I stormed from the house, golden blonde curls bouncing out behind me, still damp from my short morning shower. Fury and frustration sent painful tears to my crackling dark blue eyes. I pulled the fur coat closer to my cheeks as the fierce autumn wind bit at my face, and the gravel crunched under my angry boots.

        My anger spilled from my loathing at my sister’s orders. At eighteen, Kristina Lycan commanded half a fleet of my mother’s best men, a position that wasted itself on her blatant ignorance of rules or regulations, or even common courtesy. She grew up spoiled as our mother strived to provide her with things Mother could never have herself; hair pins and silk, the finest education, a bounty of sweet treats, servants at her every beck and call. She took it all for granted—a right that came with Mother’s title.

        She hated me the moment she first met me, still covered in the fluids from my birth. I represented a divide in Mother’s affections. To make it equal would mean less for Kris. She determined at that moment that the two of us would never be equals, and that she would do everything in her power to keep it that way. Her behavior tended to be ghastly and unprecedented; our older sisters Lilith and Alaina grew up equally spoiled, yet they showed as much kindness and selflessness as any other normal person. Normally their presence would limit Kris’s bratty-ness, but the both of them were attending a training seminar in Scales Wind, miles away.

        Our generation was born in a time of war, raised in an era of brittle peace. The stress our mother bore helped seal my sister’s control over me. The anniversary of the treaty that put an end to that war befalls us tonight. We had travelled from the Capitol to Mother’s hometown, Phoenix Drop, for the occasion, a party preparing to be held in jubilant celebration of the fifteenth year of peace. In a few short hours, partygoers will trip over themselves to catch a glimpse of my family; Lord Levin, my brother, adopted by my mother years ago; Malachi, my other brother, also adopted; Lord Aphmau Lycan, my mother; Aaron, my father; Lilith, Alaina, Kristina, and myself, Natilia Lycan. A repetitive scene that occurred every year, and the sole reason Kris believed, every year, that the party took place in honor of her.

        Also, the sole reason she felt the need to command me to finish her work, fix her hair, apply her makeup, clean the house, and sacrifice my favorite earrings for the price of her fashion. Nothing she needed could possibly be too steep a price for me, for I did what she asked of me every year. After all; she held the title of Heir. I held only the position of the heir’s younger sister.

        Tonight, I left her dumbfounded in her dressing room after she rattled off her list of things for me to do. I stayed silent as she followed me curiously throughout the house, her confusion eventually giving way to her own fury as she realized I had no intention of complying. She pulled the royalty card again. I snatched my coat from the peg and threw open the door. She exploded.

       “W-well that’s fine by me!” She screeched as the door slammed into the house’s siding and began its journey back. “Just don’t come back!”

        Fine then, I thought bitterly, I won’t.

        The door slammed shut, muffling her next words. I smoothed my tattered composure, pushed the tears from my face, and looked up at the cold, cloudless sky in shaky relief. My eyes caught on the young man standing at the end of the path, leaning against the old wrought-iron fence, the only witness to the argument. He wore his hair styled in the same half-buzz as always, the two-toned, uncombed, blonde and black, “I-woke-up-like-this” look that other guys strived for. His blue eyes remained bright and curious, possibly wondering the reason for my family’s latest argument. The ever-present lopsided grin tugging at his lips suggested a hidden joke I wouldn’t understand.

        He went by the name Jake Ro’Maeve, Captain Garroth’s only son. He happened to be my closest friend, and I’d loved him for as long as I could remember.

        At eighteen years old, he looked like a slightly delinquent version of his father—tall, sophisticated, frustratingly handsome—the only major difference between the two located in his hair, dyed black along the buzzed sides, and the silver band on Jake’s ear, acts of mild rebellion his step-mother loathed with all her evil heart.

        His father Garroth commanded my mother’s personal guard and held himself completely accountable for his lord’s safety. That was another habit his son had inherited—a fierce, irritating, protective nature that drove me nuts. We trained together side-by-side for countless years, as both our parents insisted on frequent classes at the many guard academies—the most prestigious being Baton, in Bright Port—and knew the other’s fighting style like the backs of our own hands. We both still took those classes, even as upper-class graduates.

        Today he even wore the tangerine-lilac training uniform of Phoenix Drop’s Training Academy, where he had likely been paid to be a prime example of “what-not-to-look-like-when-you-grow-up.” The overseers there had become very strict since we had attended, and piercings and such no longer suited the desired uniformity of Phoenix Drop’s military ranks. Those who got away with the accessories were unusually skilled to the point the instructors wanted to brag about you.

        He stood leaning against the two motorized death machines we were supposed to ride together today, haphazardly holding two helmets. The machines stood out against the usually serene background, intimidating, sleek, and opposing, with four wheels and a single bar for steering. Any normal person would run at the sight of the idiots that dared attempt to tame them. A unique blend of magic and metal, their design had been perfected right here in Phoenix Drop by Kenmur Abbot, inventor and scientist extraordinaire. They resembled their metallic two-wheeled counterparts closely but were much better suited to rocky terrain, easily burning diluted whale oil as fuel.

        “Can you still go?” He called from his spot as I made my way down the walk towards him.

        “No,” I grimaced, reminding myself that ignoring my sister’s order in the future would be an act of treason—however, Kris was not yet lord, “but she’s not my mother.”

        Jake laughed and smiled deviously, daring to ask the question on his mind as I neared him. “Are you coming back?” Though his tone remained joking, his eyes held a serious kind of darkness. I made my split-second decision then and there.

        “No.”

        His smile did not falter, even as he sighed and nodded and pulled his fingers together before his face, a motion he often used while thinking. “Well then,” he finally said, “we’re going to need a head start.”

        I nodded once with complete certainty, the hint of the tiniest smile tugging at my lips. Jake knew me too well and picked right up on my thought process immediately. He, among only six others, knew my secret. Today, I fully intended to leave. And never come back.

        That’s right. For nearly two months now, I steadily nursed the idea of running away. I only considered it as part of a fantasy—this impossible dream that I would never dare to achieve— but as the weeks stretched on, and my sister approached her eighteenth birthday, I found myself considering my idea’s plausibility more and more. Subconsciously, I caught myself planning. Calculating. Dreaming. Hypotheticals always sat at the forefront of my mind now, and today they would be tested. Today my impossible dream would become my only beautiful reality.

        My mother knew—I had, in fact, discussed it with her in length the moment the idea came to me—of my insane escape plans. At first, she’d taken them as a joke. As I remained completely serious, she listened more intently, questioning me, fighting me, begging me to stay. I did not relent, and eventually she at least pretended to accept it. She knew she could not control me forever, and if not now, then she would lose me in February, when I came of age.

        As a final goodbye to her and my father, I prepared a letter. I left it on my mother’s desk in her study, where she would be sure to see it before too much panic ensued.

        I sighed as I climbed aboard my four-wheeled terrain vehicle, a relatively new creation I had mastered when I was ten. I painted it blue when I turned thirteen; a nice sky color that I loved, though I would much prefer a color closer to lilac. I slid the sleek helmet over my features and twisted briefly around to check Jake’s position—I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t run him over. I held down a pedal near the feet of the machine, and the engine roared to life. I eased off the pedal and onto the throttle, relishing the motor’s purring sounds as it shot forward, bolting down the trail to the village. We paused together for a moment on a ridge where the ground sloped downward, revealing the rest of the town.

        Phoenix Drop used to be a small town on the verge of bankruptcy, but since my mother first discovered the impoverished place nearly thirty-seven years ago, it has flourished into a bustling place of trade. The central market stood in a cacophony of color and noise on the eastern side of the town, near the sea, as townsfolk went about their daily business and guards patrolled the streets.

        From the beach rose a steep outcropping of stone and forest that towered above the people. At its peak rested a pool of clean, pure water, pouring over the feet of a polished marble statue of a serene Lady Irene, the holy deity who once walked the lands of our continent, Ru’aun, with her five Divine Warriors, bringing peace to everywhere she travelled. She stood calmly, her hands outstretched peacefully to the skies, the essence of a passed wyvern resting in her palms. From her back sprouted feathery wings of intricately carved quartz, features many liked to claim she truly possessed. The sheer magical power of the statue turned the trees around it a deep purple. It existed to be my favorite place in the whole city. Many years ago, my mother learned she lived as the reincarnation of Irene and possessed the goddess’s great relic of power. I can personally confirm the rumor of the pure white angelic wings.

        In the center of the village towered the sacred Yggdrasil tree, grown impossibly large from a sapling Mother planted decades ago, a gift from an ancient elf who had since rejoined her kind in the sacred forest of fairies. The tree stood as a symbol of strength, and a few residences adorned the thick branches—one of these buildings is where the children retained their academic education, and another housed the aviary. Near the roots of this tree stood the Teardrop Cathedral, the largest building in the city, and the place my brothers and their council did their daily work. The city was surrounded by trees like this—large, but not quite so huge—that people even pilgrimed from miles away to see them and the rest of the town’s landmarks.

        On a small island, just outside town, lived the residential witch, Lucinda, in her creepy towering house, full of magic and potions. The city was also home to the dog-like werewolves, cat-like mief’wa, warlocks, and demon hybrids. It usually remained a very beautiful, serene place—until the sound of engines cut through the daily activity.

        I shifted my weight slightly, and the vehicle leaned slowly forward before gravity kicked in and pushed us down the hill. I twisted for a second, making sure Jake was keeping up, and swerved down a side path. He let out an unnecessary war-cry, loud and deep, as we pulled into a small clearing. Through the trees we could see the townspeople go about their business in the local market, yet we ourselves were hidden. We had discovered this place during a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek years ago, and often spent hours here, concealed from the bustle of the city.

        A man lounged in our clearing, looking bored and grumpy as usual. He wore a coat of chain over a weighted blue and red tunic branded with the emblem of another town. Two more dressed in farmer’s coveralls bickered, hanging upside-down from a tree and swatting at each other childishly, while two girls in equally boyish clothing chatted casually nearby, polishing sleek swords. Jake whistled, and the five familiar faces looked up and grinned. With our busy, overlapping schedules, it was a mere miracle that we all happened to be in the same town for more than a day.

        Dimitri Ron Vonsenberg was the first to react, rising to a sitting position from his spot on the grass. He lived as the sole heir to the far-off trading town of Scaleswind, but his parents were estranged, and he often spent time with his father and half-sister in Phoenix Drop between his studies. He was twenty-six, and desperately trying to buy himself a few more years of freedom before his coronation, hence why he had agreed to help spearhead my plan—quite literally. He had trained at the Capitol when he was younger, and still held a ‘Weapons Mastery’ record at the academy there. His favorite of said mastered weapons were the pair of strong, iron katanas strapped to his back, long and thin and deadly, gifts from his father. He was clean-shaven but scraggly, his natural dark-blue hair bordering on unkept, and his demeanor often bordered on haphazard, but he was a skilled swordsman, and handy in a pinch. The old scars that littered his form spoke of skirmishes past—skirmishes he had won. “Are we going anywhere, today?” He asked, his head cocked sarcastically to the side, leaning back lazily on his palms. He’d asked the same question every day he’d been in the city since I’d first voiced the idea, wheedling his mother into letting him stay longer and longer.

        “Depends on if you’re ready,” I deadpanned.

        His head straightened in sudden interest. My usual response to that question was “patience,” and it infuriated him greatly. He looked around the crowd, gathered now with a sudden intense air, before meeting my eyes again with his usual confidence. “I’m ready when you are, Natilia.”

        “I suppose everything’s in order then?” I asked.

        One of the girls shook her head. She was a tall woman with long caramel hair and a short temper. Her name was Luca Lupine, the only daughter of Phoenix Drop’s head merchant, a man who had been bitten by a werewolf and infected with the Lycians Disease many years ago, on a trip to purchase her mother’s engagement ring. Her mother ran the local apothecary, and taught Luca the many secrets of healing. She, along with her older twin brothers—who were still bickering in the tree—had inherited the lupine transformative abilities, with a minor added quirk; as a result of her birthday, on a lunar eclipse, she had been both blessed and cursed by telepathy.

        Tribal werewolves in our part of Ru’aun said this was not at all strange; she had merely been chosen by the Lunar Goddess, Selene. She was the first to know of my plan, plucking it instantly from my thoughts before I had even considered it much myself, and jumped at the chance to escape. Werewolves were not a widely accepted species, and her ability had at one point driven her to depression from listening to negative thoughts. “Luna is on your sisters’ protective duty in Scaleswind,” she informed me, reminding me of Lilith and Alaina’s diplomatic trip to train Scalish Military recruits with Dimitri’s mother, Lord Nicole. “She isn’t due back until resupply next week, where she’ll switch out with a group of interns from the academy.”

        “We’ll have to leave without her then,” I growled. “I was told not to come back.”

        Luca and the other girl, Kimberly Valcrum, stiffened, and Luca’s ears pushed through her hair to tune to my emotions. She found me cold and closed off, consciously hiding my thoughts from her; that was a phrase we had all heard growing up, a phrase we had all tried to escape from.

        That had to be the glue between our group; we were all trying to escape. Kimberly especially hated words my sister had chosen. She and her four siblings were warlocks and witches, a widely hated group, and additionally, each of them was the descendent of a demon. Her hair seemed to scream paranormality, though it was blue at birth, shot through with a single streak of white. Kim is fourteen, and most greatly resembles her mother, with ice blue eyes and extremely pale skin. Her father Travis came off as a bit of a teasing flirt, though still fiercely faithful to her mother, General Katelyn. Her mother ran the Dragon Ward, an elite band of soldiers in Bright Port, but had herself served the Jury of Nine in her youth, an ancient force of power that had been misused for terrible things in recent past. Knowledge of her past caused those around her to turn on her, sticks and stones at the ready, despite her wonderful deeds.

        I pulled a black handkerchief from my pocket and tied it securely around a strong tree branch. Luna, like Luca, was a werewolf, and would know to track us by scent when she came back. We already knew where we would go, anyways, and it was a place we all knew well.

        The twins ceased their bickering—the argument had been about peanuts, idiotically—and tried to look serious, despite the both of them hanging upside-down from the branch. Rollo, who always claimed to be older, had dusty brown hair and grey-green eyes, while his brother Lello was a dusty-blonde and grey-blue; like someone had squashed their parents together and sorted the pieces into two boys Dimitri’s age. They were usually rowdy and loud, and lacked any form of dignity, but liked to support their sister, even at the cost of their future. Unlike their sister, who only showed her species around her friends, they nearly always allowed their dog-like features to peek through their human forms, often in the shape of canine ears, teeth, or tails. They nodded wisely, pretending to have listened to the conversation. Lello was delighted to discover a serrated knife in his pocket.

        “Well,” Jake smirked at last, “if we’re going off, we’re going to need a name.”

        I nodded, sitting on a barren boulder by the edge of the clearing. We knew relatively what we wanted to do with ourselves; a rough plan to adopt new identities and help the people of our region anonymously had been discussed time and time again. This idea would require changes to our appearances and demeanors, but it was a thought many of us were fond of, as it would allow us to stay close to those we still loved while remaining unknown.

        The more general part of the plan included tracking the numerous bands of bandits, thieves, assassins and kidnappers that often plagued smaller villages or communities, and ultimately kicking ass. The more powerful of these threats had organized themselves into fortified clans and guilds to prevent villages and larger neighboring cities from fighting back. This part we had already started, moving around the outskirts of the city at night and silently taking down small bands of criminals and thieves and leaving them in front of the barracks with nice handwritten notes and silk ribbons, mainly to obscure when this mystery organization would come to light. The topic of a name had been argued over often, mostly because “Protectors of the World” sounded cheesy, unoriginal, and too cliché.

        “Yeah!” Rollo exclaimed suddenly as his brother sawed their branch in half. He crashed to the ground with a groan but came up bright-eyed and bushy tailed. He folded his arms and nodded seriously; eyes closed in mock concentration. “We’re going to be famous! We could be pirates! It’s got to’ be really good!” Kim reached over and smacked the backside of his head with an open palm, a common gesture among us that translated to idiot.

        Lello gasped and pulled himself up to a sitting position, his back to us until he turned around, his expression the extreme opposite of his brother’s. “The Bandit Killers!”

        Kim smacked him too. “Maybe something slightly less obvious?” She grumbled, blowing her white strand of hair from her face with an irritated puff, and returned to polishing her sword. It was an excellent double-edged weapon, a clear ebony so deep it often flashed dark violet in the sun.

        In myths of old, wielders of what they called black swords were incredibly rare, and incredibly powerful. The blades were forged of obsidian, and the material made them light, strong, sleek, sharp, fast, and incredibly accurate. Zane Ro’Maeve, Jake’s uncle and Lord of O’khasis, a powerhouse of the region, had once commissioned a black sword of his own—a nice weapon it was too, with a custom dark leather grip and an elephant bone hilt—but he’d been forced to put it in the museum years ago as a sign of his allegiance. Before the war with Tu’la, Phoenix Drop had constant conflicts with Zane and O’khasis. The gift was meant to be a show of peace, but if crisis were to arrive at the shores of Ru’aun, it would be given back to him to aid in the fight.

        Luca took an interest in my thoughts with an acknowledging flick of her tail and used the suggestion. “Black Swords?”

        Dimitri cocked his head to the side. “It has potential. It’s a bit odd though,” he mused.

        “Aren’t we all?” Kim murmured.

        My mind was running calculations, locked away in itself. To survive on our own, we needed supplies, and we needed to get them far from Phoenix Drop, where no one would recognize us. Bright Port, possibly. I liked discipline and order, so some part of me started designing uniform disguises we would wear. If we were to accept the name, it only made sense to accept the part.

        “I like it,” I said with finality. “It’s powerful and will set us apart. Not much are known about the swords of obsidian, and less about those who have wielded them. Uniqueness and mystery will be a strength we can use.”

        Jake shrugged. “It could be a bit more formal.”

        “We’re not knights,” Dimitri scoffed. “We don’t need a fancy table or anything.”

        “The Order of the Black Sword,” Luca amended.

        “Strike fear into the hearts of enemies!” The twins screamed.

        “I take it back,” she groaned.

        “Roar!”

        “Boys, shut up!” Kim snapped.

        I chuckled. “So, it’s settled then?”

        Jake nodded. “It’s your call.”

        I glanced around for only a moment, drawing guidance from their expressions. “Settled,” I decided.

        Dimitri grinned and trudged into the brush, where he and the twins had hidden their own vehicles. Luca and Kim promised to meet us later, and ran back to the village, likely to grab their bags.  I sent the twins to Scaleswind with a long shopping list and ordered Dimitri to wherever he wanted to go, but also instructed him to keep away from New Meteli—the towns of the alliance were close, and Lord Cadenza would most certainly recognize the son of another leader. He liked range in his shopping, though he sucked at it. The three men took off whooping and hollering old-fashioned war-cries—finally, we were on the move, and they loved it.

        They left Jake and I alone in the clearing. We stood there quietly for a moment, watching the bustle of the village through the foliage; preparations for the festival were in full swing. A podium was being set up for my mother and brother to make a speech along the dais where the lords had their grand table. Though it was to be a festival of peace, it was likely they would talk of nothing but politics amongst themselves. A part of me felt sad; we would miss the party my brothers had worked so hard to prepare for.

        We sat back and started the motors. I winced at the loud rumbling sound puncturing the serene forest air. Jake shot me a single reassuring glance. I returned it after a single moment’s hesitation, fighting a light blush. The sun cut through the cloud bank overhead and filled the forest with light as we started deeper into the trees, towards our new beginning. The fun had only just begun.