Prologue: Ace, The Starry Revolutionary

  Ace pulled the golden time-teller hanging from his jacket pocket. He twisted the cap, internal mechanisms winding as the face hands began to rotate counterclockwise. He continued for about a minute, then released. The hands stiffened as if shackled together, then slowly began unraveling like the twisted knots of a lie told long, long ago.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Alright,” he began, staring down at his new ‘guest.’ “You have exactly two minutes to explain who you are, how you got here, and how on god’s left nut you know my name — especially the part I ain’t told nobody yet.”

  The ‘guest’ of honor sat languidly; a lazy smile stretched across his face as he took yet another sip from his piping hot tea. Ace growled, slinging the silver broadsword off his broad back. He stepped forward, preparing to beat this lackadaisical moron into submission, before a hand on the insurgent leader’s shoulder rooted him in place. Ace sighed, turning back to see Tigran shaking his head. Slowly, the thunderous rage building began to quell, staved off when the slim, silver-robed cretin finally placed his cup down. The wiry man rummaged through his pocket, unearthing a silver coin, which he then proceeded to roll across his fingers.

  The three of them — Ace, Tigran, and their guest — occupied a small tent, sequestered away from the battle preparations. From beyond their linen white tent, they could hear orders being belted, thousands of boots marching across the soft dirt in practice for their final assault.

  Preparation I should be leading.

  Ace pulled a chair over, crashing down with an echoing thud. "Look, mate, in the middle of a fuckin' war here, yeah? My men pulled me away in the middle of our assault preparations, telling me some silver-robed bugger wants a private meetin’, urgent. So, unless you got something damn important to tell me, I suggest you fuck right off before I blow, feel me?"

  The man ignored the threats as he continued to slither the coin across his leathery skin, now with a new side of muttering. Finally, he spoke, looking Ace in the eyes. "Do you know what happens to a hamster caught between two masters?"

  "Fuck ya on 'bout?"

  "It is quite awful. The hamster, straddled between life and loyalty, stretches himself until he can stretch no further. In that moment, what do you suppose the hamster feels? The joy of being in two places at once, or the horror at knowing how thin it’s become? I wonder, how will you feel? When you become that hamster?"

  Ace looked over at his brother, who was doing his best not to laugh. "Did he just call me a bloody hamster?" Ace asked, incredulous.

  "I believe he did," Tigran replied, his overly somber voice incongruent with his boisterous expression.

  Ace barked out a laugh. "Got balls on ya', at least. Now, I did tell you two minutes. According to my nifty little time-teller, you’ve all but a minute left. Best we get to the point, don’t cha think?”

  "My name is Yobou, Emissary for the Tower." He finally replied, halting the rolling coin between his fingers and repocketing it as he stared at Ace. His beady black eyes seemed almost as if they were stitched onto his face, flat and alien.

  "The what?" Ace replied, perplexed.

  "Ah... I see. I assumed the information blackout would have fallen apart by now. No matter." Yobou pulled a bundle of sheets from his leather bag, flipping through them while he spoke. "Where I come from is not of your concern - after all, I do recall you mentioning that you have a war to return to, do you not?"

  "Not that ya seem to notice..." Ace muttered darkly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Yobou pulled a single sheet from his stack, brandishing it out to Ace as he filed the rest of them back into his leather bag. Ace snatched the sheet from Yobou’s bony hand. A profiler, he recognized. Stamped in the top left corner, surrounded by hundreds of tiny graphs and tables, was an image of his own face.

  My profiler.

  He turned the sheet over to find thousands of lines of information scribbled in tiny letters. "Fuck's this?"

  "This," Yobou said, carefully prying the sheet away from Ace's reluctant hands, "is you. Your life. Your future. Pieces of your past. Ace, The Starry Revolutionary. Congratulations, by the way. For the Moniker. It suits you."

  Ace tensed, looking over at his brother, who gave him a confused look. Starry Revolutionary? He mouthed.

  Ace ignored the question, speaking slowly and methodically as he stared Yobou down. "That is why I haven't thrown you out yet. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Tigran. How do you know?"

  "As I said, I am from the Tower. There is nothing we do not kno-“ He caught himself, a genuinely embarrassed smile manifesting. “Well, no. That would be a lie, wouldn't it? There are things the Tower doesn't know. Things that it should. As one of the head librarians, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not rectify these issues upon learning of them. This is one such issue.”

  Ace rolled his eyes but played along anyway. “What issue?”

  “You — Ace. Normally, I would never be meeting you like this — in fact, I’d be shocked if you would have ever met one of my peers. Unfortunately, for reasons that are none of your concern, it seems our… seer… was unable to peer into your past.”

  “I’m starting to get a headache,” Ace muttered. “What seer? What do you mean, ‘peer into my past’? And what do ya mean ‘my peers’? There are more of you?”

  Yobou ignored the flurry of questions as if they were the chitterings of a cricket.

  “Since you have received a Moniker, it is the Tower’s duty to write your story into the Kotatsu. Which, given our inability to peer into your past, is a particularly difficult conundrum. Thus, I have come — to record your history myself.”

  Ace looked over to Tigran, whose expression mirrored his own puzzlement and confusion. “I don’t really get it,” he began, “but whatever it sounds like you want, you won’t get it from me. I ain’t got the time to waste. I have a war to win, thank you. In fact…” Ace began to rise from his chair, whose legs cracked beneath his weight. “I think it's time for you to leave. Our time ran up forty-five seconds ago.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Yobou called behind him, stopping him just moments before he exited the tent. “It’s not very often you get a moment to yourself, letting the world wait while you rest.”

  Ace turned back to face him. “Whatda ya mean?”

  He smiled, picking up and taking another infuriating sip of his tea — which somehow remained hot. “I mean, that our two minutes are not yet over. Take a look at your time-teller again.”

  Ace obliged and was shocked to find the hands hadn’t moved past the one-minute mark. “What have you done?” he demanded.

  “A gift, one only I can give. We maintain a policy of never interfering in domestic and sometimes international disputes. Our job is not to change history but to record it. In this instance, however, the council of Librarians recognizes that these are unusual circumstances, and as such, I have been given the authority to grant you a small boon. This is your boon, Starry Revolutionary. A moment of reprieve against the backdrop of chaos — provided, of course, that you indulge my questions.”

  “Questions regarding…?”

  “Your past. About Ace, the man before he would take the Moniker of the Starry Revolutionary.”

  Ace drummed his finger on the back of his simple, wooden chair as he bore daggers into the time-teller strapped to his wrist. From beyond the tent, the constant drum of battle practice completely faded, replaced by a slow, barely audible whirr in the background. He looked to Tigran for direction, and the two of them exchanged a silent conversation that only brothers could have.

  “Check outside.” Ace finally ordered him. Tigran eyed him cautiously but trusted his judgment. Without another word, his brother left the tent, leaving the two of them alone.

  Yobou continued sipping his tea. “I fear I must inform you that your brother will not be able to return.”

  “Figured,” Ace grunted, retaking his seat in the now wobbly chair. “I told him to go out and report back to me. If he does, then we can assume you’re a liar, and I can kill you right here. If he doesn’t — well, figures. Got ourselves another time-warper.”

  Yobou stiffened at the declaration, to which Ace gave a dark smile. “Sorry mate, hate to break it to ya, but you ain’t the first I’ve met. Seen these tricks before.”

  “That is… quite shocking, I have to say.” Yobou eventually managed to get out.

  Aliso barked out another laugh, cold and guttural. “Ya don’t say?”

  They sat for another two minutes before Ace finally leaned forward. “Alright, either you’ve got me in an inescapable trap — or ya really did manage to get me a moment of reprieve. Bloody bastard. Fine. Let’s get this show on the road. But before I lay my life bare for some strange, creepy twat, I want something better than just a moment of reprieve…”