Generation 6 Heroes

Triton was first discovered by a soldier of fortune. Whether he found a fortune in the Temple of Tides depends greatly on what you think of Triton. After poking and prodding his way through the old ruins, he must have been disappointed at what the secret chamber revealed. The secret chamber in the Temple had clearly not been opened for a long time. The air that blew out of the chamber was far too cold for this part of the world, and the smell of the salt water in the air was so strong the soldier pinched his nose. It was also very loud. Ancient machinery was grinding. The soldier edged forward. The most distinctive thing about the chamber was the enormous metal... "cabinet" at its center. Expanding outward were a series of concentric rings and tiny canals made of metal that ended around the sides of the room. A semi-transparent blue liquid from the odd cabinet continued to pool into the tiny canals, drifting to the surrounding circles until the canals were basically full. This is when the room began to flash in extraordinary yellows, reds, and whites. The air sparkling with color where no such color should be. This is when a man of formidable build half-fell, half-crawled, out of the egg-shaped cabinet. The strange man couldn't be a day younger than 40 year judging from the strands of white hair still clinging to his scalp. But he was a man! The soldier creeped forward. Only the very faint rising and fall of his chest indicated that he was still alive...

"So you have no way of plowing except by beasts of burden?" "Why do you construct your dwellings with a ground floor reserved for animals? Is it to keep an eye on them?" "So you really don't have any way of providing illumination at night, correct? Except for torches?" Triton has found a lot to learn about his new society after waking up after so long. Today he is far better at grasping the nuances of its technology and culture, but that is much less a compliment than it may appear. Of course, during Triton's age—now called the "Age of Kings"—even the poorest families had access to basic tidestone illumination systems and large vessels with means of artificial propulsion easily traversed major ports. Although there certainly were major issues in the society of Triton's day, providing people with food, clothing and shelter was not one of them. Triton has found himself at a bit of a loss to explain what went wrong in the centuries. While the society in which he finds himself can be called "peaceful"—at least compared to other societies he has heard of, the loss of progress has been heartbreaking. Wherever Triton has looked for the old ways, he has found nothing but ignorance, superstition, and inaccurate history. Worst of all is the manipulation by its rulers eager to keep things that way.

Triton heard the shrapnel scream past his ear as blood and earth exploded everywhere. "But for a few inches..." Triton thought. But this was no time for reflection—only the Loyalists' last-ditch effort to protect Tide King Atlas mattered! They may be dead men, but they would die with honor. All he had to do was keep the mad rebels away from the Temple of Tides long enough for the Tide King to enter stasis. Then the embers of their eventual return would be kept alight. The whole temple shuddered and went dark a few moments later. "Oh no..." Triton thought to himself as a tsunami of cheers from the rebels went up. Was there a problem with the energy cores? That was his responsibility! After giving his final orders to his men to stand firm, he headed himself for the inner chamber. He was shocked to find the stasis capsule wide open, empty. He barely had time to look around when a powerful shove from behind pushed him straight into the capsule and the unmovable door slammed shut. He was frightened immediately by the liquid pouring down around him. That meant he would go to sleep soon... that also meant he about to go into stasis himself instead of the King! Why?! Loyal to the end, Triton banged uselessly on the capsule door. He couldn't understand why the honor of survival was reserved for him. The Tide King met his gaze with a smile that was at once terribly sad and terribly compassionate. It was one of the last things Triton remembered before being plunged into an abyss of unconsciousness.

Dear Triton Forgive me for taking the liberty of preserving your life, my loyal servant. I'm too sentimental not to go down with my empire. Forgive me the indulgence. If someone is to tell later generations what happened to us, I'd rather it were you. Our glorious civilization may end with me, but then it may also begin again with you! I always counted you as a brother and my greatest minister. For you, I can do nothing less. I know you'll find it hard to understand why the Tides' strength should go to preserving you here instead of crushing heresy. It is because under my rule I allowed dishonesty to reign. Now the seed I planted when I broke faith with my allies has been reaped. The Tides never betrayed me. If I can blame anyone, it must be our nobles. By betraying me, they also betrayed our people. Don't forget how good and kind all of us once were, Triton. This war is simply the price of all the innocent blood at our hands. I will summon the power of the great Tide myself to put an end to all this and preserve you... When you wake, you will wake into a strange world. I do not know whether it will be a world of ignorance or knowledge. I do know that only by keeping faith with your promises and oaths will you ever be able to make the world remember us and the Tides. —Tide King Atlas

Nightfall could not hide the magnificence of the approaching envoy. All eyes were transfixed by the four great horses pulling a mighty black carriage. Whatever dark pigments used to achieve the effect must be rather remarkable. It did not resemble black paint so much as a portal into absolute darkness, by which no light was reflected on its dark exterior. Once arrived, the occupant of the stately carriage stepped down with a deep sigh. The villagers continued to stare—a noble lady, no doubt, whose beautiful dark dress and bodice contrasted brilliantly with her albino-white skin. The magnificent red hair above her shoulders and hat to which a scarlet rose was pinned only added to the dramatic entrance. She regarded the crowd with a certain coolness that was not totally without warmth. And when she oke, the crowd hung on to her every husky word. The few guardsmen that accompanied the carriage was hardly an escort of honor. Besides, how had they managed to carve a path through the rebellious areas full of strife and civil war without a brigade of soldiers? Such questions could be asked later. What mattered now was this ambassadorial envoy had arrived and the great welcome feast would shortly begin.

"You should know that marrying me has a cost you may not want to pay in the fullness of time..." The Count loved speaking in such riddles. His wise manner and deep voice seemed out-of-place for his youthful appearance. "I will go to the ends of the earth with you." Sophia gazed lovingly at the handsome man across from her, not a shred of doubt in her voice. She had cast aside all rumors when pursuing him. His pallid-white face that never seemed to see the sun was no obstacle either. Instead, she loved his rosy red lips, the cultured hands that excited her so much when they tapped her on the shoulder, and his dark eyes full of mystery. In the end Sophia obtained the prize that she wanted: marriage to the Count and a new life as his Countess. She didn't want to spoil the occasion of their magnificent wedding by questioning why the ceremony and banquet had to be conducted at night, nor the strangeness of the enormous crowd of new faces, odd music, and reliance on candlelight. She was with her husband now. She was determined to overlook anything else. If Sophia had not been head over heels for the Count, she might have taken the time to reflect on the peculiar absence of mirrors in his villa or why she never saw any of his friends during the day. Nor did she seem to notice the eerie smiles, the grins from ear to ear that lit up guests' faces from out of the corner of her eyes. Truly Sophia's heart had chosen for her that night. And this decision could never be changed.

The village's troubles began only a few hours after Countess Sophia's arrival. The town had taken in an enormous number of vagabonds, refugees, and miscreants in recent years, but had placed them all outside the city limits and the protection of the law. This camp meant to give hope to the hopeless was ruled by an iron-fisted, cruel man. His abuses seemed to imply he had forgotten that at one point he had been a refugee himself. He used the camp's disorder to work with rebels from outside for his and their enrichment. The only thing the sentry saw in the fading light was a strange rose on the wind. But he had no time to marvel. As soon as the rose touched his skin, he stumbled. And then, shaking and shivering, stood up again and walked with dogged determination into the center of camp. Soon after the entire camp, was wakened by the screams of horses and people fleeing from fire within. But only the veterans recognized the true nature of their emergency—the horrible crackling of fire intermingled with swords slicing flesh. The fire raged long and hard that night. Barely any of the camp remained next morning. Shortly before sunrise, the lady in black who had so enchanted the crowds walked out. No one saw her. She still had in her eyes the same cruelty, yet somehow her makeup was also smudged by red tears streaming down her cheeks. She was holding the rose, the source of so much trouble. The red-blood of the rose was a fine match for what it had wrought that night. It glowed eerily.

Immortality is the greatest punishment ever visited upon mortal-kind. Endless life seems to provide the freedom to wait and to hope—to live adventurously and love boldly. But who will be there for you after inevitability takes away all the wonderfulness that you have so carefully crafted? You will soon learn to recognize the passions of your mortal body for what they truly are: daggers meant to strike your heart when most vulnerable. Everyone on this journey begins by a different road, but all roads lead to the same destination. Get used to seeing everyone you once loved taken by Father Time. And then you too will be taken—that is, your glorious radiant heart that lives and loves and overflows with passion. So goes the author's famous introduction to immortality from the adventure novel "Four Hundred Years of Solitude". Derided by some prominent town critics as "so much trash", it is hard to deny his realistic treatment of immortality's consequences stirred the imaginations of many readers. The alleged inspiration for this novel? A chance meeting between author, governor, and a mysterious Countess Sophia.

In the frozen wilds, "Yang" is more than just a name. It's a legend carried on every icy wind. They call her the "Winter Huntress," and her reputation echoes across the endless snowfields. People trust Yang, not only because she can track any beast or find her way through the worst storms, but because she never loses her head, no matter how dire things get. In a crisis, she's the first to take charge. Whether it's finding shelter, reading the winds, or building a fire, she's always steady and never rattled. Even when danger closes in, she makes tough calls without hesitation, calmly organizing everyone's escape. The harsh polar climate hasn't worn her down. If anything, it's made her even more clearheaded and unshakable under pressure. But don't mistake her for some grim, silent type. Yang has a mischievous streak. She'll crack a joke around the campfire or build a goofy snowman with her board just to get a laugh. Her chilly sense of humor is legendary, and her jokes help keep everyone's spirits up, even in the coldest nights. She knows better than anyone that out here, losing your nerve is far more dangerous than any blizzard.

A century ago, the polar regions were just a distant frontier. A cold land, yes, but they were home to thriving communities. The royal oracles once urged the kingdom's fleets to sail north, and for many years, the two lands built strong ties by sharing supplies and aid. Those were prosperous times, with endless convoys heading into the snow. But one fateful day, a fleet found its way blocked by shifting ice. Only then did people realize a terrible storm had struck the polar lands. Seas froze, the cold deepened, and entire villages vanished beneath the snow. Thankfully, those earlier alliances helped some survive. But soon, the polar seas were sealed in ice, cutting off all travel and trade. Years later, when the ice finally began to thaw, a group journeyed south, only to find the kingdom gone. Rebels had torn it apart. Royal bloodlines were scattered and forced to live in hiding. The crown was lost, but the burden of old grudges remained. That night, the elders of the polar lands gathered in secret. After a long, heavy silence, they made their choice: someone must go and seek out the last of the royal line.

Oh, how the bards love to sing of her, lutes in hand, in the dusky twilight. "Winter mountain sent, Boots of snow, Not knowing which way to go, Told by stars where to follow, Oh, the road is long, But still she must sing on and on. North wind blowing, Bonfire sowing, Lost footprints flowing, 'Till she knew where she was going. Oh, to raise a glass to hope, To laugh as long as winter's snow, 'Til she knows which way to go, Joined to a fantasy that never overflows, goes or slows...

The wind still howled outside, the fire crackled in the darkness. Yang packed her things for the journey, fumbling with the straps, clearly lost in thought. "The place you're headed won't be any kinder than these frozen plains," the elder said softly. "Right now, you don't seem like the legendary Huntress. What's troubling you?" Yang looked up. "...I worry that if things are too different out there, I'll end up changing too much..." The elder pulled his coat tighter, a gentle smile on his face. "There's nothing wrong with change. Life's a voyage, and every sea you cross leaves its mark on your ship. To keep going, you patch it up and sail on." He looked Yang in the eye. "When friends drift away, you learn to take the first step. When family tests your patience, you learn to stand on your own. When no one seems to notice your efforts, you start to doubt yourself." Yang sat in silence. The elder poked the fire, making the flames leap higher. "But what makes a ship itself isn't the wood it's built from, but that it always knows where it's headed." Outside, the storm still raged. Yang fastened her board to her pack, her eyes full of resolve. The path to legend was waiting, and she was ready to face it.