AN : Okay; I kind of lied people. No flashback this chapter. Did not have time to write it. Think I will just segue them into the story as needed. Also as I said before viewpoint jumping will happen a lot. Think I will keep the format of three viewpoints a chapter. (Though more will happen in future chapters, ha-ha.) Anyway; enjoy reading. I'm trying out various styles.

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CHAPTER 2 : The Knight, Witch, and Spirit

For a Knight of Zexen there was often no such thing as a 'day off'. This was especially true of the elite knights beneath Captain Galahad of Brass Castle. Nearly every lax day found Salome, Pelize, and Lady Chris in the Captain's study planning something or other. No one really knew where the elf Roland would slip off to. Rumor had it he napped on the castle roof and no one wanted to check. Leo would have taken the occasion to drink if knights on duty were allowed to. In lieu of that Leo would find Boris and force him to train with the boisterous giant. Boris, in turn, would try and make Percival tag along. It was rarely effective. More often than not the talented knight would pass, claiming he could not hone his skills on such easy prey, and instead flit about the castle-town doing whatever struck his peculiar fancies. Today was just such a day. Percival had narrowly avoided the invitation to train, dodged both Boris and Leo, and set himself free upon a different type of prey.

Today the morsel he had selected looked particularly appetizing.

The prize was a thin woman of noble bearing who sat upon a bench in town. Everything about her spoke of exotic delights from her white hair and pale skin to the clothes she wore. White hair, unless you were the famous Chris Lightfellow, was something of a rarity in Zexen. Pale skin was much the same and this fair lady appeared to have never known a tan. It was her attire which caught Percival's eye first though. It was a style he often saw upon the wives of Highland dignitaries in Vinay del Zexay. A long dress, lightly colored in blues, with a sun bonnet to ward off the Grassland sun. The Gale Knight was not known for keeping up with politics but a diplomat in the town would have caught his ear. Her husband must have not been with her. Perhaps he was far away, back in Highland, and his abused wife fled him. No, impossible, no man could abuse a woman of such cold radiance. Perhaps she was a widow vacationing north to escape the chill grip of the departed which hung about her home? Far more likely. Such women were a territory he knew. As he approached her Percival subtly adjusted his armor to shine brighter, be more attention grabbing, and shifted his sword further back. Such woman knew chivalry but often abhorred violence. Percival was a master of his art and swept a hand through his hair, straightening it, as he stood before her. She did not even look up. Up close she was even more beautiful and his confidence wavered, only a second or two, before he cleared his throat and caught her attention.

Percival's myths of her changed again as the woman lazily tilted her head back to regard him. Though she may have squinted in the sun he could see deep blue eyes, which he had expected, and that her bangs were cut short. A boyish cut really, something few true Highland noblewomen would have worn, but quite suited to her features. No, no, this was no regular lady of the kingdom. This vision had surely come from something greater. Perhaps she was a woman of religious significance who had escaped the cage of her chaste nunnery. Yes, that must be it, she had fled into Zexen seeking asylum and with Vinay del Zexay so close had settled for a respite in her journey. It was surely only just that Percival throw himself to her feet and proclaim himself her protector, her knight, one who would see her true to safety and the end of her vows. He thought all this but before her eyes the Gale Knight could only sink to the bench, body turned to face her, and wait for her to speak. His words had been stolen by beauty beyond his understanding.

Her voice fell slowly, softly, like the snow she so reminded him of.

". . .You can see me?"

It was with her words that Percival recovered some of his charm and smiled warmly. She returned one less vigorous.

"Milady, it is a sin for any man with eyes not to see you. I worried my eyes had deceived me when I saw you alone!"

She giggled behind a hand clothed in lacy white. That was as good as an 'all's clear' for him to press on.

"Tell me though Lady; what are you doing here alone? Shouldn't you be accompanied by maids and knights?"

Another giggle into her hand was a gift, yet not what he wished, as she had yet to fully meet his eyes.

"Worry not Mr. Knight. My maid just slept in and I could not resist a little adventure." Percival's mental history immediately shifted from mere escapist chaste nun to wild, untamed yet-possibly-still-chaste nun. "This castle, Brass they call it correct?" He nodded. "It is quite different from most I've been to, less guarded. Quite unlike the castle in Northwindow or Rockaxe. In fact, I believe that cute Matilda knight would call it. . ." She paused, her face scrunched up in frustration as she tried to remember. To Percival, whom normally disliked such faces, it was for some reason the cutest thing he had ever seen. Especially as she raised a finger with a quiet, "Ah." He was enraptured. "Ah, yes, I recall now. 'Miki' would have called it a 'pincer-attack' waiting to happen, no? He would have hated having a gate on both sides. I hear that did not work out too well for Two-Rivers. . ." Percival's rapt attentions faded only an inch as he realized what she was talking about.

"Milady that will not be a problem here in Brass Castle. With Vinay del Zexay at our back there is no direction for an attack to come from but forward, from the Grasslands. You should have no reason for worry." With the current peace between the Grasslands and Zexen, she really didn't, but Percival left that out. A hint of danger would only help his cause, no?

"Oh, I'm not worried. No one in this nation is really a danger to me."

Or perhaps she would not need the reassurances.

Balked by her utmost confidence Percival committed a failure he would only expect of someone like Boris - he stammered. "Well perhaps if my lady needs extra security I could see to her protection-"

She laughed like the first breeze of spring and struck him dumb. "No need fair knight. I can see to myself well enough until I find that husband of mine. Then I will see to him too."

Husband. She had a husband. No nun. Perhaps a duelist of great renown-

"Oh no, I have no need of anything like a sword."

"Of course not Milady- Wait, how did you?"

Too late Percival noted that the woman faced him fully. When it happened he was not sure. Just like he was not positive when she threw her arms back over the seat and curled legs beneath her. The ice princess had quite suddenly, with only a shift in her dress, begun to resemble more a lamia ready to snack on her prey. A thought she seemed to find most pleasing as her smile finally spread, revealing two sharp incisors, and her eyes narrowed. Percival could not for the life of him look away. He dared not, he wished for nothing more in that instant than to keep his eyes carefully glued to those blue orbs. She never blinked, neither did he, and as she spoke the words washed over him like a tidal wave.

"I am not a nun, though I could be called a noble lady. Nor do I need your protection fair knight. Though I did find your compliments most pleasing - even if they were halfhearted."

Halfhearted?

"Very. You see sir knight, you would attempt to ravish me if your surface thoughts are of any note." She giggled again and suddenly, Percival did not find it as cute. In fact his attraction to her seemed to be in solid retreat though he could not look away. "Yes, you are not interested any more because I released you." his mind seemed to ask a question without his mouth. She shrugged, quite unladylike. "I doubt you would understand it even if I explained. At any rate mister knight allow me to tell you about yourself."

Percival knew himself quite well.

This woman apparently disagreed. "No sir, I'm afraid you do not. You see if you did then you would not be here with me. This act would have ended long ago." Act? He didn't understand and the sudden ache in his skull was not helping. The woman's gaze appeared to cut his thoughts like a knife as she swept a bit of pale hair over one shoulder and sighed. "Men sure of themselves are so thick skulled, especially so young. You remind me somewhat of my Nashy save the part where you are in love with a man."

Percival's thoughts hit an abrupt and violent halt at that.

"Oh, don't be so shocked dear. You'd be surprised at how many men are out there like you. Yes, yes, you bed a woman or two here and there. How special. I can see clear as day you'd rather be with that blonde boy though. My, he is quite the cutey. Reminds me of dear Miki. You would probably like Miki too but Cammy already claimed that one."

He had absolutely no idea who she was going on about but between the desperate, denied need to blink and his resistance of her words, he did not particularly care. Why had he approached this witch?

Her smile slipped, "How rude, calling me a witch when I am just trying to help you! Perhaps I should give you a spanking little boy..."

Percival's level of discomfort increased twenty fold.

"Oh calm down. I'm just playing. Here, let me help you out a bit." He didn't want her help. He knew he didn't. Yet when she leaned those piercing eyes closer he followed suit till their noses bumped. Her pale nose fit neatly beside his, their proximity so close they could have been kissing. At such close range Percival could see his shallow breath brush her hair. Yet he felt nothing from this woman, no rush of air which would indicate she drew a single breath.

"Don't worry about that Percy."

He had never told her his name.

She smiled, "Don't worry about that either. Instead focus on what is important. Tonight you are going to go, find that cute little blonde knight, and confess to him. Confess everything. Be sure to tell him about those little fantasies you have while he is training, those are fantastic." the word 'fantastic' forced a roll of distress through his body. Those were just passing thoughts! He pushed them aside! So what if Borus looked so red and breathless after a good spar between them . . . Wait, no!

"Yes cutey. Very yes."

He hated her. The first woman Percival had truly hated.

And all she did in the face of his hate was give that breathless, deridingly creepy chuckle and nuzzle his nose tenderly. It reminded him of what his mother did when Percival was but a child. He suspected this 'woman' knew that as well as he did. She seemed to take great delight in ruining the things he told no one about.

"Oh, don't fear cutie, you won't remember any of this."

What!

"The moment I blink you will get up and walk away. You will go to a store and buy that boy something nice then head back to the castle. You will forget that we spoke and remember only that I turned you down. That I am a proud married woman who inspired you to find your true love."

No, he would not do any of tha-

The white woman blinked.

Percival rose from the bench and adjusted his armor after his short sit. He did not tell her bye. The woman was not even looking at him, her gaze back on the street before them. Without even a nod the brunette, cavalier knight set about his way. He had a gift to buy, something Borus would like. Perhaps a new scabbard for his sword? One befitting his title of 'Flame Knight' to oppose Percival's own gale? Fire and Wind, they went so well. Perhaps he would get himself one as well to show off the matching dynamic. These were the thoughts at the forefront of the knight's mind as he walked with purpose from the bench where Sierra, Bearer of the Blue Moon, watched him with a pleasant smile.

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Sierra Mckain seemed quite pleased with herself as she returned to the hotel. Not even the overly-bright afternoon sun bothered her much anymore. (That could have been due to the bonnet pulled low enough to hide half her face though.) She had done yet another good deed, righted another wrong, and her karma had improved ever so slightly once more. Granted Nashy would not be pleased with her if he found out, he so hated her to 'interfere' in other people's lives. Her husband never had to find out though. In fact, why should he? The missing spy would be too busy celebrating his return to her for worrying over such things. They had been apart so awfully long this time. If he had not ran off she would not have had to make excuses to search him out.

Which also meant she would not be traveling with her 'maids'?

"Mistress Mckain! Futch, I found her!"

Oh drat. They located her.

Sierra stopped - abruptly in the middle of the road making several go around her - until the blonde monster burst free of the crowd. Sharon was out of breath which was a regular state for the girl. When she did recover though her eyes hit the vampire in full on adoration mode. How the girl's strange respect started no one really knew. Not even Sierra and she prided herself on knowing everything. Unfortunately for the girl Sierra had very little concern for women, even adoring fan girls, and ignored her in favor of Sharon's guardian who soon joined them.

Oh yes, Sierra could quite concern herself with a young man like Futch.

...save the part where she was a proud married woman and all.

"Dragon Knight." Sierra even gave a little curtsy in her fancy dress.

Futch did not return any such gesture. Oh dear, Futchy was in a serious mood. Sierra sighed and began to twirl a bit of hair as he started, "Mistress Mckain, you can't just wander off without telling me. What if you were seen?"

Cute but not much for brains.

"Cutie, these people can't see me. My essence is wrapped up tighter than. . . Well." She cast a look aside with a mock blush. Sharon laughed but the tall brunette was stone faced, especially as Sierra shrugged, "As far as these people can tell you two might as well be talking to yourselves."

It was true. The townspeople and occasional knight passing by, even those walking directly around the vampire, stared at Futch and Sharon. They could technically see the vampire but yet not really see her. To the people around them she was like a vision at the corner of your eye, a ghost of an image, not quite invisible but too inconsequential to really care about. Regular people gave off presence and the coven mistress had long since learned to suppress her's entirely. She was a ghost in the crowd. Most she allowed the privilege of viewing her, like Futch and Sharon. Others trained it as a skill such as the vampire hunter Kahn had. Occasionally though there were those special enough to detect her regardless, without effort or even trying, but those were rare. Such meetings were always a pleasure. Her husband had been one of them, much to her delight. So had the young leader of the resistance in Duran. Riou had spotted her immediately. Cute little Percy should be grateful he was one of them too considering how she helped him so.

When Futch led them out of the road and demanded explanation she neatly left her good deeds out of the day's adventure. It had been a day of walking about and viewing the sights. No one had seen her, she lied, and no one knew about her, which was technically still true. Sierra told her story in exquisite, infuriating detail. By the end Sharon had wandered off somewhere and Futch pinched the bridge of his nose tight enough to bruise. A shame really, he had such a handsome face these days.

"I can't protect you if you wander off."

Futch sounded exasperated. Probably tired still. Sierra had been dragging the two dragon knights across the entire Grasslands for a month now.

Still, "Cutie, who's protecting who? I do seem to recall saving you from a certain iron golem a week ago..."

Oops, not supposed to talk about that one.

"You used your rune to do it too!" He dragged a hand across his face. "We can't have you doing that. It attracts too much attention! Lu...He," Sierra arched a fine white brow at the slip but said nothing. Not to say she wasn't curious but that road had never taken her anywhere. ", could find you that way. The Lady of the Tower warned us of that." He turned away as if some point had been made at that, as if their 'talk' had ended. The very notion that she needed a 'talking to', in the same tone he used with Sharon, did not sit well with the coven mistress. She was no child. She was eternal. The farce of her needing protection had worn on her nerves before but she allowed them humored. These humans had grown too comfortable in security of their place next to her. This insult was not one she, as coven mistress, could abide.

"Dragon Knight."

A simply statement that made Futch turn. His gaze was her's instantly. This was not like Percival, whom Sierra held in place with enchanted glamour. Sheer force of her great will is what trapped the brunette in place. The vampire did not advance, nor attack, but her voice struck like a whip in its own way, "There was no 'us' at this warning. You and the girl alone perhaps but not I. My way would be just as clear without your protection the Seer of Stars sought to get me." Futch tried to say something, perhaps yet another comment on the strength of her opponent, but a closing of her hand silenced that. "I believe you have forgotten what it is you guard. The bearer of True Wind - Luc correct? - is thousands of years too young to be a threat to me. Let him come. I've dealt with worse threats than a mere boy." And it was true, Sierra felt no threat from the rogue apprentice. She was still not even sure what caused the boy to consider her a target. The troublesome Seer had not thought to provide explanation with the escort - at least not if Futch was honest. Considering the number of times she glamoured both he and Sharon - they likely really did not know.

This was infuriating in its own way.

A sigh as she swept past the frozen Futch, freeing him as their eye contact broke. The stern male almost tripped when his limbs worked again. By the time he got around to following her, Sierra had already put quite a distance between them. In a moment of sense he said nothing, though she knew he wished to, and simply followed.

Both had forgotten Sharon. . .yet again. Not the first time.

She would show up some time or other.

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In a world composed entirely of darkness those with eyes are at a disadvantage. They do not know how to 'see', to 'sense', and so their attempts are feeble and wasteful. In the darkened dimension of Soul Eater one could be lost forever; fated to wander till your identity slips away. How long does it take? It depends on the durability of the soul and how the individual died. How their soul was captured by the True Rune. Those who lost their lives in violent conflict only to be dragged in; they never last long. The corrosion of their identity starts immediately. Others, who more gently embraced the tug, can orient themselves. Yet the fate of no one is as stable as one whom offered himself to the Soul Eater and actually had the rune accept. Only one person had ever done so. Perhaps only one person ever could.

Ted was the first person to control a rune without bearing it.

Now he uses that same power to avoid the current bearer.

His senses do not Work in the same way as most. Ted is not aware of what happens in the outside world. As a spirit of the rune he neither sees nor hears through Tir. There is no way for him to see Germio directing the Harmonian servants in care of the 'bishop's guest'. He knows it is happening though. Distantly; Ted is pleased that the servant is alive again. That he was brought back. Some souls inside the rune begrudge the kindly servant his freedom but Ted is not among them. He could have never been freed in such a way after offering himself; not even Leknaat's power could afford such escape. It would take something greater.

Something Tir is searching for much to Ted's regret.

The other searches for him. He has since the day Ted offered himself. At first it was a rare occasion, a questioning presence across the world of darkness. A sense he was being sought. Yet despite sensing it, Ted avoided that desire, hoping instead that the other would give up and move on. That he would understand the immortal teenager's end. Yet Tir clearly did not. He sought and sought, more insistent, more time spent in the rune. Instead of growing weaker it grew stronger and hiding was a taxing process. It could be done though through the aid of the rune itself. Unlike Tir, who had it only a breath of time, Ted had borne the true rune for hundreds of years. None were more versed in the runes abilities than he.

None could know the rune's essence as he did.

Soul Eater is a powerful tool - there is no denying that. Yet Ted, through his years, knew it better than most. He knew the rune as a being, an essence, a hazy creation at the edge of his consciousness which imposes upon him its will. Ted knows, unlike poor McDohl, that the rune craves conflict. It hungers. There is no way to stay peacefully to the side while bearing the curse of Soul Eater or it will cause misfortune. It attracts death to those around the bearer. It was not Ted's will that he be dragged into conflict after conflict since receiving the rune. The boy remembers it influencing him. How it would give him dreams of killing those around him occasionally, how it would demanded to be fed. He remembers the temptation to kill the young islander, Lazlo, bearer of Punishment, so that it could feast on his strong will. It struck like a dull ache at the base of his brain. He remembers Aldo, the archer from the islands, whom... Ted does not want to remember Aldo. He does not want to face the realization that the man does not exist anymore, that his consciousness had eroded and vanished into the Soul Eater. There are many things Ted never wanted to face about the time on his hand.

Now he mostly does not wish to face its new bearer.

Tir, do not seek me.
Please stop it.
Let me fade away.
Let me vanish.

Yet Tir doesn't let him fade. He never stops seeking and so Ted can never stop hiding. Resisting his urge to respond. To call out to Tir when the once-hero dives far too deep into Soul Eater. It is a struggle to keep the seeker from finding his hidden asylum. A challenge to exert subtle influence so the other does not drown himself in the darkness of Ted's new home. There are limits to how far he can dive but the other does not realize it. He does not recognize that he is a body with a soul, not just an essence, and so he is rejecting himself by attempting the search.

He fears for his allies' health.
He fears for his friend's sanity.
Ted fears for Tir's soul.

The bound spirit does not know exactly what is happening in the forgotten 'out there'. His strong will does not recognize the changes in the world, the politics and the scheming. He does not recognize the subtle changes that are distinctly Harmonian; only knowing that Tir moved again. The only thing he truly knows is the rune has begun to feast again. That it is drawing in souls once more. Not yet major, a thin trickle of spirits, of new arrival to the blackened landscape.

Yet Ted knows.

People are dying around Tir and feeding the rune once more.

This recognition is the great curse of his strong will.

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AN : Don't hate me for the minimal action in Chapter 2! Setting up, prrromiisee. More Tir next time! And longer!