This is the beginning of a collaborative work between myself and GoldenQuill; we intend to alternate chapters as we go, taking charge of every other chapter as the story unfolds.

Prologue: The Gate Beneath the Forest

The wind stumbled over the branches of the lofty oaks, rustling the leaves with a sound like rasping paper in chorus. The trees huddled close, their branches shifting uneasily in the amethystine darkness. The dry ground shifted imperceptibly, the dust settling quietly amid sparse tufts of ruddy bronze grass.

The distant steel-bound gate buzzed happily against its bindings, set into indistinct vine-covered walls on either side, promising a violent shock. A lone figure emerged from the yawning darkness beyond, its form shrouded by a dusky brown cloak.

Approaching the gate, the young man underneath the cloak extended his pale purple hand towards it, steadily aiming a battered handheld disruptor towards the humming gate. A silent push of the sole dirty red button adorning its surface, and the hum of the gate became an angry garbled buzzing.

Tallow cursed under his breath. The device was practically ancient, but he had hoped that just this once it could perhaps be relied upon to work properly. Withholding his exasperated sigh, he glared at the gate, knowing what come next. After all, this wasn't the first time.

He turned and paced back the way he had come, counting each step. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. By the time he reached ten, the inky darkness had swallowed him once more. Swivelling to face the gate, he broke into a sprint, feeling the mavorn burn in his core. His steps quickened, whispering over the ground as he rushed headlong at the gate.

The darkness winked out of existence as Tallow stepped into the Grey Shores. The stumbling wind was gone, and so was everything else. All around were shades of grey, fading into black towards the indistinct horizon. No wind, no movement, just an indistinct most all around, forming itself into vague suggestions of shapes. Without faltering, he hurtled onwards, noting the distinct jagged disruption the gate caused in the fabric of this non-realm ahead, almost like a glitch in reality.

As he collided with the disruption, a sharp, static-filled shriek invaded Tallow's head, accompanied by a fiery shock that rattled his teeth. The Grey Shores faded, buzzing out of existence as he passed through the gate. He was through.

He paused for a moment to assess the damages. His cloak seemed to have suffered a few small tears along the trailing edge, but the remainder of his clothing, along with his body, was intact. His disruptor, however, appeared to be completely ruined. It had gained several additional scars, as well as a far more charred appearance, and the button had been seared off, as though with a jagged blade.

He hastily sorted through the pouches at his belt, making sure nothing critical to his escape had been damaged. Thankfully, everything appeared to be relatively unscathed. He took a moment to ensure the necessary tools were still present: razor wire,  miniature explosives, tokens, rope, smoke pellets. If anything else was missing, he could worry about it later. 

He knelt and softly dusted off his mid-length ebony-brown leather boots. The dull grey dirt on this planet, however familiar, had a nasty tendency to stick to and stain anything that was remotely porous.

Rising, he surveyed the situation. The gate behind him had resumed its routine happy humming. The closely-clustered forest ahead was quiet enough, but he knew all too well that it would be monitored much more closely than this maintenance entrance. The steelbound fence extended from the gate, much more visible from the inside, protecting both the narrow plain and the dense forest.

Pausing for a time, half curious and half terrified that a battalion of enforcers might come to inspect the gate, he continued examining his surroundings. Somewhere nearby, he knew, there would be a storage facility, somewhere to keep their finished products -- and their reclaimed goods. After a few painfully long minutes, Tallow eventually gave up waiting and accepted his good fortune.

Sticking close to the fence, he began to circle the perimeter, his dark boots padding softly on the dry ground. The only sound was the wind in the distant trees, but he knew all too well that venturing too close to the grove itself would be deadly.

Ahead, the darkness grudgingly yielded the shape of a small building. Barely big enough to even be called a shack, its concrete walls anxiously held up a flat, featureless steel roof as though it might give up and collapse inwards at any moment. The sight reminded Tallow of similar places he had been forced to break into in the past.

Inside, he knew, was a single ladder. It was a maintenance entrance; he could count on it being mostly unused and ignored. Most people would prefer the quicker route -- the gaping permanent Gates that served as entrances for most underground facilities like these. They were easier to protect and maintain, and far quicker than an elevator, much less a ladder.

He approached the single door cowering in the wall facing him, hoping fervently that the Officiates in charge of this facility had been brash enough to only station their guards at the main entrances. Most of them didn’t bother to check the blueprints of the sites they were assigned to unless it was a very new site; this was one of the oldest still in frequent use.

He reached for the deceptively small latch and opened the door. An automatic fluorescent tube groggily awoke at the disturbance, shining its dim light for probably the first time in decades. Tallow entered, closing the door quietly behind himself to avoid drawing any more attention than was already trained on the minor disturbances he’d caused.

As expected, there was a small, dilapidated ladder in the centre of the floor, just barely holding on to the surface as the darkness below tried to drag it back down.

He wrapped the folds of his cloak around his hands and slid quickly down the ladder, paying no heed to the encroaching darkness. Within a minute, the faint light from overhead shut itself off, sending him into the oblivion of true darkness.

Rather than bring out a light and reveal his presence to anyone loitering in the dusty corridor far below, he continued descending in the darkness, pausing occasionally and relying on the solid metallic feel of the ladder to offer him safe purchase. Far below, the faint promise of light ahead glowed dimly from the darkness.

Soon enough, he found himself in one of many maze-like tunnels, stretching out in a complex labyrinth that Tallow doubted anyone could possibly safely navigate. Lit by only the occasional dim light embedded in the ceiling, the earthen walls were perfectly uniform, the narrow tunnels stretching away in all directions, branching off and twisting in ways that almost defied logic. The metallic floors were coated in dust, completely devoid of all marks -- no footprints, no signs of habitation, nothing.

For a moment, he wondered if he was even in the right place. This facility held Amyr's most treasured items, and yet, perhaps because it was never anticipated that anyone would get close enough to steal from the Amyra themselves, they had little interest in guarding this place. There would be some, he assured himself, but most of the troublesome guards and Officiates monitored the Gates and the few spaceports. They didn't want outsiders on Amyr. Strictly forbidden, they’d happily tell the curious traders, mercenaries, scholarly folk, and just about anyone else who hadn't been born on this thief-infested rock. Can't have them finding the stolen technology in this place, after all.

Taken from just about everywhere in the universe, Amyr’s immense hoard was maintained on an individual basis by the Travelers; native-born and highly-trained indiscriminate thieves and combatants.

Besides, even if there weren't any guards, he could count on there being some kind of alarm system. If he was lucky, perhaps the more ancient parts of it might be a little less functional.

His attention was caught by something protruding from a wall in the tunnel ahead. Almost completely engulfed in the dust and the loose earth, a charred handle protruded slightly from the tunnel wall. He glanced about, but saw nothing more than empty tunnels. He closed his eyes, fixating on each of his senses in turn, feeling for any disturbances.

The air was still, the earth motionless. The faint dusky scent of the undisturbed dust and dirt came from all around, intermingled with the faint icy scent of metal. He stilled his breathing, strained his hearing, but could hear no more than his own steady heartbeat.

Tallow relaxed slightly; the tunnels he’d entered appeared to be completely empty. He reached down, his long dirty-blond hair falling over his face as he knelt and pulled the handle free from the dust and earth with a quiet chk. Lifting it to the light, he saw it was a small, plain dagger. Two straight edges, both equally sharp, with few noticeable flaws. He wondered idly who had left it, but it didn’t matter.

While he couldn’t be sure it was only a dagger -- after all, many items that found their way to Amyr tended to be particularly valuable in one way or another -- it seemed to function well enough as one. He tested the blade by drawing it across the hem of his tunic, and was pleasantly surprised to see the edge it held was still very sharp, cutting cleanly through the plain fabric without complaint. Normally, he was not one for carrying bladed weapons. For the time being, however, he stowed it in one of his many small belt pouches, expecting to need it soon.

After all, he was breaking in.

His thoughts turned to the immediate future, and to the map of the abandoned tunnels he’d memorised days ago. Labyrinthine though they were, he knew where he was going, and it was merely a few short minutes of nearly silent running through the maze of twisted corridors that he noted that the ceiling lights were growing brighter. Around the next bend, he spotted a door -- plain, solid wood. It bore a dull-grey metal plaque that read Storeroom H40. Not the most helpful. He kept moving, searching.

He was looking for something of his -- a Staff, fairly plain to the eye, but one which held a few surprises, owing to the wood from which it was made. Wood from the grove that sat above this entire facility. They were not uncommon on Amyr, but he was after his Staff. Not some commonplace product, but a unique variant. Made by one of the best Scholars on Amyr: his mother.

Confiscated just a few days ago after a catastrophic accident at her office, Tallow had known immediately that he’d need to steal it. No one was sure exactly what had happened, but that Staff had been sealed away down here in this place, as though the Officiates in charge of the investigation had simply wanted it forgotten. After what had happened to his mother in the accident, he could not possibly forget.

Besides, he needed it. He needed to get away. So here he was, running away. First he’d need the Staff, and then he could be far away from here. He didn’t know if he would ever want to come back.

His head filled with recent events, Tallow almost missed what he was looking for. An unmarked door. Even the tool closets here were marked; an unmarked door almost always meant a room that contained things that were intended to be forgotten about. He crouched by the door, examining the smooth wood for anything that might trigger an alarm.

Embedded into the top of the frame, he saw a small black cube -- some kind of sensor. Tallow withdrew some adhesive tape from one of the pouches at his belt and covered it completely. With luck, that should buy him enough time to get in and out.

He tried the handle, and the door swung open slowly. Whoever built this place must have been relying on the alarms, or else they wanted him to be able to open the door. He hoped that the alarm was as simple as it seemed, but he doubted it.

The room was darker than pitch, and Tallow felt the hair on his neck rise. Something wasn’t right in here. He reached for his belt-pouch, withdrawing the knife and a small beacon-light, which he shook and tossed into the void in front of him as it began to glow.

The beacon’s searing reddish light erupted, casting a malignant glow that seemed to echo from the walls it struck. Tallow blinked, and his eyes adjusted. He scanned the room, searching. Searching for what he knew had to be in here, and searching for what he knew should not be. It was filled with shelves upon shelves of paraphernalia that had likely been used to commit crimes the likes of which he doubted anyone could reasonably comprehend. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t here for that kind of artefact. Besides, if he did try to take something unfamiliar, there was a fair chance it could end up getting him killed; he hadn’t the faintest clue what most of it was supposed to do, and much of it was old enough that you couldn’t be wholly sure how well it would operate.

His eyes alighted on what could only be his mother’s Staff, and he crept silently towards it, alert. As his fingers closed around the familiar sturdy wood, feeling the smooth whorls and rough imperfections he knew only too well, he heard the faintest of footfalls across the room, moving slowly towards him.

“Ka!” Tallow shouted as he seized the Staff. Bolting, he found himself crashing through and leaping over several shelves of alien artefacts as he made for the door. His heart raced, beating furiously against his ribcage. Whatever this other entity was, he hoped to at least slow it down, giving him enough time to flee into the labyrinth of forgotten tunnels and hide until he could escape for good. He felt himself slipping into the Grey Shores, but could not gather enough speed to remain there with all the obstacles in this room.

As he burst out into the corridor once more, Tallow tried frantically to recall the direction he’d come from. Left? Right? He hadn’t been paying enough attention. In the unimpeded corridor, his stride lengthened, his footfalls quieted, his breath slowed, and he slipped easily back onto the Grey Shores, escaping as quickly as he could.Navigating within was more difficult, but safer. He took almost as many turns as he found, seeking out the dimmer lighting of the lesser-known tunnels. In his right hand, he clutched his prize.

Almost fifteen minutes had elapsed before Tallow slowed his stride and eventually stopped. The familiar grey of the Shores quickly faded from his perception. His heartbeat slowed gradually, and he returned to the last crossroads, taking care to obscure the footprints he had left there. Not willing to take any more chances than he already had, he took great care to leave as little imprint in the dust as possible as he walked slowly down the dimly-lit tunnels, looking for somewhere relatively safe.

It wasn’t long before the tunnels widened slightly, offering him the chance to escape. He wasn’t about to pass up the chance. The metal floors here made opening Gates all but impossible -- but he was prepared. He drew three small silver orbs from the pouches at his belt. They were heavy, and warm to the touch, expectant. They knew their purpose.

He squeezed each in turn, dropping one at each edge of the tunnel, and one in the centre. They glowed an ominous red, and Tallow quickly stepped out of harm’s way, closing his eyes. White flashed briefly, and the shockwave struck him, forcing him to the ground. If anything would, that was bound to set off some kind of alarm.

At least he had what he needed: a floor of bare earth, more or less flat, spanning the width of the tunnel on a roughly circular shape.

From a pocket sewn into the inside of his tunic, he withdrew a round token, as pale as bone. A seed, if he cared enough to plant it, though few did. They took centuries to grow, and there were other uses for them.

Tallow ran his fingers over the smooth crown of his recently-liberated Staff, feeling for the engraved glyphs. There weren’t many, and those that it held were almost all unfamiliar to him.

“From memory it is,” he muttered to himself, annoyed. He hated having to draw them from memory; there was no time to practice, so a single mistake could send him into the wrong sector entirely. Scratching in the dust with the bottom of his Staff, he drew the simplest glyph he knew: two horizontal strokes parallel to each other, crossed by a single angled stroke with one final curved stroke coming from its nearest tip. A safe place... he hoped.

Surrounding the glyph with a circle that spanned the width of the tunnel, Tallow completed the familiar ritual by embedding the Staff in the dirt at the centre of the glyph, and placing the pale token on its flat crown.

Hurriedly exiting the circle in the opposite direction from where he’d entered this tunnel, Tallow glanced backwards to see the entire section of the tunnel pop softly out of existence, replaced with an oddly-curving rock wall. For now. He sat down with his legs crossed and closed his eyes, opting to meditate until the Gate opened and he could leave. He dare not sleep, in case whatever alarms he’d tripped led them to this side of the collapsed tunnel. From the other side, he doubted they could reach him, but it wasn't impossible.

His thoughts tumbled through his mind like dry leaves. He ignored as many of them as he could. Images of his mother, the violent explosion he’d witnessed after leaving her office that day, and his useless father appeared in his mind’s eye. He shoved them aside, fixing his attention on the void, settling in for a long wait.

Tallow’s eyes flicked open as the tunnel was filled with a much louder tearing sound as the fabric of space and time were sewn together, bridging an immense gap. The Gate opened as he stood, the still air of the tunnel rushing towards it, tangling his hair and ruffling his clothes. It manifested as a large tear in the fabric of reality, it's edges slightly jagged. It hurt to look at. Almost like a strange carnival mirror, it reflected it's surroundings in strange, disjointed ways. He saw bits of himself, the tunnel, and what he could only assume we're glimpses of the other side in a strange kaleidoscope that never stopped shifting and warping the images. It twisted the colours of everything into shades of grey, just like the Grey Shores, and Tallow’s Staff hung motionless in the centre of it all, above what seemed to be a barely-visible hole in the broken geometry, where it faded into a pure grey.

He jumped directly into the Gate’s open maw, clutching for the Staff as he fell through reality, his senses assaulted with rapid changes. Roaring filled his ears, and his eyes quickly failed to make sense of what was going on. His equilibrium went haywire, and he failed to tell up from down. His skin crawled uncomfortably, feeling space and time flow over it almost like liquid, until he clutched his Staff once more.

The Gate closed behind him, and he was released, violently crashing into a pile of leaves. Standing unsteadily, with his senses gradually regaining their normality, he looked around and smiled. These trees, with their silver bark and their red leaves, were not from Amyr.

He was free.