** (c) to orignal owners for cover picture.

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the long wait and... This is REWRITTEN and a restart.

To old readers (people who've read previously uploaded chapters): I am so sorry for rewriting this whole thing, I know it sounds like a terrible idea as I've made 14 chapters already, but please, lend me another chance to make the story better. In case you are wondering why I'm apologizing, I've not only corrected some errors but changed the plot too. At least half of it or more, some may still remain the same, can't tell though so it would be a surprise to both old and new readers.

Special apologies and thanks to my dearest readers: Huggles, GuestOrion, and Cefaye who stuck with the story longer than most. To grimxichixshiroxmomoxorixx, lizyeh2000, and Vanilla-x-Ice who personally messaged me for this update, thank you so much as well!

Also, if I plan to rewrite the plot again, just slap me, doesn't matter who, just slap me.

Chapter I

[Quagmire]

Human emotions can't be calculated.

Somewhere, someone told her that.

From that moment, she believed, even blunted to feel little by that philosophy. There was no need to poke a thing filled with indefinites and ambiguity, it couldn't be measured in numerals, couldn't be simplified in equations, and most of all, it was as unpredictable as a coin flip. Perhaps, if eyes could peek into a person's inner world, it would have been simpler. Everything was much clear in the stories as it were all laid out in ink, in detail.

And with that, she flipped another page of her book and rubbed her chin with a thumb like a fascinated old man.

Akira was just a girl who didn't lift a noise – fairly modest but brutally precise. She was blessed with height and delicate beauty of a boy. The almighty being who exacted that must had his eyes closed, or he may just had a satirical humor when he came up with a face for her. No glimpse on her had been without wonders.

Her days were barely discernible from each other, differing only with what story she read and the weather outside. Most books she'd bury her nose into were histories, novels, and essay pieces. It mattered not if what she read wouldn't interest a soul, she'd skim through it all at the end of the day. She loved to cure her curiosities about the odds and ends around her. Without stepping out of her home, she thought she would understand the world through a piece of paper.

Learning was her adventure.

She turned to the last page. The wind gently blew inside the room and the busy fusses outside grew, portraying an everyday scene.

But...

That everyday scene came to an end.

Her father made a rare visit, delivering words with diminished warmth because he didn't like it himself. Time froze to a halt as her lips pursed into a firm line.

And now her quiet face began to crumble, the book in her hands was long forgotten on the ground as her eyes reflected an astonished shine then a miserable one. Pain in her chest was unique, fresh even, it was much different from a bloody wound.

Confusion and fright sat together with the ache, and though they were her feelings, she barely understood them. How did it turn out like this? Why does it hurt this much?

"What...? Can't someone else do it?"

"No. I have to leave the country, and put you under the care of the palace. I cannot keep you here anymore, you'd be safer there," Hatori the father said, maintaining his voice straight.

It was the last thing to be said to her and daring to touch her disturbed form was a distant wish. As though the slightest contact would shatter her into pieces, but then she vacated her spot on the floor. He stared down at his daughter, with staked hopes that she wasn't frightened too much.

His mouth barely remained even, trembling slightly. You are still unfit on your own, thought Hatori, thankfully, not out loud.

Yet she readied herself, presenting her spine straight, at least, her mind was set that she was.

Leaving his daughter in the palace was no different from entrusting her into a den of vicious lions. His emperor friend had a change of prospects, his ears and tongue now belonged to his pretty new wife.

But no crow would peck her there.

Akira nodded her head dutifully to him. "I understand." I don't want you to leave me.

"Turn around," he told her with a difficult smile to behold, "Let me braid your hair."

She did as told silently then she questioned, "When will you return?"

The father entwined his fingers on dark hair, manipulating the locks until it was transformed into a secured braid hanging freely on Akira's back. He took a pause since the answer was quite far from him. "… I don't know." Those brief words made her face him almost too quickly and he continued, both hands falling on her shoulders, "Remember... You are a boy. Wear your colors and no one would presume to hurt you. People will talk behind your back, let them. Do not forget."

"I won't." Akira's hands gripped the sides of her black pants, her father always saw to it that she was clad in dull colors, from hat to shoes, all.

"Good. Everything's all right..."

She didn't nod to that transparent lie. She had been too smart for her own good and yet he embraced her, long arms caging her securely into him. The heartbeat against her chest was faster and stronger than hers, giving warmth that was no more than a brief touch of comfort to unseen wounds. And it were like knives when he began to draw away.

Akira stared forward, chin raised.

"It's not," she said with ice crawling into her voice.

Hatori's shoulders refused to drop, her few words was an echo. However, circumstances were hopeless between him and his daughter. He was to leave the country sooner than predicted.

He flinched.

There was a cry from afar, but he didn't turn to it.

Instead, he shushed his daughter and covered her ears with his cold palms. Her eyes widened by a tiny fraction but she didn't question, her thoughts were on the future of having to spend her days without her father. There was no telling on when they'd see each other again and she had no proper mother to guide her in his absence.

Through the window, a harrowing scenery had just came about. Peasants dispersed all over the street.

Men, the crows, who wore the same colors as Akira chased the unarmed, taking as many lives as their blades could acquire.

The coming of the wind was sharp and blustering in aimless ways this time, and the once busy fusses demeaned into gurgling screams.