The Keys were prophesied to be the most powerful beings inNorthlandia. After a magical attack on their homeland, only two were left alive.

Ten years later, a vision prophesies their reunion. But with a war looming across the continent, will the last three Keys be found alive in time?

Chapter 1: Prologue

A sweaty handprint rapidly dissipates from the cold stone but, on the inner walls of the young prince’s mind, the impression of fear remains. Sterle had never been asked to leave court before –at least not that abruptly– even on the days when he suffered fits of misconduct. However the abrupt arrival of three young strangers made him conclude that serious matters were just about to unfold.

For the Royal Trinity the morning began with the usual routine: first it was the Master of Treasury spewing a nonsensical string of numbers; then approached the greedy high lords feuding over taxes and property; and when they were done, the peasants argued over crops and harvests. Sterle wanted to blade them all. These matters could have easily been settled by courteous exchange of words instead of making a show of childish bickering in front of the royal family. The King himself dozed off during one of the arguments only to wake up when thrown punches resulted in bloodied stone floors. Even that scene barely kept Sterle’s interest.

In the middle of an argument between two ladies, a lad traveled into the middle of the dais clutching two younger children and his sudden appearance startled the patrons in the Great Hall. The ashen-faced boy fell forward after announcing his apologies and was immediately brought to the infirmary while one of his charges asked for the King’s audience.

The younger boy was barely past toddling age but spoke with such intonation, unlike the warbling words that come out from tongues so young. He stared fearlessly, almost disrespectfully, at Crown Prince Raemond before stating that he is his father. When the courtesans’ whispers turned into cacophony, the King ordered Sterle to escort everyone out of the Great Hall. Upon taking one step out of the room, Sterle knew that trouble was about to brew when the doors of the Great Hall slammed shut behind him.

Standing in the empty hallway his heart thumps angrily into his sternum and, with every painful palpitation, he finds it harder to comprehend the conversation behind the closed doors. Sterle can hear his mother’s indignant shrill echo, trouncing even his father’s commanding voice. For a few moments, their quarrels –which Sterle imagines could only be pacified by King Saarne’s calming gestures– quiet only to reignite when the young boy spoke again. Finally a girl’s small voice interrupts him, her accent like the tinkling of small bells. Sterle hears the shuffling of crumpled paper and then sudden silence.

Sterle worries for his mother, that the upset would affect the baby growing inside her belly. He reaches for the knob but, for a few moments, resists pulling on it. Curiosity could easily diminish any young boy’s diligence into impatience but Sterle reminds himself that he is not just any ordinary boy. He is a Prince, the third in line for the throne of the Principalia, and patience is expected of him. He pulls away and, as his duty implies, waits for the verdict. He hears his grandfather’s calm voice again and not long afterwards, his mother’s frantic cries.

Sterle springs inside unannounced, ready to protect his mother should it come to that. He glares at his father and gulps to the admonition that never comes. When the despondency in his mother’s sobs is all he could hear, he expects the worst. The room remains still until Princess Saulace composes herself. She finally says: “That isn’t going to happen. It just can’t.”

“As sad as it might sound, my visions always come into fruition,” whispers King Saarne as he turns to Sterle with apologetic eyes.

“What vision?” asks Sterle and, when no one responds, repeats his question impertinently. “Tell me, Grandfather. Please?”

Prince Raemond glares at him as he pulls the crown off his own head. “Your grandfather saw me place this crown on a teen-aged Rath.”

Sterle points to the disheveled youth standing beside the Crown Prince. “Is that him? He’s Rath?”

“Yes. He’s my son too, your half-brother.”

After a few moments of recognition, Sterle gulps. “But I’m older. That crown belongs to me. Why does he get to wear it? What does this all mean, Father?”

“I don’t know, son,” answers Raemond lacking a hint of uncertainty.

“If you’re crowning him that means you’re already the King in grandfather’s vision. And if you’re King that means grandfather---”

“I am not immortal,” says King Saarne calmly. “Even kings have to go sometime.”

Sterle pauses and turns to his father again. “But you’re supposed to crown me before anyone else. Does that mean I’m going to die soon too?”

“No!” answers his mother, her voice hints of hysteria. “I will not let that happen. And that little bastard isn’t going to take my son’s throne either!”

Sterle’s mother launches towards little Rath but finds herself leaning against a wall. The Crown Prince had pushed her away. Saulace gets back on her feet and composes herself, pointing a shaking finger at Rath.

“If that means I have to bed my husband every hour of every day until I die just so I can bear heirs that have more rights to that throne than the baseborn bastard that you are, and then be it. You will not ascend to the throne, not while I’m alive and not while all my children are alive!

“Come on, Sterle,” she finally orders in between sniffles.

Sterle stares at the Crown Prince, expecting him to console his sobbing wife. Instead Raemond kneels by Rath’s feet before lifting this new heir into his arms. The helpless little boy finally emerges from behind mask of mettle and his sobs resonate around the room.

“They’re dead, father,” Rath rambles. “Malia, the others. They’re dead! The three of us, we’re all that’s left of Four Winds!”

“It’s alright, Rath.” Raemond lets out a hushed whisper as he rubs the nape of Rath’s neck. “You’re going to be alright. You’re here with me now. I’m here to protect you. And Jezz too.”

Sterle couldn’t dare turn away. This reunion should have been a joyous one: Sterle’s wish for a baby brother is finally fulfilled after all. Had the circumstances had been different Sterle could imagine himself comforting Rath as any good big brother should. Instead, Rath’s arrival had made Sterle feel a stranger in his own family.

“STERLING BASTION HARKEN!” 

Without another word, Saulace grabs Sterle by the elbow and drags him out of the Great Hall. He walks backwards unable to keep his eyes off the newest member of the Harken family who, in just a few short hours, had taken away everything that mattered most to Sterle: his crown, his future and, most important of all, his father’s love

Ryne Mistral wishes he isn’t in such a hurry to return to his post at Snowstorm Summit; otherwise he would have stripped down to his underthings and just lay there on the warm stone roof until the sun disappears into the horizon. He needs a little more color on his skin than what the wintry North could provide throughout the year. 

Instead he closes his eyes until green spots starts to form in his eyelids and wishes that he could live in a warm city like this. Shortly afterwards, he laughs. For a moment of blissful ignorance he had forgotten he is a Traveler and, therefore, can visit places like this anytime he pleases.

“What are you tittering about, young pup?”

Ryne glances down at the old man sitting cross-legged by his feet. In a scoff, he says, “You. I just heard one of your joints creak like a hinge that needs oiling.”

“I’m just Corroded!” howls the sexagenarian at his failed attempt at a jest. 

Ryne just sighs. “Goldstone, that phrase stopped being funny a century ago; I believe that was around the time you were born.”

“Feast your eyes at this Principalian Wonder then!” interjects the old man. “How many Corrodes get as old as me, after all?”

Ryne doesn’t have to think hard for an answer. Very few Corrodes live past five decades old. That is how the term came to be in the first place. Corrodes ‘rust’ too quickly and suffer earlier natural deaths –an association blamed on the usage of abilities taking a toll on their bodies– compared to the powerless Humes and Magids. Being nearly sixty-five years old, Goldstone sure is ancient. Even so, there are times when Goldstone would greet Ryne as he is about to leave for his morning errands and, upon his return for lunch, Ryne would find Goldstone still running around the Guild Hall without a hint of exhaustion. This makes Ryne feel disgraced that he does not have the vitality  to keep up with the old man.

“I’m honored to be the protector of such an important a relic like you.”

Goldstone shushes him before closing his eyes. “Let me concentrate, pup.” It took a few more moments before he opens them again. 

Ryne had seen Goldstone in this meditative state before but still could not resist shuddering at the sight of the old man at work. Goldstone’s pupils had turned into white marbles after all. 

Ryne turns away and tosses his cloak to the ground and slowly sits beside Goldstone, guilt riddling his heart. This old man was supposed to be retired by now, spending the last of his days in a cottage commissioned by the late King Saarne himself for Goldstone’s decades of service to the throne. Instead, the old man is back to living in the attic of the Psychic Guild Hall and spending his morning sitting on a roof. 

And Ryne blames himself for it. All this sacrifice over one mistake; a moment of weakness Ryne will never let himself get over.

It’s been a decade since the Expulsion and Ryne hasn’t gotten over losing the three Keys, his younger half-brother being one of them. It occurred the days prior to their arrival at the Summit. A dark fog had wreathed the valley of Four Winds Sanctuary while the river that ran through the valley started to flood without there being any rain. Boulders slid down the mountains as the ground shook violently. There was only enough time for Ryne’s mother, Adelle, to order him to travel with the five Keys to a designated rendezvous point at Forked Tongue Pass just outside the mountain range. The little ones wailed in fear as they clung to him but, before Ryne could even travel out, it was as if an unforeseen force expelled them in all directions. Ryne –being so young and undertrained with carrying more people than he’s used to– lost his charges one by one in the swirling vortex. He woke up hours later with only Rath and Jazz beside him.

By the time he was old enough to drink, Ryne practically corked himself up inside a wine bottle in hopes of forgetting about his misgivings and relied on the smoke of wild-weed like it was air to breathe. He performed his duties with no delay so even King Saarne allowed this indulgence.

It was the last day of this year’s Summer Harvest when King Saarne saw a vision of the five teen-aged Keys standing under the Harken banners. Realizing that the three he lost had been alive all along, Ryne commenced the search. A few days later, King Saarne passed away in his sleep. It was then that Ryne made a promise on the recently deceased king ’s grave that he was going to find the rest of the Keys for him, no matter what the cost.

But the newly declared King Raemond was a strict predecessor who was not one to spoil his own children, let alone his ward. Having had enough of Ryne’s tomfooleries over the years, he had Ryne’s suppliers of contraband fined should they try to sell him any contraband. Of course Ryne had other means to get his supply of weed, but he aimed to prove himself worthy to remain a Royal Ward.

Ryne would be lying if he didn’t admit that it had been a very hard few weeks. Every other day he traveled with Goldstone to locations where they thought the Keys would be. But with Goldstone’s old age comes the unpredictability and unreliability of his powers. Just a few days before Goldstone was scrying for Zandros, the Key who has the ability to control fire. Instead, he instead led Ryne to a young Hume who happened to be a fire-eater of a traveling carnival.

It had been taking Goldstone longer to regain consciousness after a trance. Ryne knew that, although he never wants to admit it to himself, the old man’s abilities –and life as well– have as much intensity as dying coals. Ryne, as impulsive and impatient as he might be, respects Goldstone enough to remain quiet at times like this.

Just when Ryne is about to pull a snack on out of his pack, Goldstone’s eyes turns to their usual amber and startles Ryne into dropping his jerky. Goldstone exclaims: “There she is!”

 Goldstone points to the ground below them. Ryne feels light-headed after springing to his heels. The world becomes unsteady under his feet as he scans the crowd for the said girl. Across the street, a lass with wheat-colored plaits is carrying a crate full of vials into a shop called Blick’s Apothecary. For a few moments, Ryne is elated. But when the girl’s face comes to focus, Ryne shakes his head at Goldstone.

“She’s too old,” growls Ryne. “She’s blonde, but that girl isn’t Fiamma.”

“I didn’t say I found a Key,” argues Goldstone, an innocent smile plastered across his face. “I said ‘there she is.’”

“Oh, no---” Ryne sighs as he placed his palms on the impending headache forming between his eyes. 

Only moments before they left Snowstorm Summit, Goldstone promised him that they were going to find somebody important in Tremont. Ryne assumed that Goldstone had found one of the Keys.  But this little hiccup is even worse than the fire-eater. Ryne slides down to the rooftop exhausted, physically and mentally defeated. 

“I’m beginning to lose faith in King Saarne’s vision,” he admits as he gnaws on a slab of jerky. “And your abilities as well.”

“Oh, you pessimistic pup! Trust me on this one,” murmurs Goldstone. “The Fates brought us to her for a reason.”

“And what reason would that be this time?”

“I’m sure this girl has powers. She’s some type of Psychic,” his voice lacking even an ounce of conviction. “I think.”

“You can’t even tell what she can do?” Ryne takes a deep breath in hopes of inhaling droplets of patience in the air through his mouth.

“Optimism!” orders Goldstone as he motions for Ryne to follow him. “I know she’s a Psychic for sure but I suggest you start praying that she can at least scry or seek.”

“And if she can do neither?”

“Then I’ll train someone else to seek for the Keys before I die!” growls Goldstone. “Which is sooner than I want if you keep aggravating my heart like this.”

“Now who’s the pessimist?”

Goldstone doesn’t say another word until they reach the landing. As they approach the shop, he asks: “you wouldn’t mind roaming around for half an hour while I talk to child’s mother, do you?”

Ryne raises an eyebrow. “Why do you get to do all the talking?”

“Because my face is far more approachable than yours.” 

“I’m sure I can find something to do,” answers Ryne defeatedly as he turns his heels.

“Just as long as Raemond doesn’t catch you smoking that stuff, I won’t tell him that you got it here.” Ryne gives him a sidelong glance before heading out.

Tremont is a small city, at least by Ryne’s standards, but it has the charm found only in the remotest of villages. From the south gate Ryne spots the wheat fields stretching across the horizon while the north gate faces the mountains surrounding Tremont. As small a city as it is, Tremont surely is a busy one. Doors to establishments never seem to remain closed while street merchants busily peddle their bargains to anyone who passes them by. 

Ryne enters a textile shop and picks out a few yards of exotic cloth that Lady Jazz would skillfully turn into something more majestic. Just as he was shoving his purchases into his pack after leaving the shop, a little girl runs smack into him. She falls to the ground with her face still hidden under her arm.

“Are you hurt?” Ryne asks as he stoops down. The little girl shakes her head but tears are still rolling down her cheek. “What’s the matter then?”

“Had a fight my mum.”

Ryne scans the crowd for any worried mothers. “Let me help you find her. She might be worried about you.”

“She knows where I’m going,” answer the girl as she stands up. “School. But I don’t want to go in crying again. They’re going to make fun of me”

“Why don’t we sit down? I’ll stay with you until you dry your tears.”

Ryne leads the girl to a landing and sits beside her as she tells him her name.

“Khari,” answers the girl as she tries to compose herself. “What’s yours?”

“Ryne. I’m from Snowstorm Summit.”

“You’re a Corrode.” Khari smiles with a toothy grin as if she hadn’t just been crying. 

“A traveler.”

“I wish I have an ability like that. So I can get out of here.” 

“Why do you want to do that?” he asks curiously. “This seems like a fun city to live in.”

“It’s not that bad. But I want to find my real parents. That’s what my mom and I fought about. She lied to me about being adopted all these years.”

“I’m sure she hid that from you because she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Does she take good care of you?”

“Yes, but it’s not the same. She’s not my mother.”

“I never met my real father. I’ve been the King’s ward since I was about your age.”

“King Saarne?”

“He took me in as if I was his own,” Ryne continues. “I am not of his blood but he is the only person I will ever think of as a father.

“Now, I don’t want you to lose your relationship with your mum just because of that little fact you found out. She isn’t going to love you any less just because you didn’t come out of her womb so neither should you lose any love for her. Before today, did she ever give you a reason to think of her as someone else besides your mother?”

“No,” answers Khari as she lowered her head. But there was the twinkle of realization in her eyes as she raises her chin stares at Ryne. “Where’s your mum?”

“I am hoping she’s safe, just like my little brother. That’s what I came here for, you see. I’m looking for someone who can find them.”

“Someone with abilities who can find them, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

“I think I know someone who can help---”

The little girl pauses upon hearing a bell ring from the east side of the city.

“Oh, no!” exclaims the little girl as she jumps up. “I’m late!”

“Not if I take you there.” Ryne then offers his hand to her. “Where is it?”

She nods her head but hesitantly reaches over to him. “My mum told me never to go anywhere with strangers. But I trust you, Ryne.”

“I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

“The school is the converted barn by the north gate.”

Before she could say another word, Ryne had already taken her to the intersection leading to the school.

“Thank you, Ryne!” exclaims Khari before throwing herself to hug him. 

Ryne pats the little girl on the head before whispering into her ears. “When you get home you give your mum a kiss and a hug just as big as the one you gave me, you hear?”

“I will.”

“Now go in.” He laughs as the little girl shyly waves him goodbye. 

Ryne decides to walk back to the apothecary and picks up some treats for the Harken brothers along the way. When he purchases some wildweed from a shop in one of the hidden alleys, he didn’t think that he would come across some information that tells him that he should get Goldstone back to Snowstorm Summit.

“I’m sorry Madam, Miss,” Ryne apologizes as he travels into the Blicks’ establishment. “Goldstone, are they coming or not?”

“Don’t be rude, Ryne,” growls Goldstone. “Yes, they are coming. Our young friend, Sondra, here is a Scryer. She and her mother, Indira, agrees to come to Snowstorm Summit with us.”

“Well then, we have to hurry. The Hume Army is here and I do not want to get tangled in their business.”

“In a Free City?” asks the storeowner as she motions for her daughter to shove the vials on the shelf into her pack. “The Cadel is violating the Treaty of the Three Kings. I’m sure there are Freeland Patrols on the western borders—”

“Not if the Hume King sends just below the limit,” argues Ryne. “Besides, he dressed his soldiers as civilians. Didn’t fool me though. I saw their buckles. Definitely army insignias. And they had weapons on their belt.”

“What are they doing here?” asks Goldstone as he too is absent-mindedly tossing items in a pack.

“They are after Half-Breeds children. Or, more specifically, the Keys. King Cadel’s source informed him that the Keys were going to kill his children.”

“What a preposterous claim!”

“How can they even tell a Powerless from a Hume, let alone a Half-Breed?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re here and if neither you or your daughter is Half-Breed, we’re in trouble.

“Give me what you’ve packed so far,” he says as he collects Goldstone from the corner of the room. “I’ll come back after a few minutes. And Goldstone? Once we get to the Summit, alert King Raemond about all this.”

Ryne readily dropped the Blicks’ bags on top of Goldstone’s desk and takes Goldstone to the King’s study.

By the time Ryne returned to the Blicks’ home, the duo are in the middle of an argument.

“But mother!” begs the girl. “We can’t go! All our things---”

“---are replaceable, Sondra. Goldstone said we will be provided for in Principalia.”

“How do you know that? And Mother--”

“Enough! Keep packing.”

“We can come back at a later date if you want,” said Ryne as if to break the tension between the two. “But right now, we have to go.”

And just as Ryne got ahold of the last bundle, he heard a loud knock on their door. And without another word said, Ryne grabs them and takes to the Guild Hall. Ryne lets out a sigh of relief as he drops their belongings on the floor of an unused room and tells them to relax for the time being.

“But Mother,” starts Sondra again. “If the Humes are after Corrode and Half-Breed children, then Ace and Migo aren’t safe. And Khari has powers so they might go after her too.”

“Khari?” exclaims Ryne as he places his palm on his chest. “A little girl, about this tall with long brown hair?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Her mother told me she didn’t tell have powers,” interrupted Indira.

“But they’ll come after her if what this man said is true. Sir,” she begs as she turned to face Ryne. “You have to get her, please!”

“I just dropped her at the schoolhouse.”

“The boys should be there too. Ace has black hair while Migo has red but he never takes his cap off.”

“How old are they?”

“They’re fourteen.”

Ryne doesn’t hesitate after hearing their ages. The red-haired boy could be Zandros, he thought. I’m not taking any chances of losing them again.

With the knowledge that the schoolhouse is a converted barn, Ryne travels into the loft. He carefully tiptoes around the stacks of hay while he listens in. As he looks down from where he kneeled, he spots at least a dozen soldiers within his line of sight and from the amount of tension below he safely assumes there even were more right underneath him.

The school children are gathered in the middle of the barn, their desks and random belongings strewn all over the floor. Children of random sizes have created a perimeter around the others, protecting them as the Hume soldiers advance towards them. The children closest to the men give each other a questioning glance.

Not finding Khari or the boys Sondra had described for him, Ryne is about to travel out of the barn, just in case the children had managed to escape. But when one of the boys from below bellowed “my abilities aren’t working!” Ryne knew he had made a grave mistake returning to Tremont the this time around.