Raz is just trying to get by. A little bit of dirt on the hands puts food on the table, open doors. But what will he do when his own hands become unrecognizable? When the world has put you in a box you've so desperately try to escape, only to trip back into it? When you're just a piece in someone else's game? A mytholite in Ancia is nothing but a tool, and how easily he allows himself to be used. But use a tool wrong, and someone is bound to get hurt. A storm is brewing over Ancia; the shining beacon of civility in a new world. And when it makes landfall, it will be at the edge of a blade. (This is a story I've largely given up on and will not continue editing. Sorry if there are some errors! Check out the doc link to view in a different format.)