Albel Nox didn't know what to do with the blue haired fool called Fayt Leingod.

He had called the younger man his prey, and in some ways that was the most accurate description he could find for how he felt towards the maggot.

It was infuriating, but he was at a loss. That easy acceptance and intuitive knowing that Fayt had, it confused him, enraged him. No matter how he tried, he couldn't seem to rattle the de facto leader of their tawdry little group, and oh, how he tried.

He could still remember that night in Peterny, when he'd decided to have a little fun... and to show where he stood when he was forced to accompany them to the lava caves. He'd gone along for the ride on the King's orders, but he'd wanted to make matters clear: He was not an ally, and he was not going to be a 'friend'. Working with them did not mean he had changed.

The fool's reaction when he'd planted his sword bare inches from his face had been delightful. The way he'd yelled and kicked his way out of the covers to stare in shock had assured him that the status quo was intact, but something about Fayt made him want to hear it from his own mouth.

'Do you hate me?' Such a simple question, and he'd thought he'd done more than enough in even the past few minutes to ascertain what his response would be. For Fayt to answer any other way but 'Yes' seemed like insanity to Albel. It was the answer he predicted, the answer he expected, the answer he wanted.

It was not the answer he got. With that one midnight conversation, he had made himself even more of a curiosity to Albel than their fight in the Bequerel Mountains had.

He'd decided then and there that he wanted... no, needed to pick apart the open enigma that was Fayt Leingod.