He stood at his balcony, overlooking the massive battalion of troops marching into formation. Dressed in a military officer’s ceremonial uniform, five stars glimmered on each epaulette on each shoulder. His sword remained unsheathed, as he held it comfortably in his right grip. The general was in his sixties, judging by the countless wrinkles which lined his face. His stare was cold as ice, as if anyone who stared into it would suffer his ultimate wrath.

A flag of a golden wolf waved high and mighty above the palace.

He was the successor of General Beowulf, when he took command of the country four decades ago.

“Show them no sign of weakness. Remember that the lion may be the king of the animal kingdom, but wolves are not enclosed in a zoo,” he remembered Beowulf’s gruff and strict teachings.

The orange rays of the sun reflected off each soldier’s polished boots in the gigantic parade square. Sun sets were a luxury in Sanguis, the nation which he ruled. Located up north on Upper Gaia, the harsh winter conditions meant that only the strongest survived. Though his men were in their thick all-purpose uniform to protect them from the cold, the silk uniform was the only cloth covering his aged body.

The chilly gales made him shiver, yet he stood firm, returning a clean salute back to the parade commander, just like every other day for the past decades he stood at the top.

The aged general turned and retreated indoors, knowing that a fifth of his private battalion was on duty to protect his palace. Still, it was not enough for peaceful nights.

“Secure the perimeters and mobilise another company. I have a feeling another coup may happen tonight,” he spoke with authority to his second-in-command, “as long as I’m alive, the flag still stays golden and the wolves remain.”

The Supreme Leader, General Lycan’s order came out stern and steadfast. Ruling a country where the strongest sat at the top, he had to be vigilant. There was always someone who would try to usurp his throne and the stronger one would emerge victorious while the weaker one would be ruthlessly beheaded by his sword.

Tonight, he had a feeling that his sword would be soiled with blood yet again.

The huge bathhouse was occupied by only one person. The caramel-skinned man soaked naked in the natural hot-spring, relaxing his tensed muscles and recovering from the fatigue. His muscles were toned and well-defined. This beautiful physique, which was the nearest anyone could obtain to perfection, did not belong to a sheltered, lazy man who has never contributed in any fight from the time he enlisted.

He kept his eyes closed as he was in the middle of an ancient meditation technique, a ritual passed down from father to son, from mother to daughter, back in his hometown. His torso and forehead glistered with beads of sweat, making his caramel skin sparkle. Not a single scar tainted his body. It was a body which represented perfection.

Word spread, when he was granted the most luxurious treatment in the military, even though he held no military rank. Officially, he was an honourable guest of Oclia by virtue of his status, residing in the country permanently until further notice.

Troops looked up to him standing on the pedestal, a heart full of bitterness. By birth, his destiny was already planned for him in the most lavish of manners. He never had to live a day of hunger. He never had to work hard for something he wanted. It was a privileged and prestigious life.

He did not grimace. He was taught not to care about trivial matters, to always be in control of his emotions. The emerald jadeite ring on the ground glowed gently. His golden ring was still worn round his ring finger. It glowed in a golden shade. The middle portion started to appear faintly red. Objects in the bathhouse started to vibrate with increasing intensity. It wasn’t just the objects. The entire bathhouse started to vibrate, along with the water from the hot-spring. The bathhouse was about to be covered with thick steam.

Russell Tauros seemed like the only one undeterred for he was the only one not affected by the change in atmosphere. It was only a meditation session after his daily, insane training which kept his body in such magnificent state.

“No matter what you do, never take this ring off, you understand?” He recalled his father’s last words to him before being dragged off to the execution grounds.

He has never removed the ring inscribed with ancient symbols and the blood shed by hundreds before him since it was transferred from his father’s possession to his. He had come a long way filled with despair and the ring more so…

Some scars are bore within the heart. Some powers are not worth to possess.

The black trench coat protected him from the rain pelts. He trudged to the stern of the massive ship. His waterproof boots made squeaking noises.

“How’s the repairs going?” he barked.

“Captain, we were damaged pretty badly on the stern.”

“The storm’s quite bad, Cap’n. Can’t you do something about it?” The crew mechanic spoke with a lazy slang, a front tooth missing from his set of yellow teeth.

“I make bad weather, I don’t stop them!” The Captain barked again. His crew were unaffected by his harsh remarks. The lone-eyed leader was crude but harmless. At least to his crew.

The rain plattered down on his dark, rough face carved with scars. “Stupid weather. And to think we had to request for help,” he complained, “get on it, you maggots! Storms going get a lot worse!”

It was always the roughest in the middle of the night. But his crew was always prepared for it. They were a crew which the Republic gave in to for a mutual agreement. The insignia of a silver unicorn shimmered in the storm while the pirate flag flew high and mighty in the relentless winds.

“Curse those tribal freaks, leading us on a merry-goose-chase to the Trench,” Commodore Zerga Zerman spat. If it was not for his deep knowledge of the seas, they would have been done for already. The Pirate King remembered his vengeance well, and pays them back in kind. He swore to exact revenge on the freak commander who caused the wreckage of his personal battleship.

His scarred cheeks twitched with irritation. The more he thought about how he was made a fool, the angrier he got. Thunder rumbled fiercer and the lightning flashes became more intense. He stared into the open waters, just metres away from the thick mist which separates the Edge from the Trench.

“Cap’n… Maybe you should go rest in your quarters…” His henchmen timidly suggested. They were already so close to the notorious Trench, they did not want the storm to push them further into the darkness.

It was as if sea and storm were reacting to Zerman’s anger. From the looks of the pirate maintenance crew, it was not “as if” but “as such”. The Pirate King could drastically affect the choppy seas and violent storms…