It was a peaceful morning.

The sun was bright as it warmed the kingdom sitting inside of large stone walls.

A small home was sitting surrounded by other homes that towered over.

A large man slowly made his way out of the door.

He had long hair pulled back to stay out of his eyes. A short beard of stubble covering the jawline that was impossible to grab and pull. His muscles were large and powerful, but overall the body was slim enough to be agile and quick. The eyes were clean and looked strong, as if he had figured out a way to take care of his vision. His body had faded scars all over. He stood without anything covering his torso and only thin fabric wrapped around his waist traveling down to obscure his hips and large thighs.

He sat on a wooden stool right next to his front door, which creaked from the weight resting on top. Inside his hand was a large wooden mug full of steaming liquid.

A group of men were slowly making their way around the wall in a small formation. They walked in step, a large rectangular shield on one arm while the other held long pikes pointing into the air. Attached to their sides were short swords with golden hilts. They were covered in silver armor that covered their entire bodies, helmets covering everything but their necks. The armor was covered in crests and religious symbols. A cross covered the large shields. The pikes all had very small crosses etched in, the same for the sword hilts.

The formation came to a stop in front of the man, all of them standing still until one stepped forward.

“Sir Frederick, how are you doing this fine morning?” The soldier asked in French.

Frederick, the man sitting on the stool, stared forward onto the group of soldiers.

“I am…” Frederick started in rough sounding French, struggling to continue the sentence.

“No worries Sir. We can switch to English for you. We need to practice.” The soldier replied in English.

“I thank you.” Frederick replied with a smile.

He lifted the wooden mug up and took a long sip, sighing after he pulled the mug back.

“How are your drills going?” Frederick asked.

“We are doing well. We hope you can join us someday.” The soldier replied.

“Well…we shall see.” Frederick replied with a fake, soft smile.

The soldier nodded and then turned back to the formation.

“Enough time for rest. We must continue.” He said in French.

All of the soldiers began to march back in formation as Frederick watched.

Once they were far enough away, the smile on his face faded away.

He slowly stood up and went inside of his small home.

There was very few items of furniture.

There was a desk that had a single book resting on it. Next to it was a small bed, a wooden practice sword and shield leaning against the wooden frame.

The shield had a large cross scratched in.

Another wooden cross was hanging on the wall above the bed.

Frederick sat at the desk and grabbed the book.

He opened it to begin reading.

It was a Bible, used so much that the cover was faded and torn, no longer telling what the book is until you open it.

Frederick leaned back as he continued reading it from the beginning, making his way through as he did everyday.

As Frederick sat and read, he could hear people shouting outside.

Frederick tilted his attention to the door, listening for what was happening.

The screaming grew louder.

Women and children screaming.

Frederick neatly placed his Bible down before grabbing his shield and wooden sword, running through his doorway and looking toward the stone walls.

There was smoke blocking out the sky.

The citizens were all racing wildly past Frederick, running towards the castle sitting in the center of the walled city.

Soldiers were running the opposite direction, dressed head to toe in armor wielding their weapons.

One grabbed Frederick.

“Go to the castle! We’ll take care of this!” The soldier shouted in French, then ran off.

Frederick looked at the castle, then at the walls shaking with fire and smoke growing more and more in size.

Frederick was shaking, clearly unsure of what to do.

Frederick suddenly dropped down to his knees, holding his shield and sword as he clasped his hands together. He very rapidly began to pray, ending with by motioning a cross from his head to his chest.

He looked up at the sky that was beginning to be blocked more and more by the black smoke.

Frederick got back to his feet and sprinted as quickly as he could through the crowd of civilians running the opposite direction.

Frederick made it to the gates, the drawbridge down while arrows were flying all around him. Soldiers that were supposed to protect the city laid on the ground dead, arrows stabbing through their armor.

Frederick was looking at the bodies, but suddenly noticed an arrow heading towards him. He lifted his wooden shield, but the arrow made it shatter in an instant, sending Frederick falling back onto the ground.

He could hear screaming and looked to see an army running across the bridge, storming through the walls as the soldiers did their best to hold a line, but they were being wiped out with ease.

Frederick looked next to him at a dead body, staring through the bloody helmet and seeing the wide open dead eyes.

Frederick didn’t have time to think.

He grabbed the shield and sword off the body, getting to his feet and charging forward as he screamed.

Frederick made it to the front line, slashing his sword into the enemy covered in silver armor that covered every part of their body. Frederick couldn’t see the humans inside the armor, only slashing and stabbing into their seemingly unbreakable armor.

Frederick could feel the soldiers behind him trying to pull him back.

“You are not a soldier! Get to the castle! Now!” They shouted in French right into Frederick’s ear.

Frederick shoved the soldier away and swung the sword as hard as he could, managing to drive the blade right between the helmet and armor, one of the only places that were exposed. Blood began to fire out in a fountain, landing on Frederick as he gasped.

He had never felt another person’s blood on his body before.

He felt his body lock up. He froze. He didn’t know what to do.

He looked forward as more of these faceless enemies charged at him.

Frederick gripped the sword as tightly as he could.

“For my home!” Frederick shouted and slashed the sword wildly, managing to consistently hit the armor wherever it was exposed.

Slicing between the helmets and armor covering their torsos. He managed to stab and hit where their legs and hips met, exposed to allow the soldiers movement. He managed to find places in the armor that were thinner, stabbing right through as if it were a miracle being repeated over and over.

Frederick’s body was covered in his enemy's blood.

The remaining soldiers began to retreat, Frederick standing in front of the army as they cheered loudly.

Frederick was breathing heavily, looking down at his mostly ***** body.

His skin was covered in so much blood, it was as if that was his skin color. He dropped the sword and shield belonging to another man, standing with his body untouched yet still in pain.

He felt a soldier’s arm go around him, making him wince as the soldiers began to loudly shout and sing a French song.

Frederick’s ears were filling with a high pitched ringing as he stared forward.

The city was cleaned of the dead bodies, dumping them into the moat outside the walls and leaving them to float before they began to sink down to the bottom. The citizens had made it to their homes, but they had a large fire while the entire kingdom was crowded together.

Music was blasting as people strum wildly on guitars and played random household objects like drums.

There was a beautiful woman, strumming a harp as people surrounded her. She had long, straight, blonde hair and wore a very expensive dress that was tight to her body as she played. It was the most beautiful sound that the citizens had ever heard.

But Frederick did not join in on the celebration.

He was sitting inside of his home. He was standing ***** while looking down at his Bible.

After he finished a line, he whipped himself over the shoulder with a belt that had rusty nails stabbed through.

His back was bleeding heavily as the nails stabbed deep inside, blood pouring down.

Frederick was gasping and crying, but he continued to read the book.

He did this as he read the entire book. Every single line, whipping himself for the sins he committed.

Frederick made it to the last few lines.

His body was standing in a pool of his own blood. His legs were dead, holding him up despite having no strength left. His eyes were emotionless as he continued to whip himself.

“The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.”

Frederick whipped his back one last time.

The belt he used snapped in two. The nails were bent out of place as the entire piece of leather and rusted metal fell apart and into the pool of blood.

Frederick collapsed, staring with wide open but emotionless eyes as he gasped for air.

He wanted to cry, but he had no tears left.

He laid on the ground covered in his own blood, which continued to ooze out of him.

It was as if the sins were leaving through his blood.

The next morning, Frederick was awoken by loud knocking on his front door.

Frederick had pained breathing as he forced himself off the ground.

His blood dried on the wooden floor and covered the torn and tattered leather and broken metal nails.

His legs were still burning, but he forcefully dragged them across the floor before opening the door.

A soldier, dressed head to toe in shining silver armor stood. The sunlight reflected off right into Frederick’s eyes, making him cover them.

“Mr. Frederick, the King wishes to see you.” The soldier said.

“Yeah…okay…” Frederick said in a very dehydrated gasp for air.

The soldier didn’t seem to care or notice. They looked over the ***** body covered in scars and dried blood.

“I will give you time to get dressed.” The soldier said, seeming to ignore the obvious pain.

“Thank you.” Frederick replied, limping to his bed.

He grabbed nicely folded fabric, struggling to even lift his arms high enough to put the shirt on. His body was shaking, the soldier looking around before stepping inside.

They walked, stepping onto the broken belt before they helped Frederick put on his clothing. The soldier looked over at the open Bible sitting on the desk.

Despite the helmet obscuring their face, the soldier seemed to understand what had happened.

“Are you feeling okay Sir?” The soldier asked.

Frederick looked at them confused.

“I feel…fine.” He replied.

The soldier nodded before leading Frederick out of his own home.

The soldier helped Frederick walk through the mostly empty street towards the large castle that stood like a monument, looking down and casting shadows onto the city it ruled over.

“The King…wants to…see me?” Frederick finally asked.

“Yes. It was the most important matter of the day.” The soldier replied, staring forward as he walked.

“But…why?” Frederick asked.

“I am not allowed to say. He will explain when you arrive.” The soldier replied.

Frederick was silent the rest of the short journey, saving his weakened breath.

When they made it to the large doors of the castle, they suddenly opened with loud creaking, making Frederick jump as much as he could with his severely injured body.

The soldier suddenly began to march in a proper manner, Frederick wanting to copy him, but his body was too hurt to do it with the same form and intensity.

Frederick walked through the massive hall, marble floor covered in a long red carpet leading to the King sitting on his golden throne.

Frederick looked around to see the expensive artwork covering the walls. Marble pillars extended upward to hold the massive ceiling above them.

As they drew closer, they could hear harp music growing louder and louder.

It was music that Frederick recognized, but played on a different music. Penser Ne Doit Vilenie.

Frederick rubbed his eyes as he continued to walk alongside the soldier.

The harp music slowly faded, followed by loud applause that echoed off the walls.

“Wonderful! Wonderful! Another masterful performance!” The King shouted loudly in French.

The young woman, long blonde hair flowing down smiled softly.

They stood up and bowed before making their way over to a small chair that sat against the wall. There were multiple instruments surrounding it. Harps, guitars, flutes, and a multitude of others all sitting.

The girl sat and stared down at the floor, the smile fading into one of sadness and loneliness.

Frederick was still looking at the girl, confused when he noticed the soldier kneel down.

Frederick tried to kneel down, but his body collapsed to the floor.

The girl looked up, wanting to stand and run over to help him, but she stayed sitting.

“My King. I have brought you the man who helped us fight off the invaders. Sir Frederick.” The soldier said loudly in French.

Frederick finally got down onto his knees, gasping painfully for air.

“This…thing…” The King asked in disgust.

The soldier looked at the walking corpse that was Frederick. The soldier sighed.

They began to speak very quick French, making sure that Frederick wouldn’t be able to listen or translate in his mind.

The King looked at Frederick, curious and softly nodded.

The King slowly stood up.

The golden throne seemed to move, revealing that he was wearing an outfit made entirely of gold. Golden fabric covering golden armor as he moved slowly, stopping right in front of Frederick.

“Do you believe he could be a worthy soldier?” The King asked.

Frederick turned to look at the soldier, seeing his reflection in the silver helmet. The soldier didn’t turn to look at him.

“He will need training, but I am confident that he will be easy to teach. He will be more dedicated than even myself.” The soldier said.

Frederick softly smiled.

“Alright…you will be his tutor. I put my trust in you.” The King replied, snapping his fingers.

The soldier quickly got up to his feet. Frederick tried his best to, but his body was too weak.

The soldier helped him stand.

Frederick stared into the eyes of The King, who was looking him up and down.

“Don’t disappoint me.” The King said in a stern voice before holding his hand out.

Frederick looked down at it, then grabbed it firmly to shake his hand.

Frederick couldn’t help but turn his gaze to the young girl, who was watching everything that was happening.

She had a soft smile as she stared at him, red beginning to appear on her cheeks.

Frederick smiled back, still shaking the hand of The King.

Late at night inside of a small city contained by large stone walls.

Soldiers were standing on top of the walls, looking out into the vast expanse of land. They each had bows in their hands and large bundles of arrows not only over their shoulders, but every few feet were bundles of arrows sitting and ready to be used.

One soldier, dressed in a silver helmet and very thin silver armor covered in crests and crosses, paced back and forth due to boredom.

A figure was moving silently through the shadows. Dressed in a black robe that was tied so tightly to their body to prevent making noise from flattering or moving fabric.

The figure had somehow scaled the stone wall, without alerting anybody nearby. They made their way to sit in a tight ball next to a bundle of arrows. The moon was shining, but the bundles and elevated pieces of the wall every few feet casting large shadows all over the walkway. The figure was completely hidden, obscured by darkness.

One of the soldiers slowly made their way past, yawning before turning to stare out into the vast expanse of empty land. They began to hum to themselves, making noise to try and do something.

The figure’s hand slowly emerged from the shadows, covered in black fabric as a makeshift glove.

The gloved hand reached out and into a small bag that was hanging low from the waist of the soldier. It was tied around with rope, but the bag was down the thigh as the soldier was still humming.

Another hand emerged, wielding a very small blade.

The empty hand went under the bag as the blade expertly cut a very small and slim cut into the bag. The figure put a single finger inside the bag to feel around, doing so with such little energy that the soldier wasn’t feeling anything.

After figuring out how many coins were inside the bag, the blade came back out to increase the size of the cut ever so slightly, allowing the coins to slide out and right into the gloved hand in complete silence.

Once the bag was emptied, the hands were slowly drawn back into the shadows. The hands clutched the coins as tightly as possible, sitting still until the soldier began to pace over to another position.

As soon as the soldier passed the figure, the figure rolled a few feet to another space of darkness.

They very slowly and quietly placed the coins inside of another small bag. They sat and waited in the shadows when another soldier was passing by. The figure’s hand emerged again, doing the exact same thing with precision. Once the soldier walked away, they slid the coins back into the bag.

The figure waited for a few seconds, looking each direction to make sure that they were clear.

Once they figured out where every guard was, the figure rolled forward across the walkway and looked down the very tall wall and onto the ground below. The figure jumped down low, not adding more height than they needed. They stayed as close as they could to the wall, their hands and feet rubbing against it was a way to slow themselves down as they grew closer and closer to the bottom. The sound of scrapping was quiet, but even then the figure tried to make it silent.

About 10 feet away from the ground, they reached out and grabbed hold of a stone that was slightly sticking out, as if they had planned for it to be there. The figure was dangling above the ground as they held on with only their fingertips, which were strong enough to support their entire body.

The figure looked around for a few seconds before letting go, kicking off the wall to send themselves flying backwards away before landing in mud rather than hard dirt and grass.

The figure finally let out any sort of vocal noise, groaning as they got to their feet.

The figure looked over at a sleeping cow, staring at how peaceful and beautiful it was. It was almost majestic.

It made the figure’s stomach grumble, which they quickly grabbed and began to run off silently through the streets.

The figure opened the front door of a small one story cottage, trying to be as quiet as possible.

They stepped through and shut the door as slowly and quietly as they could.

The figure removed the black fabric around their head, revealing a young boy who might just pass as a teenager.

He turned around as two large candles were suddenly lit.

He spotted a middle aged man and woman sitting at a table, the two candles large and bright enough to illuminate the entire small home.

The desk the candles sat on looked old and broken, one of the legs sitting on top of an old pan to be even. The chairs around it were all mismatched, like they had been taken from separate places.

The kitchen of the home was completely ripped apart, as if they had sold everything they had inside. The only other objects in the home were large blankets bundled on the floor.

“Where were you?” The Father asked in French, arms crossed with a stern look on his face.

The teenage boy removed more of the black fabric before dropping the bag of coins on the desk.

“The guards on the wall.” The boy replied.

The parents looked at each other, but then the Mother grabbed the bag and poured out the coins onto the table.

There were gold, silver, and bronze coins of varying sizes.

“Not bad.” The Mother replied as she counted the amount of money.

The boy had a proud smile on his face.

“But not as good as us.” The Father said when he pulled out a bag that was four times the size of the boy’s and dumped out a massive pile of stolen coins.

The boy looked shocked with wide eyes.

“Where did…” The boy started.

“The butcher. He leaves his money at his shop weeks at a time.” The Father replied.

The boy immediately began to look conflicted.

“You…you stole from an honest man?” The boy asked.

Both parents groaned and rolled their eyes.

“You only steal from the King’s Guards. They are paid nothing! If you listened to what we taught you, then you would know that the only thing you should worry about is the amount of money…not who you’re taking it from.” The Father sounded disapproving and angry.

The Mother stood up and walked over to the Son, almost looking apologetic and trying to comfort him. Before she said anything, her mouth smiled despite her eyes being disapproving.

“Emerson…you know what happens now.” She said.

Emerson, the teenage boy, nodded and sighed.

He gathered his black fabric and walked through the front door, taking a few steps around the front of the small cottage before laying down on the ground, curling up in a ball to try and stay warm.

“He needs to learn. How will he survive if he isn’t willing to get his hands dirty?” The Father asked, loud enough for Emerson to hear him through the walls.

“Oh just give him time. Neither of us could steal from people when we were his age.” The Mother replied just as loud.

Emerson wiped his eyes as he shivered, trying to curl up even tighter.

Emerson woke up slowly, his eyes heavy after a long and painful night of cold suffering.

He very slowly got to his feet, looking around to see mostly empty streets, only a few people walking about.

The sun was just barely peeking above the horizon, but due to the large castle walls everything was still shrouded in shadow.

Emerson made his way back around the small home, opening the front door and making his way inside.

His parents were asleep wrapped tightly in multiple blankets, laying on the floor as close to each other as they could be.

Emerson went to the table, which held multiple bags full of coins.

He grabbed the smallest one, looking inside to see how many coins there were.

He put on his black fabric to look more like a normal outfit, covering his torso and arms in a way that resembled a thin and flowing robe.

He quietly went through the door, walking down the cold and mostly empty streets of dirt and dead grass.

Emerson began to walk, hands buried into his robes as he stared down at the ground.

He noticed a rather rich looking man walking and not really paying attention.

Emerson sighed quietly before changing his path, bumping right into the man.

“Oh my apologies. I didn’t see you there.” Emerson sounded very sincere while the man just looked angry.

Emerson continued to walk, looking down at his hand to look over the golden rings he stole from the man’s hand.

“My rings!” Emerson could hear the man shout.

“Damn…he’s smarter than he looks.” Emerson said to himself before he lifted the fabric up to cover his face, sprinting quickly to the side and in between two homes.

“Guards! We have a thief!” The man shouted.

Emerson was confused, but he quickly jumped from wall to wall off the outside of the homes, scaling quickly up until he made it to the roof of one of them, sitting on top and waiting for the guards to run past.

He didn’t get to wait long when an arrow pierced the roof right between his index and middle finger.

Emerson jumped and turned around.

The guards on the wall saw him, and were preparing more arrows.

“Uh oh.” He said before he quickly began to run, jumping from one building to the next.

Arrows were flying rapidly, nearly missing him. His black fabric flowed behind him, with arrows piercing right through and sending it falling to the ground like flower petals.

Emerson looked over the side and could see more guards wearing armor chasing after him with their pikes and shields ready. Emerson groaned and realized that the stretch of homes was about to end, he would have to jump across the wide street for more.

Emerson stopped, looking down at the streets to see the guards drawing closer but with quite a distance to cover.

Emerson took a few steps back, but didn’t have much time to think before running and jumping off the roof.

While he was in midair, an arrow pierced him in the calf of his leg, causing him to lose control and fall to the ground in an uncontrolled manner. Emerson screamed and clutched his leg, laying on the ground when the guards caught up. They forced Emerson to stand before one of the guards bashed him with their shield, breaking his nose and jaw. Emerson laid on the ground unable to do anything as the guards felt around his body, stealing all of the riches he had. They returned the rings to the man, but they also stole the coins that Emerson had on him.

“Arrest this man!” The rich man shouted.

Emerson was forced to his feet again, but as he was he could see his parents walking down the street. They looked like a normal couple, but Emerson watched them as they pick pocketed a blind man walking down the street with a large stick hitting the ground in front of him.

They both seemed to turn and notice Emerson at the same time.

Emerson broke free of the guard’s grasp, limping very quickly towards his parents.

They both looked shocked, standing still as Emerson kept limping with the arrow still sticking out of his leg.

The guards ran over to grab him, but Emerson shoved them back.

Emerson fell to the ground, grabbing the feet of his parents when the guards pulled him back. Emerson tried to speak, but with his broken jaw he could barely make any noise.

“Do you know this young boy?” The guard asked.

The parents looked at each other, then at Emerson.

Emerson looked up at them with tear filled eyes, blood pouring from his nose while he clutched his misaligned jaw.

“I’m sorry, we don’t know him.” The Mother said as she tried her best to sound innocent.

Emerson froze, giving up any and all fighting as the guards dragged him across the dirt ground towards the castle.

Emerson’s eyes were locked on his parents the entire time, staring at them as they grew smaller and smaller.

Emerson was forced down into the dungeon, thrown into a small cage with rusty iron bars for a wall.

Emerson tried to get up, but the guard punched him hard in the chest, making him gasp and groan before dropping down to the ground in pain.

Emerson was struggling to breathe as the iron bar door slammed shut.

Emerson struggled to pull himself up to his knees, staring across the dim hall where he could see another person in a cell like his,

The person walked forward.

A young boy with dark skin, looking the same age as Emerson.

Emerson tried to speak, but his jaw was in so much pain he couldn’t do anything but weird screams.

Emerson could hear something being said, but then he felt his jaw suddenly be snapped back into position on its own.

It didn’t hurt at all.

Emerson grabbed his jaw, feeling it in his hand.

He looked forward at the young boy, whose mouth was moving with only whispers heard by Emerson.

Emerson suddenly felt his nose be snapped back as well, no pain shooting through at all.

“I…how did…” Emerson started, but was breathing too quick and short to finish his sentence.

The boy just gave a soft smile, waving.

Emerson hesitated, but then waved back.

“I’m Emerson…what’s your name?” He asked.

Out in the stretches of Africa, there was a large tribe that sat alone. There was nothing but desert surrounding them.

The homes sat made out of mud and grass, wooden poles forming the frames they surrounded.

The men were dressed in animal hide skirts wrapped around their waist. The women were dressed in dresses made of rough leather that was bright orange, reflecting so much light it was nearly blinding.

The men walked around with large, oval shaped shields made of wood frames and string holding leather in place. They wielded long and large wooden spears with metal tips, the only metal the entire tribe had with them.

Each man had a belt of throwing knives above their skirts, ready to be pulled out and used within a single moment’s notice.

They walked through their small village of buildings, music filling the air.

A few people were playing lovely melodies and harmonies on small wooden thumb pianos, while a few others played complicated and intricate rhythms on small wooden and animal hide drums.

“Chima.” One adult man said loudly, speaking in their native tongue.

A young, dark skinned boy ran over with a wide smile.

“What did I tell you about running off on your own?” The Father asked.

“I’m sorry Father. I was just with Waanzi. He was showing me the magic his Father could do.” Chima said.

His Father softly chuckled.

“Oh really? Magic that he can do but I can’t?” He joked as the two began to walk together.

“He was able to make the sand move. It was like a moving painting.” Chima said, sounding enthusiastic.

His Father softly laughed.

“I have taught you the most important magic my Son. Something like that is not needed. It is selfish magic.” His Father said.

“I know all of my magic Father, but I want to know more. I want to know all of magic.” Chima said.

His Father laughed rather loudly as Chima stepped in front of him.

“I am not joking Father.” Chima said.

“I know…that’s why I laughed.” His Father replied.

“Why is that funny?” Chima asked.

His Father sighed as they stopped walking.

They looked out onto the vast expanse of sand and very thin vegetation that was sporadic on the ground.

“The world of magic is one that is larger than our own. It is so large that it would be impossible to learn it all, let alone master it. You need to study the magic that I have shown you, becoming the greatest master of it that the world will ever see.” His Father said.

“Yes Father.” Chima said with a large smile.

He looked up at his Father, who looked forward to see something in the distance.

Chima turned, but all he could see was a cloud of sand and dust flinging into the air.

“Chima…go to your Mother.” His Father said.

Chima looked nervous, until his Father quickly looked down at him.

“Now.” He said with a very serious tone.

Chima ran into the village, but he turned at the first building and leaned against the wall. He looked around the corner as more men wearing the same animal hide skirts and weapons made their way over to stand alongside Chima’s Father.

A group of people dressed head to toe in silver armor were riding majestic, powerful white horses that came to a stop. The sand and dust came in a wave that blasted against the tribe, but the men stood firm and unmoving like statues.

One of the knights began to speak a language that none of the men knew. They looked at each other confused before turning back.

“What brings you here?” Chima’s Father asked.

The knights know looked at each other.

Chima stared forward at the knights, locking onto a crest that covered the chest of the silver skin. They had large rectangular shields made entirely of metal, covered in massive crosses.

Chima was confused.

He had never seen those symbols before.

The knights all dropped down from their horses, marching forward and standing face to face with the men of the tribe.

The knights began to speak very loudly, a language unknown to the men.

“We do not know what you wish for us to do, but we welcome you to our village.” Chima’s Father said, stepping to the side and motioning for the knights to walk.

The knights looked at each other unsure.

One had their hand resting on the hilt of a sword, ready to strike any second.

“Father!” Chima ran over to him.

Chima’s Father looked horrified as the knights all quickly drew their weapons.

Chima stopped in place, fear covering his face as the knights and the men of the tribe all stood ready to fight.

The knights were screaming in their language as Chima’s Father ran to him.

“Chima! What are you doing?” He shouted.

One of the knights suddenly went to slash his sword.

Chima screamed, as he stared at the sword coming down.

The entire body suddenly froze in place, all of the other knights jumping in fear and shock.

“Chima…” His Father said before turning around, seeing the man in silver armor frozen in place.

Chima was breathing heavily as he looked forward.

The knights were confused and afraid, all of them looking around to see if something was the cause of it.

Chima was sitting on the floor inside of his small home, curled up with his head buried between his knees.

After a while, Chima’s Father slowly made his way into the home.

He didn’t say anything, but his face was pure sorrow and sadness.

Chima looked up with tear filled eyes.

Two of the knights walked into the home, walking over before grabbing Chima by his arms. Chima freaked out and looked at his Dad, who struggled to look into his own son’s eyes.

“Father? Father what is happening?” Chima screamed.

The knights kept dragging him away as Chima kept screaming and kicking.

He tried to use the magic that he knew, but nothing worked.

His emotions were unfocused and unclear, preventing him from focusing.

Chima watched the entire village. They all stood and watched him being dragged away, clearly upset and angry but unmoving from their spots.

“Please!” Chima shouted at the top of his lungs.

Chima’s legs dragged a path in the sandy ground before he had his arms and legs tied together with rough rope.

They nicely laid Chima over the back of a horse as they all mounted them.

Chima wanted to break free, but the ropes were tight and restricted his movement.

The knight sitting in front of him tied more rope around his body, tying a knot around the body of the horse so Chima didn’t fall off.

Chima looked out as the horse began to run quickly, his home village disappearing into something smaller than a speck of dust. Chima cried quietly, fading into sleep after becoming exhausted from crying alone.

Chima slowly began to wake up, freezing cold inside of a damp room.

He opened his eyes and looked forward. He saw a wall of iron bars in front of him, an identical space across a very thin walkway.

Chima got to his feet, but fell backwards.

His ankles and wrists were both chained to a brick wall behind him.

He could barely move. He was locked into place.

After a period of time that was impossible to keep track of, Chima looked forward to see a knight opening the iron bars that formed a doorway.

Chima stared forward as the knight made his way over, unlocking the shackles and lifting Chima off of the ground.

Chima was unable to understand anything that was being said. He was forced to walk through the thin hall, then up a spiraling staircase made of brick that was rough and painful against his bare, bruised feet.

Chima held back tears as he was pushed up the stairs, walking up so many that his legs were wobbling and shaking once he made it to the top.

Chima was shoved, nearly falling over but continuing to walk.

Chima looked around as he entered a massive hall. Marble floors and walls covered in hundreds of paintings.

Massive marble columns holding up the ceiling. Chima had never seen such a large indoor space before.

He looked down as he felt the floor change. He was now walking on a soft red carpet stretching forward to a large golden throne.

Chima looked forward to see a man dressed nearly head to toe in gold, listening to beautiful harp music filling the air.

Chima looked over to see a beautiful young girl strumming a harp. She had long, straight blonde hair and playing with the skill of a decades trained master.

She finished her music and the King began to loudly applaud.

He spoke more in the language that Chima didn’t understand, but the girl stood up and bowed.

She made her way over to a small chair on the side of the room surrounded by other instruments.

Chima looked around confused when the knight next to him suddenly dropped down to one knee. Chima was confused, but slowly lowered himself to do the same.

The knight and the King began to exchange words, Chima unsure of what was happening.

He looked up at the King, who waved his hand around.

The knight nodded and stood up, lifting Chima up and beginning to motion with his hands as he spoke.

Chima stared blankly, the knight sighing and seeming frustrated.

He took Chima’s hands and began to wave them around, as if trying to make him do something.

Chima kept looking confused, and the knight was clearly angry despite his face being obscured.

The knight suddenly drew his sword out and lifted it in the air.

Chima screamed and fell back as the knight slashed down, but when it hit the ground it had been transformed into a bouquet of flowers.

The knight sighed and lifted the flowers up, pointing them at the King, who loudly laughed and applauded even harder than he did for the young girl.

Chima looked confused, but began to understand.

Chima slowly stood up, whispering to himself.

“Focus Chima…all you have to do is…”

Before Chima could finish, the knight suddenly disappeared in a puff of smoke, being replaced with a cow covered in small silver armor.

The King was laughing very loud and hard, clutching his chest hard.

Chima panicked and tried to turn the cow back into a man, but instead the cow stood up on its hind legs and began to dance around.

The King was laughing painfully hard as Chima looked confused on what to do. He turned to look around, noticing the girl was also laughing while covering her mouth.

Chima softly smirked and turned back.

He thought hard, the cow suddenly turning back to a man in a elegant dance pose. His armor was on the floor, leaving him only in undergarments with the helmet covering his head.

The knight screeched and quickly covered his body, grabbing his discarded armor and trying to put it back on.

The King was crying from laughter and stood up, giving Chima a massive round of applause.

The King began to speak, but Chima couldn’t understand what was being said.

He was grabbed by the knight as they finished putting on their armor.

Chima smiled, feeling as if he had done a good job. As if he had made the King feel happy and joy.

Chima was taken back down to the dungeon, almost having extra pep in his step as he entered the small cell.

He turned around to say something to the knight, but he was clocked in the fast with a violent punch to his face. The silver glove added so much weight and force into the punch, knocking Chima out in a single second.

Chima’s body was limp and unmoving, but the knight continued to stomp and kick his body over and over and over.