"Perhaps you ache for freedom
For the blue that's in your eyes,
Was given as a present
From the fabric of the sky,
And when you're gazing skywards
It's no wonder that you yearn,
When part of what you're made of
Always wishes to return." – Erin Hanson

To call something priceless, is to imply that is has value beyond what mere money can afford.

In a world containing so many beautiful and wonderful things, Humanity had chosen to covet one thing above all else. Even above loyalty or honor.

Family or trust.

Friendship and love.

This was a deep-rooted, ugly black-eye born out of greed and the empty need to find purpose.

The desire and temptation had darkened a land of once humble hearts. The desperate longing to obtain anything closely related to this, had poisoned mankind for countless generations. Bringing out the absolute worst in people. It became so heavily anticipated, that it drove even the most honorable of individuals to the brink of insanity to obtain it.

The World was a sad and scary place. It still is.

Especially considering that seemingly unimaginable things, such as breathtaking magic or amazing miracles, are not so impossible to obtain or behold in this World. And yet, they were overlooked as dull in comparison.

In order to understand how something like this had come to be, you'd have to listen to the stories whispered amongst the shadows and alleys. Those are the true stories. Ignore the tales written in books or sung in happy, silly songs. For those are just fancy lies, spun to ease the guilt.

It all began quite simply. Actually, it's a very sad story. Truthfully painful because it paints Humanity in a very dark light. However, it is one hundred percent true.

Try to remember back to a time before the great Kingdoms of the World flourished and spread. Before modern advancements made the population grow and cultures to advance.

As children of the Earth, humankind was born with eyes that matched the surrounding landscape. Colors which matched the soil and trees. From the richest of greens to the deepest of browns. All equally beautiful on their own. And no one thought or felt any different towards one another. Because everyone held these earth-tone colored eyes. Times were simple and peaceful.

As time moved forward, people began to grow braver and travel further. Intermixing with one another from far across the land. No one knows when or why the first one was discovered. Only that, when it happened, mankind would never be the same again.

Blue. The purest of colors. And all its corresponding shades and pigments, colored so effortlessly in the eyes of a few. Yes, a simple genetic mutation had left only a small percentage of the world's population with a certain color of eyes.

A priceless color. Rarer than gold or diamond. Blue symbolized a people from the Sky and Heavens, so far above the Earth dwellers below. Seeing the otherworldly color reflected in someone's face sparked a wildfire of astonishment and deep-seeded panic. And thus, a legend was born.

Those who possessed blue eyes were once foretold as Gods or Goddesses who had chosen to be reborn amongst mankind. They were seen as symbols of good fortune and divine blessing. Gracing the human world with their presence and walking amongst the mortals. Their eye color being the only thing that gave away the secret to their heavenly past.

Or so, that's how it all originally started.

As time went on, the rarity of these individuals was so drastic that many did not survive past childhood. As hard as it is to imagine, parents often killed blue-eyed babies in their infancy – in order to protect them from a life that would certainly be nothing but pain and torment should their eyes be discovered. It was a terribly painful sacrifice for any parent to make.

For was not uncommon for those of high wealth and power to steal blue-eyed babies – ripping them from their mother's protecting arms – and claim them as their own. Possessing a baby with blue eyes, even if the child was not your own, was the highest honor and status symbol. It showed that the Gods deemed you worthy of being in their presence.

Although, truthfully, kidnapping was perhaps the least horrific act that could be done.

As dark as it may seem, murders occurred all in the name of jealousy and envy…

"How dare a blue-eyed baby be more valuable and more highly renown than a member of royalty or clergy?"

"How dare someone, born from nothing, be so held in such high regard?"

"How dare the Gods choose to be reborn into someone else and not me?"

"Why not my child… why not me?"

Oh, the thoughts that would cloud one's mind. Pitiful and grotesque.

Trophy hunters scoured the lands, constantly searching for the smallest hint of blue. Reward signs hung in every town square – the ludicrous amounts of reward money invoking a sense of disbelief and fantasy.

People tried to breed the color into their family tree – efforts that proved worthless. As if by a defiant act of the Gods themselves, the color would not take to the eyes of the offspring. Bastard children of Royalty were cast aside, making true Royal blood a thing of the past.

As the Kingdoms of the world grew, all the wealth and power centered in a very small percentage of the world's population.

Only Royalty and nobility believed that they should be allowed to possess such a people. In truth, aristocracies were the only individuals who could afford the necessary protection to keep them from being stolen. For they were no longer people – just objects to be possessed and owned. Kings and royalty horded blue-eyed people like their own secret treasure trove. Both blue-eyed men and women became sexually coveted beings. Whored out, trafficked and sold like rare jewels in underground auctions.

As you can imagine, humanity became obsessed with the idea of possessing any form of blue in their eyes. The clearer and brighter the blue – the more they were valued. The obsession became too great. Blue colored cloth and clothing was always in high fashion. People who could afford the finer things in life, turned to make up and cosmetics to bring out even the slightest potential of blue. The Extremists choosing to inject colored dyes into their eyes. Inflicting blindness on themselves. Although, these "Falsies" – as they were known – were often scoffed at or ignored amongst the aristocratic circle. A true blue eye was clear and pure.

Blue-eyed individuals became scarcer as time went on. Becoming like an endangered species, nearing its inevitable extinction. Spurring on a constant and never-ending mania. Soon, the thought of ever seeing one alive was laughable. Normal people had better things to worry about – like surviving and feeding their families.

The last known and documented blue-eyed individual was several decades ago. That child was met with the cruelest of fates. He was about to turn nine years old when he was discovered. He was carried away by a lustful mob, tearing chunks of his flesh from his body and pulling the hair from his head. Literally torn limb from limb by fanatics desiring to touch his skin and possess him. Some whispers say, that is what caused the War to break out in the first place. No one could agree who would own him. In their petty squabbles, they let to his gruesome death. But now, years had passed, and War continued to be fought over blame and arrogance.

With the aristocracy of the world enveloped in what was being called: the Copy King's War, it allowed for the perfect distraction for a girl to be born in secret. Since the moment she opened her precious eyes for the first time, her parents felt an incredible weight fall on their shoulders. They stared at one another, weighing out their options. Already too in love with their precious first-born daughter, they could not bring themselves to harm her. It broke their hearts to hear her little gurgling laugh and the way she smiled so easily up at them. She was so small and innocent to the world. It was in that moment, surrounded by other members of their small village, that they made the unanimous decision to keep her.

They hid her away from the outside world. And yet, that decision haunted them every single day. Constantly looking over their shoulders for danger. Keeping her concealed from visiting strangers – even though strangers were extremely uncommon for the area. The nearby village was very tiny, close-knit and contained mostly family or close friends. People they could trust. They rallied around the family, and raised the little baby together in secret. These people grew to know the sweet girl. They watched her grow up. The pull of her blue eyes did not cloud their hearts and minds – mostly because they all felt responsible for her, and loved her for the person she was. And the young woman she grew to be.

She lived out her childhood peacefully, and surrounded by joy and happiness with her devoted parents. They lived in a small but comfortable and secluded house at the edge of a vast & dense forest. The village was a long hour away, even on horseback.

As the years ticked away, The Copy King's War distracted those who would want to do her harm. The War was always far away. Fought on some distant land and so far very far away from their small corner of the world. The family breathed a little bit easier with each passing day.

Although, they were still constantly plagued with worry that, one-day, someone would find their beloved daughter and steal her away from them. It woke her Father up constantly in the dead of night and made her mother cry sometimes for no reason at all. She was all they had, the center of their family universe.

Perhaps their greatest mistake was that they never told her what she possessed. It was a decision they constantly argued about. However, in the end, they just wanted her to be happy. If she was living in constant fear, how could she be happy? It was dangerous enough to keep her hidden and still allow her to be somewhat free. So, she knew nothing of her eyes or how they would change the course of her life.

Now a young adult woman, she had been remarkably spared any tragedy or trauma. It made her into a kind, strong willed and independent person. However, tragically naïve. Her life might have been normal and without consequence had Fate not brought a young, gravely insured soldier unexpectedly into her care.

Every story has to start somewhere. Now that you know how it all began, we can officially begin.

The enemy moved in the dead of night like Death itself. Using the cover of low-lying mist to conceal their position as they snuck in the night to ambush the unsuspecting Faction sanatorium. The Faction's War Council was using the small encampment to meet in secret and discuss strategy. The location had been provided to only a select few individuals, and far from enemy lines. It was also deeply immoral to attack a medical camp. So the War Council had felt safe in their bickering late night discussions, and everyone's guard was down.

As a wall of arrows sliced through the large makeshift fabric tents, the council broke apart and frantically ran in all directions. Soldiers frantically began to get organized to try and put up some kind of a defensive against the unsought of enemies - while muttering sharp curses under their breaths. Because, it was painfully clear that they had a traitor amongst them. A sinful act had given away the meeting location. It was an attempt to stuff out the leadership. A truly ruthless and cunning strategy. But that was typical tactic of the Copy King's War. They should have known better.

Despite the great gathering of leadership, there was no organization now as the camp descended into chaos. These were Military strategists who had armies of loyal men at their command. Individuals who were to be protected, and not see the direct line of battle.

The battle turned in the enemy's favor in a very short amount of time. People were running and screaming in fear. Everyone was drawing weapons and in the fight for their lives. Lords, Dukes and nobility now became the same as their enlisted soldiers. Formalities were gone, as all men were suddenly caught up in the surprise battle. It was every last man for himself.

Those leaders, who did not possess a single moral bone in their bodies, began running away from the fight. Not even attempting to defend their fellow man or comrades, they stole horses and fled to save their own skin. Their faces yellow in fear as they disappeared into the mist – never expecting to actually have to fight.

Those who stayed to fight it out, were met with a wall of well-armed enemies. The fear in their hearts was a thick as the mist that clung to the air.

Among those not afraid to stay back and fight, was the young son of a reputable Duke. Through a very extensive family tree, the young man may have rights to the throne one day. But, for now, he was still living in the shadow of his Father's status. His pedigree had spared him no expense with proper armor and weapons. And he had military and combat training throughout his youth.

It had been an honorable thing for him to fight in the Copy King's war under his Father's house and title. It earned him the right to sit in the same room as the war council. However, due to his age, he could not sit upon the council itself. Perhaps one day. But for now, he was there to observe and learn from the elders. He had a small squad of his own loyal men - mostly there to protect their young master.

His blonde hair was hidden and matted with sweat under a soldier's helmet as he and his fellow comrades fought alongside one another. Many, including him, were too stubborn to retreat just yet. They were young and full of recklessness. The call to fight was like a pounding song in their veins. They could buy the other War Council leaders time to escape. At least those who hadn't already fled.

As more enemies poured from the dark trees, they quickly became outnumbered. Shouts rang out to retreat. The small group paced the ground on nervous feet. Afraid to retreat and be overrun. Adrien pulled his blade out of the chest cavity of a dead enemy. Another man collided with his wide shield and bounced off the slick metal. Thrusting his sword, he caught the man between the ribs dragged the blade until it swiped clean through.

His comrade stepped in to cover his back. The young man towered above Adrien even though they were similar in age. With his friend covering him, it allowed Adrien a chance to look up. A brief moment of calm before another wave would certainly hit them. Adrien wasn't going to let them get taken by surprise again. Even as another voice shouted again to retreat, he disobeyed the order and pressed forward.

Adrenaline pumping through his limbs, he fought his way forward. He heard his name being called, but chose to ignore it. He would uphold his duty and fight against the False Prince and restore a true King to the land. He would make his Father proud of him, for once in his life. In his young frame of mind, that was the only thing that mattered to him.

He was separated from his own men in an attempt to catch the enemies by surprise and push them back, even as they began to rain down like hail upon him. Looking around, he tried to find a familiar face in the madness, but could only see faces of men either dead or dying.

Horses screamed, metal scraped against metal, as grown men cried out in anguish and death. Fires ripped through the fabric tents and flames climbed high into the night sky. Their smoke, mixing with the existing mist, lay in a thick haze along the battlefield. Figures seemed to emerge from the now inky shadows.

Enemies appeared through the veil and rushed towards him in a wild rage. Suddenly fighting three enemies at once, no amount of training could have prepared him for this. He parried one blade, using his shield keep his head from being sliced clean off. He countered, pushing that man to the ground. The action wretched the shield from his arm, and made him stumble. A stupid move on his part. And yet, free of the weight of his shield, he felt more mobile. Smoke stung his eyes and tasted heavy on his tongue through his gasping breaths. Without a second to rest, his remaining enemies roared and struck wildly at him. Quick on his feet, he knocked another man down and recklessly drove his sword into his armored shoulder, pinning him to the soft ground. A yell made him abandon his sword and twist around. Faster than he knew he could move, he caught the wrist of an attacking enemy. The man's shocked eyes were as big as dinner plates as Adrien knocked the sword from his hand. The blade landed with a heavy 'thunk' in the dirt at both their feet. Adrien balled up a fist and struck the man under the chin before he had a second to react. The man lacked a proper helmet and Adrien's armored gauntlet felt like a wreaking ball to his chin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone rushing up to his right. His armored chest bared the crest of an opposing house. A family who had remained neutral throughout this bloody War. Well, clearly, that wasn't the case anymore. Adrien dodged the man's sword and knocked him to the ground before stomping on his chest plate – knocking the wind out of him.

A moment of hubris swelled within his chest and blinded him to the other enemies that appeared from the grey air. He heard their footsteps like thunder. Empty handed, he could only stand and watch as they ran towards him. Surely to skewer him where he stood.

His men were suddenly at his side. Shielding him and defending him against his own death.

"Run, Sire!" Kim yelled as his sword and shield met with that of another.

Adrien scooped up a forgotten sword from the ground. It was coated in blood and the hilt was slippery in his hand.

"No! I'm not leaving you to die!" Adrien yelled to his friend, before jamming his blade past Kim's body into the enemy's awaiting stomach. The sword slipped from his hand and stayed stuck in the man's gut as he fell to his knees, dark blood pooling from his lips.

The two young men had a moment to stare at one another. They could read the silent but emotional expressions streaked across each other's faces.

Shouts rang out and pulled their focus away from one another. A group of six men, each carrying bows, appeared through the smoke. Arrows fitted into their bow strings, ready to be sent flying. Upon seeing Adrien and Kim standing there, the front three dropped to their knees and drew back their bows. The three standing echoed them instantly.

Kim and Adrien had seconds to huddle behind Kim's shield before the arrows rained down upon them. Their sharpened metal tips clanking and even piercing through the thin metal shield. They were pinned down and completely defenseless. Arrows hissed by Adrien's head and buried themselves in the dirt at his feet. He heard Kim gasp in pain and drop to one knee. The shield protecting them starting to shake as Kim was losing his grip.

Adrien slipped his arm through the shield and helped Kim hold it steady. In doing so, he noticed an arrow sticking out of Kim's upper thigh, the tip buried deep into his flesh. His leg hung slightly limp as the muscle ceased up around the wound.

Adrien racked his mind for how to get out of this one. Another arrow hissed past his ear, tinking slightly as the fins struck his helmet.

More shouts rang out from behind them. He braved a look over his shoulder and saw his men huddled behind their shields similar to he and Kim, as they tried to take cover against the arrows. The site gave Adrien an idea. Shouting over the noise, an order was sounded out. Followed by obeying footsteps pounding forward and up beside him. A shield appeared in front of them, followed by another, and then one more. Slowly, they were encased in a protective barrier of metal shields.

Arrows continued to strike the wall of shields, but none were able to get inside. One of the oldest defensive techniques in the book. Adrien made eye contact with his men and nodded in silent approval.

Despite their teamwork, they were nervous. Their faces were practically white in fear. Especially when, through the cracks of the shields, they could see other enemy soldiers moving towards the shielded group.

"Steady." He told them quietly, in order to keep their spirits from breaking. "Steady, men." Their shields were wobbly with gathering fatigue and nerves. They stayed huddled together, waiting it out. The enemy archer's ammunition would not last forever. But the other swordsmen would be on them in a matter of seconds.

As quickly as they began, the arrows stopped. They had run them dry. Adrien glanced at Kim and the two of them spoke without words to one another.

Adrien glanced through the wall of shields and saw the archers backing away. Sneering at the prime opportunity, he shouted an order and the protective shields fell away. In a rush, the group drew their weapons and charged.

The sudden attack caught the enemy by mistake. They broke rank and scattered.

Adrien moved with his men, pulling a stray sword out of a nearby corpse to lead the attack. The rush of battle was on again. The archer wall quickly fell away and men abandoned their bows to draw small weapons to defend themselves. Joined by other enemy swordsmen, it became an all out brawl once again.

Adrien hacked his way through enemies, not necessarily striking killing blows but keeping them back. He watched his men take injuries but still kept fighting by his side. His heart swelled with pride for his men. He shouted words to encourage them when he could. They were all were fighting bravely.

And yet, enemies still poured onto them. Their stamina was wearing down. Adrien grit his teeth and pushed his body past the point of fatigue. His movements were soon sloppy and lacked any real tact.

The man to his right was knocked prone and his body slammed into Adrien's. He stumbled backward, teetering with the weight of his armor and his unstable legs, before landing solidly in the dirt. The action knocked the wind out of him and his body was fighting the desire to stand back up. He looked forward and barely had time to blink before an enemy was upon him. The man's sickle struck wildly the ground at Adrien's side, forcing him to roll away. The man heaved attack after attack, and Adrien kept rolling from side to side to avoid them. A few times, the sharp point of the blade managed to tink against his chainmail. Finally winded the man paused, and Adrien kicked at his knees.

The man teetered but did not fall, although the hit did earn Adrien a foul curse and grunt. Adrien knew he had to get to his feet if he was to survive another onslaught of attacks. He made it to one knee before the man struck at him again. Adrien parried the blade with his sword. Sparks flew as the metals scraped against each other. Adrien's sword was considerable longer than the small sickle, so the sharp tip caught the man in the cheek and sliced it clean open to his lip.

The attacker gurgled a scream in pain and grabbed for his face. It bought Adrien a moment to get up on his other knee before another enemy appeared wielding a short sword and dagger combo. Adrien had seconds to dodge the sword, but the dagger bit into his arm just above his gauntlets and dragged an angry cut through his shirt. He hissed in pain and dared a quick glance at the wound, already staining his undershirt with fresh blood.

The wound made his stomach tighten. Gritting his teeth he swung his sword in a wide arch, catching the man in the stomach and gutting him instantly. The blood and other hot juices sprayed Adrien in the face, causing him to turn away and close his eyes. The smell of bile filled his nostrils, as he knew he had severed internal organs. The man abandoned his sword in a desperate attempt to hold himself together, quite literally.

Despite the horrific and certainly deadly injury, the man did not stop. Fueled with the last moments of life, he sliced at Adrien with the dagger. Adrien dodged the attack by leaning backward on his knees, however the blade whisked past his face, missing it by centimeters. The man immediately turned his wrist and used the momentum to bring the weapon back around. This time the blunt hilt of the dagger caught Adrien in the side of the head. The blow thundered inside his metal helmet and echoed in his ears. Adrien caught himself on one arm as he was knocked to the side.

Still dazed by the blow, he missed seeing the first assailant gather himself up and collect his weapon. Adrien looked up with enough time to see the disemboweled man standing above him. How was he still able to move? The man kicked him weakly, but Adrien's young body took the blow easily. He watched the man draw back his arm as if to punch him. He no longer had a weapon and his hand was unable to make a fist. Adrien put up his arm and his gauntlet blocked the blow that was nothing more than a dull thunk. Looking over his own arm, Adrien watched the man's eyes glaze over in death.

The site preoccupied him longer than it should have. Even after the dead man's body slumped and fell away, Adrien was still taken aback by the site. It burrowed its way into his subconscious. He was sure he would be seeing that man's dead eyes in his dreams from now on.

The next thing he knew, he was in pain. Turning his head slowly, he met a pair of very alive brown eyes. The man sneered as best he could with his cut up mouth hanging open in flapping pieces, having plunged his sickle into Adrien's side. Cutting through his armor and carving into his flesh. As quickly as the blade entered, the man thrust it away. The pain was immediate and dropped him to the ground. Adrien gripped his side, feeling his own hot blood pouring onto his hand. Somehow, that gave him motivation to struggle to his knees. His body felt heavy with the movement.

"Stay down, boy!" the man cursed, kicking him rightly in the ribs and knocking him back down.

Adrian grunted in pain, his body unable to bear the injury and protect himself from the sharp kick.

Disobeying the words of his enemy, Adrien tried again to get to his feet. The movement made his injured side protest greatly, but he couldn't think about that right now. Or the amount of blood pooling at his feet on the dry grass. It's wetness glistening slightly in the moonlight.

For whatever the reason, his attacker let Adrien get up awkwardly on his feet. Perhaps he was impressed by the young lad's stamina. Or he wanted to look him in the eye as he killed him.

Adrien took a weak step, holding one hand against his injured side and pathetically raised his sword barely a foot of the ground to defend himself.

Through blurry eyes, he watched the man laugh at him. Although, the laugh was quickly cut short by an arrow lodging itself deep into the man's chest. Adrien's eyes went wide at the site. For only a few seconds later, a second arrow hit about an inch away from the first. The man collapsed wordlessly to the ground.

Adrien stared at the body on the ground in disbelief. Slowly, he turned around and saw a single rider standing a few yards behind him, almost nearly shadowed by the smoke and mist. The man rode towards him. Once his face came into view, Adrien recognized the man instantly as one of his own. The older man dismounted and thrust the reins in Adrien's hand. He all but hauled Adrien up into the saddle like he weighed nothing.

Adrien realized what he was trying to do and immediate tried to protest. "Get off me!" Adrien yelled, trying to slide from the saddle. "I can still fight."

The horse paced nervously, smelling blood all around. The man narrowed his dark eyes, pushing the young Duke back into the saddle and knotting the reins around his wrist. "You're no good to your family dead." He remarked coldly.

"You'll die!" Adrien cried to him. He'd known the man his entire life.

"Such is my duty. Remember yours."

And with that remark, he smacked the nervous horse's rump and Adrien had no choice but to be taken away from the fight. He looked over his shoulder to watch his friend suddenly fighting against another rush of enemies.

The battle moved away from him. He could barely make out the tall figure of his comrade as he pushed his way through the enemy soldiers. God, if he survived this, if any of them survived this, it would be a miracle.

He heart felt heavy. His rational mind trying to convince himself that this was one of the hardships of battle. Soldiers died. Leaders lived on. He remembered that from his years of training. However, it still didn't feel right. They weren't just his comrades in battle, they were his friends. He hated them to die for him.

As the spirited horse distanced him from the battle, he could only pray that his friends' professional training would protect them.

The adrenaline was still fresh in his veins so he still did not feel much pain. He knew that he needed to get away from the battle and regroup with the survivors. Although, from the noises still going on behind him, there may not be very many survivors.

The thought made Adrien's face twist in disgust. This was a hard loss and there would be severe casualties on their side. While it had been completely un-honorable to attack a group of high-ranking officials off the main battlefield, and in a camp solely containing medial aid. Although, he couldn't deny that it had been extremely tactful. A spy or double agent must have given up their meeting location.

Adrien silently wondered to himself how many men would be taken for ransom. Most of the nobility would be worth their weight in gold to be returned alive to their families. Although, as many men as he saw fall in battle, he wondered if the enemy even cared to keep them alive for the money.

His frustrations about the situation only made him think back on his comrades who had fought beside him. Many of them were his dear friends. They had trained together since they were children. Others who had accompanied him weren't even soldiers. It would be a miracle if they survived the encounter.

If war had taught him anything, it was to survive. The bleeding injury in his side was a solid reminder that he would need medical care quickly if he stood a chance at seeing another battle again. Although seeing as the attacked camp had been the Faction's only closest medical facility, he would not be seeing another friendly camp for some time.

Turning the horse away, he pushed deeper into the forest and away from the sounds of battle.

He rode for hours. Not really caring what direction he was going. After a while, he let the horse just go where it wanted. His vision was having trouble focusing. The adrenaline in his muscles had long since subsided and he was left numb and his senses were dull.

His mind was having trouble focusing on anything except the burning pain in his side and the gut wrenching nausea. His hand was pressed against the wound. But his heavy armor was caked in dry blood. He could only imagine how much he had actually lost. He didn't want to think about it. He had to focus on surviving.

Add on another half dozen smaller injuries he was suddenly feeling, and it was amazing he was hanging on this long. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy. On several occasions, he had to shake himself awake or jab his fingers into a wound to shock himself conscious. Especially since the more he recounted the symptoms he was having, the more he felt like he probably had a concussion. Loosing consciousness meant death.

The further he rode, the more his mind wandered. He thought about a lot of things. It's amazing what your mind chooses to remember as you limp along in life. Faces of friends and family flashed through his troubled psyche. He even thought briefly about his Father, who was hundreds of miles away - safely tucked away in their family's private estate. He wondered if he would ever get to see him again. Not that he saw him much anyway. The man had always been a shut-in. Adrien's childhood had been filled with servants, nursemaids and attendants who looked after him and raised him until he was old enough to look after himself. So, when the opportunity to join the opposition to the Copy King's Army presented itself, Adrien had been almost happy to go and fight for the opposition. An honorable path for the young son of an introverted Duke. However, he had been away fighting the Copy King's War for what felt like an eternity. His family's estate was like a distant memory that barely pulled at his heartstrings.

The light of morning dawn began to illuminate the sky. Birds were singing their morning songs and the world was slowly waking up. It was peaceful now, almost relaxing as they moved through the trees. Perhaps it was the major blood loss, but he was starting to feel serene. His mind was completely blank. His body moved steadily along with the movement of the horse. Both of them were tired, sore and listless.

The morning gave way to a hot day. Despite the thick trees overhead, the air was heavy with humidity. The moisture in the air kept his blood wet and the scent fresh. It wouldn't be long until the smell started to attract unwanted predators. Still he pushed onward, hunched over in the saddle and letting his upper body rest against the horse's mane. One hand limply wrapped around its neck and tied up in the reins. The other still knotted against the wound in his side. He dozed a bit but then caught himself on several occasions falling deeper asleep, and jolted himself awake. Time moved quickly and slowly at the same time. It all was a blur to his senses.

The trees of the forest were massive. Their thick trucks were wider than four horses standing noise to tail. Even if Adrien strained his head upward, he couldn't see their tops. The trees dominated the forest, letting very little light reach the ground. Whatever light did reach, cascaded in the form of radiant beams that seemed to stretch down from the Heavens. Small ferns grew here and there, but not much else. It made for easy traveling for his horse, but Adrien had little to no idea what direction they were heading.

Day soon slipped into evening. As the sun disappeared, the forest seemed to come alive with sounds. Fear of what the night would bring made the adrenaline pump again in his veins and dulled the pain. Injured as he was, he could do little to defend himself should something or someone attack them. The forest echoed haunting noises from every angle. Even the horse stepped cautiously, its nostrils flaring constantly. Adrien felt like a million pairs of eyes were watching him. It terrified him in ways he couldn't fully understand. Maybe because he felt so small beneath the vastness of the forest and the darkness of its buzzing shadows. It had its own pulse. It's own heartbeat. And he, was just a visitor.

As the darkness gave way to morning once again, Adrien felt exhaustion rip through his body. His horse was starting to stop randomly, it's own exhaustion matching Adrien's. He tried to encourage the beast to continue to move but even he couldn't argue with the fact that if they continued like this, both of them wouldn't survive another night in the forest. They had to make some kind of progress in the day, or find a place to rest.

The sun burned the back of his neck and he knew that another full day of sweating without any water would send his body into dehydration. If it wasn't at that point already. He barely heard the birds singing anymore. Nor the sound of the horse's heavy footsteps. His eyes drifted closed.

Adrien hadn't realized he'd fallen from the saddle until he hit the hard ground and the air was knocked from his lungs. The impact made him bite down on his own tongue and he tasted blood in his mouth.

His hands were still tied up in the horse's reins, forcing him to get stupidly dragged along the ground for a few feet until he managed to get the leather reins unknotted from around his wrist. The horse, finally free of the extra weight, quickly left him behind and trotted away – it's loyalties turning to its own survival.

Adrien groaned and rolled over onto his back to stare up into the thick treetops. His entire body ached and was covered in blood, dirt and sweat. He hated to move. The pain was too great. The longer he lay there, the more sleep pulled at his consciousness.

No. No sleep. He could not let himself fall asleep.

He rolled once again, hauling himself onto his knees. His side burned like a fire was lit under his skin. Every way he moved, his flesh felt like it was being stretched and ripped from his bones. He was lucky enough to get away as far as he did. But, it wasn't enough. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for him. Either that or wild animals would follow the blood smell and soon find him gravely injured and unable to properly defend himself. He had been spared the previous night, probably from the presence of the horse. Without its company, he was very much alone. He couldn't just lie here and do nothing.

Summoning the last of his strength, he dragged himself onto his feet and started trudging through the trees of the forest. His mind solely focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

He stopped every few feet to lean against a nearby tree for support. His vision was blurring around the edges, but he forced himself onward. He might be walking in circles. He honestly couldn't tell anymore. He was bleeding again. He could feel the blood soaking through his under clothing.

He was delirious in pain, blood loss, and the beginnings of fever. He knees couldn't support his weight anymore. Every heavy footstep was draining the life out of him. He thought he had imagined breaking through the tree line before his vision failed him and his world went completely black.

Marinette had been out digging for wild onions when she saw the young man appear from behind a tree. He scared her nearly half to death before he collapsed and practically slid down the small incline to land at her feet in a bloody heap of chainmail.

A/N: A/N: This story idea hit me completely unexpectedly. I was feverishly awake until 4AM making notes on how I wanted it to progress and develop. I'm still working on it in stages, but I'm very excited to have finished the first chapter! I hope you all like it. Please mind the rating for later chapters. And please forgive any character alterations I had to make in order to keep with the plot. Thanks for reading! I'm excited to see where this one goes.