Pitching forward, he just kept from falling into the darkness, arms flailing to keep his balance as he swallowed his voice. An ominous feeling poisoned the cold, musty air; reluctant to breathe too deep, he resorted to quick and shallow gasps. He had walked down this hallway too many times, unable to see his own feet as the ground heaved and fell away in sporadic dips and curves. Sometimes is was rough, like gravel or sand, others smooth like a riverbed of rock. It never felt exactly the same, making him wonder if he actually was making progress, or perhaps his mind randomly fabricated these scenarios and he was just walking the same path all over again.

Wrapping one arm around himself for the warmth, the other held out blindly in front of him, his bare feet making no noise despite the dull pain that pulsed up his leg. He had read that questioning a dream could cause it to change, but this dream had persisted. So long he didn't remember if he had ever walked in on his own, or was merely left in this frightening abyss on a whim of his unconscious fancy. A shuddering gasp escaped numb lips, the ground falling away once more, but this time he was too cold to react quick enough.

Ironic that he noted the change in the floor before the pain as his arm skid over what he could only guess was some kind of brick. It was perfectly shaped, but the material has corroded to a porous exterior that shredded flesh. He lay there momentarily, silently writhing in agony and willing the pain away, teeth grinding together as he did so.

"You're clumsier than I'd have imagined."

He instantly went numb; never had there been another voice than his own echoing off the unseen walls. Scrambling upright, holding his wounded arm still as a warm fluid seeped through the torn sleeve and trickled between trembling fingers. He twisted his head around in a futile attempt to see, but the darkness had not lightened even a bit.

"Scared?" the voice echoed again, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere. The tone of amusement was impossible to miss.

"Who are you?"

Was that really his voice?

"Now I'm offended. After what we've been through."

He turned in the corridor, backing up to where he expected a wall, not that it would honestly do him any good. Suddenly a freezing pressure grabbed his shoulders, what he believed to be nails digging into his shoulderblades. "I wouldn't have expected you to forget me."

The voice was right by his ear, he could feel what must have been breath against his cheek, but it was cold. So cold. His teeth instinctively started chattering to try and keep warm. The hands pulling him closer, slowly dragging him towards that freezing being. The cold hands starting to burn from their intensity. He pulled away sharply, the needle-like punctures lacerating his shoulders.

He fell backwards

Falling.

He kept falling.

Ludwig jolted awake, shuddering in a cold sweat. Phantom pain throbbed through his back and arm, blue eyes staring almost sightless as he numbly counted out five fingers, not two. Tentatively curling them into a loose fist, as though still not really believing they were attached to his body, he slowly regained his bearings. Glancing around, the common room was all but abandoned, as he had decided to sleep in one of the chairs instead of joining the others in the overnight rooms. His dark green windbreaker has fallen to the floor when he had so violently woken up, and the black tank top he had worn underneath was drenched in a cold sweat Breathing in deep, Ludwig reached over to grab his jacket only to have stars cross his vision and his stomach heave. Leaving the article, he ran towards the door.

The morning sun gently rose from the waves, warming his cheeks in the pale glow as he leaned over the edge of the boat. Ivan had always wondered what it was like to be on a boat, and he found the experience quite relaxing; the thick salty air on his tongue, the gentle rocking of the crests as they ebbed and rolled, like bear cubs playing in the spring field. And yet, it was as desolate as the dead of winter.

The sounds of retching startled the Russian from his thoughts. It was bound to happen, he supposed, but after being on the water the last sixteen hours, he thought it a little strange for someone to spontaneously come down with seasickness. "Pardon me?" he called, wandering away from his sightseeing. As he rounded the corner, he saw a tall blonde doubled over the side, convulsing as his body tried to expel something it didn't have. Sweat-dampened locks covered the other boy's eyes as he hung there, apparently waiting for the nausea to pass. His mouth gaping as though to catch a fish, saliva and bile coating pale lips. Ivan didn't know why, but the way the boy held to the rail interested him; the way he clutched it to the point of his knuckles turning while, and how his right thumb kept sliding over his three longest fingers, as though for reassurance.

"Pardon me, but are you okay?"

With nothing in his stomach, the only thing to come up was bitter acid as he heaved over the side of the ferry. After a few more attempts, his body surrendered, but his mind was still reeling. It had felt so real; the pain but, now that it began to wear off, it faded away almost entirely. Staring down into the water as he tried to catch his breath, Ludwig found himself lost in that damned dream, the deep blue of the ocean darkening, growing black, reaching out to grab him, all jaws and teeth.

"Pardon me, but are you okay?"

Ludwig blinked, the water washing by as though nothing had happened. Because nothing had happened. Gritting his teeth before spitting out the acid coating his mouth, the German sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Yeah," he muttered, sparing a glance to the other teen. He was a baby giant, in both size and appearance. A good five inches over Ludwig's head, but with a chubby face sporting child-like concern. It was almost unnerving the way those violet eyes seemed to see right through him.

"Did you eat something spoiled?" he prodded, bending down almost mockingly to see Ludwig's face, really encroaching upon his personal space.

"Sure, maybe."

The blonde scowled, though since he wasn't looking at him, Ivan guessed it was not at anything in particular. Perhaps just the taste in his mouth. "I am Ivan, and you do not need to worry, you will have time to rest your tummy soon."

"Uh . . . Ludwig. What-?" He didn't even finish the sentence before Ivan turned away from him, looking to the front of the ferry at the island, just meters ahead.

Waves crashed against stone cliffs laced with roots knotting their way through the earth. The leaves were a pale pink, showering like a gentle rain, but in no way did they look bare or sparse. Running almost directly centre, a river ran off into the ocean as a waterfall, billowing a small haze of mist that made it seem as though the island were floating upon the clouds. Mainland birds could be seen swooping through the branches, chasing one another in their spring games, uninterrupted even as the foghorn blared, announcing their arrival.

"How many times do I have to say focus!"

Feliciano gasped, staggering backwards before tripping over his own feet, collapsing in the down-trodden grass, his face flushed and glistening in the morning sun. Perhaps he could rest for a moment, his body felt so drained and he hadn't even had a chance to eat breakfast before rushing out here, a fact he was sorely beginning to regret. Chestnut eyes closing peacefully as the Italian tried to soak in as much sun as he could, he was just settling in to get comfy when a dark shadow loomed over him. Cracking his lids open hesitantly, braced for a strict tongue-lashing by the Academy's most advanced teacher, he was mildly surprised to see the white-haired man looking down at him with a smile of sorts.

"Veh . . . so tiring. Can't we take a little siesta Instructor Beilschmidt?" he mewled hopefully, taking advantage of the other's seemingly good mood.

Gilbert was the youngest teacher at the academy, specializing in only Weapon tactics due to his specific skills that had him renown through the school. Despite his young features and generally carefree personality, he was torturous to learn under and many students opted out of his classes, giving the albino time to teach those who stayed on a more personalized basis. Even the Italian had flaked after the first class, preferring Instructor Karpusi's more accommodating style, but it was obvious he wasn't going to learn anything new in those classes.

"As good as that sounds, I think we should just call it quits for today," the German smirked, holding a hand out to Feliciano who had to fight the urge to frown at it. "Don't give me that face," he scolded playfully, taking the brunette teen's arm and hauling him up effortlessly, "We'll keep practicing after you find your Meister, so go wash up."

Staring at his feet before glancing up at the targets surrounding the field, all of them scarred in some way or another, but he couldn't find one mark made by him. He was the oldest unpaired student in the school, having just turned eighteen the other day and made worse that he had lived within the academy almost all his life. Doubts plagued Feliciano's mind, it was not uncommon for Weapons, and sometimes even Meisters, to arrive at the academy and leave without ever being paired.

"I know what you're thinking," Gilbert suddenly spoke sternly, bringing the Italian back from his darkening thoughts, "and I'm going to tell you to stop it. Go back to the dorms and get washed up, you don't have much time."

"Veh?" Before Feli could ask more, the sound of a not-so-distant foghorn alerted the island. What startled him, however, was the cold chill that creeped up his spine and leaving a bitter taste in his dry mouth, growing stronger by the second. It wasn't until he felt a flick to his forehead that the feeling faded, not disappeared, but wasn't as profound as before. Blinking, he stared at the albino who had pushed himself into the Italian's personal bubble, frowning at what seemed to be the younger male's stalling, though the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth and a knowing understanding in his crimson eyes gave him away.

"Just go Feli, I'll see you at orientation. And hurry."

"Ah, y-yes Instructor Beilschmidt." Giving a partial salute, Feliciano opted for a meandering jog back to his dorm. The cold feeling was his own dread rearing up on him, that made the most sense. Looking up at the sky between the sakura tree branches, sparrows flitted in and out of sight, their love songs overlapping in an eager chorus as they chased prospective mates who met their fancy. Large butterflies in vibrant shades of blues, yellows and orange glided from flower to flower, elegantly skimming the morning air, unafraid at his approach. It was as though he belonged in this place, the same feeling he had when he had first arrived as a small child. His slow pace reduced to a stop on the grassy path, his eyes too blurred to admire the beauty of what he had always called his home.

"If," he paused with a shuddering sigh before trying again, "If I'm still unpaired after this, I'm dropping out." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, he shuffled along almost reluctant, sniffling as he cried openly to no one.

The distant moan of a boat's foghorn was hardly enough to wake up Alfred F. Jones as the teen lay sprawled over his mattress, arms thrown haphazardly over his head as one leg hung off the mattress as he had kicked his blankets off to the bottom of the bed. Matthew, on the other hand, had been far too anxious to sleep so well, frowning at the way his brother could make a mess even while unconscious. A mug of coffee in his hands, the violet-eyed Canadian stared out the window of the dorm, the sun having just settled itself in the sky, taking its time in clearing the mist that shrouded the island come nightfall, through the haze, he could just barely make out the dock and ferry pulling up to port. Even though the deck appeared full of eager newcomers, none of them really stood out from this distance.

'It's not like I'll be noticed. I never am,' he thought bitterly, sipping the bitter drink as he turned to get breakfast ready. Alfred never woke up before midday, and the orientation wasn't until noon, not that there was any reason to rush. Every other ceremony, it was as though Matthew was completely invisible, if not for Alfred, no one would have noticed him. Then those that did often confused them. Or rather, Alfred was "Alfred" and Matthew was "The Other Alfred".

Putting down the mug to search through the cabinets of the joint kitchen, a strange sensation ran up the older teen's spine. It was a gentle warmth that left behind a sort of tingling sensation, and not something he had ever felt before. The more he focused on it, however, the stronger it became, like a person running their fingers up his back.

"OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS!?"

Being pulled out of the one peaceful moment Matthew had experienced all morning, he swung around, effectively throwing the glass and half-drank coffee across the room where it shattered against the wood floor. "Alfred? Alfred what's wrong?!" Running back to the bedroom, his big brother instincts kicking in despite himself.

Alfred in his bed, tangled in the sheets as he seemed to be swatting himself, a panic in his eyes. "Mattie! Jesus Christ, I'm being eaten alive! Save me!"

Matthew stared at his half-brother, all panic gone from him and replaced with annoyance. "Eaten alive by what?"

"Ants! Oh man, help me here Mattie! Don't just stare at me!"

Alfred continued thrashing before he rolled too far and over the edge of the bed with a heavy thud and groan. "I was just in here, there isn't an ant on you. And when the neighbour asks-."

"Alfred fucking Jones! I'll kick your bloody arse!" a voice screamed from under the floorboards in a slurred british accent.

"I'll leave it at that then," Matthew whispered, tiptoeing out of the room as Alfred sat there in his sheets, "You can take Arthur his breakfast."

"You really are a stubborn fool," Yao frowned, standing in the old stone doorway.

Kiku sat on one of the window ledges,, every one facing each of the four corners, allowing the light to shine through as though the tower itself were transparent. Below, the only movement came from the dock and the courtyard; new students joining the generations before them as their seniors welcomed them. Sadiq was below, organizing the finishing touches for the orientation ceremony and Hercules was greeting the new arrivals. At one time, he had done both jobs with joy but, as his health declined, he was forced to stay in his tower. Glancing over his shoulder, a weary smile strained his features, his arms wrapped around his torso almost as though he were in pain, his fingers clutching at the white silk that made up his robe. "It is a flaw, I'm afraid, that I haven't been able to fix."

Yao sighed, placing the folded black yukata on the bed before crossing his arms within the sleeves of the red robe he wore, standing to the side of the window and looking out at what had the other so engrossed. "This year's students will be more challenging. Many are orphaned or never taught how to actually control their powers, especially the Meisters."

"That is unfortunate. I received word back from Elizabeta-san, however. She will be delayed, but confirmed her arrival within the week."

The Chinese man nodded, more to himself, but was more focused on Kiku. He didn't look any older than the day they met, though perhaps more tired and pale. Perhaps he had even lost weight, though it had been such a long and progressive process, Yao couldn't be quite sure. With a sigh, he reached out to the smaller man, easing him off from his perch. "Come, I will dress you."

There was no response, he hesitated a moment, but as he lifted Kiku to his own feet, Yao was met with no resistance and slowly walked the Japanese man to his bed so as to hold it for support. There had been a time when Yao had honestly thought time had stood still for them, that despite everything they had lost, they would always have each other. As his slender fingers pulled at the knot of the obi and the fabric fell away, he stood behind Kiku so the other would not have to see the despair clouding his eyes. The knotted scar upon his right shoulder had healed long ago, but stemming from it, black veins laced his torso, over his hips and buttocks and reaching over his upper thighs and forearms. A twinge of irrational anger tugged at Yao as he noted the spiderweb had continued to grow, tendrils creeping their way up Kiku's neck.

"Yao, I'm becoming cold."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to irritate it any more than I need to," he sighed, finally easing the clothing off before he began the laborious task of redressing. It had slowly taken away Kiku's warmth, energy and comfort, even with the smooth silk, he could feel the other wince under his touch, drawing out a process that should have been effortlessly quick. All the while, Kiku's dark eyes were drawn to the middle of the room to the tranquil surface of a pond that seemed to emit its own glow, despite the room being flooded with light, two lotus flowers swaying on the surface.

A/N I want to keep as few Author Notes as possible, but I just wanted to thank all my previous readers, whether they return or not. Truly, it is the work of you all that made this rewrite, finally, a possibility. As I wrote these two chapters, I had all your reviews opened on the other half of the screen, all your kind words cheering me on, even though they may be years old and some of you may never return. I understand this rewrite is on the darker side compared to the original, but I hope you will still enjoy it. As of now, this story is slotted for at least 38 chapters, but I am certain there will be more than that. This story will be finished, even if it takes several years.

While these two chapters have come out rather quickly, all other updates will be spaced roughly a week apart.