through his smooth hair, which he had dyed a deep shade of blue.

"It's so fun to get on your nerves, though. Oh well, I suppose a fight in the capital wouldn't be in either of our interests, now would it?"

Cyrus grinned only slightly.

"Absolutely not. Forward the Iceblood's location to my SPECS, and I'll get this trainwreck moving."

Beckett nodded and touched the rim of his own shades, communicating to the highly advanced device through his mind and forwarding a data file on to the interface of Cyrus' own shades. With that, he turned and began walking away.

"Take care, Mr. Fiendel. And good luck."

"I won't be needing it, I assure you."

Cyrus spoke, mentally activating the interface of his SPECS, which showed itself as a variety of blue text before him, displaying multiple different functionalities.

'Open file: Project Iceblood.'

The man ordered.

"Project Iceblood location schematics successfully obtained. Charting fastest route to target…"

A cool female voice spoke in Cyrus' mind. The man took a final drink of his coffee, and stood up, beginning to walk towards the exit, of the facility with a very clear goal in mind: save both Ares and Earth by any means necessary.

His mission began now.