That's right, folks.

A new mini-story has leaped from the recesses of my unrestrained imagination and broken forth unto the internet like a flapping dove. Time will only tell if I can get my butt back into gear with my other stories. But at least I've proven I did do stuff during the Holidays... just maybe not the stuff everyone wanted to read. It's getting typed on, but... you know. Overactive imaginations, am I right?

The chapter after this prologue is already finished and being edited. I'm expecting this story to be about the size of Racing for Freedom. If you haven't read that one, I would go ahead and click on that, too. This one will be as fast as that one. Answers will fly to you like... oh, crap, I already used the flapping dove imagery, didn't I? Anyways, I've got a bit more typed on my other story everyone is waiting on, but my brain is like, "Noooope, you are going to do this and it will be awesome and you will enjoy it, so have fun." Oh, and did I mention I wrote this while throwing up on Christmas from a stomach bug? Now THAT is dedication.

So, without further declaration of my feeble excuses on not having updates for my other works, please enjoy while I shoot myself in the foot.

Ripping off the cumbersome navy robes, his trembling hands worked the belts and various leather loops that strapped the overweight armor on his lanky body. Shedding the breast-plate, it clanged on the stone ground among the many footfalls running towards the guard towers. Numerous sentries had sprung into action, already dressed respectfully for combat for the crowning of the king. The five legions stationed on the outskirts of the country's wall were beginning to signal alarms right and left from the lookout stations.

He stood panting for several heartbeats.

His mind tried to acknowledge what was happening.

Finally, he saw one of his commanders rushing past.

"General Trucer, what is happening?" His throat cracked lightly in his adolescent throat, yet somehow traveled through the growing screams to the older man's ears. The new king noticed that the man grasped a heavy-weight lancer.

The one used to bring down enemy Guymelefs.

"A surprise attack, Majesty!" The general's face was covered with sweat. He grabbed the boy king's shoulder roughly and shoved him further into the shadow of the Winged Palace. "The Elders have commanded to ready the Guymelef units. You must retreat to the haven."

"Surprise attack? From whom?" His heart raced as yet another explosion of fire burst from the wall of his father's country.

Now his country…

Fanelia…

The boy's gloved hand clenched on the navy blue pommel of his father's heavy sword. In his other palm, a pink heart pulsed weakly.

The general was busy barking orders as men geared into the pilot uniforms. "Scramble the units! Repel the attackers!" To the boy, Trucer roared, "Get to the Palace and escape through the western tunnel, Majesty! We will hold off the bastards!"

And then Trucer was gone, running through the growing haze of flames; his lancer raced, posed to strike.

His boy king's eyes were burning terribly and he swallowed down the thick coat of fear that laced his stomach into knots. Gritting his teeth together, the sword and pink stone in his hands trembled with the anger that melted his fear away. The boy twisted, putting his back to the bellowing fires and screams of his dying people. He ran as fast as his ceremonial armor would allow him to; into the marble entryway lined with white statues. He skidded slightly on the woven carpet; his mahogany eyes dancing from right to left.

His pathway had branched to a crossroad.

A decision had to be made.

Despite his looks, he hadn't been a boy for a very long time. The day Folken left for his dragon ritual and failed to return was the day he graduated from childish thoughts of hiding in fear. And now, only a few short years later, he had thought he'd finally broken free from the stereotypical weakness everyone latch onto him because of his youth. He had thought he'd transcended into manhood at last. Trucer didn't seem to realize. Today, just a few minutes ago, Van Slanzar de Fanel had become the new King of Fanelia, the seventy-fourth of his family to reign.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his thin shoulders, the young man plunged bravely to the right and crossed a long hall of hanging tapestries. The raucous blasts and shrieks from outside made him push his feet faster, stretch longer. Already ashy smoke from the raging fires in his city were beginning to waver into long glorious windows near the ceiling of his castle.

His castle now. The Winged Palace was his.

He had to make it to the tunnel leading to the Cage.

He had to make it to the Chapellieur al' Dragoon.

He had to awaken the Escaflowne.

What? Bluetreeleaves is writing something that is actually sounding like Escaflowne canon? How can this be? lol. Just trust me.

Also, most of you will probably be wondering where Hitomi is at this point. That will be answered in the next chapter, which is coming up... now! (You're welcome)

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