Welcome! As I was finishing More Than Skin Deep I asked myself "What is next?" The answer quickly appeared in my mind. Some of the most positive responses were to some of the things I characterized Van with, and I wondered if his path should also be explored. It formed quickly that his point of view could be quite interesting. This is a prequel to More Than Skin Deep but could be a standalone as well. The nice thing about continuations happens to be that the world and a good bit of its mythology is already well structured. Van Fanel in MTSD is a good man and king but still has some darkness he will never truly be rid of. The tattoos and past are badges of honor he wears proudly.

How did he overcome what could in effect amounts to PTSD? Hitomi has her own anxiety and issues to overcome. No one escapes war unharmed. How did Van become the man he was meant to be?

Surface Tension

Chapter One- Internal Pressure

To this day, I still hide like a child playing games, but instead of entertaining fun, I hide from those around me in fear. One of the few things I am grateful for these days are my gloves. After all, they are just one small part of the game. If people knew what I hid beneath them, would they look at me the same? Would they trust me with their lives? Could anyone understand?

Hitomi might, but she is gone. I sent her home like I promised to, although it is the one oath I wish I had broken. Of all the terrible weights on my heart, at least it is not one of them.

I pray she is happy on her world. I hope she is safe and can forget the pain of loss and war, though I never will. No matter how many times I scrub them raw, my hands will never be clean. The chapped, red skin reminds me constantly of the lives these hands have taken.

The blood debt will never free me, and the girl from the Mystic Moon should be spared this pain. She should be free from my troubles, problems that haunt my waking hours just as much as my dreams. It's true the war ended, but honestly, those were the simpler times. Kill or be killed. Fight with your strength to survive, to farther your goals, and push through obstacles. Now I have no armor or blade; in the battle of politics, it seems I have come unarmed.

Sadly, the fall of the tyrannical Zaibach didn't solve my problems as I had thought it would. No, things only became more complicated. Revenge is a bitter medicine. It's true that rebuilding had already started by the time I laid Escaflowne to sleep and sent Hitomi to the world where she belonged. The promise of a new start, a bright future, quickly faded like the luster of metal left to weather the elements; rust and corrosion ate away everything, tarnished and damaged beyond repair.

Our first winter after the sudden destruction of our one central city was a harsh one. People who had returned from being scattered had little of their own to sustain the long, cold months. Lack of completed shelter, ample food, and even warm clothing took a devastating toll. What I had left as far as funds proved insufficient. It was quickly depleted through inexperience and youthful optimism, both of which left the coffers empty as a beggar's belly.

Spring came, but the promise of a new start had faded with the money to rebuild. Houses and shops lay unfinished with no supplies to complete the ever growing tasks. I've tried everything. Waiving the fees for harvesting trees from the royal forest left the land as bare as my pockets, and no closer to competition. The rock from our cliffs are too full of splintering slate to be useful for building. What good is a strong roof with no foundation?

Where would we get good stone? Freid, who suffers from similar rebuilding efforts, or Basram who always asks very steep prices for all goods. We can't ask the young duke for favors with no way to repay. While Basram has plenty to spare as their lands and infrastructure were undamaged, but along with currency, they demand sole rights to the dragon nesting grounds. Even as young as I am, I understand what we would be handing over, the means for them to rebuild their army stronger than us or any others. They could build more bombs and terrible weapons of war, leading only to a devastating repetition of history.

My denial to their demands has only caused more suffering for my people. Any imports we would have been receiving never make it this far. Roving bandits plague the unprotected countryside. I am no fool. They began the moment I refused the outlandish request and have only continued to grow into another serious problem to which I have no solution.

Life has many ways of testing a person's will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen all at once. The latter has always been my issue. Each new problem adds more weight onto my already overburdened shoulders, but no one can ever know. I can't tell a soul, not even Merle who has been there through everything. She saw more of my darkness than a child ever should. I can't let this weakness worry her.

No, the financial ruin that looms darkly over our small, sad country is my problem alone, just like the nightmares that wake me with a cold sweat and raw throat. She can never know that despite my continued training, the ceremonial sword constantly at my side hasn't been unsheathed once. For some reason, pulling the blade free from its scabbard makes my stomach roll sickeningly. I feel more weak and lost instead of the strength it should give me. I feel no pride for the crested blade.

It should say I am the leader of a strong, proud people. Instead, this is just another stone in my pocket pulling me beneath the waters of despair. All I feel is the constant reminder that Fanelia has no other choice for a ruler but me.

Poor, misguided Folken dug a hole so deep that it will bury us all. Every effort I try only crumbles more earth down on our heads, swallowing even the smallest glimmer of light. I should be angry at the mess left for me as the last Fanel to clean up, but I only feel more exhausted.

My sixteenth birthday passed recently with little fuss or fanfare. Honestly, even if we could have afforded more, I wouldn't have wanted anything extra. I spent the day with Merle and at least she was happy, which was the only gift I could have wanted. It's more than I deserve.

Once a few months back I did visit Hitomi briefly. It was a selfish act that drains us both, but I don't regret it. Seeing her was a gift even if the bright-eyed girl also seems changed by time. I didn't want her to see or feel my worries and exhaustion, so I appeared with my wings out as a distraction. I hope I looked older and wiser even if some days I only feel the inevitable march towards death.

Hitomi was surrounded by other chattering girls about our age, wearing the same strange clothing she always sported. Though she was part of an energetic group, the short-haired girl stood apart quietly. I hope it was maturity I saw in her expression and not sadness. Though I didn't have the ability to speak through our connection, I hoped that my eyes would ask the questions I was unable to verbalize. She seemed troubled, and I could feel that Hitomi missed me the same as I do her. Still, there was something else simmering just below the surface.

At my sudden appearance, she let out a small, surprised gasp, and my name never sounded as magical as it did in that moment.

"Van." With a smile which I somehow knew was for my benefit, she said. "I'm doing just fine."

I think of those short bittersweet moments now as the hours grow thin, and the light wanes from the ever-shrinking candle adorning my desk. The rest of the room lay shrouded in shadows cast by the lone light source. Still, it is a luxury I can't afford to waste.

I should try to sleep as nothing on my small, slightly unbalanced desk can't wait till the morning. None of my efforts seems to make a dent in the mounting odds against us, against me.

The flame hisses and sputters for a moment, and I cast my tired eyes at the two brightly glowing moons to check the time. Just about midnight. I should try to get more than a few hours rest before the morning breaks. Instead, I return to the correspondence in my hands. More debt. The council had borrowed money from Deadalus for years before my coming of age, and had promised a return on the investment after I became king. None of this had been disclosed to me before now. Even though there is nothing left, our accounts are being called in. Since we can't pay the outstanding deficit, they also want a piece of our holdings in return.

Unlike Basram who desires the access to our dragons and energists for war, Deadalus to the north wants something far more precious, more than half of our farming land and control of the village of Arzas. This loss would devastate us entirely. The undamaged farms in that area are the one thing we have left of any true value. It is the means not only for food in the cold, barren months, but if harvest is high enough, we could start exporting grain again. Any income could be the difference between success and failure.

If we lose those lands, not only do my people gain a new ruler with higher taxes, but we would have to buy supplies from the latest owners at exorbitant prices. This would lead us farther and deeper into debt. Eventually, we would be chipped away piece by piece until Fanelia was only a memory of past mistakes.

The candle sputters again, spitting hot wax onto the document. Though the candle burning is pale in color, the quickly cooling droplets appear deep red like blood. It must be my exhausted mind playing tricks on me. I rub my eyes to clear the mirage.

This time I feel cold liquid splatter on the back of my neck. Just what I need is another roof leak. How odd. The sky appeared cloudless a moment ago. Wiping away the moisture, my glove comes away dark and sickly. The metallic tang permeating the air is unmistakable, blood.

With dread, I turn only to find I am not alone, but it couldn't be. A tall, swarthy man from one of my many nightmares is watching me with cold, hard eyes. Blood drips slowly down his rugged, mustached face: the old Duke of Freid. His violent death will always be one of my greatest failures. My throat constricts painfully at the vivid memories of his gruesome, needless death.

Still in his battle armor and golden helm, I shouldn't be surprised at the arrows sticking out at every angle, but I am. I don't see ghosts or visions, even with the pendant. The best I can do is a minute gazing upon a silent image. Is this what Hitomi had to deal with? No wonder she refused to let us exploit her unknown powers.

Did Hitomi still help me knowing that there was a chance she could see something so gruesome? Is the pendant causing this? Why now of all times?

"Fanelia." His low, gravelly voice addresses me by the simplified title he had used in life. "You see me because you must change your path. This is the destiny I chose, and the wheel of fate turned. It was not my place to question, but there is still time for you to save yourself from darkness. The very fate of your people depends on the talent you alone carry."

"Duke Freid?" What should I say to a dark specter? What could I have that would change fate? He can't be referring to my cursed blood, right? Could he know how lost and weak his memory alone makes me? "I have no skills that others do not possess."

"I will show the past, and you will correct your answer before the night has faded." He seemed so sure and unmovable. I hope he is right, but what could he show me that I don't already know? I have failed him as I have failed my country. They needed me to be stronger than I turned out to be. As it happens, I am just an inexperienced child with a crown too large and heavy for him to wear.

I feel as if something in the pit of my stomach has been hooked by an invisible line, pulling me forward with a nauseous sensation. Are visions always so sickening? Did Hitiomi have to suffer through this or worse? Images flash past quickly as if I am traveling at a high speed through memories of a stranger's life.

I can pick out some things as they surge by. A wild, raven haired child standing by a crying woman. The smaller form comforts her and claims that he will be stronger for her. A slightly older boy prepared to go riding with his mentor only to hear negative things said about his missing brother. The now boy becomes a teen. I see him running through the high grass of a field at night, hunting a far more dangerous predator.

The images stop racing by with a sudden jerk that almost makes me stumble, although I know I have yet to physically move at all. That same boy is now facing an angry dragon without fear or hesitation. His sword dulls more with each desperate strike. He doesn't see the deadly tail poised to spear him through from above. A short-haired girl yells out a quick warning just in time. He dodges, feeling the nearness of death but doesn't pause. This may be his only chance at the soft, unarmored underbelly. The dragon dies with gushing blue blood, and he quickly relieves the beast of its precious heart-stone before it's spark can dim with the passing life.

I remember the adrenaline and exasperation that plagued that fateful fight. The night I met her, Hitomi. The dragon wanted her, not me. My sword wasn't good enough for the task, dodging fire only to get smashed by its whip-like tail. That was the first time I painfully coughed up blood, but not the last. Those damn friends of hers getting in the way. The relief once it was all done and over with and how I succeeded where many others had failed. The last test of my worth as the only living Fanel and soon to be king.

None of that seems to matter now. All I want is to drink in the sight of her young, tear filled face. Hitomi wasn't like anyone I'd ever met before. So full of compassion and selflessness, a life untainted by loss or fear. She saw plenty of both at my side, but it never stopped her from doing what she felt was right, even strange as it seemed to outsiders. No, she never let the opinions of others dictate her actions. If someone told her she couldn't do something, you'd damn bet that she'd prove them wrong and never out of spite.

The visions continue to show me a life from the outside looking in. I can see now how foolish and childish some of my actions were, but the intention was always straight forward. I fought for revenge, because I didn't know how else to grieve, to protect Hitomi and others.

My own safety never seemed important. I'd rather die in battle than be weak. Fear never had a chance. I had to keep fighting, or I wouldn't have anything left. The anger of vengeance was bitter on my tongue and burned hotly through my veins.

I see now the distress I caused both Hitomi and Merle. They were the ones who truly saw me better than I ever could. Confusion and conflict simmered below the rage, and I don't know how we all survived it. So much pain. So many dead. So much blood.

So many times it almost ended. The metallic taste of blood thick and choking in my mouth. I was beat down and injured so many times that survival seemed unlikely. Darkness always closing in mercilessly. Enemies around every corner, always trying to capture or kill. Searing pain both physical and deeper down to my very core like un-healing wounds. Just outside the shadows a bright light burned.

Hitomi. Even when she was hurting that strange girl still believed in me, believed that things could be better. She called to me through the rage and anger. Her love carried me on strong wings.

"You succeeded where others failed because you persevered." I'd forgotten the Duke was there, but now his grisly presence didn't disturb me the same way as when the man had first appeared. The wounds melt away like magic, and he stands whole and strong as in life, unyielding. "You constantly learned from each person you came in contact with. Your mentor, Vargus, drilled dedication and hard work into you from a young age. The importance of holding to strong values and honor when things seem darkest you learned from the knight Allen Sheazar. The strength of loyalty from the young Merle. That being royal is both a privilege and a responsibility from Princess Millearna. Even the merchant, Dryden, taught you to watch others for opportunity, that fighting might not be the only solution. The girl from the Mystic Moon showed you humility, trust, and how to find the beauty where others see only fault."

His words built a warmth in my chest. I hadn't experienced this emotion in a very long time, hope. I grew so much in such a short time, and I was never alone no matter how isolated I felt. I'm not alone now. I still have Merle by my side. Allen and Millearna are always strong allies even in these troubled times. Dryden has offered to send his caravans despite the bandit problem, but I was too proud to accept.

Even a world away, Hitomi and I remain connected. The pendant around my neck is physical proof of our bond. I will continue to fight. There has to be a way. A hope for a bright future. Fanelia and I both deserve it.

The Duke is gone and my candle sputters out weakly, casting the room into shadow. I may not know the reason for this vision, but one thing is true. I never before realized the similarities between myself and the man that invited death on the battlefield. He allowed our escape with his sacrifice. We all owe it to his memory to never give in even when the odds seem most against us, against me.

There is nothing now to be afraid of in this darkness. Without the meager candle light, mysterious sister moons only seem to burn brighter in the night sky. I know it wasn't a dream. It was a message I needed to hear.

Taking the parchment from the desk, I rise stiffly, as if I've been sitting stagnant for far too long. Striding to the balcony, I slide open the door and step out into the sweet spring breeze. By the moons' light, I see that a red splatter remains on the missive from Daedalus. Feeling stronger than I have in a long time, I tear it first in half, then again and again, until only tiny shreds are left in my hands. Relaxing tightly balled fists, the wind snatches the parchment greedily, and a weight lifts as I watch the paper dance away.

This is far from being done. Though the war is won, my battle is not yet over. I won't ever give in. I will find a way to continue to fight. It will take more than this to bring me down.

To Be Continued…

A/N

Well what do you think? I always love writing from Van's perspective. He's not really a vocal character a lot of the time, but he is very expressive. In this story he is caught between the boy warrior he used to be and the man he needs to become. If you've read More Than Skin Deep… well you've seen who he is in the future. This is the story of how he fights the darkness to get to that place where he can be Hitomi's strength. Sadly her involvement at this time is limited, but I think we can all agree if Hitomi came back now it'd be an absolute wreck. It's been one year since the end of the series and five years before the other story begins.

For those who haven't read that story you won't be lacking any main story structure. Just some tie in points. People and things mentioned in that story might have more show time in this story. It all depends on how things go in Van's timeline.

One last thing. I will put out a challenge. I need one more extra for the epilogue. I already have Minicilo, Meghanna Starsong, and Nofreakingway. If anyone can guess the order of Van's ghostly visitors they get the job. It will just be a quick cameo mixed in with a huge event, but it might still be fun. I like putting a little extra personality into my stories. And who has more personality than Escaflowne Fans? No one, and that's the truth!

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