Reborn

by MinisteryOfMonsters

"Go back to where you held armour against your skin Don't sink, just swim towards the storm And once again you'll be reborn." - A retelling of Miracle mask, with altered and added scenes

Warning - will contain swearing and depictions of mental health

---

"Go back to where you held armour against your skin

Don't sink, just swim towards the storm

And once again you'll be reborn."

-xxx-

They were close, steps away. Their eyes lingered on the final door that held the treasure they so dearly desired. A walkway of water and rock stood between them, layered with vines and greenery reflecting its antiquity. A young man, Randall Ascot, with his hair combed back and glasses shimmering against the halo of light from above, smiled at his approaching achievement. His friend, Hershel Layton, with his hair not so well kept, stood beside him with a similar spark in his eyes.

"We did it…"

Randall turned to his friend, unable to conceal the creeping smirk on his face. "Don't look so surprised. No risk no glory, right?"

The teen released a breath full of relief, almost reaching a soft laugh. He shoved his friend playfully as his delight surfaced and adjusted his backpack. Randall shared in his happiness and stepped forward towards the platform situated within the water.

"Let's go."

Even with the treasure in reach, Hershel remained gentle with each step. His eyes shifted from below him to Randall who was proceeding quickly. His jumpy nature began to put the young teen on edge.

"Randall be careful."

The Ascot simply turned and smiled, careless as always. "I'm always careful."

Hershel couldn't supress a disappointed shake of his head as he took another careful step. "I'll believe it when I see it."

As his foot pressed against the smooth surface, he gazed at the entrance drawing closer and closer to them. They were close, so very close.

His thought process stopped suddenly as the platform jolted down like a switch and sank deeper into the blueness. All around them, rubble began to break from the ceiling and the current raced against them. Randall turned to his friend who stared almost distantly at his foot. It seemed that Hershel's carefulness had caused the trigger and now the treasure that was so close in reach was fading. Randall, in an act of panic, grabbed Hershel's arm and shook him. As a result, the teen snapped his head forward now awake and fully aware of everything.

"Hershel, come on!"

He didn't need to think twice.

He ran.

He felt his breath race with him, his feet landing on the falling platforms carelessly as Randall followed suit. He didn't think nor process anything. All he could think about was reaching safety, away from the doom that was rapidly approaching. The water sank further below them, dragging the platforms deeper into the blackness and bringing the teens with them mercilessly.

Just before the water reached dangerous levels, Hershel made a leap of faith and landed with a thud against the surface of the underground steps leading to the door. But he wasn't out of the woods yet as his head snapped behind him to his friend lingering behind, the mask of chaos held close to his chest.

"Randall, hurry!"

He jumped, arm reaching to the platform still standing just as the remaining rock fell victim to the waves and he fell just as quickly. Hershel acted on instinct and reached towards him, grabbing his wrist tightly as Randall did the same. They held onto each other, not daring to let go.

Randall couldn't help the small yelp as he grabbed onto Hershel, feeling his legs hang in the air and the burning sensation running down his arm holding onto Hershel like a lifeline. Hershel was leaning dangerously close to the edge, his other hand supporting his body using a lone branch from the rock. He managed to catch his breath, looking down at his friend hanging in the stillness.

"You're ok, I've got you!"

But, as if he jinxed it, the rock's bottom layer broke and tilted further into the abyss, causing Randall to fall further and the branch Hershel was desperately gripping to loosen. Randall stared into the hollowness, eyes wide with fear.

The two of them were now hanging closer to the darkness, trapped.

"Randall," Hershel screamed, feeling his grip loosen. "Drop the mask! Give me your other hand!"

Randall's eyes wandered to the metallic mask held tightly in his grip and threw his legs against the rocky surface, dismissing the idea completely. He used his legs to support him as he pulled himself up with Hershel's aid. But as he did so, his legs gave out and flung him further down. Hershel managed to keep his death grip on Randall but, by the passing minute, his arm was ready to give up as it surged with pain up and down his shoulder. He was almost sure his arm would dislocate.

But he didn't care.

He attempted one last time to pull himself and Randall up to the safety, but with the weight of his friend pulling him down and the support of the branch weakening, he found that his own strength was about to snap.

Randall noticed, and it broke him.

"H-Hold on just-" his voice began to crumble with his hand tightly holding to the branch and twice as hard on Randall. His eyes creased shut, the pain becoming unimaginable. "I can pull you up…"

Randall didn't have the courage to respond. Instead, all he could do was watch his best friend torture himself trying to save him. He already knew the situation and the branch wasn't enough to hold him for much longer. But without it, Hershel would plummet into the pit below. The one thing preventing him from making it out alive was a truth that he didn't want to admit.

But he had to.

He had to die to save Hershel.

He was heaving, the task was becoming almost impossible to endure and Randall could feel his grip loosening. He bottled his emotions and stared dead straight at his friend, forcing his words.

"Hershel- "

His words were cut off by his friend shaking his head in denial and gritting his teeth painfully. His hand tightened in desperation as he tried again to pull.

"Stop-"

"No no no, I can do this! Just hold on."

The edge of his voice was cracking, his own eyes blurring up behind his glasses.

"Please-"

"Just give-just give me your other hand- Randall, please!"

His eyes darted to the branch and panic once again swelled through him. The mask felt heavy in his hand, knowing that even if he could let go of the mask so easily that Hershel would have nothing supporting him.

He couldn't risk it.

Not this time.

"Hershel, listen to me. Tell," his voice broke, the overwhelming fear building up inside of him. "T-Tell Angela I'm sorry. Y-you need to tell my parents, they deserve to know."

Hershel shook his head, frightened tears falling freely.

"Don't do this."

It hurt, so much, hearing Hershel so vulnerable and in such a state of pain. He tried to let go, for his sake.

But he couldn't bring himself to fall.

"I need to tell you something-"

"Don't-"

"Please! I need to say it!"

He turned silent, his heaving chest drowning in sorrowful tears.

"Whatever happens after this, I want you to know something."

Hershel, unable to even utter a word, nodded almost defeatedly.

"This isn't your fault, Ok?"

His eyes pleaded for another way, he begged silently.

"Randall."

He was weightless for a moment, unable to process the moment his hand lost him. He grabbed the air, reached for it. But he couldn't find the warmth of his friend. Not until his eyes widened at the sight of his friend falling falling falling.

There was no sound, only the soothing drip drop of the water. His voice was lost to the stillness that offered no comfort. He remained frozen, unable to comprehend the reality around him. Until his voice was found, and he screamed.

-xxx-

If, for a moment, he allowed himself to break, he would cry. He would feel his knees hit the solid surface of marble below him and his heart would break over and over again. He would be reminded of the pain and devastation he felt eighteen years prior and it would leak from him, evidence he could no longer hide.

But Hershel wasn't that eighteen-year-old boy from before. He had grown, matured through the years that held no mercy towards him. The greatest test of strength stood before him, a reminder of the past. The horrible, terrifying reminder that he wished wasn't true.

But he stood, nonetheless, through the painful calmness that surged through him and the stale air that threatened to choke his very core. He stared into the eyes of a stranger, a foe he had promised to bring to justice over his crimes against Monte d'Or and almost felt compelled to run. To hide from the sorrowful reminder of what he did.

His voice didn't break however, as he adjusted his top hat and unbent himself. Luke and Emmy lingered behind him as they watched the criminal, The Masked Gentleman, walk towards them with unnerving grace.

"Well done, Professor. You risked your life and saved your friend."

He stopped, so close to Hershel with the mask of chaos planted upon his face. It grinned with menacing intent, hiding away the truth from behind the shimmering gold. The soulless eyes stared dead into the Professor with a hideous aura.

"Perhaps," The Masked Gentleman spoke with frightening tenderness. "We have come to the end of our game."

He said the words with no thought or caution. He knew the man behind the mask. He knew from the start and it was easy to imagine a stranger from beyond the mask, far from reach and standing over the chaos he created. The people who turned to stone, the paintings that came to life and the civilians that vanished into the air. All were proven to be tricks and nothing more. But the extent of them and how far this criminal was willing to go was something that no one could describe. It terrified them.

It terrified Hershel.

So, he spoke with his voice almost breaking and eyes almost pleading. He felt his soul reach to him as he released the words trapped for so long.

"I'm sorry, Randall."

The name rang out in the stillness as the masked figure raised his head in shock. They stood, waiting. The figure almost seemed to ponder the words, his demeanour instantly changing. When he spoke, his voice once deep and full of malice, turned into something familiar. A voice that held so much to Hershel but seemingly altered by time.

"It's been a long time, Hershel."

Emmy and Luke stood with astonishment. They had known the fate of the Professors old friend and had known it to be true. But as The Masked Gentleman began to remove his white wig and metallic mask, that very face revealed itself just as Angela and Henry Ladore ran through the entrance of the Reunion Inn and froze on the spot.

Hershel could recall the look of his old friend with great detail. His hair always neatly kept with his glasses shimmering with determination. His character was alive, vibrant and admittedly cocky. But Hershel admired him. They looked out for each other in the darkest of times, through every terrifying moment they were each other's anchor, never to be severed.

But as he gazed at the figure, he could only see a shell of what was. The man had aged, skin pale and uncared for. His hair was overgrown, matted and ill-tamed. His eyes, once filled with light and warmth, were now cold and distant. Time, it seemed, had treated him unfairly.

Hershel, witnessing the result of his actions, felt his heart shatter.

He couldn't hear Angela and Henry as they gasped at the sight of their old friend. He knew they were speaking, unable to comprehend the reality that stood before them. But Hershel, enduring the agonising moment, was far away from reality.

A small presence came beside him, diverting his attention completely. His apprentice, Luke Triton, took his hand gently and looked into his eyes with childish innocence that Hershel could not ignore.

"Professor…"

Emmy was also beside him; her gaze held like iron as she showed her concern through her eyes. They knew, through the stories that he had told them about his childhood, that Hershel was hurting. And it didn't stop the man from uttering his broken words.

"This is my fault…"

Luke had never seen the Professor in such a manner. He was frozen, trapped within a moment that wouldn't escape him. His mind was traveling through his youth, remembering that very moment he lost his best friend. Luke didn't want to know how it felt, and he didn't want the professor to feel that way ever again.

So, he held him, he acted as his anchor when he had none to hold onto. His hand tightened in his and he smiled through his unescapable fear. He wanted Hershel to know he was there for him, in this moment and every moment after. He would be there.

Hershel felt it, that warmth that seemed so far away. It was small, but he reached for it nonetheless. He smiled, if briefly, at his closest friend and gave him a gentle squeeze as if to say that he didn't need to worry.

A gentleman is always there for people in need.

He took a breath, composing himself to his own mask and turned to the figure before him.

Randall Ascot, his childhood friend, was alive.

And he wasn't letting him go again.

"Master Randall." Henry spoke, his face clouded with emotions that no one could decipher, and his voice was no more than a gentle whisper. "Is that really you?"

Randall didn't respond to him. In fact, he showed no acknowledgment that he even existed. Instead, his eyes remained fixated on the Professor. His gaze was distant, cold to the touch and unnerving, but Hershel remained composed, no longer allowing himself to appear vulnerable.

"But how?" Henry spoke once more, seemingly forgetting the fact that Randall wasn't responding to him. "We searched for you in the ruins. We couldn't find you."

The man remained silent as he continued to stare at Hershel, his face was unrecognisable in regard to emotion and the professor was struggling to find the words to break the silence between them. But it seemed he didn't need to, as another broke it for him.

"After everything, I'm glad I had the chance to see you again. Hershel."

He didn't respond.

As if a switch had been pulled, Randall snapped from his distant gaze and turned his attention to Henry. The air shuddered, as Randall began to display a clear-cut array of emotions, raw and deep.

Anger.

Betrayal.

Hatred.

"Yes," Randall erupted through the atmosphere, shattering the silence that lingered for far too long. "It is indeed me, Henry. And don't worry, I most certainly remember you."

"Randall-"

"I am not done talking!"

It was almost like the world had stopped in motion. A sudden whiplash that shattered the air around them. The voice was booming, anger seethed through him like fire that ripped through his very core with the intent to escape. Hershel pulled Luke behind him, fearing the worst would occur.

"Your ignorance sickens me. The fact that you stand there and pretend that you are innocent is revolting."

Henry frowned. "I don't understand- Randall please, you are not well."

"Not well? Oh Henry, I am very much well. Especially after discovering what you have done to me."

"What I've done?"

There was nothing but rage in his eyes, hands clenching so tightly that the paleness of his skin turned white and his teeth gritted and snarled. It didn't take long until his feet moved so suddenly that Hershel almost missed it. On instinct, Hershel pushed Luke towards Emmy, who caught him just as quickly, and stood in the way of Randall's path while holding his hand out to stop him from advancing any further. Randall stopped suddenly, shocked at Hershel's movements as he stumbled back. The anger left him briefly, leaving behind a lingering soberness. But it retuned just as fast.

"Stop this, Randall. It's over."

"Over? It will never be over until I have my revenge for everything he has done to me! He took everything from me, my research, my fortune and-" He paused, looking at the bystander beside Henry, Angela. Who, for the longest time, uttered no words that would even come close to explaining her shock and relief. "My love…"

Angela held her hands to her mouth, hiding the tears that threatened to escape. "Oh Randall…"

"He will know the pain I have felt. For eighteen years, I have waited for this very moment. And nothing, not even you Hershel, will get in my way."

The Professor straightened himself, fixed his posture and composed his emotions. He feared that his next words would shudder otherwise.

"Why are you doing this?"

Randall scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. "Don't pretend you don't know, Hershel."

"Then explain it to me. At least, you can tell us where you've been all these years."

There was silence, Randall clearly considering the words. His hands were still held into fists and Hershel was worried that he'd attempted another outburst. But something about Randall's demeanour was strange, something that Hershel could not ignore. With Henry, there was a fire lit so clearly that it could burn anyone that came into contact. Randall's eyes were scorching with its light, contrasting with the dead-like coldness of his gaze. But with Hershel, as he stepped to defend the Ladores, Randall stopped. He made no attempt to attack, nor did he show such anger. For a split second, there was hope, warmth and a past held with so much happiness for one's friend. But it was gone, just as the reality of the situation came back to him.

Hershel hoped that, maybe, he could reach further to rekindle that light.

He prayed.

Begged.

After some time, Randall straightened himself and allowed a cocky smirk to surface on his pale face.

"Alright, what good is an untold tale."

So, he told them, recounting the events that transpired with great detail. He explained about the mystery of the Azran and the Mask of Chaos and how for a brief moment he was close to uncovering its secrets in the ruins of Akbadain. But, like dust in the wind, his moment was taken as he fell victim to its many traps where he was certain that death was awaiting him.

The Professor held his nerve, remembering.

"However," Randall continued. "As fate would have it, an underground river broke my fall and carried me far from the ruins. I found myself in a remote village where the people nursed me back to health. But I could not tell them anything about myself, my mind was a blank."

Henry frowned at this knowledge. "You had amnesia?"

Randall merely nodded. "I stayed with the villagers, trying to recount my life as I recovered. But after many years, I eventually gave up."

A chill was felt, curling and twisting.

"But that changed one day, when I received a letter."

For the majority of the story, Randall held himself with precision and confidence. But at his next words, it faltered and regressed into something unrecognisable. His eyes closed, tightened and creased his skin with a deep frown. A held temptation threatening to erupt.

"'I know all about your past' It read. 'I know who took everything from you, and I know how to get it all back'."

He breathed steadily, fearing his voice would crack. "It recited my life story, describing my home, my family, my friends. And it spoke of a man, the one who betrayed me."

His eyes opened, filled with an emptiness that held the earth in its frozen grasp.

"Henry."

The word was vile, seeping from Randall's mouth. Henry stood with fear and confusion, trying to comprehend the false truth. Angela remained beside him with an expression that remained an enigma and Hershel felt his heart beat in his ears. They all felt the power Randall had over them, commanding their souls to remain within this agonising moment. At the very notion of this, Randall couldn't help but sneer manically and raise his arms to the non-existent audience.

"When I heard that name, turned it over and over in my mind, it was like it broke through an unbreakable barrier. Everything that I was came flooding back to me. My name, my life—it all returned!"

His hands clenched, choking the stale air.

"I remembered all that I had, and all that was taken from me."

"But it didn't end there," Randall continued. "'I have a plan to take revenged on those who have wronged you. You need only to don the garb of the Masked Gentleman, and they shall cower before you!'"

His hands lowered, hanging beside him as his smile faltered.

"However, I would have been a fool to believe the words of a stranger. I needed to see for myself the pain that had been brought upon me. I needed to see what Henry had done."

Hershel noticed his friend, Luke, cower behind Emmy. She, in return, held him close in comfort and protection. All the while, Hershel was left in the spotlight; vulnerable under Randall's gaze.

"Coincidently, the letter continued. 'If you doubt my words, then meet me at this location and you shall see for yourself the truth.'"

Suddenly, the fire burned anew.

"And oh, did I see."

Randall looked to the ceiling, gazing that the labyrinth of rope around the banisters of each level. A reminder of the events that transpired with Hershel and Luke. His arms raised, as if to reveal the enormous space above him.

"My fortune, my research and my life. It was reduced, to this."

Henry, finding his courage to move, took his first step in an eternity.

"Master Randall-"

The man's stare snapped, a finger pointing as if to accuse a criminal. That burning hate, the utter rage that boiled and bubbled violently was trembling.

"When I saw this city, I did not want to believe it. But as I looked upon the creation from the man I once called friend, I realised the truth. Everything that I had was gone, because of you. You had taken what was rightfully mine, and I could not believe my eyes! I saw my love, Angela, kindling to your every need. I saw how you abused the people of this town with the fortune you had stolen from me! And most recently, how you accused another for my own actions, just so you could preserve this pathetic excuse of a legacy!"

Henry was stunned, struck with the truth he wished he didn't have to face. Angela, once again, had no words to say.

"When I saw everything, my goal had already been decided. I would have my revenge by taking back what was mine, under the name of The Masked Gentleman.

"And the letters continued, each one advising me on how to execute my plan as The Gentleman himself. As each phase of my plan fell into place, I felt myself return with it—"

He smiled, overwhelmed with insanity.

"The Masked Gentleman brought me back!"

Even as they stood, frozen to the bone within the confines of the Reunion Inn, exhaustion overcame them. They had taken in so much, filled with lies and truths colliding in a cloud of misery. For the longest time, they found themselves speechless.

"This ends my tale of woe; however, I believe there is still more tears to shed." Randall straightened, almost in an attempt to contain his excitement. "For tonight, the final Dark Miracle will take place."

That word surfaced once more, a reminder of the crimes that had taken place. It was, and still remained, a word to petrify.

"What do you mean, Randall?" Hershel found his voice, surprised at its strength. "What will you do?"

Randall, laughing with folly, grinned at the Professor.

"You will soon see."

In a split second, he ran.

Henry was the first to react, watching Randall escape through the hallway of the Inn. "Master Randall, wait!"

"Professor," Luke spoke up, coming beside his closest friend. "We have to go after him!"

Hershel didn't object, his face full of resolve as he turned to the others.

"Everyone follow me!"

And so, they did, through the dark halls of the building and outside into the cold breeze of the desert city. The bright lights from the shops and houses remained unaware of the events that transpired as the group found themselves outside the Reunion Inn. But just as they began to question the location of their childhood friend, the earth began to shudder.

"What is that?" Henry yelled through the noise, looking frantically around him at the dust that began to build from the rocks.

"Professor, up there!"

Emmy called to him, pointing above to the balcony of the Inn. There, stood with an eerie smile on his face with the mask of chaos in hand, was Randall. His eyes were closed, embracing the freezing air and chuckling quickly to himself.

"I'm so delighted you all could make it! The show is about to begin!"

"Randall, this is madness! Come down from there!" Hershel yelled to him, fearing the worst.

But Randall didn't listen. Instead, he scoffed and turned his attention to Henry.

"Take a final look around, Henry! This will be my gift to you!"

Something in the distance broke through the walls of the city. The ball-like shape of the rocky walls that surrounded Monte d'Or began to crack as a substance only known as sand began to flood the city. The people close to the chaos began to run for their lives, hanging from the lamp posts or hiding in their homes in the desperate attempt to escape from the impending doom that awaited them. Henry, stunned completely, witnessed everything he had built slowly begin to sink and suffocate.

Randall, through the chaos, laughed once more.

"The destruction of Monte d'Or shall be my final Dark Miracle!"

Hershel, trapped in the amber of the moment, was sure that he was screaming.

His cords hung in the annihilation, unable to cry.

-xxx-

He watched his masterpiece dance across the desert city known as Monte d'Or and gazed at the darkness that painted the sky. The lights from the shops flickered and shut down one by one until only the glimmer from the defenceless houses were felt in the spotlight. The sand travelled quickly, pushing past anything that stood in its wake and Randall, alone in the centre of the city, smiled at the dream that would soon come true.

His revenge would soon become a reality. He would watch the horror from the civilian's faces as their homes would be condensed to dust before their very eyes and he would gaze at the sand as it would cleanse the filth that disgusted him. He was sure, from the very beginning as he wore the mask upon his face and heard the screams of so many, that he would have his victory. So, as the sand came closer to him, he closed his eyes and awaited the cleansing of his broken soul.

He felt no such thing.

Before he could react, the ground below him began to quiver and crack. The rocky surface covered with man-made tiles rose from the ashes of the fallen buildings and lifted Monte d'Or towards the sky. The platforms began to glow a faint yet pure colour of aqua and the sand fell into the cracks away from sight. Randall, staring at the buildings rising to the stars, glared in disbelief.

He couldn't have, had he—lost?

As the platforms rose higher, damaged and barely standing, battered buildings began to crumble and fall upon it. Randall dodged, avoiding a fallen sharp pipe that threatened his safety as it clanged against the brickwork that was the quivering ground. He found his breathing had quickened as he glared at it, sand running from its corners into the creases that opened below, and he found his throat contracting.

"No…"

He couldn't have lost, he was so close- he was sure!

"No…"

This was not possible, everything that the man told him he had followed with immense success. There was no inconceivable way that he would fail. He was certain…

He turned, sharply, to face the rising platform behind him that had risen from the underground. He gazed at the people that stood upon it with great surprise, and others with confidence. One of whom, he knew very well.

Hershel.

"Randall, this the true treasure of the Azran!" The Professor shouted amongst the rising platforms, his face held strong. "I discovered it, while you were busy seeking revenge!"

Randall held his tongue with great force, tasting the iron in his mouth.

"This ends here!"

Everything he had started, everything that he had sort out to do in the name of justice. Such justice that had failed to serve him and bring him clarity while everyone believed he was lost to the world. The years be spent alone in a village unable to remember the past he once had and the future he failed to achieve.

Everything he'd done, was now for nothing.

He couldn't stand it.

He would not accept it.

"Randall."

The voice was Hershel, a warmth that Randall once saw as welcoming. Now? Now, it was nothing but empty promises and false truths.

"No." He repeated, a word that swarmed in his brain over and over again.

Hershel tightened his voice, posture straight and demanding. "Stop this. It's over."

As he heard the words, his gaze turned to the pipe laid isolated, its edge cut at an angle the equivalent of a sword. His hands were held tight, turning pale in his grip and his eyes grew wide with fury.

He had failed.

It was then, after so long, that Randall found his voice. It jiggled in his stomach, erupting with each passing second. As he grabbed the pipe, he turned to Hershel with glaring and burning eyes.

"Do you remember, Hershel? The days we would spend together as young men dreaming of our futures?"

Randall, gripping the pipe loosely, straightened his posture. His matted locks hung lazily over his brow.

"Do you remember my dream?"

The Professor stood, hearing the soft yet numb voice of his friend, unable to reply with anything other than a simple nod. His mouth held itself as a tight line across his face.

"Oh, I certainly remember yours. In fact, if I remember clearly, you never had one. You berated me for my own dreams, called them a 'fantasy'."

"Randall-"

"So, tell me, why do you call yourself a Professor of archaeology?"

He was locked to the earth, lungs forgotten.

"You hated it. You wouldn't have any part of it. So, tell me why Professor."

By this time, Luck and Emmy had followed suit along with Angela. The four of them had found the truth of the ruins, something that both Hershel and Randall could never discover with their minds driven by greed. The final puzzle to the mystery of the Akbadain ruins was connected to the very mask that Randall had found many years ago. The Mask of Chaos he had found was, in actuality, a fusion of two. The Mask of Chaos and the Mask of Order. Hershel had remembered the twin mask being mentioned by Randall himself when he set out to find the treasure but had expressed his disappointment at finding only one of the mask; unaware of the true nature of the mask. With the two, the Professor was able to solve that final puzzle and raise the ruins to the surface to save Monte d'Or from drowning into the earth. The land that had surfaced was, in fact, the very treasure that Randall had sorted to find all those years ago. The place which took him from his youth was nothing more than a trap.

Hershel didn't want to hear the truth, it bled into his broken soul through the leftover scars of his mind.

Randall had 'died' for nothing.

Nothing but coins and jewels. Worthless to any archaeologist.

Worthless, at least, to Randall.

The truth was clear, Hershel was plagued by his best friend. The memory of what he failed to do and the thoughts of what could have happened if he had only been strong enough.

He became a professor, to remember and honour his name.

But—

"It was guilt."

Randall whispered the words, vile that leaked from his lips. The broken expression that laid against his face was clouded with so much that Hershel could not recognise nor react accordingly.

"You became a professor, because you were guilty."

He couldn't answer.

He couldn't react.

His words were lost, unable to clarify nor deny.

It was then, as the wind picked up in the hazy blue, that Randall raised his hand to him and witnessed the glimmer that shone against the metal of the pipe. The sharp edge pointed, as if to accuse.

"You're no better than him."

He tried. Oh , did he try. but the words would not come, trapped inside his bottled gut and shivering in the familiar isolation.

Suddenly, Randall raised the pipe with both hands held tightly against it and swung from above downwards. Hershel, nearly missing the attack, managed to dodge and pushed Luke, who had been beside his mentor, further away from him to safety. He turned to Emmy with a slight nod, which Emmy recognised immediately, and watch as the both of them ran from the scene while taking Angela with them. Who, for the longest time, remained silent.

With his attention now fully on Randall, the Professor readied himself for another attack. He watched as Randall breathed with such heaviness that he feared he would pass out. The rage and fury sizzling in his eyes crumbled the Professor's heart and he too found himself unable to breath with precision.

"Randall, please listen-"

"You ruined everything!" He took another swing, which the Professor flawlessly dodged. "Henry took my fortune, my life! And you dare to stand by his side and defend him!" another swing was aimed, but it missed and hit the fallen rocks and scattering them.

Luke, in panic, tried to search for something the professor could use to defend himself. His eyes caught to something buried in rubble, a fallen statue of a knight and a sword that stood out, separated from its owner. Luke, without hesitation, ran to the sword – despite Emmy's protests – and grabbed it with both hands. His form staggered for a moment at the heaviness of it despite it being an obvious fake. But with all his might, he carried the sword and threw it towards the Professor.

"Professor, here!"

Hershel caught sight of the sword and dodged another frantic attack from Randall to grab it. As he did, he gave Luke a small nod of his top hat and turned to his former friend, sword at the ready.

Around this time, Henry, Mordy – Henrys trusted butler – and others associated with the police came to the scene of the commotion. As they did, they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the current fight. Henry, shocked at the scene before him, attempted to step in and possibly stop the conflict. However, the hand of Inspector Grosky held him back.

"Mr Ladore, I would advise you stand back."

"But-"

"It's alright, Henry."

Henry silenced himself, turning to the voice of the Professor. He stood with his sword in hand, ready to strike when needed.

"Randall needs to listen, and I intend to make true on that."

Randall scoffed, a sound mixed with many emotions. "Listen to what? Your lies? After everything we've been through and all those moments I stood by you, you would betray me like this?"

Hershel calmed his nerves, holding his gaze. "I need you to listen to me. Henry is not to blame."

"SHUT UP! YOU'RE LYING!"

Within moments, bedlam erupted.

-xxx-

"Are you sure about this?"

"'Course I am!"

Hershel stood in the clearing of the nearby forest close to Stansbury. His eyes squinted at the sun peeking through the autumn leaves. Today was scorching and Hershel soon made it a habit to wipe his head from the sweat that was building up.

"Wouldn't you rather have this at the school? You know, like we always do?"

Randall simply scoffed, placing his backpack against a tree stud. "Come on, Hersh. The school is fine, but it gets boring after a while. Besides, there's plenty of space around here."

"If you say so."

The Ascot reached into his backpack and drew out two fencing swords. He threw it to Hershel who flawlessly caught it.

"Who knows," Randall began, "Maybe you'll win this time."

Hershel hummed.

Randall frowned, he knew that response.

"Hey, come on now! Just because I win all the time doesn't mean you're not good at it!"

"We've practiced for a year now."

"Well yeah but-"

"And how many times have you won?"

Randall thought with effort. How could he keep count?

Hershel sighed, disheartened at the obvious answer. "Exactly."

He hated that look, Hershel had always put himself down when it came to fencing. It wasn't like he was rubbish at the skill, he was amazing! But it just so happened that Randall was always one step ahead.

He never expected Hershel would take it to heart.

Guilt-ridden, Randall placed his sword down by his backpack walked over to his friend. He place a hand on his shoulder and gave him his best smile.

"Hey."

Hershel turned.

"You're good. I know you are."

In silence, Hershel averted his gaze.

"You'll get there eventually. It's not like I'll win all the time."

"That's debatable."

"Come on, Hersh. You can do it."

He hummed.

"You will win. I'm rooting for you!"

"You'll just go easy on me."

"What? No way! I want to win too. But you won't if you keep being a downer."

Hershel sighed. "You're not taking this seriously."

"Hershel."

He turned again, looking into his friends' eyes.

"Just do your best, that's all I ask. And if you don't win, we can get ice cream to cheer you up!"

There was a long pause that hung in the breeze.

A sound.

Laughing?

Hershel was laughing.

"Ice cream? Really, Randall?"

Randall pouted. "What?"

"I'm not ten-years-old!"

"So? Ice scream is the best!"

Hershel chucked, smiling.

"Honestly, what would I do without you?"

"Be a downer?"

"Shut up."

Randall smiled, picking up his sword from the tree stump and preparing himself.

"Well? You ready?"

Hershel, letting out another soft laugh, held his stance.

"No risk, no glory."

Randall smirked, and swung

-xxx-

The attack was frantic, held with little thought through the rage. Hershel backed and brought his sword up to counter. The metal clashed, and Randall wasted no time in delivering another attack. Hershel, shocked by the swift move, countered again while holding his top hat close to him as he did so.

Over and over, Randall hit again and again, and Hershel countered. He waited for an opening, a way to disarm his opponent.

Hershel flung backwards, hitting his back against the wood of the tree. Randall swung his sword again, pushing against Hershel's defence as the metal clashed once more. Hershel dodged out of the way, pushing himself off from the bark and moved forward for the centre of Randall for a direct attack. Randall caught the intention and easily countered. He smiled, keeping his friends spirits high. Hershel returned it and aimed for the centre once more.

Randall's frantic eyes glared with malicious intent as he slammed the pipe against the sword, his teeth gritting and biting down against his gums. his hands held the pipe tightly as he thrashed the pipe over and over on Hershel's defences. Hershel, with nowhere else to go, stood against the hits.

"Professor!" Luke yelled at his friend, almost stepping forward to help. Emmy, however, held her hand against his shoulder and stopped his actions.

"Randall, please- stop this!"

"I DON'T BELIEVE ANYTHING THAT YOU SAY! I WAS SO CLOSE TO FINALLY EXACTING REVENGE! I WOULD HAVE FINALLY FOUND PEACE! BUT YOU JUST HAD TO GET IN THE WAY!" He pushed Hershel back, sending him staggering and only just able to regain his balance and retain his posture.

"These people don't deserve this, Randall! They had nothing to do with this! You think you would feel any peace by hurting them?"

"THEY ENABLED THIS!"

Randall moved forward once more, hitting metal against metal. Hershel countered as best he could with his keen eyes trailing his every move.

"THEY CHOSE TO STAY HERE, IGNORANT OF THE HISTORY BEHIND IT! NO ONE QUESTIONED IT, NO ONE ASKED! THEY ALL LIVED THEIR PERFECT LIVES WHILE I ROTTED IN THE DIRT!"

Randall swung.

Hershel countered.

Swung.

Counter.

Swung

Counter.

Swift and almost graceful, the two moved through the wind and the frigid air. The world around them didn't matter, for they only knew each other in this moment of harsh truths and lies.

They felt their bodies heat against the sun, sweat dripping from their foreheads and bodies. They danced, through the graceful airstream. Their moves were placed in order, a planned choreography.

No one could match the swift movements of the two as their swings and hits against metal moved with such speed. Randall, with gritted teeth and raging eyes, moved the most erratic while Hershel held his composure and countered the hits with great accuracy.

"Whoever told you this, have been using you! They've used your anger against you and fed you with lies for their own personal gain. Please, I need you to see it! If only you would just listen-"

"WHY? WHY WOULD I LISTEN TO ANYTHING YOU SAY? YOU WOULD RATHER DEFEND THAT PIECE OF SHIT THAN YOUR OWN FRIEND!"

They clashed once more, sweat pooling down their battered bodies.

"I trusted you," the voice that screamed in the void, cooled. It held sorrow heavily in its words. "I would have given anything to see you again. And I did—I did everything."

"You came back."

Randall paused, swallowing hard.

"I didn't want to come back to this. Never this."

"Randall."

The burning in his eyes throbbed, his matted hair hung like a barrier.

"Please, stop this fight. I need you to listen to me. I know who's been doing all of this, the person behind The Masked Gentleman, the truth."

"I am The Masked Gentleman. I am the truth, the result of what he's done…"

"The letters, they were all lies. They tricked you, used you. Even now, they are watching us."

"Stop…"

"They wanted you to do this, Randall. They knew you would…"

"Stop this, stop lying…"

His hands shook violently, the visible sweat leaked from his forehead mixed with hot and rageful tears.

"Please, listen to me. As your friend…"

His face held so much emotion: anger, sadness, betrayal. He held them tight with his shaking hands and burning eyes. They conflicted, clashed, snapped, crippled, screamed-yelled-begged-cried-

He lunged.

-xxx-

The soft surface of the grass was disturbed by a fallen sword. Hershel, with his arms empty, stood in the spotlight breathing heavily. Randall, as well, breathed with a heaviness against his chest as the sword sagged a little in his hand. The sound of the breeze was all that was heard between them.

Randall, after some time, was the first to react.

He smiled breathlessly.

Hershel was too tired to react to his failure and simply hung his head as he caught his breath, chest heaving with a slight struggle.

After some time, Randall dropped his sword and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees, feeling a small yet tired laugh escape him. Hershel, despite his defeat, joined him.

His friend came to him and placed his hand on his shoulder once more. Hershel leaned in to rest against him, feeling his body unable to support itself. Randall didn't mind, allowing the extra warmth.

"Looks like I owe you an ice cream."

"You bloody well do."

Randall smiled, resting his head against his loyal friend.

Something caught his mind, causing him to chuckle and shake his head.

"What?"

"I just remembered, I forgot to bring any money."

Hershel laughed through his heavy inhales and exhales.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"A handsome idiot."

Hershel, smiling against his friend, scoffed weakly.

-xxx-

It was sudden, as if the world could not quite register the action of another person rushing into the fight. Randall automatically stopped, seeing the person stand with their arms raised as a protective barrier. The Professor stood with just as much surprise, if not mixed with understanding and guilt.

Henry stood forward, surprised at the identity of the person that prevented an act of intentional harm.

"Mordy?"

His butler, Mordy, stood with his body shaking and heaving. His eyes held so much: fear, sadness, guilt. Randall could not place them all, neither did he understand them.

That was, until the man spoke.

"Stop this fight, please!"

That voice? Randall knew it.

It wasn't Mordy.

It wasn't even a man.

It was—

The butler raised his hand, quivering, and placed it upon his face.

It tore away.

Like a mask.

Randall inhaled.

Delicate hands began to remove the masculine suit from their body, leaving behind the figure of a woman. A woman Randall knew well.

A woman he adored.

"Angela?"

He didn't mean for it to sound so defeated—or afraid?—but his words came with little control and his tears burned against his cheek.

Hershel straightened, the sword still remaining by his side.

"Angela, you should not have done that. You could have been hurt."

'Hurt?' Randall thought. 'I'd never—not her…'

'I almost killed her'

'I almost killed him'

Did he mean to do that? Did he mean to kill? He felt so much in one moment that all that mattered was—

Was—

He didn't know.

"Randall."

Her voice broke through the silence, an echo of comfort.

"Angela."

She was a ray of light he so desperately craved in this hellish darkness. He reached out to her, pleaded with her.

She took his hand.

"Randall, its alright. I'm here."

He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

Hershel adjusted his top hat and turned.

"I think it's time you revealed yourself."

Luke turned his head also, seeing the doubleganger stand beside him. Until now, they had said nothing and did very little to stop the fight. With Luke knowing very little, even with prior knowledge, he found it quite strange how Angela seemed unfazed. Even her actions back at the Reunion Inn seemed like a simple act.

When he thought about it, Mordy showed the most surprise and emotion. He trembled at the realisation.

"If she's not Angela, then—"

There was a hum, a laugh.

Luke knew that laugh.

The imposter raised their hand, placing a mask upon their face, and swirled elegantly. The costume that once held their true identity for so long was ripped from them and the outfit of another took its place.

A wicked smile revealed itself to the group, who stood with astonishment.

"I think introductions are in order. Wouldn't you say, Layton?"

The imposter spoke, voice deep and malevolent.

Hershel frowned, seeing the return of a man he thought for some time was truly dead stand before him.

Considering recent events and realisations, death seemed like a fable.

"Henry, Angela—this is Descole."

Luke retreated from the mere presence of the man, remembering the last they had encountered each other. Emmy joined him, pulling him to safety.

Out of all the surprised looks, Randall stood with confusion.

"What are you doing here?"

Descole merely smiled.

"Fulfilling my plan, dear boy."

"But," Luke spoke up, "Where was Angela all this time? Why did she disguise herself?"

"I found Angela trapped in a room at the Reunion Inn," The Professor began to explain, adjusting his hat as he did so. "I asked her to wear a costume, while we played Descole's little game."

Descole chuckled, unfazed at his identity had been found out. "I see, you pretended to be taken in by my Angela disguise until I helped you solve the puzzle of Akbadain." He adjusted his own hat, his cape swaying in the breeze. "You needed my help if you had any chance of solving the final puzzle."

Hershel nodded. "Very good, Descole."

"I must ask, how did you know?"

Hershel, from time to time, turned his gaze to Randall who stood beside Angela with very little to say. He knew that whatever revelations would come next would hurt the poor man even further. But he needed to know the truth, and Hershel had no intentions on keeping anything else in the dark for much longer.

"When I first arrived here, I spoke to the real Angela. She had spoken that she believed the identity of the Masked Gentleman was in fact Randall. Her intention was that I would be able to get through to him before the police did. She was—uneasy about the situation."

Randall turned his gaze to Angela, who returned the look. Her smile was gentle.

Descole, eager for more, gestured with his hand for Hershel to continue.

"Despite our history, Angela wasn't sure on what I would do if I discovered that Randall was The Masked Gentleman. But the next time I saw her, there was something different about her demeaner. Her unease had disappeared. From that moment on, I began to suspect Angela."

The man chuckled. "Perhaps I was too eager?"

"You gave yourself away when you asked for the Masked of Order to solve the riddle of Akbadain. Something that Henry did not obtain."

"When I had heard of Henrys mask, I needed someone to play the Masked Gentleman," Descole turned to Randall. "Randall obliged."

The air, almost, seemed stale.

"I had to convince Henry of the power of the Mask of Chaos with our 'dark miracles'. If henry believed that the Mask of Order could counteract the powers of the Masked Gentleman, well then," Descole shrugged a little, gesturing with his hand. "Surely, he would secure this mask rather than watch his dear city crumble. Yes?"

"But when he did not, you grew tired of waiting. You became Angela so that you could get closer to Henry. But he still wouldn't reveal the location of the Mask of Order. In fact, he could never reveal its location. Because in reality, Henry never had the Mask of Order in the first place."

Descole chuckled, still unfazed by his defeat.

"Bravo, Layton. But I'm afraid all the deductive reasoning in the world won't change the fact that I've already won. In fact, you have done all the work for me." Then, his somewhat tame smile turned, manifesting into a devilish smirk. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Hershel didn't answer.

"You knew it was me, played my game and used my intellect to solve the last puzzle. You knew that the location of the ruins, the entrance, would soon reveal itself. I suspect that its location is near to this city, correct?"

Again, he did not answer.

"You knew, in the end, that I would win. Yet, you continued and saved this little city in the desert."

He chuckled, laughed and rose to hysterics.

"Your good will has caused you to fail. Many thanks, Layton."

He turned, glaring at the shivering form of the once Masked Gentleman.

"As for you, your usefulness has been spent. I no longer need you."

He shook his head, struck with denial. "You couldn't have…"

"I merely used you, Ascot. It costed your mental stability, but it did the job nonetheless. I believe you have much to talk about." At the comment, he laughed as if it was nothing more than a joke.

Randall sagged, leaning against the gentle touch of his love.

"Even when I gave you back your life, you failed. You truly are pitiful, Ascot."

"You are vile."

Descole was silenced by a gentle voice, Angela, who was on the verge of tears herself.

"How dare you do this. To think that you were behind this sickening plan and used Randall in this way. You are vile, a monster!"

Descole, with his smile faltering, turned and took out a small item from within his cloak.

"My dear, I was never human."

Suddenly, a haze of smoke appeared around them just as the police were ordered for Descole's arrest. But as they ran to the area to take him away, the man himself had vanished in the cloud. They looked around frantically, trying to locate the criminal but their efforts were in vain.

Descole, once again, managed to escape.

Hershel knew it wouldn't be the last time he would see him.

It grew silent, eerily. The group stood within the confines of the choking air. The rocks from the fallen platforms crumbled, turning to dust before them and everyone was at a miss.

"He used me…"

Angela couldn't stop her heart reaching to the man. His face was distant, no longer in reality. He seemed stuck between screaming, and utterly crumbling into tears. Angela could do nothing but hold his hand and gently stroke its pale surface.

"Oh Randall…"

His eyes rolled, gazing at her.

She was overjoyed, held back by the tears that filled over eighteen years of grief and sorrow.

"I can hardly believe it, I've been waiting so long for your return. We both have…"

His voice vibrated, growled.

"How are you."

Her face fell.

"You never waited. You married him."

Her panic surfaced, reaching towards her long-lost love

"It's not like that."

The warmth of his hand moved so suddenly, burnt by the inner rage within him, and clenched to his chest. His eyes reflected against the orange sky rising from the dark and colourised his clothes and skin with a faint tint of red.

Henry stepped forward, his body beside Hershel, and found the courage once more to speak.

"There is something I need to tell you, Master Randall."

"Don't talk to me. Don't come near me."

"Randall please," Angela spoke, hearing her voice on the brink of tears once more. "You need to know the truth."

"Just," Randall paused, unsure. "Just leave me alone…"

"We did not know if you would return." Henry continued, knowing the hostile nature of his friend but braving on nonetheless. "We were destroyed, all of us…"

Randall didn't move, frozen in his broken mind. The thoughts swayed in the deep blueness of his subconscious.

Yet, somehow, Henry knew he was listening.

"I did the best I could for your family, but they had fallen into disrepair. They lost everything, your mother had fallen viciously ill and," He paused, trying to find the delicate words. "Your father…"

"What about him?" Randall spoke, barley a whisper.

He tried to speak, to voice the words. But the truth was too hard to bare, let alone verbalise. However, Henry tried.

"He—he was troubled, Master Randall. There was nothing more I could do for him. I…"

He didn't finish, he didn't need to.

"I'm sorry, Randall." Angela spoke quietly, sharing her remorse for her love.

Randall said nothing.

"I did not want to give up on your family, I knew I had to find you. I searched for you, in the ruins. It was such a dreadful place that I begged constantly for your safe return. But I could not find you, no matter how far I dwelled."

The man shivered, distant.

"But, in a strange twist of fate, I discovered the treasure you were searching for all those years ago. It was—truly a sight to behold."

"So, you stole what was meant to be mine." It seemed like a statement of the truth, but Randall's words seemed undefined and low.

Henry shook his head, keeping his voice calm and level. "No, Master Randall. There was only one purpose they could be used for, that was to help your family."

Randall didn't blink as he glanced.

"I used everything that I had found to help your family, to repair what had been taken. But I knew, I could not replace the love of their lives. Neither—could I bring your mother the happiness she had lost…"

"So," Henry continued. "I used what I had to find you. For as long as it took. And I would continue to help your family, as if they were my own. I could not bare to see them in so much pain. For the longest time, even until recently, I—I was angry. Now, I feel nothing but shame for myself for thinking such things."

Randall frowned.

"I blamed Hershel, for your demise."

If Randall wasn't shaking before, he definitely was now.

"It wasn't just Henry," Angela said. "I am also to blame for such ill thoughts. We were angry, lost and alone without you beside us Randall…"

Hershel made no comeback, deciding to brush the tip of his hand against the edge of his top hat as he wavered.

"But," Randall stuttered. "It wasn't—it…"

"I wanted to apologise before," Henry said with unease, closing his eyes for a brief moment of sorrow. "But I was ashamed. Mainly, because I partly blamed myself as well. I thought 'if only I was there with you that day' then things would not have come to pass as they did."

Randall, lost in the blaze, turned to Angela. His reasoning was unknown to him, all he could do was stare with glassy eyes and hope that the sagging feeling in his heart would magically go away. He saw the smile she offered him, faltering through tears of her own.

"Henry never stopped searching for you. He always believed you would return someday. He spent a fortune sending search parties down into those awful ruins. He even build the Reunion Inn so that they would have a base near the ruins."

"The Reunion Inn…" The words came out like an afterthought, words that Randall whispered if to himself.

"It was the first building to be established here in Monte d'Or," Henry explained. "I sent out many several rewards to anyone who could find you. Before I knew it, the Reunion Inn had thrived, and word spread quickly. Before long, Monte d'Or began to build almost on its own and the town prospered. In searching for you, Monte d'Or was born. All in the name of your return, Master Randall."

"My return…"

"I preserved everything, in the hope that one day you would return to us. One day, you would find your way home…"

"You—but Angela…"

It was like a command as Angela moved almost automatically. Her hands reached to her neck and pulled out a necklace of some kind. The material was wooden with encryptions that no one could read.

All expect for Randall.

He knew exactly what it was as soon as his eyes glazed over it. The image was clear, a reminder of the past.

It was the last thing he ever gave to Angela.

The day he made his promise to come home safely.

The day he died.

"That's…"

"Randall, my marriage to Henry wasn't real…"

It was a shock to him, something so ludicrous and incomprehensible.

"What?"

Angela, offering a gentle smile, tied the string around her thin neck. After many years, she finally allowed it to be seen in public with no regrets.

"After you left, I did not know how to go on. My parents were pressuring me into marriage. They wanted me to marry the richest person in town: Alphonse Dalston. After so long, I was convinced to accept the arrangement just so they would leave me alone. But also—because I could not escape the empty feeling in my heart. The feeling of losing you. I was so desperate, that I wanted anything, so I could feel whole again."

His eyes swam in the deep blue, breaking through the dam.

"Angela…"

The woman merely offered a reassuring smile, feeling her eyes blur and leak.

"After such time, Henry came to me. He asked me for a proposal, a promise. I'll never forget it. He said, 'Will you wait for Master Randall with me?'"

Subconsciously, Randall reached and took Angela's hand. He pleaded for that warmth once more. Angela gladly welcomed it.

"Henry always believed you would come back, and he helped me believe to. So, we agreed to pretend to be married until the day you would return. We both vowed to protected and preserve all that was yours. We would never steal or take anything from you, never."

The words didn't feel like vile, nor did they feel like deception. Rather, Randall felt a sense of ease from them, clarity that was certainly overdue.

So, as he looked into Angela's eyes, he found the words he never thought he could ever say.

"I believe you."

A weight had been lifted, pressing and crushing. It no longer held back the emotions that bottled up for so long. Angela felt it, and she could not be any happier. Henry, after moving closer to the Professor and his childhood friends, smiled with her. He, too, felt at ease.

Hershel reached into his coat pocket and took out a document of some kind, something that Henry had given him a few days prior that he kept in times like this. He pulled it out and showed it to Randall, who stared at its contents.

"What is that?"

"This is a document that dictates proof of ownership for all properties attributed to the Ladore Family. Within its contents, it reveals that the fortune is fully owned by a third party."

He looked at him, and Hershel had to swallow his own bile out of nervousness.

"Third party?"

Hershel nodded. "All the land and money attributed to the Ladores, is actually in the name of Randall Ascot."

"I—I own Monte d'Or?"

Hershel nodded, clarifying the mans surprise and handed the document to Henry to return it. He accepted the parchment with a weak smile. With another adjustment of his top hat, swallowing the nerves down into the pit of his stomach, Hershel decided to explain one last piece of the truth.

"Henry created a replica of the Mask Of Chaos. But it was never intended to steal the gory that had ought to have been yours. The mask was the symbol of Monte d'Or—a beacon that would draw your attention, whenever you were." He offered a smile to his childhood friend, despite its form uncertain. "And it seemed, it worked."

Henry nodded. "I assumed that you would seek the mask when you returned. I know that creating a fake seems uncalled for, but I knew how much it meant to you. It was the only way that I would know for certain that you would find your way back to us."

"But," Henry continued, his eyes closing once more. "When The Masked Gentleman appeared, I did not know what to do. I was certain that the police would come asking questioned and would discover the mask in my possession was a fake. I could not allow them to find out the truth, fearing that any chance of you finding us would be lost." His eyes opened, a glimmer reached his lips as they curled. "But I did not know that Angela had a plan."

Randall's eyes, drossy and lost, glanced at his love who nodded in clarification.

"I knew what the police would do," Angela explained. "So, I hid the mask from view and claimed it to be stolen. And that was when I knew I had to call Hershel for help. I knew with him by our side, the three of us, we could find out the truth."

"And we did," Henry nodded, his smile never fading. "We found you, Master Randall. You came back to us."

Confusion, anger and hate. These were the only things Randall had felt in so many years. His mind was full of darkness, mud and rubble that collided and taunted him with thoughts that he was certain would be the only answer. A war zone that was never ending or wavering, calling over and over the words he thought he needed to hear.

Revenge.

Revenge, revenge and revenge.

Now, he stood with his friends and seeing them all grown up. Henry, who was once meek and introverted and loyal to the end, stood with so much confidence and strength that burned in his heart. Hershel, outgrown from his laidback nature and his uncertainty of the future, now had a life of adventure and endless possibilities. And Angela, the girl who he loved even now, had grown from a small glimmer of light to a scorching sun that gave life to the weak and famished.

He looked at them once with a lingering shadow, a bland perspective of black and white. The same opinions for each and everyone of them, even for the people who dared to speak to them or even associate with them.

Now, we saw them through a new light that twinkled like a halo. That darkness was hunted and pried away from his eyes. The wetness of his cheeks didn't dry, feeling the shadows leak from his iris and cleanse him of the lies he was fed. It tried to claw its way back into his mind, to convince him that the truth that was given to him was another tell-tale to throw him off his ultimate goal. But he just couldn't let it back in, not anymore. He allowed it to sizzle away, lifting the stone that pressed on his chest and allowing him to finally breathe.

A new thought crossed his mind, something he felt many years ago. Something he never thought he would feel again.

He was proud of them.

The realisation of what he had done, the destruction he had caused and the look in his eyes as he glanced at the ruin before him. He didn't want to be here, standing in the wasteland he had created. He didn't want to face his friends, who stood in the light while he lingered in the depths of his past filled with 'what ifs' and 'buts'. He didn't want them to look at him, his battered form and pale skin. His hair overgrown and his eyes clouded with dread and remaining abhorrence.

He wished to disappear, forever.

"What have I done?"

A gentle hand rested against his torn clothes, that same light greeted him through the void and the fire in his heart scorched his chest.

"You weren't yourself, Master Randall. But now that you're here, back home with us, everything is going to be ok."

"How can you say that? After what I've done-"

"You do not need to worry. I have already forgiven you."

He didn't want his forgiveness. He didn't deserve it.

His eyes glanced to nowhere in particular with the view of his childhood friends hiding in the edges. He couldn't bring himself to speak, overwhelmed by shock and blame. A fragile hand came to his face, pale and darkened with time. He didn't feel it, register it or acknowledge it. It wasn't his hand, but here it was stuck to his body and moving with every command he suited. His hand, his body and his mind had allowed this to happen. Allowed the destruction of a place meant for him, for his return. The dream that his friends had created was crushed because he believed the ideals of a mad man. He allowed himself to become this, to become a monster.

He wasn't here, he couldn't be. This wasn't him. Randall was gone, replaced with a stranger that he inhabited.

He looked up.

He saw his friends, their youth and their happiness. Hershel's hands resting in his jean pockets, Angela holding her hands gently in her own and Henry standing tall with his hair cut way too short.

The world didn't exist, a haze of white that blocked the sound from his ears. A limbo of endless pathways coated and bleached.

His friends faded, their light gone from his grasp and Randall couldn't feel his cords reacting, screaming. He couldn't hear himself, only the faint white noise from afar.

In the distance, a boy stood. His scarf tied around his neck and his glasses unclear. His hair was neat, combed back and flouting in the faint wind.

He stared at him.

his back turned, discarding.

Bleeding ink, spreading in the whiteness, appeared in his path. He walked towards it and was greeted by an angel with welcoming and trusting arms.

An angel with a metallic and maddening sneer.

The darkness consumed the boy, turning the brightness of the world into a cave of splattered and darkened oil.

The man was alone, his friends gone and the world having left him behind to fend for himself. The sliver of light, the tiniest crack in the walls, was no longer there.

Randall, left in the abyss, no longer knew what to do.

When the world left him and the sound of nothing greeted him, he closed his eyes and fell into the silence.

Crack.

His eyes opened.

On the dark floor he stood upon, the slightest crack appeared. It blew into the empty space with an itch of sunlight. He stared at it, marvelled at it and felt his hand reach for it.

Crack.

It spread like blood, splitting apart.

Crack.

It reached like a claw, breaking the surface of the dimness.

Crack.

Colour appeared like paint, staining the ground with a muddy russet and leaking like water.

Randall frowned.

It was earth.

Earth, rock, dust and rubble.

"Everyone get back! It's an aftershock!"

Randall's eyes, drossy and lost, widened.

It became clear all too suddenly, the smell of the earth and the noise was enough to turn everyone's attention to the rubble before them.

The ruins of Akbadain, it seemed, had caused the earth beneath them to become unstable and now was crumbling into a bottomless pit. The four of them stood and watched in horror as the cracks came closer to them.

the platform jolted down like a switch and sank deeper into the blueness. All around them, rubble began to break from the ceiling and the current raced against them.

Hershel swallowed.

"We have to move!

They didn't hesitate as their gazes turned to panic and they raced to the highest platform. Randall was frozen, staring at the approaching crack and falling rubble as his feet felt heavy as they moved backwards.

His arm was forcefully grabbed, causing him to yelp in surprise at the face of his childhood friend. Unlike him, Hershel held his face tightly as he shouted at him. Randall gawked at nothing, unable to make out the words as his eyes widened unnaturally.

"Randall, move! Now!"

He didn't hesitate as he ran, almost tripping over himself as Hershel followed suit. The earth was falling into the darkness, fading from sight.

Deep below, an angel raised their arms.

Crack.

Randall looked below him, seeing the cracks reach past his feet towards the others. Hershel had run past him, stepping onto an exposed and deep cut.

Randall reacted.

His hands raised just as the crack grew bigger beneath his feet and made contact with the brown coat of the Professor. The contact caused the man to gasp and turn sharply as he fell onto the strongest surface as the crack ended, unable to move any further.

Randall fell onto his knees, looking up to see Hershel in a safe distance from the platform.

The rocks broke apart.

Hershel turned, realisation burning his core.

Randall saw beyond the dust the eighteen-year-old Layton staring back at him. He shouted, words masked by the familiar white noise.

The man, feeling the solid surface of the world lighten, felt his tears burn.

"I'm sorry."

The rubble fell.

-xxx-

Night-time soon came over the small village. The civilians rushed to their homes and shops began to close until another awakening day. The two friends leaned against the balcony of the Ascot manor, watching the stars appear from the deep blue. The moon illuminated and brightened the quiet countryside of Stansbury.

"We should really be going to bed, Randall."

"I know, I just want to watch the stars. That's all."

Hershel chuckled quietly. "You can watch the stars every other night, you know."

"I know."

Hershel frowned, taking note of his friend's distant look.

"You ok?"

Randall turned to him, almost as if he was snapped from a daze. "What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Is it about tomorrow?"

Randall turned his gaze to the stars once more, saying nothing.

"Randall, if you don't want to do this-"

"It's not that."

Hershel leaned back, turning fully to his friend with a concerned glance. "Then what is it?"

"I've been thinking," Randall leaned back also, but his eyes never left the sky. "About Angela and me."

Hershel nodded. "Yeah?"

Subconsciously, Randall's finger tapped against the railings of the wooden balcony. He took in a deep inhale and turned to his friend finally.

"After we find the treasure tomorrow, I want to ask Angela to marry me."

The crickets whistled in the bushes, in the silence that remained.

"Oh."

Randall, bewildered by the response, shook his head. "What, that's it? Just 'oh'?"

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"Well- I don't know just—give me advice?"

"Randall, I can't be in the same room as a girl if it means me trying and failing to flirt. How am I supposed to give advice to someone who wants to get married?"

Randall groaned in response, leaning back on the balcony and sighing after a while of muttering to himself. "I'm just nervous. You know, about asking her. What if she says no?"

"Why would she say no?"

Randall shrugged with his eyes averted. "Because girls surprisingly know how to say things other than yes?"

Hershel scoffed, crossing his arms with a smirk. "This is Angela were talking about, right?"

Randall didn't answer, watching a shooting star pass by.

Hershel stood beside him, his own arms resting on the wood. He watched Randall's eyes as they followed the light that was left behind from the falling rock.

"You're really worked up over this, aren't you?"

The silence was enough of an answer.

"I mean," Randall struggled to say, finding the words as his mouth gaped. "I love her, Hershel. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. And I feel like this is the right time to pop the question. You know what I mean?"

"I'm surprised you're asking me about this."

"You're my best friend, Hersh. I'd literally ask you about everything."

His eyebrow raised, amused.

"Well, ok- not everything. I'm just saying that I'd ask you over anyone else. I trust you. I mean I'm trusting you with my life tomorrow."

"Don't say that."

Randall turned, witnessing his best friends mixed expression. The look made Randall's heart sink.

"I didn't mean it literally."

"We're going into a ruin that could be really dangerous. I'm not exactly in the mood to joke about that."

"I told you, we'll be fine. We'll be in there and out in a flash. I promise."

"I know how you are with promises Randall-"

"Well, this time I mean it. I promise that everything will be ok."

Hershel was unsure as he looked into the eyes of his friend. He tried to search for an indication that he was lying or possibly just saying it to stop him from worrying. But as he looked, he saw his friend's determination and confidence.

Admittedly, it made him calm and scared away the worry that ate away at him.

After a while, he smiled at his friend.

"Alright. I believe you."

Randall nodded and turned his attention to the lights blinking in the sky, noticing how some were larger than others.

"Ask her."

Randall hummed, almost missing the words.

"Ask her to marry you. I'm not an expert and I'm sure every girl under the sun would rather be with anyone else other than me. But, Angela loves you. I know that, Henry knows that and so do you. Just, don't think about it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And if she says no then there's always other times. It's not the end of the world."

Randall hummed, considering the words.

"Then again, if she says no the world could end-"

Hershel was cut off with a shove from his friend and Randall laughed.

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying! There's no harm in thinking about the possibilities."

"You are so dead."

In the fields of Stansbury, two best friends stood upon the Ascot manor and laughed together in the cool air. The stars twinkled and appeared from behind the clouds. The crickets whistled as always and the stream silently flew by past the lone tree situated on the hillside. The laugher died down and the comfortable stillness accompanied them.

"Hershel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being a friend."

The young man smiled, resting his shoulder against Randall's warmth.

"You're welcome."

-xxx-

He was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

His hand reached to the sky, to the light that could never reach him.

He closed his eyes.

He let his mind wander, far beyond the muscle and bone of his body and felt the presence of the world pull him away. An entity, it felt, took his hand and allowed him to leave the horrors of reality behind.

He could leave this place, leave the guilt and the pain he had caused. He could leave them, leave his friends who had suffered most of all because of him.

Maybe, if he wandered far enough, he could see his father again.

It pulled, holding tightly.

He waited.

The rush of the wind came suddenly, dust flickering of his body and falling further into the dimness. The noise of the world became clear, unmuffling like his head had risen from water to embrace reality and to breathe the air into his lunges once more.

His body sagged, feeling as if gravity was pulling at his legs that felt weightless in the air. His arm ached, pulled up from the heavy earth.

His eyes shot open, feeling the rush of air flow into him.

Someone had grabbed him.

Someone had stopped him from falling.

His eyes widened.

Hershel.

Much like before, exactly like before, his body was supported by the rock and his arm had grabbed Randall before he sank too far. His body was moving closer and closer over the edge, pulled by Randall's own weight.

He had to die to save Hershel.

It felt too real, too much like the nightmare of that day. The choice was the same, the situation was the same and either way one or both were going to plummet into the depths below and die a horrible death.

Much like before, Hershel wouldn't accept the situation. He pulled, as hard as he could with his muscles betraying him. The fragile surface he held to was crumbling and his face stank of sweat.

His head hung in the deadening stillness between them. His words were merely a whisper.

"Let go, Hershel."

He tightened his grip.

Randall snapped his head, teeth gritted.

"Let me go!"

"Professor!"

Hershel turned his head behind him, seeing Luke and the others safe on the strongest platform of rock. Luke, looking as if he was about to cry, tried to make his way over.

"Luke don't come any closer!"

"But-"

"Don't!"

Just as Luke took another step, the surface crumbled and cracked. It spread further, creating a large crack separating the two.

"Luke," Emmy shouted, pulling him back. "It's not safe! You'll be taken down with it!"

"We can't leave him!" Luke exclaimed, fighting against Emmys death grip.

"Randall! Hershel!" Angela screamed, hands hovering over her mouth.

Henry clenched his fists, taking his own step.

"Mr Ladore!" Emmy shouted. "What do you think you're doing? Get back here!"

"I can't leave them!"

Hershel shook his head, feeling his body weaken. "Henry don't!"

"Just hold on, Hershel. I'm coming!"

Before the Professor could protest, the weight from Randall suddenly overwhelmed him and his body sank deeper over the edge. He gasped in pain and clutched his eyes shut, teeth gritted and tasting of iron.

"Hershel," Randall whispered. "You need to let go."

"I can't."

"You have to!"

He shook his head.

All Randall could feel was anger and frustration at his friend's stubbornness. But in a way, he was grateful. Hershel would never be Hershel without his flaws. In a way, he never really changed.

"You'll die."

"I'm not letting you go."

Henry stepped closer, feeling the earth snap from under his feet.

"Henry, please don't!"

His words went ignored and Hershel was powerless to do anything.

"I deserve this."

Hershel turned, meeting the shallow eyes of his best friend.

"I betrayed so many people and I'll never be able to forgive myself. I don't deserve to live."

He felt Hershel's grip loosen, slipping.

He hung his head, closing his eyes.

"Let me go."

He could feel it, the gentle touch of the angel. It beckoned him, dared him and cloaked him with darkness.

'Let me die.'

Drip.

His eyes opened, confused. Was it raining?

He looked up.

He was met with tears.

The tears of his best friend.

"Please."

His eyes widened at the words, never before had he heard his friend so defeated and broken.

Not since…

"Don't make me do this again, I can't…"

He didn't know what to think, nor could he react. All he could do was stare in fear and astonishment at his friend who was literally willing to risk his life for him.

Henry and Angela had blamed him for his death for eighteen years. Hershel carried that burden on his shoulders for eighteen years.

And he still did.

"Thanks, for being a friend."

His image blurred, water seeping from the corner of his eyes.

The rock broke under Hershel's hand.

Another reached, gripping to the rock.

Pale skin met his.

And he grabbed it.

The Professor pulled, keeping his grip on his friend as the rubble began to crumble further.

"Professor," Luke screamed "Hurry!"

Suddenly, the rock crumbled completely under the weight of the two and Hershel was pulled further with nothing to support his weight.

"Hershel!"

A shadow flickered by, grabbing hold of Hershel's arm. The image of Henry suddenly appeared from over the edge and began to pull Hershel along with Randall over to safety.

The rock crumbled.

"It won't support our weight!" Hershel yelled.

"Just keep pulling!"

Before they could even register, another hand came into view from beside Hershel and it too grabbed his own and pulled.

The hand was small, feminine.

"Angela?"

"Come on," Angela yelled, pulling with all her strength. "Pull!"

The three of them pulled, bringing Randall over the edge in rapid succession just as the platform was beginning to give way. As they rose from the ground, Hershel grabbed Randall and pulled him along to the strong platform as the rock fell as they went by. Henry helped Angela as they ran to the others.

The final rock fell.

They jumped.

They landed with a thud onto the platform with their chests heaving and witnessing the final parts of the rubble fall into the pit below.

Randall turned, resting his hands on the rock as he tried to catch his breath. He glanced to Hershel who was currently being tackled by his apprentice, Luke. The young boy cried, unable to escape the fear of what had transpired.

"It's alright, Luke." Hershel sniffed, bringing his apprentice into a gentle hug. "I'm alright."

Randall sighed, shivering and aching all over as he glanced over the edge of the gaping hole in the earth.

A figure was falling, glowing in a heavenly light and incinerating into a cluster of white feathers.

The figure was dressed in white with its arms open as if to embrace its fate.

Randall couldn't help but stare at the image, seeing it fall from grace.

Metallic eyes met his own with a sinister grin.

It widened, as if the metal of the mask was moving like flesh.

They fell, fading into the black void.

Its smirk never dying.

-xxx-

They stood in silence, away from the fragile rock before them. Inspector Grosky, after his near-death experience from almost succumbing to the depths of the rocks below, ensured that everyone was safe and away from any immediate danger. After they were sure, the uproar of panic and terror muted as they stared at the destruction of the city with lasting solace.

The wind escalated, breezing against the four childhood friends. They welcomed the gentle hush, the peace that was long overdue.

"Why did you do all of this for me?"

Henry glanced at Randall with surprise, watching the dullness in his eyes follow the dust sinking into the hole. In a way, Henry described it as a peaceful action and in response he smiled with gentleness and spoke just as so.

"Master Randall, do you really not know?"

Randall gave no response as he glanced at the man he once called his enemy. Deep down, he still felt that nagging hate now constructed from lies and deceit. The lids of his eyes hung heavy, swarming in a murky haze of colliding thoughts and images of his past. All of which, judged him and snarled at him.

'This is what you did.'

'This is what you've done to them.'

'Are you happy? Are you proud?'

'You got what you wanted. The city has paid for its ignorance and the legacy Henry built has been reduced to ashes.'

'Rejoice, Masked Gentleman, for you have brought Randall to justice.'

He didn't feel any triumph, nor pride or joy.

Just…

Empty.

Henry must have seen it, as his hand took hold of his pale fingers. He kept his eyes trained on his friend, hiding the waterworks waiting to break through the dam.

"I was a simple orphan, alone in a world I could never comprehend and training in the hopes of serving a family with wealth. To my great surprise, events made it so such things occurred and I found myself until the care of your father, Master Randall."

Randall glanced at Henry's hand encasing his own, squeezing.

"I was afraid, of course, with this new life. I was taught to keep in my place and to respect your family with complete devotion. Your father was intimidating, I must admit," Henry smiled a little, unable to conceal the sorrowful truth behind it. "And I was just a fearful of you, Master Randall."

Darkened eyes turned to the Ladore, silent.

"Do you remember that day? You gave me something, to welcome me into your home."

Randall frowned, deep in thought.

"The robot I gave to you…"

Henry nodded, touched that Randall remembered. "That day, I was playing with that very toy in your absence and was sadly caught by the maid…"

-xxx-

"What on earth do you think you are doing, Henry?"

The young boy froze, a deer in the spotlight of the faithful maid of the Ascot manor, seemingly much older than she made out to be. She stood tall, almost devouring his being as she stormed towards him and snatched the toy robot out from his hands.

"This is not yours, you stupid boy! Have you forgotten your place?"

The boy quivered, shocked by the actions of the woman as his hands hung in the empty space, clinging.

"I-I didn't mean to."

"I dread to think what Master Ascot will make of this careless act! Is this how you were taught? Are you some sort of common thief?"

The maid shook the toy in his face, almost in a cruel effort to mock and scare him, needless to say the very action crumbled the words he tried to form but he had no courage to fight someone as well experienced as him.

Master Randall had said he was allowed to play with that toy, having given it to him the first day he came. But now, such a kind act would soon be the unfortunate result of Henrys demies.

"I just wanted to play with it…" he tried to argue, saying the words with a quivering frame.

"You have no right!"

"Excuse me."

The two turned, seeing the young Master Randall standing by the door in his casual wear. His small glasses were cracked, stitched up with a simple bandage in the middle.

Henry had remembered mentioning the sight to Randall, fearing his father would react to the untidy nature Randall was very accustomed to. Randall, as always, took no notice and went about his day like nothing happened. As Henry recalled it, Randall had expressed that the broken spectacles were 'evidence of a great journey through history.'

Henry never understood those words.

He walked towards them with his eyes trained on Henry, who coward before him. The maid held the toy close, humming a harsh cough and holding the toy out to the young master.

Henry suddenly thought, through his tears, that perhaps the events taking place was a prank on the poor boy. Maybe, the family were mocking him from behind closed doors and Randall had called on the maid to get him into trouble. Because such a place in a rich family was certainly a pleasure, one that could easily be abused.

Henry waited, expecting the inevitable.

"Oh," The maid gasped with surprise, pleased that the young master had made his grand entrance. "Sorry to disturb you, young Master Randall. I was just disciplining young Henry here. I assure you he will not-"

"Why did you take Henry's toy?"

His head snapped, stunned.

The maid, frowning at the words, composed herself and tried once more to hand the toy to its rightful owner. "Master Randall, I believe you are mistaken. This is yours."

Henry didn't expect the action just as much as the maid didn't. Randall stepped forward, frowning at the maid with utter disappointment, and snatched the toy robot from her hands causing her to stare in astonishment. As he did so with little effort, he turned to Henry and held the toy to him. Henry, dumbfounded, took the toy involuntarily.

"No, this is the toy that I gave to Henry."

"But, Master Randall-"

"Now then, if you will excuse us. I believe my father needs you in his study." He didn't wait for an answer, pushing the woman towards the door and closing it behind her with a satisfied huff. As he did so, the woman made an astonished yelp but said no more on the matter. Randall cared very little about the muttering that escalated on the other side afterwards.

Instead, he smirked with triumph. "That will teach her."

The woman was quickly forgotten when Randall turned to Henry, intending to ask him if he wished to accompany him today on his usual treasure hunt in the rocky hills of Stansbury.

He didn't expect Henry's reaction.

He was standing extremely still, shocked by the terrifying moment, crying.

"Master Randall, can you please forgive me for playing with your toy?" His arms stretched out, holding the toy to his master as he expected the worst.

Randall merely smiled.

"Henry, it's yours now."

The boy frowned. "But, it's your favourite."

Ignorant of his butler's confusion, Randall laughed at the words. "Well, now it's your favourite!"

"Master Randall I-"

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when the presence of a gentle warmth laid upon his shoulder. He gazed into the eyes of the young Ascot, seeing a light through the glass of his spectacles.

"I gave it to you, Henry! I wouldn't have done that if I didn't intend to pass its ownership to you."

The young butler didn't know what to say, his mouth gaping.

The brightness reflected in Randall's face as he walked towards the stairs leading to his bedroom loft. He took out a small spade and turned to his companion, filled with excitement.

"Let's find some more treasure, what do you say?"

The young boy, expecting no such kindness, supressed the tears as he beamed.

-xxx-

"That day, you taught me something invaluable. I was alone, unable to be myself. Until you, Master Randall, held my hand and showed me with such kindness that I would have never expected. I felt a part of your family, treated as an equal and even when such days became hard for the both of us we held each other high and damned the world! We had each other, and I would not have it any other way."

The young man, dressed in white rags, quivered through his tears.

"Our friendship means more to me than any amount of riches in this entire world. Your kindness was my most valuable treasure. Even now, as I waited for you, that never changed."

As they spoke, Luke turned his small head to face the Professor and thought about the friendship they shared. Henry was willing to go this far for Randall even when hope was surely lost. He convinced a broken Angela to join his side and reach for that faith and happiness that was taken from them by unfortunate circumstances. They're friendship was the very thing that made Monte d'Or exist and thrive.

The little boy took the hand of his friend, smiling.

Hershel, distant, squeezed back.

"I don't know what to say." Said the words of the former Masked Gentleman, head hanging in the cool breeze with sorrow.

"There is nothing more you need to say. We knew, one day, you would come back to us," Henry's face brightened, squeezing Randall's hands in comfort. "We just didn't think you'd take so long."

Even with his forgiveness and the comforting gestures of his old friends, Randall felt no better. Henry had done all of this for him, and he thanked him by attempting to destroy everything he held dear. He was willing to fight his friends and attempt-

Randall couldn't even think of the word, Violent in nature and in thought.

It was still his fault, he caused this and he didn't even know how he would make it better for them, to atone for what he did.

But Henry was still smiling, still forgiving just as much as Angela.

He didn't deserve his friends.

They didn't deserve him, not as he was now.

The dam split, water rushing down the rocks.

"I'm so sorry…"

They said no words, resting their hands against him to seal his unfilled heart with warmth and hope. Randall gazed through the blurry haze at his love and his loyal companion and leaned against them.

Hershel adjusted his hat, thankful.

"Mr Ladore."

They were interrupted by the booming voice of Inspector Grosky, who stood with purpose and regret. His clothes were torn, covered with dust.

They waited, watching the man reach into his pockets and fiddle with something.

Against the sun, the item shimmered.

"I'm afraid I must place Mr Ascot under arrest."

Randall respired.

Henry stepped forward, shaking his head at the inspector as his calmness wavered. "Please, Inspector, maybe we can talk about this-"

"Henry."

When Randall spoke, he didn't sound as defeated as he expected. This time, he voiced his words with resolve. He knew what was right, and this was right.

"Randall," Angela took his hand, unsure. "Are you sure?"

"I can't walk free after what I've done."

Henry denied the very idea, his arms flailing. "But you know the truth! You were used-"

"It doesn't matter. I still caused this."

Henry rested his hands in a vice grip on Randall's shoulders and look him dead in the eyes, his warmth scorching.

Randall didn't have the strength to retaliate.

"I promise you, Master Randall, I will do whatever I can to clear your name. You don't have to worry."

Randall merely nodded with little effort.

He raised his own arms, bringing Henrys down beside him.

He offered him a smile.

Sincerely.

"Thank you, Henry."

With his hands held tightly and his posture straight, Randall took a deep breath and walked to the inspector who stood with caution.

The former gentleman raised his hands, connecting his wrists and gasping at the harsh touch of the metal cuffs.

Hershel stood by his apprentice, watching.

Randall turned, gazing into blank eyes.

They had nothing to say.

-xxx-

Four weeks.

Four long and tedious weeks.

Four weeks had passed since the events that took place and things, it seemed, were moving agonisingly slow. It felt like months had gone by, never ending hours and minutes that ticked away and a stale atmosphere had grown between the childhood friends. Angela did her best to communicate, despite the introverted nature Hershel had around them.

Within those weeks, Henry spend thousands upon millions of pounds on hiring the best lawyer for Randall with the intent on keeping his word. No one knew, however, that Henry would go so far to do so. Plenty of times, Angela stepped in to put her foot in where it was needed. If she didn't intervene, everyone suspected that Henry would be worse for wear.

Nevertheless, it worked.

Randall was now a free man, but his actions didn't go unpunished. Until ten years from his release date, Randall was not to leave the grounds of Monte d'Or without being closely watched by law enforcement. Henry was against the ruling but it was either that or stuck in a psychiatric hospital intended for criminals and to serve time ten times that of his original plea.

The law was harsh on him, to say the least, but he was walking free and living the life he was taken from. Besides, after what he had caused, he wasn't surprised on how he was treated.

Within the commotion that came after, Hershel never set foot in the Ladore Manor and made no effort to contact Randall. Henry and Angela did their best, even Randall tried to call a few times, but Hershel wouldn't answer or avoided the suggestion completely.

No one wanted to say how cruel Hershel was being, but they understood why he did it.

Tonight, Henry tried once more in the early hours of the morning to make Hershel see Randall at least once. But when the conversation was brought up abruptly, the subject was bypassed by an awkward silence and the Professor announcing that he was leaving the city. From that information, Henry could only assume that Hershel had no intention on coming back.

Henry didn't want to say he was running away, but the idea was probable.

"When do you leave?" Henry asked, hearing the static from the other side of the telephone line.

"Tomorrow morning."

He restrained himself from shouting, keeping his nerves concealed and sighed instead.

"Then perhaps, before you leave, you will consider coming tonight?"

"Henry, I really should-"

"He's been asking about you, sir. What am I supposed to say to him?"

The line was silent, the faint sound of the static lessened the eerie aether.

"Just for tonight, just the two of you. It's the least you can do before you leave, if I may be so bold to suggest."

There was a heavy sigh, quivering and uncertain. It crackled through the aerial.

"Alright, Henry."

The line went dead.

-xxx-

On the night before Hershel was to leave, Emmy had agreed to take Luke out to take in much of the city before they left. Although many buildings had been destroyed, many of the tourist attractions still remained and were just as beautiful at night as they always were during the day. The circus was playing in the distance with the spotlights shinning to the sky and Hershel remembered Luke jumping for joy when his newly friendly critter was about to take centre stage in a circus act. He was told constantly that Luke was training the fluffy bunny rabbit in the hopes that it would be accepted among its animal friends. Before he left, Hershel made sure to wish him the best of luck.

Hershel smiled at the thought, listening to the cheers from the balcony of the Ladore Manor.

The stars were lit in the midnight blue, a beautiful sight to behold as Hershel always put it.

"We should really be going to bed, Randall."

"I know, I just want to watch the stars. That's all."

"You can watch the stars every other night, you know."

The Professor sighed, closing his eyes and feeling the gentle wind against his cheek.

Henry had informed him that Randall was currently with Angela in the main city, making up time that was lost between them. Hershel was glad for them, honestly. He knew that the two had lost so much over the years and with the city now gleaming with life after what felt like an eternity, tonight was better than any other night.

He couldn't say the same for himself, however.

Any moment now, he expected Randall to walk through the windows to the balcony.

Any moment now, the two would be talking.

Talking.

Talking.

'I could run,' he thought to himself. 'I could leave this place and never look back.'

"It wouldn't be right," He whispered to himself. "A gentleman never leaves anyone behind…"

He chuckled, betrayed by his own principles.

A foreign breeze passed him by, prickling his ears.

The motion took shape, standing by him and watching the fireworks light up the darkness.

He waited.

All the while, Hershel kept his gaze to the spotlights and restrained his neck from moving. His posture moved upright, tightening and straightening. The figure, however, leaned forward against the banisters. It was then that Hershel allowed himself a peak, despite his inner protest.

Matted hair was no longer present, combed back and neat just as it was eighteen years prior. The glasses returned and glimmered just as they always did and the iconic scarf was nowhere to be seen, replaced by clothes much suited to his age with his pale skin untouched.

It was almost eerie how much Randall looked like himself before the tragedy occurred. But the smallest of differences prevented him from seeing Randall in that familiar light. It was very much like how he himself had changed over the many years.

Hershel realised, maybe for the first time, just how old they were.

Randall was here, however, no longer rotting away in the depths of the ruins that claimed him.

He was alive.

Here.

But despite the revelation, the relief, Hershel had nothing to say.

It seemed, also, that neither did Randall.

So, for the longest time, the two of them watched the stars and relished in the moment. They were thankful for the peace, warping them up like a soothing and thick blanket.

They needed it, more than anything.

When a voice broke through the calmness, Hershel almost retaliated. If only the world was nothing but a constant white noise.

"Henry said you were leaving."

The Professor nodded.

Randall fiddled with his hands, staring at them with intent.

"I tried to call, but I guess you were busy."

A claw clutched his heart, forcing his pumps. The noise thumped in his head.

When he got no answer, Randall leaned back to gaze at the stars above him. His expression frowned, never meeting his eyes.

"I met Luke while I was out, he's a funny little guy." He forced a breath, visibly rising his chest and obliging his neck to turn, facing the Professor. "He thinks the world of you."

Hershel hummed, his gaze never meeting his friend.

"I apologised, and he seemed to take it to heart. He gave me money for popcorn. I tried to tell him I only like salted and he made a big fuss about it being unhealthy and-" it was then that his breathing turned harsh, steaming his eyes as he took in a huge lungful of air. "and for got sake just look at me."

Hershel did his best to keep his temper levelled, refusing to comply to Randall's plea. He couldn't face it, not now and not ever.

Eighteen years, and he was expected to smile and pretend that everything was fine. Oh, how he wanted to scream in his face and tell him how much he endured and suffered and lost and-

'Just leave. Just leave-right now! Get out!'

He gripped the banister, feeling the wood crackle beneath his fingers.

He bolted.

He didn't get far, grabbed by the arms and pulled back. He couldn't even turn his head or look at him. He closed his eyes and begged for it to stop.

He heard Randall yell his name in protest, reaching for him. His hand held his skin like a vice and refusing to let go.

It stung, even after four weeks of healing.

Even after eighteen years of suffering.

"Look at me."

It was funny, Hershel thought, when Randall was acting tough and collected while he couldn't even face him and look him in the eye and- he was alive.

It wasn't right, wasn't normal and too sudden.

"Look at me."

Randall had died, he fell into the darkness and slipped away from his grasp. He screamed his name and watched as his best friend plummeted.

Every night he saw that face, every waking hour and every sleepless night. Every day he went into school and people whispered behind his back and blamed him for his death. Every time Angela shouted and screamed at him and Henry stood with disappointment. He was forced to leave his home town- he became a Professor because he was guilty and now that Randall magically appeared out of nowhere he was meant to smile and move on forgetting everything he went through.

Randall died- he suffered for eighteen years and forced himself to move on- everyone looked at him with disgust and hate and blame and-

His body was forcefully turned and his eyes snapped open to the glass surface of the perpetrator.

They stared at each other.

"Say something."

There was only one thing he could say.

"It was my fault."

Randall stared, eyebrows lifting.

"You're dead."

His eyebrows turned, hardening his expression.

"Hershel, I'm right here."

Of course, he was, it was obvious. His eyes told the truth, he was right there-

His head shook, breaking.

"Hey, look- it's me. I'm right here." Randall took Hershel's hand when he noticed a glimmer in his eyes. He squeezed as hard as he could muster and grounded the both of them, keeping them in the present.

"You died…"

"No, I didn't. I'm alive, Hersh. I'm right here. It's ok."

It was like his lungs collapsed, heaving in his chest and starved of air. His cheeks ran cold with tears as his hand squeezed back, trying desperately to control himself.

"It was my fault-"

"No! Shut up- that's bullshit!"

Hands gripped each other, clawing at the fabric of their clothes.

"I killed you…"

A warmth engulfed him, wrapping around his quivering frame and forcing him back. The top hat that sat upon him slid, falling gently to the ground.

The world was quiet, chilling and patient.

"It wasn't your fault."

His hands hovered, curling around the frame of his childhood friend. They glided around his back, feeling its surface and physicality.

"I told you," Randall said, battling through his sorrow and relief. "I bloody told you."

Hershel leaned in, resting his head against Randall's shoulder and held tightly to his form.

He was here.

Alive, and breathing.

He allowed the darkness to rest his eyes as they closed, embracing the comfort he had lost so many years ago. His arms tightened, keeping it close to him and never letting go. Randall must have noticed as his hands clutched the dark coat of the Professor, sniffling his tears away. The lone top hat situated on the ground laid spotless as always.

Somehow, it remained by his side.

-xxx-

They weren't sure how long they sat there for, staring at nothing in particular. The top hat sat upright beside the Professor on the garden table and gleamed against the fireworks in the blue. Randall sat on the opposite side of the table, fiddling with his hands and occasionally cleaning his glasses from the collected steam.

"You cut your hair?"

Hershel turned briefly, sighing a little. "I did."

"I liked your hair." The man smiled, caught in a dream. "It was like one big bush."

"I outgrew it."

"Or, maybe too many people kept touching it?"

"Randall."

He couldn't help the gentle chuckle that escaped him. "What? I'd do it."

"You did do it."

Randall scoffed, pouting. "I did not!"

Hershel went to resort, to act as playful and sarcastic as he always did with his best friend.

Something stopped him.

"This isn't right."

Randall frowned. "What isn't?"

"This, us talking like—like nothing happened."

"Isn't it better that way?"

The Professor sighed, unable to hold his harsh nature. "No."

Randall would have said otherwise, knowing he'd rather avoid the whole thing but he knew that Hershel was right. They couldn't simply ignore it, even if it brought back horrible memories.

"Henry told me."

Hershel turned.

"I mean, he already told me. But he elaborated and so did Angela."

The Professor said no words, he had none to say.

"I'm sorry, Hersh."

He hummed.

The familiar response, Randall knew it well.

"I mean it."

"It doesn't matter if you mean it, Randall. It happened, that's all."

"But for eighteen years you kept it to yourself. I told you- it was the last thing I said to you."

The man frowned, already dismissing the conversation. "I won't discuss this."

"Then, when will you?"

Randall was met with stubborn silence, refusing to answer. With a frustrated huff, Randall stood up and rested against the banister once more. He hung his head, contemplating on what to say next.

"I'm sorry, Randall."

His head rose.

"For what?"

"For my attitude. I know I should not be acting this way."

"I get it, I know what it's like."

Hershel didn't liberate further.

Randall rubbed his hands together, sighing. "I've been getting help, stuck in a room with some random guy asking how my day was and all that. I mean, I'm not complaining. It helps…"

"No, Randall."

His body turned, facing the Professor. "Hershel."

"I'm fine. I don't need counselling."

"You're a bloody liar."

"The answer is no."

"Why? It's not like a monster will sneak out from under your bed and eat you if you explain how you feel."

Hershel stared.

"Ok well, that's not the best allegory to use. But you must know what I mean, right?"

"I can't, Randall."

Another sigh in frustration erupted, arms undeciding on their position.

"I'm scared."

His ears pricked up, listening.

"People have expectations of me. They expect me to help people and protect them and be the hand to hold. I can't be that person if—if I'm like this."

"You're pretty famous, so I've heard."

Hershel hummed, distant.

Randall walked over with a lag in his steps and pulled the chair over in front of his friend and sat down slowly. His hand reached out, taking hold of his friend's hand with care.

Hershel allowed him.

"You're the strongest person I know."

The Professor looked through a growing fog in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but they spread and blurred his vision.

"I never really got a chance to say how lucky I am to have you as a friend." Randall hung his head, looking at the hand in his own. "I should have said it sooner."

"I was lucky to have you, too."

He smiled, grateful.

"I'm not sure if I can do this, Randall."

Eyes met, pleading.

"I know."

"I can't pretend that everything is alright. I am grateful that Henry and Angela have helped you and looked after you. But, what they have done is something I cannot forget."

"They truly are sorry, Hershel."

"I am aware. But eighteen years can't be fixed in a matter of days."

"I know, but we can work at it. Hell, I'm working at fixing our friendship right now." A nervous chuckle left his lips

For a moment, a slimmer of a smile leaked through. Its context was sombre.

"I'm sorry, for running."

"Hershel, stop apologising. It's my fault- I shouldn't have pushed you. I should have known better, considering the circumstances."

"Still, it was inappropriate of me."

"It's alright, honestly."

A hand brushed against the fabric of the top hat, absentmindedly.

"About what I said, back at the square."

Hershel met his eyes.

"I didn't mean it, I was just angry."

"You were right."

"About?"

"I was guilty."

Randall sighed. "I didn't mean it in that way, I was just—trying to hit nerves."

"Everything I've ever done, I wanted to do in your memory."

"And I'm grateful."

"I truly wish I felt the same, old friend."

Randall's hand brushed against Hershel's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before standing up and pushing the chair back in its original spot. All the while, he allowed his lips to curl up brightly.

"We can work at it, together."

In the distance, a crowd cheered at the newly lit fireworks and circus acts. The Professor stood as Randall was distracted by their beauty and took hold of his beloved hat to place upon his head. He stroked the brim as he did so, delicately.

"If I seek help, will you consider—coming with me?"

Randall turned, nodding. "Of course, whatever you need."

"Then, perhaps, we can treat ourselves."

Randall raised an eyebrow, curious.

"How does ice-cream sound?"

The words make the young man chuckle. "We're not ten-years-old anymore, Hersh."

Hershel hummed, a smile on his face. "No, but we're not quite old enough yet."

Randall considered the words, looking up at the patterns of light.

"Besides, now you have no excuse to forget your money."

Laugher bubbled in his chest, light and without malice. It was a wonderful change, a happy memory.

"I can buy the whole damn parlour!"

The two stood at the balcony once more, gazing at the beautiful array of colours and tasting the strong smells of smoke and carnival food. A small bump pressed itself up against Hershel, a gentle and friendly shove with a light and cosy grin.

"I'll make up for everything," He whispered. "I promise. I'll do right by you from now on, old chum."

Hershel, content, returned the friendly gesture.

"We have a lot of catching up to do."

Things would be slow, for the two of them. they both knew that eighteen years was a long time to endure guilt and pain and Randall, most of all, knew that his actions went beyond the line of forgiveness. Considering everything, he was sure that he would never be given the chance to repent. But as he glanced at his friend, he felt that gentle curl on his face.

The young Hershel Layton stood by him, messy hair and smart clothes. He gazed at the sun, sweating from the sword fight he lost for the millionth time. But he could smile, knowing that his friend was beside him.

Randall would have been proud and, in time, he could find that joyful boy he once lost and bring him home.

it would take time, patience and a constant battle within themselves.

For now, however, they embraced the moment and leaned against each other, watching the stars glimmer and sing.

As Hershel Layton and Randall Ascot.

As old friends.

-xxx-

"Go back to where I held armour against my skin

Won't sink, I swim towards the storm

And once again I'll be reborn"

Daughter - Hope

---

END

I made a video alongside this. If you want to check it out, here's the link:

/dvg4X2pKp-M