Chrono Trigger: Time of Illusion Prologue
By Nihon Soba
Thus, the Seven once again merge,
Compelled by forces beyond their comprehension.
The Dangerous Times have begun.
The pendulum swings,
The events are set into motion.
Question reality.
The meeting place of worlds,
The disruption of Eschaton that led the deceased there,
The live ones there, from lands beyond.
Prepare yourself...
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“From my studies, I have concluded that these phenomena known as ‘gates’ are in fact, natural. Lavos did not create gates, nor is he the source of them. They are in reality, weaknesses in the time/space continuum, sort of ‘worm-holes’ that were probably created, theoretically, when the universe, as we know it, was patched together. There are different theories; the Gods created life, the famous ‘Big Bang’ theory, and many others. But what I believe is that the universe was always there. A strange concept, but when you take these primitive beliefs of various Gods having ‘always been there’, is it not possible for the universe to have always been there? True, galaxies and solar systems were created from superheated gases and matter, but the eternal void, the infinite realm of outer space, was in fact not created, according to my point of view.
“Of course, space may be eternal, but as for its structure being eternal.. scientists are still debating this subject from this time up until 2304 A.D. I have to agree with the scientists that support the theory of the fabric of space/time steadily weakening over the years. Another catalyst--a proof, if you will--in this theory of spacial deterioration is the arrival of the extraterrestrial being known as Lavos, who had seeked out this planet long ago in the past, when man’s ancestors were fighting with sentient, advanced reptilians over who would end up being the top of the evolutionary pyramid. Lavos’s original mission was, theoretically, to absorb the life energies of every living this that had ever existed on this planet. Of course, that mission was halted when the events that led to the destruction of Lavos occurred. While Lavos was in the Earth’s core, in his wake of arriving to Earth he left a tremendous disturbance in the space/time continuum, probably due to the speed at which he was traveling. From this, minute and seemingly insignificant weaknesses in the space/time fabric around this world grew into veritable tears in the fabric, ones that would open if the proper coaxing could be accomplished. This took form in Lucca’s ‘Gate Key’.
According to popular belief, all gates vanished when Lavos was destroyed. But this is simply not true. Gates have been in existence since the superheated gases in the void of space condensed into solid matter, forming planets, long, long ago. It was the formation of solar systems, stars, and galaxies that created the weaknesses in the space/time fabric, ones widened a great deal by the arrival of Lavos. Even after his death, they still remain, waiting to be opened using the proper instruments. Magic and Technology both can be used to open gates. I come to the point of this whole topic. Now, from the past adventures of the Six companions and I, it has been proven that these gates lead to various time eras in our universe, placed on our world. But I believe that there is a possibility that these gates can also lead to places outside our world, our universe. Is it so hard to believe? Obviously, these gates that lead to different time eras are mere rips in the fabric of space/time. Think of the possibilities of a gate that is not a simple rip, but a gaping hole. Where could it lead? Maybe we shall never know.”
-Janus, during his lecture to the Conclave on the theories of dimensional gateways, Circa 11,998 B.C.
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Do you really believe... that a gate will only lead to areas in your own universe...?
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Narshe, Northern Continent
The constant drip-drip of water was not the only sound in the mines today. Several minutes earlier, there was a sound of thunder as Whelk was brought out to intercept the intruders. The guards of Narshe prided themselves on their creation, a biological weapon, a giant mollusk designed to absorb damage and convert it to electric energy, and release it in the same manner; Whelk.
About an hour earlier, there were reports from scouts of a small group of Imperial soldiers advancing at a slow, but steady rate toward Narshe. Alarms were sounded, every citizen went through the routines of a commonly practiced drill, leaving the streets barren and empty. The guards silently waited, knowing that their lives would probably come to an end that day. And they were right.
Magitek Armor. A creation only a few years old, a hulking, bipedal machine operated by a sole soldier, weapons gained from diluting Esper blood and bio-energy into a fuel of some sorts. The fuel was guaranteed to make the walking armor last for about twelve years without shutting down, and also was the energy source for the beam and projectile weapons on the craft. Fire, Ice, and Bolt blasters were easily accessed by the flick of a switch, channeling the three basic elemental magicks into concentrated beams of energy, burning, freezing, or electrocuting anything in their path. The TekMissile was an marvelous weapon, self propelled by a small pack of fuel, able to reach unattainable speeds, solid shells of steel and uranium, delivering enough kinetic energy on impact to collapse an entire small castle in one shot. Only reserved for the elite, the TekMissile seldom was used in skirmishes, being that the cost of manufacturing them was expensive, even with Vector’s large treasury. Today, however, it was used plentifully.
A small squad of three Imperial soldiers in Magitek Armor had entered the town of Narshe, their intentions well known by the guards: to capture the frozen Esper. The guards fought valiantly, but their weapons were outdated; mere cudgels that would just chip away the paint of the walking armor. Only Whelk was the peak of Narshe’s technological weaponry project. And even it had been defeated, under the barrage of beams and missiles from two grunts, and an elite trooper girl.
. The girl’s face was emotionless as she marched over the remains of Whelk, crushing shell and sinew in her wake. Vicks and Wedge trailed her, watching the back. They were quite willing to put her on the front lines, and she seemed more than able to take care of herself.
“Shit, she totally trashed that thing...” came Vicks’s voice, sounding tinny through the intercom of the Magitek Armor. His mecha marched over the remains as well, sounds of cracking and squishing following him along as he crushed shell and flesh that was already charred. He pulled out a long, thick Victory Cigar, courtesy of the Imperial Army Rationing, and bit the end off, striking a match between his own fingers to light the tip. he took a few puffs before he used it sparingly, blue smoke rising to the roof of the cave.
Vicks was the younger of the two, but as battle-hardened as his partner Wedge. His eyes were not visible through the helmet with it’s infared visor, though when they were they were dark and cold. His hair was shoulder length and tied back, and he was in need of a good shave. Vicks clenched the cigar with his teeth, puffing as little as he dared, since he only recieved two of these every month. His first one was gone already, lit up on the day that the Imperial Army overtook Maranda, the last of the cities on the Southern Continent.
“Quiet! And keep your guard up!” came the harsh whisper of Wedge, the more aged of the two. His face bore a few wrinkles, as well as battle scars which he tended to proudly display. His eyes were grey and full of wisdom, when they weren’t obstructed by his helmet, that is. His hair showed streaks of white, and was the same shoulder length as Vicks’s, since that was the maximum length allowed for soldiers. And also, he was in need of a shave, since he had brought no razor on the long trek to Narshe. Though he was fond of strong drink, Wedge did not approve of his younger partner’s love of cigars, and waved away bluish smoke that drifted in his direction, trying not to cough. He was about to once again reprimand his colleague, when the girl--the sorceress, of a higher rank--signaled them with her hand to halt. The two obeyed grudgingly, frustrated but not willing to resort to insubordination.
“What is it?” asked Wedge. The girl only pointed. The two soldiers looked in the direction that the girl was pointing to, and discovered what they had been looking for the entire mission.
A creature, clearly a bird of some sorts, though it exhibited traits of reptiles as well. It had a long scaly tail, as well as feathers of blue, red, and green. It had talons (or claws?) that were long and sharp, as well as a beak. But it’s eyes... they contained the vertical pupils of a snake or lizard. According to Cid, director of the Magitek Research Facility, this Esper was known as Tritoch. Unlike the others that had been found in the Sealed Gate, this one had been frozen in this area since the War of the Magi, around a thousand years ago. It was a large creature, fearsome looking even in its frozen shell (we would see this creature as sort of like the Quetzocal of the Mayan legends--forgive my spelling or lack of proper historical information).
The girl walked closer to the frozen Esper, seemingly in a trance. The blank look on her face revealed one of confusion, then of amazement. The two soldiers behind her looked at each other dubiously and then back at the girl.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” asked Vicks cautiously. “Do you know something we don’t?” The girl said nothing, just continued to stare at the frozen Esper, in awe.
The frozen Esper began to emit a strange light...
It was strange, mind boggling. Almost as if the Esper and the girl were.. communicating.
Wedge was the first to get his thought together and try to find out what was happening. “Where’s that light coming from?” he asked harshly to the girl, who did not answer him. Suddenly, the light enveloped him. “Uwaa...!”
Wedge, the old grizzled veteran, was gone. “Wedge!” yelled Vicks, trying to be calm despite the strange event. “Where the hell are you? What’s happening--arrgh!” the yell was the last thing that came from him as the light enveloped him as well, and then he was gone as well.
Vaporization, not vanishing, was what had happened to the soldiers. The intense light burned away their walking armor and themselves instantly, charring them beyond ashes, until nothing remained. The girl was oblivious to what happened to them, still in her Magitek Armor, another strange light coursing between her and the frozen Esper...
The rest of the story you already know. Except of Vicks and Wedge...
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Newark, NJ, U.S.A. Circa 1999 A.D.
He walked down the streets, trying to be inconspicuous. And succeeding. Contrary to popular belief, if he had dressed in a million-dollar suit with slicked back hair and a close shave, he would be more noticeable in the streets among the crowd. So he naturally opted for the less subtle and more simpler clothing. Tattered pants in army colors, a tank top with the logo of the old punk band Bad Brains scrawled on it in slowly fading red paint, shoes badly in need of repair, leather gloves with the fingers cut short, like biker gloves. Ruffled brown hair and cheap sunglasses completed the outfit, as well as a face in need of a shave. This, and not the attire of a professional, was how Rokan preferred it.
Rokan. That wasn’t his real name, of course. Whatever it was, he no longer used it. Names held power, no matter how anyone looked at it. In his business, Rokan chose not to let anyone have power over him by revealing his true name. He was a man of around twenty-five years, brown haired, brown eyed. Not too tall and not too short. Perfect for his appearance. He looked more like a mere ruffian than a professional burglar. Looked more like someone who would smash a store window with a brick to get in rather than one who would find an alternate entrance, or cut the glass carefully and check for security lasers and cameras before proceeding. And a professional Rokan was.
As he walked down the streets, he chewed on a toothpick and hummed a few Rasta Punk melodies to himself, hands in his pockets, thinking about what his new assignment would be. Of course, he was not in the business alone. He worked with someone he could trust completely. His agent was Miko, a Japanese-American woman two years older than him. Raven haired with almond-shaped eyes, like the elves that captivated Rokan in childhood books, lithe but strong as her will was. Miko was not her real name, as Rokan was not his. Like him, she also chose to keep her real name secret. It was a secrecy that both agent and thief respected, even thought their relationship went further that . Once, they had even been in the trade together, until Miko decided to call it quits and resort to being his agent. He remembered the evening a few years back when she gave him an expensive Italian suit she had stole for him, (a disguise needed in one of their runs) and how she had taken it off of him that same night...
Rokan reveled in the memory. Miko did not share his interests in his musical taste, nor his desire to be living on the edge, but she did appreciate his fondness of literature and travel as well as his... other interests. He had recieved a call from her, one informing him of a possible run. Details were to be given in person, her not willing to risk giving it over the phone. Fine with Rokan. In fact, where he was on his way to now was his apartment.
After a long walk, Rokan arrived at his apartment complex, a tall building in need of renovating. The apartments weren’t so shabby, though. He briskly stepped in through the doors and punched the up button on the elevator. Instantly one of the elevator doors slid open, and Rokan walked inside, punching the button for the last floor.
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Miko sat back on the couch, reading one of her favorite books, an old, short sci-fi novel by the name of Logan’s Run. She had a passion for old science fiction. It was interesting to look back at the past decades and see how they viewed the future. Inherit The Stars was another favorite, a worn, dog-eared copy with a bookmark stuck in there somewhere lying on the night stand beside the couch.
There was a knock on the door. Miko stood up and set the book aside, going to the door and using the spyhole to check who it was before she opened it. Sure enough, Rokan stood there with an impatient look on his face. She gave a small laugh and opened the door for him. The door shut behind him, and he and Miko shared a brief kiss.
“New biz?” he asked, kicking off his shoes and grabbing a Tsing-Tao from the refrigerator.
Miko nodded. “Yeah. Some dude called, name of Pletcher. I made sure he approached through the right channels, he’s no cop.” she cleared her throat. “Anyway, he was looking for someone to ‘retrieve’ a stolen object. Documents, specifically. Kept inside a manila envelope labeled ‘Top Secret’.” she chuckled, along with Rokan. “Pretty obvious, ne?”
Rokan nodded, taking a sip of the Chinese beer. “He give us a location?”
“Yeah, a clothing warehouse downtown, labeled 8904, off of Central Avenue.”
Rokan absorbed the information. “Got it. Looks like a night job to me. I’ll get my gear ready.” He got up, setting the half-full beer bottle aside along with several empty cans of Sapporo. “I’ll make sure this Pletcher gets what he wants. He paid in advance, right?”
“I made sure. Don’t worry.” said Miko, ruffling his messy hair.
Rokan stroked her smooth hair. “Wish me luck, ok?” he bent down to kiss her. She grabbed him by the neck, dragging him down to her level, returned the favor with intense passion.
“You owe me...” she whispered in his ear, in a tone that promised another night of ecstasy. He succumbed to her urges willingly, working at the straps to her brassiere as she pulled off his shirt. The two writhed in their love heat for a long time before the sun set, orange rays lighting up the evening sky.
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The beat up car made it’s way down the rugged streets, it’s brand and date of manufacturing long lost. Harsh music blasted from it as the car screeched to a halt at a red light, few cars beside it. Not many people came down here at night. They took the freeway.
Central Avenue was at the next intersection, and Rokan took a sharp right there. He seemed at peace, despite the loud music issuing from the car’s speakers. Beside him was a bag of what he needed: hinge oil; a black ski mask, as well as black leggings and a black tunic; a tanto, razor-sharp and in its sheath; a small flashlight; and an automatic pistol, along with several clips of ammunition. No heavy weapons were suited for espionage.
The warehouse came into view after a few minutes of driving, and Rokan slowed down, picking a spot away from it. An abandoned parking lot with a closed down K-Mart was his choice; several other cars were parked there already, most of them the only homes for the people who owned them. He parked, turning off the lights. Opening the bag quickly, he smeared greasy black paint over his eyes and the area around it, to keep the skin from showing brightly. He donned the ski mask as well as the leggings and tunic, strapping the tanto to his side and holstering the black pistol. Ready, he got out of the car and locked the doors, slipping the key into a hidden ‘pocket’ under the car. It would make too much noise if taken with him. And if I lose this car, thought Rokan, there’s always the repo man to help out. He didn’t notice the figure standing on top of the K-Mart building, black-robed, seemingly watching his every move...
Silently he blended in with the darkness. Not many people noticed him, and those that did steered clear of him. Not wise to interfere with other people’s biz. Soon he was in the area of the warehouse. He sneaked down the side of it, looking for a grate, a bathroom window, something that would serve as an entrance besides the door. Rokan eventually found a basement window, a tight squeeze yet able to let him inside. He quickly fitted a silencer on the barrel of his pistol, and knelt on the side of the window, out of its view. Slowly, he opened the window a crack, getting closer to it in order to hear if anyone was inside. No breathing, no shuffling of feet. Just darkness. Perfect. He slowly opened the window until it was big enough to fit his figure. He slipped in and landed feet first on a linoleum floor, executing a forward roll to absorb the impact and lessen the noise. He holstered his pistol, silent, looking for a door. He muttered a soft curse at his forgetfulness. He had brought no light source. He would have to wait until his eyes adjusted the dark.
A light. To his side, several yards away. Not a big light, just a small beam, coming from under a door. Bright enough to help him see more around that area. There was a ventilation duct just above that door. Rokan swiftly and quietly removed it, slipping into the shaft without so much as a scrape. Once inside, he produced a folded sheet of paper: blueprints. Studying them under the light of his flashlight, he discovered the route to the room where the documents supposedly were. A right turn here, straight ahead for a few yards, then first grille on the left. Simple. Arriving at his destination, he peered into the grille to see if there was anyone on guard. He couldn’t help but to make some noise crawling through the ventilation shaft, and he didn’t want a regiment of guards down his throat.
No one was there, however. He removed the grille in the same manner that he had removed the first one, not without a bit of a struggle in the confines of the shaft. Dropping down and landing on the tips of his toes, he made his way to a table where Pletcher, according to Miko, had said that the documents were. Sure enough, the “top secret” envelope was there. Almost too easy...
It was too easy. The door burst open just as Rokan laid hands on the folder, and he was face to face with a tall merc, an old AK-47 pointed at him.
“Hands up,” the merc growled, his trigger finger itching to fire. Rokan obliged, lifting his hands in the air, dropping the folder. As it fell on the floor a ream of blank white papers spilled out, nothing written on any of them. Rokan cursed. It was a setup! The man briskly frisked Rokan, fishing out the black pistol and the tanto, stuffing them away in a pocket in his coat.
“So much for Pletcher,” Rokan muttered, quietly but loud enough for the merc to hear. The big man laughed out loud, moving aside from the door as another figure walked inside. About Rokan’s height, wearing a crisp black business suit and Italian shoes, million-dollar shave and haircut, his handsome features marred by a viscous scar that ran down his face from his left eye to his neck. The man walked up to Rokan, yanking off the black ski mask. His gaze was one of malice.
Rokan snickered, despite his position. “Well, well, I didn’t expect to find YOU here, Percy.” he recieved a blow across the face from the man in the suit.
“Well, you did. You think I forgot the time you infiltrated my organization and gave me this?” Percy angrily pointed to the scar on his face. “Well now I’m gonna make you pay... hehe. Looks like this ‘Pletcher’ deal worked out quite well. I’ve got ways of finding out about you, Rokan. It was only a matter of time before I got you apartment phone number and rigged up the phony call.” he laughed, coughing and spitting out phlegm.
Rokan gave him a wry look. “Get cancer smoking too much of those Macanudos.”
“Shut up!” came Percy’s harsh reply. “I suggest you do as we say, especially since we know where you live and whom you live with...”
Rokan suddenly rushed up toward the man, but stopped when he felt cold steel on his throat. The merc was at his side, and how he got there so fast, Rokan did not know. The blade of a switchblade was at his neck, urging him to rush further so it could sever his jugular. Rokan gritted his teeth, finally feeling the desperation of the moment.
“Shit!”
Percival “Percy” Vincent chuckled in his raspy voice, the kind that makes you want to clear your own throat.
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“Are you sure, master, that this man will be sufficient?”
The voice replied, “He will do.”
“There are many like him. I can easily find someone less blundering than this simpleton--”
“Him. I have not the time to waste on looking for an expert. Do as I say!”
The other voice was meek in apology. “Yes master...”
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Rokan was tied up against a chair in the middle of the warehouse, a vast area sure to make the agoraphobic a little more than uneasy. The merc, along with several other of his kind, all stood on guard at regular intervals in the warehouse, all armed with some type of automatic weapon. Percival Vincent paced back and forth in front of his prisoner, brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally he stopped directly in front of Rokan.
“You know, I could really ruin your career rather than off you right here.” he said, a wry smile on his face.
Rokan spat on the floor, inches from Percival’s expensive shoes. “Your full of shit.”
“Percy” just chuckled annoyingly. “Nope, afraid not. I know that your real name is Logan Ballard, and that you were born on July 15, 1975. Your agent is Misato Sonoda, a half-breed wench a few years older than you. You live in the apartment building off of Parker Street, room 57...”
Percival’s eyes bulged as he fell down, clutching his groin. Rokan’s boot had connected solidly. Percy gasped and wheezed, barking orders in a pained voice to his bodyguards, the mercenaries. The merc that had stopped Rokan first came rushing toward him, kicking his in the stomach and making him fall forward in his chair, coughing and retching. He continued to punch and kick at Rokan’s unyielding form until Percival shouted for him to stop, getting up.
“Alive! I want him alive!” he said, shoving the merc aside as he made his way in front of Rokan again. “Rokan, my boy, I wouldn’t do that again if I were you...”
Darkness. It was as if all the lights in the entire warehouse had gone out and the windows were sealed with a thick black covering. There were shouts of confusion, punctuated by Percival’s frantic orders to keep calm and make sure the prisoner didn’t escape. Rokan felt the ropes around his arms being severed, and his hands were free.
“Quickly! While they are busy you can escape!”
Where the voice came from Rokan did not know, but he had no time to wonder. He got off the chair and ran in the general direction of the exit, knowing his way since he had spent the past hour tied up in the chair studying where the exits were in the warehouse. His feet weren’t so silent as he ran, and he could hear the steady rat-tat-tat of an AK-47 and the sound of bullets ricocheting off of the concrete floor. He burst through the door, tearing it down in his speed. He ran across the street and down to the abandoned parking lot to where he had parked his car, only to find it smashed and on fire. Those bastards probably got to it, he thought. Even now he could hear the mercenaries as they found their way out of the warehouse, yelling and pointing at Rokan as they ran after him. Rokan ran frantically on the side of the abandoned K-Mart building, trying to find another road of somewhere to hide. He had just turned a corner when he stopped suddenly, seeing a man in front of him.
The man was tall and imposing, with jet-black hair tied up behind him in a ponytail, handsome, almost elfin features in a haughty smile. He wore black robes that fluttered in the sudden wind, signs of modern clothing beneath: a black T-shirt, black leather gloves, and what looked like sneakers below his robes. The man extended a gloved hand, and Rokan felt a sudden compulsion to reach out and let it envelop his.
“They’re coming,” said the man. “I can help you. Follow me.”
“Who are you?” Rokan asked in bewilderment. The man just grinned.
“You may call me Shin.”
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Rokan ran, tired and almost out of breath, behind the man known as Shin. Shin seemed to fly rather than walk, but Rokan attributed this to his fatigued state. He was panting and gasping when he slowed to a gradual stop, bending down, his hands on his knees.
“I can go no further,” Rokan managed to say. “If you really can help me, do something about my pursuers.”
Shin’s eyes narrowed, the smile never leaving his face. “Leave it to me.”
Seven mercenaries came into view from behind a building that the two had passed, yelling and running in their direction. The sound of automatic weapons being fired echoed down the asphalt streets, but none of the bullets seemed to hit or even come near to hitting Rokan or Shin. The black-robed man laughed out loud, yelling out something that sounded like a cross between a hiss and some unknown language, and three bolts of black energy streaked out of his outstretched fingers. The bolts struck the mercenaries, moving from one to the next. Some of the mercs let out cries of bewilderment and pain, others had time for neither. As the black bolts struck them, their flesh caved in, fluids running out of their ears and other orifices on their bodies, until all that was left of them were withered husks, crumbling as they fell to the ground. Shin’s laughter rang throughout the night.
Rokan was astonished. “How did you...”
Shin turned to face him, grinning as usual. The guy was a regular jester. “Sorry, all of your questions will be answered in due time.” he said. He then removed a silvery object from the pockets of his robes, one that looked like a sort of T.V. remote control. He grabbed Rokan by the shoulder in a crushing grip and pressed a button on the object, and almost instantly a swirling bluish hole appeared out of nowhere, almost like a portal of some sort. Before Rokan could object or say anything, he was hurled head-first into the blue portal, disappearing within its miasma. Shin looked around, and noticing nothing but the crumbled husks of the dead mercenaries, then entered the portal, which closed behind him, leaving the streets of Newark silent once more.
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The following is a summary of what is happening.
Four years after the alien being Lavos was destroyed by Crono and his allies, it seems peaceful. Every one has gone back to their own times and proceeded to go about with their lives. However, instantly after Lavos was destroyed, and Aeons before Lavos even arrived on Earth, events have been building up... and now, they near a climax. For good or ill, it is still uncertain.
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It came into notice apparently in the year 2304 A.D. The android Robo was assigned to an expedition to investigate strange spacial anomalies somewhere in the outer reaches of the solar system. Little did he know that his actions, as well as others, were being watched with a great interest... and the watcher was following Robo. It was a Nu.
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Glenn, knight of Guardia, had retained the form of a frog following a battle with the wizard Magus little before the year 600 A.D. Four years after 600 A.D., he was sitting outside of his home in the Cursed Woods, contemplating on what his life had in store for him, when his thoughts were interrupted by a visitor, a Nu. It carried an old parchment, untouched by time. Glenn recieved the parchment, and after reading its cryptic message, was transformed back into his human form. The parchment carried a 13604 year old magical spell on it, a counter-curse for Glenn’s amphibious form, written by none other than Magus, who had decided to undo what had been done unjustly years ago, and to maintain his inner balance of good and evil. The Nu he picked because their species show a remarkable trait: long life. Nu are almost immortal, according to limited scientific study. Not many Nu exist in the future, and those that do hide themselves. Why is it that Nu live such long lives...?
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Crono and Marle were married at last, four years into their marriage and nineteen years old. What started as a visit to their friend Lucca’s house ended up in an interesting event. Finding out from a bard that Glenn had been changed back into a human, Lucca decided to try out an invention of hers, a Portal Spawner, something that would open a single gate for a limited amount of time. Repairing it after it had broke earlier in the day, she activated it, and the gate that resulted was very large, rivaling the size of the one opened in Magus’s castle in the year 600 A.D.
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Ayla was facing hard times. It was her fate to bear strong children that would brave the Ice Age brought on by Azala, to die along with her people in the desperation that would occur. However, she accepted her fate without fear, knowing there was no other alternative if the future of the human race was to be a bright one. She was married to Kino, and still retained her status of chief of Ioka Village. A hunting party had encountered a “strange creature” in the dwindling hunting grounds: a Nu. It had told them to go to Mystic Mountain. Ayla heard of this, and knowing some knowledge of Nu and retaining a bit of awe for them (her name for the Nu was Nu’Khama, God of the hunt), had gone with the hunters to Mystic Mountain. Once at the peak, the Nu appeared, scaring all off but Ayla and a boy named Kanor. The Nu had spoken telepathically to Ayla, telling her to make her way to the End of Time to meet her friends there. It had told her that even after Lavos was destroyed, strange events were brewing, ones that boded ill. The Nu used a strange device to open a gate, strangely since apparently all gates had shut after Lavos had been destroyed. Ayla had entered the gate, and ended up at the End of Time.
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Magus, Janus in actuality, was the one to figure out exactly what was happening, the purpose behind everything. A loner, he lived in a house of his own making at North Cape. His only companion was Alfador, his cat and dearest friend. In the wake of Lavos’s demise, there came into existence a group of magic users. The group was formed in order to keep magic under control, to kindle it in people born with the gift, to keep from happening the events that brought the downfall of Zeal kingdom. Thus, magic was restricted to Wizards only. The group was called the Conclave of Wizards, and its rulers were a council of elders, each one representing three of the four magicks: Lightning, Fire, and Water. Shadow was lost to the world, it being a dangerous and powerful magic. Janus was the only person who could harness the power of Shadow, the dark magic that held the essence of all three magicks together. He was not a member of the Conclave, however. He was a respected magi, one who attended the ceremonies of the graduation of apprentices into full magi, and one who attended trials at the Conclave. However, his pride and feelings kept him away from the group of Wizards.
Still stricken over the loss of his sister, Schala, Janus had decided to counter the curse he had placed on Glenn long ago, and found a carrier for it: a Nu. Poring through Guru Belthasar’s notes, he had learned much about these strange creatures. Their abnormally long life span, their increased strength and speed, and the unknowns of them: their origins and purpose. In getting a Nu to carry his counter curse, Janus had somehow recieved a great deal of information, almost like osmosis, from the creature. It had answered all the questions about Nu, and alerted him of the strange events taking place, confirming the recent return of the Black Wind in Janus.
A recent graduate of the conclave, a Fire magus named Justarius, was seemingly tied in with the events that were taking place. The boy had a master who was teaching him Shadow magic, whoever it was was unknown. Justarius, christening himself “Shin”, had killed one of the elders of the Conclave before he was stopped by Janus. He let the boy go, knowing that he needed to follow the young Shadow apprentice and learn more of the events taking place. Janus used powerful magic granted to him by the information he recieved, and opened a gate to the place that was the nexus of the events.
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What is occurring is still uncertain, only Magus and select few knowing it exactly. The Dangerous Times have begun, and are in motion. The future is clouded, and it seems like there was a bigger agenda behind Lavos...
The Time of Illusion has begun.
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