The sunlight broke free from the horizon line and began its ascent in the breeze to liberate the fields from their shadows. Permafrost that buried itself deep in the cracks in hopes of escaping the light was now exposed. But in allegiance with the cold air, the defiant ice did not melt accordingly to the sun. Only the faint sounds of trickling water could be heard, and the winter pigeons sang its morning song as they darted off to greet their neighbors. The delicate, but articulate notes of the opening call accompanied the sound of flowing water, and as the persistent legend always says, the sun is the universal object of beginning the day.

But it would be the last time the light would reach the sky; for the year is coming to a close and winter is drawing near.

Barren wastelands have become rigid and harsh, unwilling to let the fallen men on the battlefield decay. There is not much snow in this region of the country, but layers of permafrost cover the grounds instead. Off in the icy distance, a dark figure can be seen trudging through the frozen mud and trampling over the frozen corpses that were half rotted. He did not seem affected by the disgusting scenery; the figure simply brushed these hopeless bodies aside like peasants at a march.

He nonchalantly approached the stone fortress, only to have the guards from the nearest watch tower spot him. Alarmed and caught by surprise by the person walking alone at this time of day, they alerted one another of a foreigner's presence at the gates. Soldiers dressed in hefty fur coats marched out the gate and confronted this stranger approaching their stronghold. The one in the lead held his flat palm out and ordered the stranger to stop, in which the unknown figure promptly obeyed to this command. There was a moment of interrogation, until the unusual person tilted up his head and revealed his identity to the men armed with their weapons. And immediately, they understood: this was no stranger after all.

After moments of apologies for misunderstanding, the uniformed men half-heartily welcomed this person inside. An iron winch groaned in defiance as a pair of chains pulled on the gates and hoisted the bars up. Until the moment was right, the unknown crouched under the bars and welcomed himself into the villages and outskirts.

He received quite a few stares of uncertainty as for his presence is not common, nor is it ever expected. The shadowy figure did not bother revealing himself yet, and carried on towards the royal quarters. He dragged his worn leather shoes across the gravel path and passed others who were huddled in layers of thick wool and cloth, shivering pathetically as the civilians tried to stay warm.

Villagers and loyalists of the great czar had retreated into their shelters to escape the bitter cold: winter in this place is known to be most unforgiving, especially with all of their food contributed to the czar; there was nothing left for them to eat except for mushy potatoes and cold bean soup.

His endless walking finally led him to a complex neighborhood of fancy housing that was bordered by a perimeter of iron fencing. Beyond the protective perimeter are the gardens along with the servants and aristocrats busily chattering as they strolled down the paths in the frozen gardens.

He made his way past these people and entered the main house that was the residence of the great Czar of the country. Men in uniforms standing aside checked him thoroughly and searched his pockets, temporarily confiscating his arms.

"What news do you bring to the great leader today, peasant?" asked the rough man supervising the pat down.

"Confidential issues sir; none of which are your concern." He merely replied in a dry voice. It sounds as if he is in dire need of a drink. His ambiguous response evoked even more uneasy stares, but the men eventually allowed him to pass. In addition to taking his personal sword and revolver, some of the deceitful bodyguards had seized some handfuls of money from the stranger during the confiscations. They gleefully snickered in victory and ruffled through the paper bills as the stranger proceeded to the front doors, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was robbed.

They weren't totally aware of exactly who they had just pick pocketed, however.

The solemn figure just carried on through the doors and closed them with a clamorous slam. He took a look around the main hall, it was certainly lonely and lacking the presence of other people. All that decorated the austere corridors were endless rows of portraits of previous czars and kings. All of them were burdened with grim faces, suggesting that even these wealthy kings could not achieve such happiness in their lives. The second to last portrait is the current and noble czar, labeled with a name on a gold plate beneath it, reading, "Gerald Robotnick."

He narrowed his eyes, peering at the vibrant portrait that is now in front of him. The man in the picture showed a large resemblance to Gerald, but instead, wore a white laboratory apron and dark grey goggles over his eyes, not glasses. And hugely unlike the rest of the depictions, this man was flaunting a large smile, revealing his perfect teeth and exuberant spirit. Below this picture was the gold plate, and carved into the valuable place card read, Ivo "Eggman" Robotnick.

"Exquisite portraits of my great ancestors, are they not?" suggested an old voice behind the hedgehog. Instinctively, the dark hedgehog spun around to meet this speaker.

And there the great czar was, dressed in his dark green military uniform with various emblems sewed onto the coat. His brown mustache was thick, and nicely protruding from the sides of his face. Yet, from all of the stress as serving Czar of his crumbling empire, he has gone bald. He was standing at the upper floor of the grand hall, but started to make his gracious way down the stairs along the side wall. He was also significantly old now, leaning on his right side was his cane gripped in his hand. His skin is sagging, and he looked like an old dried up prune overall. The stranger tried his best not to laugh at this.

"Ah, Czar Gerald. Pleasure to meet your excellency this afternoon." greeted the hedgehog with simplicity. "I've come for a visit to your place, and wish to share a few urgent words with you. We have lots to discuss about."

"Urgent words?" questioned the fat Czar raising an eyebrow, "Now these days where rebels are raging a constant war against my throne, everything that is said to me must be urgent. You are being too vague here, servant. Elucidate what you want to say; is it really urgent after all, or do you simply have more news to enlighten me about those rebels?"

"I assure you, what I have to say is urgent. Come, shall we talk in the drawing room?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your horses, knave. I am old, but I do not miss things so easily; according to my military messengers, you were just with the rebels just nights ago, weren't you? Might I ask you first how you got here already? You do not own a horse, nor are there any public railroads that lead to here. You only walked."

"Indeed, I left Kansk last night."

He let out a fake laugh, and did not believe what this spy was saying. "Kansk? From last light? Merely impossible, that town is more than a thousand kilometers away from here. And you're telling me you walked that distance in twelve hours?

"Yes. Didn't I tell you that I'm quick to move?"

"I don't recall you saying that."

"You must've forgotten then. Come, let's find someplace in the castle to talk, shall we?"

They spent their hour together laughing hysterically, slouching in their chairs, but formally drinking wine from glasses with the same etiquette as a British tea party. The fireplace in front of them was roaring loudly and devouring the wood that was fed, leaving soot and ash behind as it only asked for more to burn. On top of the fireplace lined rows of swords and foreign cutlery, seemingly bought from various caravans at a high price. Behind them stood a small table that was burdened with food, produce and hams were spilling over the counter, and grapes were rolling off the edges. Hardly any of it was touched, and eventually the only ones who even touched the hearty food were the fruit flies.

"So," began the hedgehog with a tone of bargain, "I let you take down one army. Where's my prize? What about the reward we agreed on?"

"Reward?" he said unimpressed raising an eyebrow, "I don't believe we settled for any promised reward at this point yet. You are just impatient my spy, you will get your honor when the rebel army is finally crushed under my boot."

"But nevertheless," quickly filled in the hedgehog, "I still respectfully request for something from you. You see, it's necessary that I get something, in order to motivate me. Otherwise…"

"Oh, shut up!" sneered Gerald as he laughed sipping his last drops of wine, "If you really insist, I'd like to give you my early token of gratitude then. Please take it." He reached out, and spilled a handful of golden coins all over the hedgehog's palm. Each of the coins were genuine without a doubt, their brilliance radiating through one's eyes would be enough to capture their greed. But those yellow eyes only blankly stared at each glistening circle, and he still carried that dissatisfied look with his narrow eyes.

"This will only pay for half of it." He muttered.

"Half of what? Your damn rent? What else are you asking of me? An excursion to Germany?" joked Gerald nearly smashing the wine bottle against the wall.

"There's someone specific that I want. I have that person clear in my mind, and she is currently in your hands."

"A she? A mistress? Who are you looking for? I have plenty of concubines if that is what will satisfy your desire. Tell me, what woman do you desire? A young one? If that is what you wish, then off you'll be with her."

"Her name is Blaze. That is who I want."

"W-who?" stammered Gerald chocking up his wine. "I do not own such woman of that name."

"Do not be mistaken, you know her. She is now a prisoner of war, locked up by your men, but spared from the executions last night She has a sense of courage and a taste of benevolence and love. And I want her. When you hear about her, be sure to preserve her and keep the body fresh without injuries."

"I do not know who you are talking about. I assure you, I am not the mistaken one; you are. And just how do you know about these executions and prisoners of war?" Gerald raised a suspicious look, "What would you want to do with her? How am I not sure you are trying to pull a move against me and bring her back to the rebels? Now that you bring that instance up, I shall keep her locked up and further protected for your safety, and her safety. Now get out, before you try me anymore and I conjure my personal guards."

"Farewell then, these worthless coins should serve adequate for my reward then. But I expect more in respect of this bargain, you will remember that. I will see you next week or so with more to tell you. And I assure you, the rebels will not take your throne, my excellency. You are safe."

"Fine, fine." Muttered Robotnick, "Whatever guarantee you promise me, I'll be sure to keep track of it. Now leave me."

After his personal spy left, through his windows overlooking the front courtyard, Gerald could see him making is way down the snowy covered steps, then arriving at the security post to leave. Gerald pondered to himself, thinking about this powerful, but dubious demon that sided for him, undercover as a rebel. He then suddenly witnessed his spy give a clean upper cut to one of the guards at the post, and more golden coins spilled all over the snowy cobblestone. He then proceeded to attack the others, and after successfully beating them all down, he nonchalantly went around to retrieve all of the gold coins that he found. Gerald frowned at his behavior, but knew there was always are reason to for his actions.

"Such a strange thing. Perhaps he's more useful than those other three combined."

He lowered his head and slowly rubbed his mustache with his thumb and index finger as he contemplated.

"Maybe they're not necessary after all."