Disclaimer: The characters, place names, and story of From Far Away/Kanata Kara are the property of Kyoko Hikawa (or Hikawa Kyouko, however you prefer to say it).

Author's Note: Oh…kay. So, I don't usually do Alternate Universe fics. I don't usually like AU's. Heck, I don't even read crossovers if I know what I'm getting into.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if Izark had taken just that much longer to recover his strength in Volume 2.

That said, here is how I think it would have gone.

Chapter 1: Casualty

"It looks suspicious here."

"It's all junk."

Voices—two of them, male and harsh, speaking the language of this strange, brutal place. Hiding behind the said 'junk', an eighteen-year-old Japanese girl felt her insides freeze, her heart spasm, and her muscles clench in that jolt of apprehension all prey feel when a hunter is near.

"What the heck. Remove the whole thing." Rattles and crashes followed as the searchers kicked at the baskets, crates and urns stacked around and concealing the fugitives.

Beside her, Noriko felt rather than saw her swordsman ally tense, straining against whatever paralysis gripped him, but to no avail. Trembling, the girl reached out and grasped the hilt of Izark's sword, just as torchlight shone in and a face—a man's face, though it bore a distinct resemblance to a blond gorilla—peered over the containers she had piled up to disguise their refuge. The monkey-faced cutthroat let out a guffaw as he dropped back down out of her sight.

They were discovered.

The two bandits charged through the pile like a pair of linemen, weapons ready. Noriko did not have time to heft the sword as she scrambled up to stand in front of Izark, wood and pottery splintering all around them.

Instinct made her reach out for something, anything. Her fingers closed on a bit of coolness with jagged edges; a shard of ceramic that had flown when the rogues began breaking things.

Monkey-face was upon her. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Noriko chucked whatever it was she'd found at him with all her strength–

"Urrgh?"

The bandit faltered, dropping both sword and torch to clutch at his face. The chip had bounced off harmlessly, but there must have been something helpful in its curve, because the man was now frantically rubbing his eyes.

His comrade shoved passed him, blade in hand. This time Noriko was ready. She blocked his first swing clumsily, her arms shaking as her opponent added his weight to that of Izark's sword. In the light of Monkey-face's fallen torch, she saw the cutthroat—it was the balding man who had fled their inn room earlier—blink, then sneer.

Noriko choked as her head collided with something hard; he had rammed her, throwing her backward. In the next instant, the bandit stepped forward and stabbed down.

She must have been lighter than he expected, however, because he paused a moment, finding his sword point embedded in a grain sack where he seemed to think she should have landed. It occurred to the dazed girl—in that state in which time slows down—that he couldn't be very bright.

Then Time sprinted past.

Noriko staggered up again, hands empty; Izark's sword was gone. She was unable to look for it—couldn't bring herself to look away from her attacker, who advanced with mocking slowness.

Frightened though she was the girl had realized something the moment the second bandit came after her—that Balding had completely forgotten about Izark. She knew this to be true, because the cutthroat's blow had knocked her away from her guard position in front of the prone warrior—if he'd had the presence of mind, Balding could have used that downward strike on the swordsman, who was after all his real target. Now, however, the thief had his back to Izark as he closed in on Noriko. The young man was still in the same spot he'd been in when the thieves found them—he was still fighting to rise.

The longer she could keep the robbers' attention, she reasoned, the better chance Izark had of survival. Her hands were again searching blindly as she retreated toward the back wall…

The thief rushed forward, his weapon raised…

She tripped backward, and knew she couldn't recover in time. Cringing, she involuntarily flung up her arm—

Something warm splattered against her open palm, her face and dress. Hesitantly, Noriko opened one eye, then the other. The bandit stood stock-still, gaping down at her where she knelt. She gaped back as he let his weapon drop to his side, then followed his stunned gaze downward… to the piece of steel embedded under his ribs… then down the length of the metal, which was levered up by the bags she had tripped over… and finally to the hilt of Izark's sword, and the foot, her foot, planted just so on the hilt.

The man lurched back, coming off the sword with a grotesque sucking noise. His blade slipped from his fingers as he gasped and gurgled, blood dripping over his lips.

"Koron?" That was Monkey-face, only just recovered, as his comrade sagged against the wall before sliding down it in collapse. His ape-like features went white as his gaze flicked to the bloody sword, and then he stepped back and opened his mouth to shout.

A slippered foot struck out of nowhere, kicking the bandit's feet out from under him. The thief fell sideways, almost landing on his assailant. Izark grabbed a hank of hair and jerked; Monkey-face's head connected with a wooden crate, and he stopped moving.

The warrior heaved a sigh of relief, which was cut short when he heard the girl gasp, and then the tumble of wreckage as she scrambled away. He dragged himself up, trying to spot her among the debris.

He found Noriko crouched against the end wall, pale and shaking as she stared at the broken Koron, her hands clamped over her mouth. Izark stumbled toward her and knelt down, blocking her view. Her eyes did not focus on him however, but remained wide and glazed with shock.

"Noriko," Izark said softly, trying to bring her around. Taking hold of her wrists, he slowly drew her hands away from her face.

It was then that she saw the blood on them. The one palm had been splattered before, and dark drops soaked and spread on the sleeve. The other had smeared the beads and rivulets on her face. Izark felt a spasm shoot through her arms as her gaze fixed on her hands, and had the good sense to release her when she pulled away to lean over sideways, retching.

Blood, thought the eighteen-year-old. I'm covered in… blood. I…I…killed… a person. I… just killed…

She hardly felt another pair of hands as they rubbed her back and held her hair. She couldn't hear the soft voice whispering to her, not that she would have been able to understand.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

I FOUND THEM!

It seemed as though the voice came from far away. Still, Noriko winced. Why couldn't everyone be quiet? If only she could be allowed to stop thinking for a while… The clangs and thuds coming from outside the alley Izark had left her in sounded like a sword fight. The girl tensed for a moment before she managed to bury the thought of those wicked blades. If she could just stop thinking… but the noises were too near, and had too much of an effect on her survival instincts for her to completely ignore them.

Bo…BOSS!

The sound of chain links on metal…

Now's the time!

Noriko peered listlessly around the corner, just in time to see the Thieves' Boss thrust his sword through Izark's chest.

Somehow, the warrior's scream ripped through the catatonic veil. Suddenly she could function again; process and react. She had to.

"[STOP!]" she shrieked, launching herself at the Boss as he raised his sword for the final blow. She collided with his side, and he howled as they fell sideways. There was a high growl and then a piercing wail. From where she knelt, Noriko stared as the strange animal that had ridden on the Boss' shoulder evaporated into the air.

However, she had more important things to think about. "Izark!" she cried as she scrambled to his side.

One of the underlings shouted something behind her, then yelped as Izark's leg snapped out.

"Iza—," Noriko began, but he took no time to reassure her. Instead, the warrior found his sword and drew himself up.

"You just missed my heart. I can still fight," he told the bandits as they stood, aghast.

And just like that, it was over. The four remaining thieves fled when their leader suddenly abandoned them.

By the time they returned to the inn, Noriko had sunk back into her stupor. The landlord's wife took one look at her and hauled her to the kitchen for a bath and some clean clothes. Izark watched them go, completely ignoring the doctor's attentions. Slowly, he made his way up to the body-strewn room, where he used the wash basin to clean off most of the blood and found himself another shirt. He did his best not to look as townspeople worked around him, collecting the remains of the thieves he'd killed here.

When he came back downstairs, it was to find the girl slumped on a bench in the kitchen with the landlady hovering over her, trying in vain to get her to drink some tea. Or respond at all, for that matter.

Watching from the doorway, Izark felt his eyes prickle in warning. He managed not to shed tears, but he looked sorrowfully at her vacant, half-lidded eyes; the way she sat with her back hunched over, her arms crossed tightly over her torso.

"It's like she doesn't hear me!" That was the landlady, appearing genuinely frantic. "I had to undress her and wash her and dress her again; she just stood there. This tea would help, if only she would drink!" Suddenly, her gaze was focused on him. "I don't suppose… maybe you could get her to…"

And so the young man found himself straddling the bench beside Noriko, coaxing a living stone to take spoonfuls of tea. The landlady was right: the girl did respond to him, after a fashion. If he could get the spoon to her lips and tilt it, she would swallow. He tried putting the mug in her hands to let her drink for herself, but thought better of it, choosing instead to hold the cup himself and pour the warm liquid slowly into her mouth. She drank obediently, but did not offer comment or open her eyes more than half-way. Finally, she finished the cup without showing the slightest improvement. After Izark explained the situation, the doctor advised that Noriko be put to bed, but that she should be watched.

Without another word, Izark stood, scooped up the spiritless girl, and carried her upstairs. The landlord followed belatedly to show him to a new room, since the original one was not exactly restful, what with the blood-smeared floor and the broken window.

The warrior set his charge down on the end of her bed, then pulled the covers back. It was not a difficult task to tuck her in; it was simply a matter of arranging her limbs in a seemingly comfortable posture. When she was securely under the blankets, Izark practically fell onto his own bed, not even bothering to get under the covers.

It was nearly half an hour before he recalled the doctor saying that she should be watched, but when he turned over, he found Noriko exactly as before, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Finally, near dawn, the dozing swordsman woke to muffled sobs. He listened for a moment, feeling both relief and bitter regret as Noriko cried.

Unable to resist the impulse, the young man rolled off his bed and walked to hers. She had changed position at some point, and now lay curled into a ball on her side.

"Shhhh…. Hushhhhhhh…" he whispered, gently sitting her up as he settled on the edge of the bed.

She did not 'hush'. She did whirl to face him, griping the fabric of his shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white and sobbing on his chest. Izark stiffened, but only for a moment; he was too familiar with the emotion he sensed in her to be distant.

He hardly realized it as his right arm circled her shoulders. How many years had it been, since the first time he drew blood? No, he would not think about it; the memory was too painful. How he had longed for someone to hold him then, to tell him it was all right, that he was forgiven.

"Hush…" he mumbled again, his voice cracking as his left hand cradled the back of her head, hugging her close. "I know, I know… Shhhhh…"