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Larry was walking in a forst, long away from home. It was dusk, and the sky displayed a brilliant shade of pink and azure. Suddenly, he heard a rustle of leaves off to the side. Nightblade came into his hands immediately. He was ready for this foe, and tehy would pay for this intrusion of peace. But no enemy ever came. Strangley enough, Nightblade began to glow and grow cooler to the touch. Larry kept his guard up, inching across the road, and straining to listen. Nightblade was growing ever brighter and terribly cold now. The cold began to numb his grip, then to hurt. Not being able to take it anymore, Larry unwillingly dropped his blade. Nightblade fell to the ground. Then there was a blinding flash, and helplessly, Larry cried out in surprise and jumped back. Nightblade rose into the air on her own desire. She was shining as brightly as the sun had that day, and the coolness radiated off of her like a chilly artic wind.
Then, Lary realized that he was staring at the image of a man. A cold, ghostly figure, obviously strong, and his eyes were deadly cold. He stared on, holding the poor ranger in contempt, it seemed. Markings on his person seemed to indicate that he was in some relation to Spree. Was this her father? "Did my father know you?" Larry wondered...though aloud. The figure smirked, hearing this inquiry, but said nothing.
Then it was over. The blade lay on the ground, and the air was warmer, as it should be. The night was upon him. But, how had he really got here? Where was Mistral? Larry realized that he had no recollection of ever coming into these woods. Is this a dream?
"Mistral! Wake me up! Where are you? Mistral!"
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