Fastening the last buttons on his new cloak he whipped open his cottage door, closing his eyes against the harsh bite of the winter air. The day had barely begun and he already thought it couldn’t get any worse. Being called into work by your overbearing boss on the weekend was bad enough but being asked to do so in the middle of a white-out blizzard? That would be considered abuse in some of the more considerate territories in the kingdom.

He had only taken a single step through the threshold when he began sliding across his porch. Not stopping until he tripped over something rather small and heavy and was sent flopping onto his stomach like the fish on the dock of a port. His cloak was covered in snow and his hair, once an orderly bun at the top of his head, now resembled his nieces hair after a particularly rough day playing in the nearby forest. He wiped the snow off his eyes to behold what could have possibly tripped him and saw an ornate golden chest, embellished with rubies that formed the seal of the kingdom of Brownwell.

What on earth could this possibly be doing here?! He left Brownwell when he was not yet ten years old, changed his name, and took a weeks long trip by boat to the most unassuming territory in all of West Ashwood. Now, after nearly twenty years since he has seen or heard from any of the royal family they choose to disturb his peacefully bland life with an ominous chest on his porch?

Oh, this will not do. This will not do at all. He quickly collected himself and pulled the chest into the cottage before anyone could see it and asked questions. It must be a sick coincidence, right? There is no way they could have found him.

Slowly he lifted the latched and peered inside. The moment he saw what the chest contained, he wished he’d never opened it… but it was too late now.

A blue orb floated into the air and seemed to look at him. A tracker. He’d remembered these from his time spent as a child in Brownwell. His family had put one in his dog so they could find him when he would run away. Mesmerized, he took a step forward to observe it more closely. He could have sworn he could see the waves of the southern sea crashing at its center. Before he could gather his wits, the tracker floated into the center of his chest and disappeared.

He looked back into the chest and noticed a note at the bottom in the ancient language that appeared to be engraved in salt. He began to translate the note, the ancient language returning to him rather naturally for having not used it for almost two decades. He began to shake as he deciphered its meaning, “Good luck hiding now, Prince.”