Thundering hooves, echoing throughout the darkened forest, frightening birds from their roosts with a flurry of panicked wingbeats. Steed and rider alike panted ragged, desperate breaths against the overwhelming exhaustion; they had been riding since daybreak - nearly twelve hours now - and both were ready to collapse when at last they broke through the cover of the forest and saw their destination rise up in the distance. The castle of Altea.
   It was then that Camus realized how long it had been since he had properly visited Archanea. Every journey into the country was for the sake of some war (though he would admit that his participation in the War of Heroes was for Princess Nynaâs sake than anything else). But he couldnât afford to let others know who he really was - a deserter of the Grustian army, an enemy to Medeusâ followers. He was no longer a citizen, no longer the famed âCamus of Grust,â but he still yearned for his homeland. Once the memories of his former life had returned, he kept up with the news from Archanea, and it was by doing so that he had heard of the schemes to throw the continent into strife yet again.
   It was no individual army this time, but an attack planned by an insidious cult not dissimilar from Judahâs shamans in Rigel. They were a new, anonymous group for the time being, but in Camusâ investigations, he had realized that three days from now held some great importance. There was something dangerous in store for Archanea, he could feel it.
   Camus slipped on his silver mask and spurred his horse past the entrance guards who shouted âhalt!âs and other threats, but he hadnât time for the formalities that involved requesting an audience with the prince. The fact that the gates were open and security was lax was disheartening enough.
   Once within the walls, he quickly dismounted and hurried for the castle. No one was awake at this hour, exceptâŠ. The sight of the young woman in the distance stopped him in his tracks. Could it be?
   âPrincess⊠Caeda?â He approached cautiously, afraid to frighten her. It was dark, after all, and he was dressed fully in the garb of a common knight (the situation would have been worse, he was certain, had he worn his Rigelian uniform). Furthermore, he looked as if he had narrowly escaped some battle - his clothes were dirtied and torn, and a blood-encrusted cut marked his cheek.
   âI apologize for disturbing you, miladyâŠâ he began, still out of breath from his hasty ride into the country. âMy name is Sirius. We were acquainted during the last war. Unfortunately, I have come here tonight with dire news.â
