Prologue

Long after the events of the Third Great War, the Seventh Age began. Latorakena the White Tactician was all but forgotten by the masses, and Caelis Terminus the King of Heroes was completely forgotten by many of those in leadership as well.

It was during this time that a young man, one who had long since forgotten his own name, was wandering through the Ancient Prisons, searching for pawns and pieces he may use. And there, in the Underworld, he found them: Caelis Terminus and Latorakena.

The White Tactician's clothes were tattered, his blonde hair dirty and shaggy, but his eyes still held their old spunk and flare. The King of Heroes was in a similar condition, his hair shaggy and filthy, his eyes glowing dimly and holding onto their old determination. Both were chained to the wall and were playing what looked like a brand-new game of chess. All of the pieces were on the hastily scratched and crude chess board however, it was not their first move.

When the young man stopped in front of their cell, neither one looked up, instead, Latorakena moved his queen and then looked up at Terminus.

"I told you he'd come," Latorakena said.

"Indeed," Terminus agreed. "I will abide by my part in our bargain."

Latorakena smiled. But it was not a nice smile. He then turned to the young man. "You are Naught, yes?"

"I am," the young man answered.

"I have a proposition for you."

-

The room was cold and pitch black. Dimensia could see nothing, but she could feel everything. In front of her, there was a stone table, and the room around her stretched in each direct for sixty feet or so.

She shifted her feet, her knees were getting tired. How long had she been standing here? It felt like she had been here for hours, but she was certain it had only been a few minutes.

She felt a shift in the air, heard a door creak open and watched as light flooded into the room. Standing in the doorway was Time, Dimensia's husband. He wore a dark blue suit with a pocket watch. His brown hair, dotted with gray, was slicked to one side, and his azure eyes shone into the dark with a light of mischief.

She saw him and her heart skipped a beat, but she did not act on these feelings. She instead greeted him formally.

"Hail, Timothy Powers, Lord of Time."

"I would return your greeting if you were not my wife," he said with a smirk. "Why so formal?" He stood next to her and put a hand on her hip.

She smiled reflexively but quickly regained control and slapped his hand. "We are here on business, Tim!" She hissed.

He laughed. "My apologies, my dear. I couldn't help myself."

"Well, if you would please control yourself for the duration of the meeting, father, that would be preferable."

Dimensia and Time turned to see that their son, Naught had taken his seat on the throne. His black hair tied into a knot on the back of his head while his cold, black eyes watched the two of them. His armor was hard to describe, it had no real color; it was not even white or black. But it was visible. A cape as red as freshly spilt blood flowed from its back. His triple bladed scythe rested beside his hand.

"We have work that needs to be done."

"Son," Time breathed. "No need to be so harsh."

"I did not call you here for a reunion," Naught said. "We have work to do."

"We do not need to go against this boy with such ferocity, Nathaniel," Dimensia said.

"I do not answer to that name," Naught spat. "We have work to do!"

"He simply wants to live his life," Dimensia pleaded.

"Enough!" Naught ordered. "You speak of this boy so fondly, like he is your son."

"I have interacted with this boy," Dimensia said. "He is young, innocent, kind, and protective of those around him. Why go out of your way to destroy that?"

"Have you forgotten what happened to my uncle, your brother?"

"The actions of one Chosen need not justify the torment of another," Time interjected.

"Enough of this," Naught ordered once more. "I will hear no more on the matter. I would also like to introduce the two of you to our new colleague." He motioned for someone at the door to enter. A man in white with blonde hair and golden eyes walked in, an evil smirk on his face.

"This is Latorakena," Naught introduced. "Perhaps you remember his attempts at power many centuries ago."

Dimensia's eyes widened, and Time grit his teeth.

"Son, do you not know who this is?" Time asked, enraged. "This is none other than a piece of the Chosen who slew your uncle!"

Dimensia gripped her spear.

"You have no way to prove this," Naught told them. "Now, we have work to do."