Richard had always liked the sea. The sea was mystery, endless in all directions, reaching for ever distant shores; reaching downwards, too, deep into itself; deep, deep down to an unknowable far away. The sea was adventure, calling out with each sigh of wave glancing shore, beckoning the bold-hearted to ever-afters and never-mores, washing dreams and promises and memories onto white, black, and golden sands. Most of all, the sea was freedom. The sea had three rules only—the rules of wind, and wave, and sky. Only the expanse of heaven above. Only the dark of water below.

Yes, Richard loved the sea. It moved through his blood, singing its slow and ancient rhythm to his very heart.

That was why, when he met that boy with eyes the deepest blue of the ocean, he knew he must be imagining things.

"I'm Asbel," the specter chirped, thrusting forth a small, squarish hand.

Richard stared at the lines criss-crossing the rough palm, studied the squat fingers, took in the careless character of the blatantly chipped and dirty nails. His eyes wandered up the still suspended arm to the newly frayed sleeve, then further up to the knobby shoulder, and finally to the slightly tanned, impish, babyround face framed by deep auburn wisps. And nestled in that face, wide, bright sapphires reflecting a carefree world; those eyes, those ocean depths.

He said nothing. The boy who called himself Asbel frowned.

"Crap, don't tell me I've still got mud on my face. I thought I'd gotten it all!"

The ocean-eyes vanished behind a flurry of sleeves. Suddenly aware that the thing in front of him was no illusion, Richard all but leapt backwards.

"Woah, hey!" The stranger held his palms up and open before him. A gesture of passivity. A display of harmlessness. Richard knew the motion well, and he knew it bitterly. "You okay there, uh…kid?"

Richard stared at him, wary, uncomprehending. The boy looked younger than him. He had a lot of nerve to address Richard as "kid". He did not seem particularly threatening. Even still, he could not help his nails digging sharp crescents into the palm of his clenched fists. Even still, he had one foot poised to run.

Never let your guard down, his father's voice echoed in his head. You never know who is coming after you, or how. The only thing you can be sure of is why.

It was frustrating, being the son of an ambassador. Richard felt always smothered. He could never get to know the places he travelled to with his father the way he wanted to know them. Always, he longed for their secrets. Always, they were denied him.

Today, though…today had been special. Today, after much careful planning, Richard had run away. It was an isolated place he'd selected for his day trip—he'd made sure of that while poring over old maps he'd found during his chaperoned outing to the library. An unnamed lake in an unmarked wood, roughly an hour's walk away from the town proper. No one was meant to be here. So why? Why did this loud, ruffian-looking boy have to show up and ruin it all? And worse, to call himself by that particular name…

"Who are you?" Richard growled, leaning back even further. He refused to be taken by surprise a second time.

"Huh? I already told you, I'm Asbel."

"You're not Asbel. I don't know where you heard that name, but it's not funny. Now tell me who you are, or…or I'll scream!"

"What the heck? Why would you do that?"

Richard sucked in a lungful of air. Screaming would be pointless, he knew. Normally it would bring his father, his nanny, his tutor, half the household staff and a small contingent of armed guards running to his location. There was no one around here to hear him, though. Yet the other boy did not seem to consider this fact at all. Beneath those auburn bangs, he was as pale as ash.

"W-wait a minute—"

The strange boy reached out, alarm and irritation flashing in his eyes. Eyes like the sea, thought Richard again, and his voice died in his throat. He stepped deftly to one side. A flash of fingertips brushed the air in front of him where his arm had been moments ago. He slapped the imposter's hand away.

"Stay away from me," he demanded, turning on his heel even before the first few syllables tumbled out of his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut to block out that depthless gaze, Richard ran. Even as the waves called out to him, he ran. He ran until the currents were a distant echo, and then a whisper, and then a memory.

He ran, and he ran, and he ran.

-end prologue-