My head snapped back as I felt the remnants of ghe Grav-Plunger pluck me out. On all fours, I felt the familiarity of grass and dirt beneath my palms and knees. The sun, that old familiar pleasant dancer upon my neck welcomed me home. Years, facades, or perhaps mere seconds had gone by since my kidnapping to Astralfagar. Never again would they take me. I vowed with a clutch of that old familiar grass in my hand and with a near hysteric kiss of the ground I called home that I would never let the Alliance take me from what was mine again. Nothing except the scythe of mortality could and would separate me from this native land. This beloved home soil. It was mine. It would always be mine, and it was my life’s right.

I stood. Out puffed my chest. Near-naked as I was, it did not matter. The Retinue Cavalcade would sense my premise. When the Royal Attentuators began to vibrate in the Jut-Point throne room they would know. They would know, and they would be ready. Ready to rescue. Ready to bow down. Ready to armor me. Ready to fall behind in the quest for justice and conquest and revenge.

The golden hue of the cloud and their alignment in tall pillars told me it must be spring. The usual summer winds must have come early this year. No matter, I would declare and early start the the sky sailing season. Our armada would meet Astralfagar in the glories of our customary war games.

In my ecstasy and in that tumult of air, the Cavalcade song met the wind in what would be the overture of the symphony of my legacy. The History of King Epiphanies would begin today, and the mistakes of a proud prince would be washed away in the coming torrent of triumph.

There they flew. They had forgotten their ceremonial rescue formation but no matter. I would make amends for us all. Out of my journey back home, I would teach them.

Down hovered the Chariot-Craft, its beakes nose glinting, curved just above the grass. Its portoculis opened without hesitation, and my Red Guardsman emerged regal as ever. The glint of his helm framed perfectly against the erect posture of his pole axe as he strode to me with his forearm outstretched.

As he drew closer, I marked the insignia on his bicep-guard— my dear Livio’s marks! Of course he would be the one to take up the mantle of my rescue. Things truly were right again. Trust had prevailed. Healing had begun. Glory would once again stand tall in his rightful place.

I put aside the Rites of Obeissance Anticipation. Today would begin with the embrace of friends. I broke stride, nearly tripping over my joy and tears. Livio’s forearm grabbed mine, and yanked me down to all fours, just as I arrived.

The shadow of steel came down upon me as I saw my land turned upside down and falling down and down and down, onto that native grass and soil, which turned to red and then to black.