Notes: This happened as a result of Malazan. It started in Midnight Tides, and then in Reaper's Gale: REDMASK happened. I pictured Clant, and from there, Suikoden re-emerged as THE BIG THING. It's always been on the back of my mind, but now it's not. Clant is one of my favorite characters in the series and a powerful muse, despite being a very minor character.

I've thought of the Camus/Clant pairing for years, but have done nothing with it until now. I'm aware of the canon in Suikoden about Matilda, but it had no effect on my own headcanon that I had honestly had for years(before the wikis/pedias). Some of it, however, is recent, but since this is fanfic, I guess it doesn't matter, especially since a lot of the info is contradictory or scant(in the case of Clant). One of the advantages of Clant being a "paper thin" character is that it gives me a lot of leeway, imo.

Ended up with original characters, but I guess that couldn't be helped. Like with the vast majority of longer fic, I make no promises, but I hope to finish this one. Anyway, enjoy. Hell, I enjoy Clant. :)

The village said nothing but a single phrase.

"He's still alive!"

He's still alive. Camus heard only that phrase. He saw only the unconscious man who lay at his and Miklotov's booted feet. The sun did not exist to him, the wind cooled him down, the clouds knew better than to give any of them shade.

Clant. Camus remembered. White Knight Captain who had deserted a scant few months ago when the Dunan War ended. The White Knight Captain who went from bandit leader to someone wearing an x-shaped wound on his chest. His breath came out in quick, staggered gasps, but his eyes remained closed and only his blood moved as it leaked out over his flame decorated cheongshan. Feelings old and new flooded through Camus, memories filled his mind like pictures filling eyes. He would not allow himself to forget.

"What do we do?" Miklotov asked, his piercing dark eyes intent on Camus. He looked uncertain, confused. He took a step back.

Camus held his sword over the center of the X. One thrust. All it would take is one push and the blade would pass through Clant's sternum and into his heart. He understood why people in the small village of Milit would want Clant dead, but no one said anything, not even those who directly helped. Not even Maki, Camus' childhood friend, who suffered a leg injury because of Clant. The entire village held its breath.

"No," Camus finally said, thrusting his sword on the ground. "I can't and I won't." He looked directly at Miklotov. "He is our responsibility."

Miklotov lowered his chin, but Camus knew that his dear "Misha" was privately smiling and he reflected that smile. The villagers said nothing, stared blankly at each other, and decided that simple defeat was more than enough. Camus knelt down beside Clant, putting his ear over the still beating heart, ignoring the blood seeping into his light brown hair, and activated a healing rune.

"You could have used that sooner!" Maki finally said.

But, Camus only smiled. She was right. He could have used it during the first phase of the raid instead of sitting in bed for days relying on herbs and the help of his friends, but the healing magic would have put him in a healing sleep for far too long and he no interest in going into such a sleep. Clant, on the other hand, would be getting such a sleep and Camus decided that it would stay that way until he and Miklotov were well out of the village.

We have a lot to discuss, you and I. And Miklotov.

Camus was fourteen when he first arrived in Matilda from distant Camaro. He became a squire in less than one month and better yet, got the attention of Red Knight Captain, Uriah, LEGENDARY knight. The others could do nothing but look in awe and wonder if Camus would make the White Knights, the highest of the elite. Camus couldn't help but like that, but he always made it a point to never lord it over others.

It wasn't long after that when he first heard a voice coming from the highest tower in Rockaxe—a high baritone voice that greeted the dawn after very early training. Uriah was with him, looking up before shaking his blond head.

"The Flame Siren," he said.

Camus followed his gaze, but couldn't see anything but the shadow of a man. "Who is that? A bard?"

Uriah smiled. "Honestly, he should have been, but nope, he's a newly avowed White Knight."

"Don't people get annoyed with the singing?" Camus wondered, remembering how Uriah had to drag him out of bed for squirely duties. "I mean, aren't people trying to sleep?"

"No one says anything," Uriah answered. "People have learned to call him the "Flame Siren" and they leave him be."

"I thought a siren was meant to attract people and then those people end up dead." Camus frowned. "It's a sea creature, right?"

"Not this one," Uriah replied. "Ever since he claimed that spot, people learned well enough to stay away. Hell, I don't even go up there and I'm a damned Captain."

"Oh," Camus looked back the tower, but it was shrinking in the distance, along with the voice that climbed the wind and walls. "Newly avowed? Is he my age?"

"Ha!" Uriah barked. "No. I really wish you could have seen how and why he became a White Knight. If my numbers are right, he's twenty-one, which is actually the average age for any kind of Knight, but he took his time and when he finally spurred," Uriah shook his head, "man did he fly through the ranks once he did. He's currently second lieutenant, but it's predicted that he'll be beating the shit out of one of the first lieutenants the moment next year happens. Beyond that? Well, I wish him good luck against that mountain Boris."

Camus shrugged, helplessly smiling at the idea that one day, he too may be challenging someone for a promotion. He learned early on that the officers with the most respect were the ones who dueled for their promotions rather than going through more conventional channels. "I like how things are done here," He suddenly blurted.

Uriah halted, a smile creeping up on his handsome face. "So do a lot of people. Keeps you on your toes and keeps others entertained. Honestly, I think you'll make it far." He continued walking through the streets that would soon waken with Rockaxe activity.

"A White Knight?" Camus ventured.

"That remains to be seen," Uriah replied. "To be honest, it's not likely and to be even more honest, I'm hoping you stay among the Reds. I like you, and so does my First of the First."

When Camus heard that, he glowed red. A Legendary Knight likes him, a teen squire, but he did his best to remain impassive and keep other feelings to himself. He knew that he was too young to get any ideas and the disparate ranks didn't help any. He didn't doubt for a second that Uriah thought the same. He could hear it now: grow some pubes first, boy. If I want a man, I'll get with an actual man.

It wouldn't have surprised Camus if he was already taken anyway, but he didn't dare ask. Instead, "Do you think I'll meet that 'flame siren'?"

Uriah answered with a shrug. "I don't see why not, but White Knights move differently from every one else, so it'll take awhile, I'm sure."

Camus said nothing to that, only quietly sighed. If I meet him, I meet him. If I don't, I don't. Whatever. Still… When he looked over to Uriah, who was now focused on getting into Rockaxe castle, he realized that things were fine the way they were anyway. It wasn't too long before Camus discovered that the "Flame Siren" did indeed do what Uriah predicted.

Two years later, Camus sat in what had to be the most crowded coffee house in the world. About twenty feet away, someone was standing on a stage reading poetry that led to nothing but boos and laughter. A few feet away, however, Uriah and his 'First of the First' Baudin sat across from each other, making it very easy for Camus to hear the both of them, at least as much as he could in a loud, full house.

"By the gods, that has got to be the worst poetry ever." Baudin shook his head, and sipped from his coffee that he had called "Shadow Coffee." Camus didn't understand what that meant, but he kept his eyes on his own coffee, a basic light roast from Muse. Baudin continued, "Want a cure for insomnia? Listen to this crap." He ran his hand through dark hair before pointing at the guy on stage.

"The real cure for insomnia is not drinking all that," Uriah lifted his chin towards the "Shadow Coffee."

Baudin laughed loud enough for people to turn their heads. To Camus, he looked a bit insane. "So says the man drinking a bucket full of that!" He pointed at the extra large cup Uriah held in his hands. Uriah lightly shrugged while taking a sip.

"I don't drink the way you do," he replied.

The two men continued their banter while Camus looked around the coffee house. Every part of the wall had some kind of artwork on it, every corner had a statue or plant of some sort. No space was safe from artisan work and Camus couldn't help but smile at that. Compared to Matilda, Camaro was desolate, and he knew that his life would have been desolate if he had chosen to stay there.

"Excuse me," someone with a heavy accent spoke from above him. "May I sit here?"

Camus looked up at the source of the voice and saw a boy around his age. He had dark eyes and hair similar to Baudin only this boy's hair was shorter and cleaner cut. His clothing screamed "I am a squire like you." He had never seen this boy before, so that meant that he stayed in a different barracks. Or maybe Camus wasn't paying much attention. Whatever the case, Camus nodded, "Sure".

"Thank you," he sat down. Both Baudin and Uriah suddenly looked at them, causing the boy to blush. "Am I doing something wrong? Am I wrong to sit here?"

"No, not at all," Camus replied before suddenly leaning forward. "Do they know you?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe through a man named Boris. He has been a friend of mine since I was a child."

Camus blinked. "White Knight Captain?"

"Yes. People don't believe it, but he is a family friend and has been for many years." He suddenly shook his head. "Forgive me! Where are my manners?" He held his hand out. "I am Miklotov, and you?"

"Oh shit!" Camus heard Baudin exclaim before hearing Uriah shush him.

"I'm Camus." He took Miklotov's hand and he noted how strong that hand was while they shook.

"You're doomed…" Baudin sounded like a ghost. Uriah simply rolled his eyes.

"May I ask why you'd say that, sir?" Camus asked. Miklotov only looked confused.

Uriah was the one who answered. "I guess I've been taking you with me way too often. Either that or I need to beat the obliviousness out of you. I'll put it simply, that squire won't be staying one for long. He's like you."

"I wager stronger," Baudin added and then shrugged. "Hey, kid, I have to be honest."

Miklotov merely shook his head. "I am not that strong." His small smile, however, told Camus another story.

"False humility doesn't become you, squire!" Uriah replied, causing Miklotov to gasp with widened eyes.

"No." Miklotov shook his head. "You are right, sir. Please…I am a terrible liar." He smiled. "Forgive me."

Before Camus could say anything, he heard a waitress exclaim from behind him, at the counter. "You just haven't found the right person!"

"Even if I did, what makes you think it'd be you?"

Camus frowned at that voice. Like Miklotov's, it was strongly accented, but it sounded much different. Like the 'you' sounded like a 'ye' or a 'ya'. He also spoke faster. Uriah looked over his shoulder before looking away and staring into his cup. Baudin sighed as he found the ceiling attractive.

"I've got nice tits!" The woman answered.

"Not good enough. Half of Matilda has nice tits and some of them aren't married. You shouldn't be flirting; you're a married woman."

This response drew loud sighs from both of Camus' superiors. Miklotov tilted his head. "He's right. You shouldn't," he whispered. Camus wanted to say that he didn't agree, but the words weren't coming out as he preferred to listen.

"Aw, you're no fun!" The waitress answered.

"I'll have plenty of fun at the tower with a nice, strong coffee."

"I'll get it right to you!"

Other coffee house voices drowned them out and Camus looked over at his superiors.

"That was the 'Flame Siren", Uriah said.

"Who?" Miklotov asked.

"The man who sings at the Castle Tower," Baudin replied.

Miklotov frowned. "I've never heard of him."

"You will," Camus said. "He's up there fairly often."

Baudin put his hands on his forehead, his eyes widening like he was about to go into a trance. "I predict that Camus and Miklotov will be fighting each other some day."

"Uhm," Miklotov looked down. "If he's right, then I hope it's a good one and that we can be friends."

Camus simply shrugged. "I don't see why not. I think it's good to have a friendly rival."

That night, Camus and Miklotov walked through Rockaxe. Hardly anybody walked the streets that were lit with red lamps on every corner. Camus had learned that Miklotov was born and raised in Matilda as a sick child who eventually grew into someone that officers noticed and if they noticed, then so did everyone else, except, well, those like Camus. He realized that he needed to be more observant because no matter his rank, he wasn't interested in being blindsided. He honestly found himself wondering if the "Flame Siren" noticed Miklotov and then quickly wondered why he should care.

A sudden baritone from far above answered the question. Camus stopped.

"What is it?" Miklotov asked, looking up at the tower. "It's him? That 'Flame Siren'?"

"Boris never told you? I mean, that singer is supposed to be a first lieutenant to him."

"We don't see each other often right now and when we do, I never think to ask about his first lieutenants. I am busy with my training. So are you, yes?"

Camus nodded. "True."

"Why does it matter? We are squires and he is, well," Miklotov pursed his lips, "A 'flame siren'. What a strange thing to be called." He resumed walking. "He has a nice voice though. I like it."

"Yea, me too."

"Are you, well…forgive me for asking, interested in him? As a friend? Eh, something else?"

"To be honest, I don't know. I do have someone in mind."

"May I ask who?"

Camus grinned. "Uriah."

Miklotov gasped. "Wow! You aim high. I would not dare even think about it."

"Well," Camus shrugged, "I always admired him. He was one of the reasons why I left Camaro. I wanted to be him and not a mere squire back home serving someone I don't even look down at, much less look up to."

"I see," Miklotov nodded. "I too would leave if Matilda was like Camaro."

"It's fine if you're firstborn." Or if you had a really good family.

"But still…I don't know why they do things that way. Your birth order shouldn't matter."

"No, but I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't have a chance with Uriah, and I wouldn't be hearing about that 'Flame Siren' no one wants to name."

"Don't you think Uriah is too old for you? It could be dangerous for the both of you. I doubt he would be interested in mere boys like us. Unless…" Miklotov trailed off.

"He's no creep if that's what you're wondering," Camus answered, noting that they were now beyond the 'siren's' voice. He suppressed the desire to ask Miklotov about climbing that tower. "I know better than to try anything now, believe me. When I'm finally old enough then," Camus helplessly smiled. "I think I'll have a good chance."

Miklotov gasped. "I wish I had your confidence."

"I thought you did."

"Not like this! My gods, to even think of having a crush on someone like Uriah. I couldn't."

"Maybe you haven't found the right person," Camus said with a smile. He had hoped that Miklotov would retort the way the "Flame Siren" did, but that was not to be. Instead, Miklotov shook his head.

"I don't even think about that." He even frowned. "Why would you? Why would any squire do so? Honestly, you should concentrate on being a Knight."

"You're right…you're right," Camus couldn't help but quietly chuckle. Of course Miklotov was right, but Camus felt what he felt, and he figured that he could always have both.

The next two years consisted of training, of sparring, of dueling for ranks, of occasionally going on patrols at the Matilda borders with Uriah, of hearing the elusive "Flame Siren" while walking to and from his barracks, of coffee shops, taverns and everything else Matilda had to offer. Miklotov, who Camus was eventually allowed to call "Misha", proved to be his favorite sparring partner. Only Miklotov kept him on his toes, only Miklotov fed him both victory and defeat. Camus wondered what would happen during the tests. He had hoped to be a White Knight, but the more he fought with anyone at all, the more he realized that Red might very well be the best he could hope for.

Then, he'd see Uriah and decided that Red would indeed the best option. He knew it was biased, but he didn't care; he was considered an adult now and he could pursue his own Captain. He didn't doubt that it would be controversial, but the faster he rose among the ranks, the less likely anyone would say anything.

I will be your First of the First. Camus smiled as he walked down the streets of Rockaxe to gather items for a routine patrol at the Grasslands to the North. Everywhere else, that title was also known as "Number One" or "First Mate", but he decided that Matilda was the best of everything; at least for him. I have grown my pubes, Captain. Soon, I will be a Knight. Wow…the youngest next to Miklotov. I'll be an actual man.

Then the voice reached his ears and he would have stopped had it not been for the fact that the streets were crowded. So, he moved over to the building that led to the tower. He didn't see any guards around and yet he hesitated at the door. He remembered Uriah's words:

"Ever since he claimed that spot, people learned well enough to stay away. Hell, I don't even go up there and I'm a damned Captain."

For the first time in four years, Camus wonder WHY people did that. Sure, that "Flame Siren" was a White Knight "First of the First", but he was still outranked by both Boris and Gorudo, the Knight Commander. Surely one of them would say something. He did hear talk of only Gorudo being the only one to "snuff out the Flame Siren", but he never saw it happen. He shrugged. Doesn't prove anything, but still…

"What are you doing there, squire?" Uriah appeared behind him. "You're supposed to be preparing for our march."

"Oh," Camus rested his forehead against the hard, cool, wooden door. "I well, to be honest, felt drawn here."

Uriah rolled his green eyes. "Here we go again. This is a siren you shouldn't be drawn to. No one goes up unless Gorudo commands it, Captain Boris is with you, or 'he' invites you. Basically, you have to be someone close to him."

"Sir, may I ask why?" Camus frowned, looking up at the walls. "I know his rank, but he was like this for years it seems. How does someone like him have that kind of power?"

"Put it this way," Uriah replied, "play with fire and you get burned. Some people have learned it the hard way."

"Maybe he's favored by the right people," Camus asked, feeling very flushed all of the sudden.

But, Uriah simply nodded. "Sounds about right." He waved Camus forward. "Come on, we've got work to do. The borders won't patrol themselves."

No they certainly wouldn't, Camus thought as he followed Uriah. Things were coming together for him. He inwardly snickered at the 'coming' part. All he had to do was simply become a Knight, bide his time, and communicate his feelings. Then, he would have a better chance to be with the man he had long admired. "Maybe the Flame Siren can sing for us sometime." At our blood oath. Hah…wow…me…but, I would love that. At least to try for it. The worst that can happen is he says no.

Uriah shook his head. "Highly unlikely."

"Does he have a name?" Camus finally asked after four years of being in Matilda. He couldn't believe that it never occurred to him to ASK.

"Sure does. His name is Clant."

Camus blinked. "Clant?" His parents must have hated him. Camus knew better than to voice that.

"Yes. In one language it means "klutz."

"WHAT!?"

Uriah chuckled, "Yea. If only his parents could see him now."

"So, he's not…that?"

Uriah shook his head. "Oh no. You'll see. Someday, you'll have to. Anyway, 'Clant' is actually the name of a market in the Zexen Grasslands. That's likely what he was named after." Uriah shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter now. They were probably too drunk to name him properly."

Camus found himself looking around at the stone walls that defined Rockaxe. He suddenly felt wrong. "Uhm…Sir, I think that's a bit much."

"Ah," Uriah nodded. "You're right. If you ever meet him, be very careful about that subject."

"Are they at least proud of him?" Camus suddenly asked, knowing full well that most of his own family wouldn't be, just resentful. Only his own father and grandmother would have been genuinely proud; he knew that much.

"The dead can't be proud of anything. Drinking in excess shortens lives."

"Oh…I see."

"Are you interested in him, by any chance?" Uriah suddenly asked as they found themselves closer to a supply shop Camus was supposed to be at a whole lot sooner.

Camus shrugged. "No. I mean, not in that way." Not like you. Camus desperately wanted to say that, but couldn't bring himself to. Not yet. "I just find him fascinating and really, I have someone else in mind." He found himself smiling.

"Miklotov?"

"No." You. "I'll tell you later."

Except later never came. Camus sat on the edge of his bed trying to go through the blur that plagued his mind. Bandits, yes Grassland bandits, but all Camus remembered was that they wore various shades of red, brandishing various kinds of weapons, including bows. The Red Knights killing most of them. Uriah reminding people why he was considered a "Legendary Knight". The spells he cast, the swordsmanship. Gods. I was lucky to be anywhere near him, much less his squire. He chose me. A tear fell down Camus's cheek as one memory refused to be a blur: Uriah on his horse, looking down in horror at an arrow sticking out from right under his heart. He would have fallen from his horse had it not been for him and Baudin.

Healers had been certain that Uriah would survive and every one in Matilda shared that same certainty. How could they not? No way a Legendary Red Knight Captain dies from a stray arrow. Someone like that retired a hero and lived out their days with someone they loved.

"Someone like me…" Camus found himself whispering, unable to suppress a sob. He thought of Baudin, who looked absolutely broken. There would be duels, no doubt. In any other country, the chain would simply move up and Baudin would become Captain and promotions would be made from there, but neither First Lieutenant wanted it that way. They had time to fight, so they would, and the same was clear for the second lieutenants waiting in the wings for that one spot. Beyond that? Camus didn't know or care.

Camus sighed, wondering why it all mattered now. Uriah died. Died and now he is ash at the age of thirty-four. More tears fell from his face as found himself standing up and almost running out of his small room.

He ran through the streets of Rockaxe, toward that damned tower. He could have sworn he heard singing there and he wanted the Flame Siren to SHUT THE FUCK UP! Just shut up! Can't you see that Uriah is dead, siren? Clant!? SHUT UP! I don't care if I'm only a squire! Just shut up!

Camus stood at the door, ready to knock, to demand entrance, to see the "Flame Siren" once and for all, but he found himself gasping for air, unable to do anything more than stare at that hardwood door.

"What are you doing here? This is White Knight territory."

Camus froze. That voice. By the Runes…it's. He slowly turned around and saw a ghost. Or rather it looked like one. White hooded cloak, white coat, black trousers, white boots, white mask. Mask? Camus blinked; he didn't remember anyone wearing a mask among the knights. He wondered why any knight would. He couldn't even see his eyes as the holes were covered in white mesh. He could, however, see the gloveless hands over folded arms and they were beautiful hands. Camus quickly looked into those mesh covered eyes.

"I…I…" Camus finally stammered. Damn it! Say something!

"You're that squire, aren't you? Uriah's."

He managed a nod, using whatever will he left to keep his crying to himself. No way in hell would he show any tears to "the Flame Siren".

"Oh…" The Flame Siren looked down. "How unfortunate." He looked back at Camus. "You desired him for yourself, didn't you?"

Camus gasped. "How…" He quickly wondered if Miklotov might have said something as he was the only one who could possibly know, but he wasn't able to finish that thought or say anything as the Flame Siren continued.

"So did I." Before Camus could even react, the Flame Siren held up his hands. "Don't worry. Not in that way. Rather, I was always hoping we would be friends. Him and Baudin." He shook his hooded head. "But, they always seemed to keep their distance. I suppose I can't blame them."

"He must have told Boris…" Camus muttered.

The Flame Siren tilted his head. "Eh?" He then nodded. "Ah, of course. Rest assured, that boy meant no harm."

"Oh, I know, I know." Camus smiled. Oh Misha…

"It also never went past me and it never will. You have my word."

"Thanks, but it doesn't matter if the world knows. I don't think it ever mattered."

"You'll be a knight soon."

Camus frowned. "That wasn't a question."

"I know it wasn't."

"Yes," Camus replied as certainty wrote its name across his soul. Runes, I love that voice. "Oh yes, I will be a Knight. I'll be dueling Miklotov."

The Flame Siren nodded. "Ah, fitting, don't you think?" Camus could have sworn that he was smiling under that mask.

"Very. He's my best sparring partner."

"Good! That's good! It's important to have rivals like him. Keeps you strong; it's good to be strong."

Sudden tears stung Camus' eyes. He managed to swallow them, but barely. "Uriah…he was strong."

A sigh blew past the mask. "Indeed he was…I offer my condolences. I wish…" He sighed again. "If only…"

"Excuse me," Camus replied, feeling his chest tighten. "I need to head back. I'm sorry."

If 'The Flame Siren' replied at all, Camus didn't hear it. Instead he heard his black boots echo against the pavement as he ran back to his room.

"Please, forgive me," Miklotov said while they sat at the upper bleachers of the arena, barely paying attention to the two Red Second Lieutenants dueling below. One of them would become "Second of First."

"Don't worry about it it, Misha," Camus replied. "If Uriah…if…" He didn't resist when Miklotov put his arm around his shoulder. "I wouldn't have cared who knew. I honestly wouldn't. What could anyone do?" Other than shoot Uriah, but those were bandits.

"I'm afraid we're not that powerful yet," Miklotov said, "With things like that, you have to be careful."

Camus failed to suppress a laugh. "Because that's what you would have been, right? I know you, Misha."

"Mmm…okay, fine. You're right," Miklotov smiled. "Still, I should have known that Boris would say something."

"I said don't worry about it," Camus answered. "Honestly, I'm more worried about that damned arrow. It was made in Matilda."

Miklotov pulled back. "What? Well, perhaps a quiver was stolen."

"That's what you think, but come on, you've lived here all your life. How easy do you think it would be to steal from any of the stores? Those bandits have been around for years, far longer than I've been here." He clenched his jaw before saying, "I hate the fact that it took so damned long to kill most of them and why did it take Uriah getting shot for people to finally notice the arrows? Just WHY?"

"Shh…Camus."

"You're right," Camus agreed, lowering his voice. "Baudin thinks it was an ex-knight who shot Uriah."

Miklotov blinked. "What? Why? How do you know?"

"Something happened years ago and I do mean years ago. We were both children. Uriah had nothing to do with it, but those bandits generally stayed around Matilda. Every time they were pushed back, they'd come back later."

"They should have been annihilated!" Miklotov nearly shouted, causing others to look at them.

"Shh…Miklotov," Camus admonished, helplessly smiling.

Miklotov narrowed his eyes. "Right, of course. My apologies." He quietly chuckled.

"Anyway, we'll find out when we go back out there with Captain Baudin."

"Hmm…" Miklotov looked down at the arena. The duel had concluded and now preparations were made for the main event. "I wish I could go with you, but my Knight is a Blue." He shrugged, but then looked sharply at Camus. "Wait. What makes you think Baudin will be Captain?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Miklotov shrugged. "You never know."

"I know," Camus smirked.

And sure enough, Camus did. If he had to describe it, he would say that Baudin acted like a series of relentless ocean waves backed with a two handed sword and a berserker's shout. The opponent, Raymond, held his own or tried to, but it wasn't enough and he yielded in less than five minutes.

"Water Rune, eh?" Miklotov commented.

"With Uriah, they were known as the Tidal Wave. Baudin still has it, but…" He looked down, swallowing more tears. "It won't be the same. Raymond uses an Earth rune and fire is his secondary. So, for Baudin, he'll have to look elsewhere for united attacks."

"What about you?"

"I doubt it. Seems that fire works best for me."

"Hmph. You could have fooled me," Miklotov narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem passionate enough."

"Baudin isn't cold enough for water," Camus shrugged. "And I don't see you with a preference for fire."

Miklotov grinned. "Wind is passionate too."

Camus gaped at the scorched everything in front of him. Captain Baudin mirrored that same look and if horses had human expressions, they would do it too. Camus steadied his skittish horse.

"Wow…" He managed to utter.

Baudin nodded. "Yea, wow." They wowed even more when they saw the last of the bandits. "Chopped to pieces…others were burned alive. Unreal…"

"Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't you have done the same?" Camus asked.

"Heh." Baudin half-smiled before shaking his head. "Not like this. Not my style. Sure, I'd take off an arm, preferably the sword arm, but fire has never been my thing. Even if it was, I can't imagine burning people alive."

"This is Clant's doing, sir, has to be," Raymond said while approaching them on his own horse.

"Now that I can believe," Baudin agreed.

"Wait…the Flame Siren?" Camus's eyes widened.

"Yup," Raymond replied. "Can't imagine anyone else going this far."

"Why would he…" Camus trailed off before gasping. Both his superiors looked at him. "I, well, I spoke to him."

Baudin raised his eyebrows. "You spoke to him? And lived to tell about it?" Both he and Raymond started laughing.

"Yes," Camus looked down at his reins before looking back up at Baudin. "He basically told me that he wanted to be friends with you and Uriah."

Baudin shook his head. "No way. Clant hates everyone."

"He's also incredibly annoying, squire," Raymond added. "The higher you climb, the more you'll see it." He set his jaw. "I'm putting it mildly, by the way."

"Whatever the case, the White Knights stole our kill," Baudin quickly changed the subject. "And I don't doubt for a second Clant led the charge. Boris is never this ruthless nor would he allow it. Neither would Gorudo."

"Chopped to pieces…" Camus whispered, looking at the corpses. He felt cold, very cold. "These are the ex-knights, right?"

"Yes, they are," Baudin nodded. "They're still recognizable, but I can't believe they held on for so long. I guess some people really can hold grudges that last a lifetime. All that drama started years ago over some petty family quarrel."

Camus gaped. "Really?"

"The Vice-Commander at the time was Louis' uncle," Baudin continued, looking at the hacked corpse while Red Knights collected all the bandit gear they could find. "Louis was friends with the charred corpse over there." He pointed at what looked to Camus like burnt meat. "That guy was Philippe. The Vice-Commander wanted them to end their friendship in the name of 'family loyalty'." He smiled when Camus rolled his eyes. "Yea, I can't blame you for that, squire. Anyway, he threatened to have Louis thrown out of the Knighthood if he didn't comply."

"What?" Camus blinked. "That can't happen."

"Yes, it can, but it's very rare and you have to practically murder a baby in public to be removed dishonorably."

Camus looked at the corpses. "So, they remained friends and were thrown out as a result, so they became bandits and now…"

"They were Red Knights," Baudin stated, shaking his head. "They could have been anything they wanted to be, but instead," he shrugged, "this."

Raymond finally chimed in, "If it's any consolation, all this shit led to Gorudo gaining power. He challenged the uncle and won. Uncle "Demanding Loyalty" retired right after that and was never seen again. Beyond that, it was only a question of time before he was elected Knight Commander." He looked towards Matilda. "Then again, some people don't see that as a consolation."

"Gee, I wonder who those would be," Camus chuckled.

"You'd be surprised, squire," Raymond answered. "He's never done a damned thing to me, but there have been more than a few people who consider him suspicious."

"Will Clant get in trouble for this?" Camus suddenly asked. He couldn't help but think that this was an overstepping of bounds.

Baudin raised his eyebrows, "If I was Knight Commander…" he trailed off before helplessly laughing. "To be honest, I would like his style. Sure, he went too far, and he's not a Red Knight, but he had permission, I don't doubt that. So, it's certain that nothing will happen to him."

Camus looked away. "But…Uriah…we should have been to ones to avenge him."

"Yea, especially me, Squire," Baudin answered. "He was my best friend, but Clant is Clant and he won't even get a reprimand, not from Gorudo at least. However, I have a means of justice that Clant can't touch. The arrows." His eyes narrowed as his voice hardened. "I know who made them and no, they weren't thefts. I'll make them pay. I also outrank Clant for the time being, so don't be surprised if I give him a bit of a reprimand."

The only thing that surprised Camus was that he wasn't able to witness anything. Actually, he shouldn't have been surprised at all as he was still only a Squire, but that would change soon. He sat in a tavern that night, in a nice comfortable booth lit with candles that gave the atmosphere an air of romance. Miklotov sat across from him with a frown on his face.

"You'd love to have been a fly on the wall, wouldn't you, Misha?" Camus asked. "I would have."

Miklotov shrugged. "I don't need to be. I have Boris. Obviously, he cannot say too much to me now, but still, I know enough. What I don't understand is why he would allow this…Clant to do such a thing. Only Captain Baudin said anything against 'The Flame Siren' and even then, he seemed impressed, according to Boris."

"Boris didn't reprimand him?"

"Actually, he did," Miklotov replied, "but not in front of the others. He acted accordingly. I doubt he was that upset though." Miklotov leaned back. "I mean, really, who would shed tears for these bandits? This Louis killed Uriah after rampaging for many years. Who cares who did what?"

Camus pressed his lips together before saying, "I did. You know how I felt about Uriah, you know he was close to Captain Baudin, and you know how the remaining bandits died."

Miklotov nodded. "Of course I do, but still, knights can be ruthless. Most would not be like Clant, but I know that I would have shown them no mercy, especially since they were ex-knights."

"Yes, that," Camus sighed. "The whole thing is sad."

"What's sad are the people they victimized, including Uriah."

"I know that!" Camus snapped before sighing again. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just pissy that I didn't get to be the one to kill Louis." He swallowed a mouthful of diluted liqueur that tasted like licorice. "Just the way it all started though. Over something that shouldn't have mattered that much."

"Indeed, and it ended with that man's parents in prison where they belong." Miklotov narrowed his eyes. "They were helping right under all of Rockaxe's noses."

Camus shrugged. "They were his parents. Hope he was worth it. They're lucky they weren't burnt alive or chopped to pieces."

"Do you think Clant would have done that?"

"Who knows? I still barely know him. I admit that I would like to know more. I want to at least see for myself what he looks like. Can you believe that still hasn't happened?"

"I can, actually," Miklotov answered as he sipped from his drink. "He's First of the First among the White Knights and we are not."

"No," Camus lifted his glass for a toast, "but, we will be."

"White Knights?" Miklotov raised his eyebrows and then held up his own glass. "I'd love that."

"I meant knight, Misha," Camus chuckled. "We got to be realistic when aiming high."

"Eh, fair enough," Miklotov replied. "To Knighthood."

"To Knighthood."

As they clinked their glasses together, Camus thought of the Tower and the "Flame Siren" on top of it. That night, under the bright stars, both Squires walked slowly through Rockaxe and sure enough, the voice trailed down through the cool air.

"Ah, him again," Miklotov said, looking around at some couples standing nearby, clearly listening. Even a dog sat at the walkway, looking up ready to howl, but never doing so.

"Yes, him again," Camus nodded with a smile. "We should have invited him to join us."

"What!?" Miklotov gaped. "No. Why? To ask him why he did what he did?"

"No. It's obvious why he did it." Camus paused in front of a nearby White Knight guard station. He tilted his head in the direction of the voice. "I think about him a lot, to be honest, and since Uriah died..." He trailed off with a sigh as Miklotov put a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks." Camus managed to swallow his tears.

"It is my pleasure, friend," Miklotov replied, holding Camus at arm's length. The stars glittered against his piercing dark eyes. "We will duel soon. On that day, you will be my adversary and I will treat you as such."

Camus shook his head with a chuckle. "I expect no less from you, Miklotov. Did I ever tell you that you were my favorite?"

"Hmph. You didn't have to," Miklotov smiled and clapped him on the shoulders. "We should head back, yes? It's getting late."

"You're right."

"Will you get up with me tomorrow morning? We can train before the dawn."

"Eh, I don't think so," Camus answered, dreading even the thought of going out so damned early. Miklotov almost always did it and he never understood it. Something about beautiful sunrises, but Camus found more beauty in the later parts of the morning.

"I am sure to win then." Miklotov held his head high as he spun on his heel and led the way back to the barracks.

As they walked away from the tower, neither one of them noticed that the "Flame Siren" had fallen silent.