Are you guys ready for an EPIC fic? I mean, like 107+ chapters epic? That '+' means it's growing... Basically, it's several arcs long, with my friend being my dirty muse who, when we can communicate due to schedules, more and more ideas tumble out.

Danny Hyde is the OC that my friend and I created, and gets to deal with the variety of characters at the Phantomhive Manor. The story starts about 1908, and spans (as of right now) 1915/1916... why would I stop now?

The arcs will be labeled in the Chapter titles - this is the first Arc, so will be 'One Reap At a Time' (chapter # will be noted after that) - the second is 'A Second Reaping'... and such, so you will know when the next arc is. Don't worry if that's rather confusing, the chapters between each arc build upon the previous chapters and just a minor shift of sorts. Another note, each chapter is told by Danny or Sebastian - their names will be noted on the chapter titles and the top of each chapter.

Ok, got all that? Don't worry... just enjoy the epic fic... It's not a Seb/Mey fic, but I hope it still is enough lemon and sweetness that you are forgiving on that minor departure of my usual pairings.

Danny Hyde: The Timeless Series: One Reap At A Time Arc

Prologue

I stood in the middle of the grove of apple trees and watched as the villagers left my land. My land. I bit my lip. My land. For there was no one left to claim it – beyond the village elders who would insist on stepping quickly toward dividing the apple grove and farmland between everyone. We were on the verge of war, and all the food we produced was for the community, not just ourselves.

I leaned my head on the rough bark and brought my dirt covered left hand up and uncurled my fingers. The letter, demanding that the oldest boy march to the large city over the hills, and report. Report for war. I brought it to my chest and clenched my jaw and eyes – I had cried too much already. And I was dead. According to the villagers, I must be dead. The fire that consumed the house, leaving nothing but naked beams, were like the bones of my dead brother and my two sisters. I opened my eyes and blinked the tears from them. I was not dead. I was not dead… I… I was not dead.

I took a shaky step toward the home and stopped. There wasn't anything to take with me. Nothing for me to keep as a reminder of my family, but the little pictures in my locket I had hanging around my neck. I looked down at myself and chuckled; my standard clothes for working in the orchids would have to do as my only clothes. I looked at the letter again and sighed. The war would provide the little funds I needed to take care of my other needs. My, well, female needs.

I straightened up and sucked in one last, full lungful of crisp air and coughed; it was no longer sweet smelling, and the ground no longer bright and happy. The death of my parents had begun the descent into scraping by, and my brother and I had provided best we could for our younger siblings. We worked hard, we worked long hours, and I had been mistaken many times for my brother even when I went into town to deliver the apples to the stores. My features were a softer side of my twin – my brother. I shook my head. No, no more tears. Not on this land. Not here.

I turned and picked up the bag I used to collect the apples and stuffed a few more in. It would keep me full on my journey. The journey I now made in both my brothers name, and in his stead. A journey into war, where, should I die, I would be able to take a few others with me.