Hello all, thank you for waiting! Hope you enjoy!

One is less than many ~ Sniper's mantra

Sabre's body was wrung with stubborn aches, reminiscent of her earliest days, and walking the distance to Pan's hut to retrieve her mask had done little to aid her state. By the morning, she had barely gained the strength to sit up, let alone to wash, change her clothes and set about doing something. It didn't bode well. Moons ago, she would have been able to shake a scrap like that off within an hour. It was all wrong.

She'd already forgotten whose thigh she was using as a pillow. The muscles in her back and shoulders strained when she took a deep breath, making her groan softly. If she closed her eyes it was oddly easy to forget the number of her brothers who were laying curled up around her, similarly basking in the morning light after the night's ordeal; a few were beginning to chat quietly amongst themselves. Sabre knew there was a good chance that they'd shut up if she told them to, especially the boys who had always known her in the eminent status she'd earned through blood. She couldn't decide if she didn't mind or the lethargy was too great.

She paid little attention to what was being spoken, attention turned on the voices instead; she counted them wearily, ears honing on the boys with the deeper voices.

"That was a fine shot you gave Hook, Sabre," Hayes muttered from a few bodies over, raising his voice enough for her, and those between them, to hear.

Sabre cracked her eyes open, looking over in his general direction though not actually seeing him. "What?"

"Leave it alone, Hayes," Tally interjected boredly.

Hayes propped himself up on his forearms, ignoring Tally, and the others hushed. "I saw you last night. Either you missed or you spared the pirate's life on purpose," his lips formed in a tight smirk, one which Sabre often thought about slapping off. "And we all know you're too a good a shot to have missed at that range."

Sabre let out a drowsy huff, a mistake her sore muscles paid for. They'll never let me forget, no matter how many suns and moons pass, she thought. Boys such as Hayes had never grown tired of reminding her of the betrayals and misdemeanours committed before her surrender to Pan, and after.

"Hook scarred me; I scarred him back. I got even, that's what I do," she stated, features hardened as she, too, braced up on her elbows. "Or is this just your way of saying you're jealous that I'm a better shot? I've offered you lessons before. And not that you do it much, but do you think that Pan would want us to kill any of them this early in the game? Because where would be the point in that? Go on, ask him yourself."

Hayes didn't answer, just as she expected, and his gaze shifted like he wasn't sure where to look.

"I thought not," Sabre muttered with an edge of venom, knowing it was mostly the mention of their leader that had kicked him down into submission. He doesn't want anyone dead just yet. How much of a fool would I be to hope that he decides not to at all?

It had never been a secret that hierarchy was at play; that was the world Sabre had stepped into. One had to fight and claw their way to a certain status before they could simply go to the wild god and speak their minds, before they'd be worthy of Pan's time. Hayes may have been a Lost One before she'd even set foot on Neverland but whatever favour he might have held had apathetically dwindled over the long years.

"The pirate is Felix's kill, anyway," Alfonso added neutrally. The pack slipped back into silence, mutually agreed on the simple statement.

However, now stirred, the quiet let open the doors of Sabre's mind, to the point where she wished the boys would resume their mutterings. Each time she closed her physical eyes, the eye of her mind would only see the wild, savage face of the Saviour, of a mother who'd lost her son. And I'm part of it. I'm no better than…

Sabre's silent voice became erased when she heard that of the Boy-King, knowing the only person he could be speaking to was Henry. Pan's tone, the pace of his words – they were too mild, too sincere and assuring. He'd never been so gentle to her, not even when she'd been as ignorant as Henry was then.

Panicking, Sabre donned her mask before she could be seen. Hayes, Tally, Alfonso, and Paxton got to their feet as Pan drew nearer with Henry, making themselves scarce, and Sabre followed suit without going too far, stepping carefully over the boys who stayed put to rest, muscle wincing in complaint. One of these days her curiosity would bite her up the arse. Again, she picked up a stick and began to sharpen the edge with her knife to give the impression that she, now in the guise of a boy, was occupied and wholly uninterested in what the Truest Believer was hearing.

Sabre observed as Pan and Henry sat down on a mossy log, the first part of their conversation muffled by her hood. In a snap decision, she pulled it down and trusted the mask to keep her identity hidden still.

"I don't belong here," Henry said in reply to whatever Pan had just said.

"Actually, you do," the Boy-King retorted evenly. "We've been waiting for you a very long time, Henry – long before you were even born."

Sabre watched Henry shake his head softly. "I don't believe that."

Pan scoffed. "You should. This place runs on imagination, on belief. But your world stopped believing. Magic is dying, and you, Henry, need to save it."

Don't believe him, sweet one, Sabre found herself thinking, the voice in her mind filled with sorrow. And yet, he must.

"In my world, you mean," Henry said.

"In every world. You need to bring it back," Pan's voice was laden with sincerity and hope. It was unsettling. "That's your destiny; to return the magic, to be the saviour."

"My mom Emma is the saviour, not me."

Dismissively, Pan scoffed again. "Yeah, she broke some curse, yeah," a small grin formed at the sight of Henry's disbelief; "Oh, I know more than you think," and his words made Sabre's knuckles turn white. "But what if breaking the curse wasn't the thing that made her the saviour? What if having you was? Think about it. You're descended from the greatest of light and of dark. What, you think it's a coincidence that the spawn of the Dark One met your mother? You were created for a reason, and I can help you find it."

Henry sighed doubtfully, taking in all the other had said. "So you think I'm supposed to save magic."

"I don't think," Pan answered with complete clarity; "I believe. Remember I, uh, said I had something to show you," he reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny roll of parchment. "Here. I've had this for a very long time, long before you were even thought of. Take a look and you'll know why I'm so sure you're the hero magic has been waiting for."

Sabre felt a bitter laugh rising in the back of her throat, nearly wishing that she could have been drawn in as gently as Henry was. She had never truly or fully understood what Pan had told her all that time ago, always suspicious of something or other, and usually with very good reason, but she might have done if he cajoled her as carefully as he was with Henry.

Pan held the parchment between his fingers, offering it to Henry, and, tentatively, the boy took it, looking up as the older boy stood up. But then, Henry tossed it to the floor. "I don't believe you."

His refusal only made Pan chuckle lightly. "You remind me of your father." With not a further word he strode away, not looking at Sabre or any of the boys as he departed, no doubt leaving Henry's mind whirring as intended.

Sabre and Henry's father had never shared the ground of Neverland. She had only heard of him in whispers no better than myth. Baelfire, the Lost Boy without match; the one who had escaped.

Or the one that Pan let get away, she had often thought when she recalled the tale, and thought it again then.

With nothing more to be overheard, Sabre pulled the hood back up over her head. Dropping the pointlessly sharpened stick and sheathing her knife, she prowled silently over to Henry, who was drowned in his thoughts. He didn't notice her presence until her shadow cast itself over him.

Henry looked up at the dog-masked face. "Did-did you need something?"

Soundless, she inclined her head, gesturing for him to follow.

"Where are we going?" Henry asked hesitantly, getting up to follow her nonetheless. His eyes narrowed as the mute figure only repeated the gesture. Curiosity took over and led his feet to follow, a little deeper into the jungle, away from all eyes and ears. Wandering off alone had never been the best of ideas; now it bordered on suicidal.

"Sabre, what's going on?" Henry demanded; he'd come to a halt, allowing her to create a distance. "Why did you bring me out here?"

He couldn't help but hold his breath as Sabre slowly turned around, then taking even more time to raise her hands, first pulling down her hood. And then, she lifted the mask.

The face that Henry's eyes met was youthful, soft, out of place for the harsh and wild realm. Golden coppery hair, long and tangled, fell around it. The eyes were a dark hazel, thoughtful and wise, and the coral redness of the lips was bold against the pale hue of skin.

"You're," Henry swallowed dryly, "you're a girl! How is that possible? I thought there were no Lost Girls on Neverland."

"There weren't," the light, quiet tone of her voice had him taken aback. "Not until me."

"You let me think you were a Lost Boy," the boy took a wary step back.

"My name is Sabre, that much is true. And I did nothing, you merely made an assumption. A justified one, though, granted," Sabre shrugged.

"Why did you hide it?"

"Plenty of boys wear masks and hoods," she said, only then to sigh. "I'm somewhat cautious, to say the least. I wanted to get my first impression of you before I showed you who I was. You have no idea how important this all is, I had to be careful."

"Are you the only girl in Neverland?" Henry wasted no time in questioning.

"No, there are plenty of girls in the Piccaninny tribe, and then there's Tink," Sabre told him.

"Tink, as in Tinkerbell?" he cut in before she could mention the other Fae and the mermaids.

"That's the one."

The intensity of Henry's intrigued gaze made her stomach twist, yet her face revealed nothing from the inside. A small sigh passed over lips. "I was brought here for a very similar reason as you, and it just so happens that I'm a girl. It could have been a boy, another girl, neither – it could have been anyone," she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A tightness settled in her heart. "What Pan says is true; magic is dying, like it's bleeding out of the land, and only the Heart of the Truest Believer can heal the wound permanently."

Henry furrowed his brow. "Then why are you here?"

Ignoring the comment on the tip of her tongue, Sabre lowered down on the ground to seat herself, legs crossed. "I'm only the first part of it. I was brought here for having the blood of a Fairest Soul – whatever that means. I gave my blood to Pan, to the land, but there was only so much it could do to keep what little magic there was left alive. I've been here for a long time and we've all been waiting for you to save magic once and for all. You're the only one who can do it. I understand, more than anyone, how…daunting and confusing it all is, but it's the only way. Just know this – you have to be truly willing, or," she drew away, shaking her head, and let the meaning be implied.

Henry had joined her on the ground, not liking to look down at her. "Were you willing?"

Biting her tongue, Sabre glanced at nowhere in particular, after only restoring the bridge between their gazes for a moment. "Not at first, but after I realised there was no other way. I knew what I had to do."

"Do you regret it?" the boy was all too quick to ask.

Gods, if she'd known her role in Pan's game would have required so work for her tongue she might have thought about refusing…

"No," she replied before the boy could think of doubting her. "Pan's done a great deal for me, given me things I couldn't have survived without. But this isn't about me anymore. It's about you."

The boy flicked away an insect hovering incessantly by his ear. "There's still so much I don't understand. I feel like things are being kept from me," he sighed with lax shoulders, head lowering.

"It will all make sense with a little time, I promise," Sabre said, standing with a small wince, and deemed it best not to compromise her aura in the boy's eyes by dusting her arse off. "And if you need me in the meantime, I'll always be close by. You should get back to the camp, straight that way. And hurry."

Henry nodded and followed suit, eyes flickering to the floor and Sabre knew there was something going unsaid, left missing. In farewell, he offered her a half smile, still mildly reluctant to turn his back, and Sabre remained still until she could no longer hear nor see him. The weight on her shoulders broke against the frail dam and pushed down so hard that she crumpled to her knees, deprived of any animating force. She couldn't find the strength to even put her head in her hands no matter how far she pushed for the sake of her own dignity, leaving it hanging low, while, helplessly, she remembered…

The rooms of Rielus' mother, Evadne, had always carried a floral scent about them. Entering into them was like taking a step into an exquisite garden enclosed by painted walls, the air always sweet and fresh. Clad in armour, as she so often was, Sabariina deemed herself somewhat inappropriately dressed for the High Lady's chambers, entering nonetheless. The soldier found her writing a letter at her beautifully carved desk, the room ethereally bathed in candlelight the hue of liquid gold.

"You sent for me, your Grace," Sabariina bowed, hand rested over the hilt of her sword, voice quiet against the silence.

"Please, no formalities," Evadne looked over with the softest smile. She quickly completed her letter and rose with an elegance that had long been innate to her, pale violet gown billowing like the flutter of a soft breeze. "I am Evadne, not your Grace, you know so. Thank you for coming so quickly."

Sabariina stepped a little further into the room, able to see how the High Lady was troubled. "Is something the matter?"

Evadne crossed the room, over to the grand dressing table. Her delicate hands reached for a small chest carved from dark imported wood, lifting the lid, drawing an amulet from it.

"As I'm sure you are aware, I depart for Aprilia before dawn. These are dangerous times, dear Sabariina. I want you to give this to my Rielus," Evadne glided closer to hold out the amulet for it to be seen by the heavy browed girl. Cast in golden tinted bronze, it held the shape of three ovals that met in the centre, overlapping slightly. A perfect circle ran through the three ovals, cast against the metal base. The triquetra. "So that he will always know I am with him, even when I am far away."

"Of course," Sabariina nodded primly. "Are you sure this is the wisest time to leave the Capital?"

"Your concern is touching," the High Lady's smile bore only sadness. "But this is something I must do." She prompted Sabariina to take the amulet from her, but when the girl's hand reached out, Evadne clasped it tightly. Startled, Sabariina searched the other's glistening eyes. Fear bred only more of its own. "Protect him, sweet Sabariina. Please. Protect my son."

Lifting her chin nobly, Sabariina took Evadne's hands in her own, the amulet clasped between them. "I will. To my last heartbeat."

Sabre had grown so tired yet could not hope to sleep. So often was the way. She needed information, knowledge, clarity, to soothe the doubts festering in her head, and distract her.

It was Felix she chose to find. He would tell her what he knew without skirting around the edges with guile, like Pan. Not that she had the will to face the Boy-King anyway. Felix's tall height and pale hair, even if it was mostly tucked under his hood, always made him relatively easy to spot in the bounds of the camp. To her relief, he complied without resistance when asked for the information she was desperate to have. She listened patiently to each and every word, silent in the mouth.

It became apparent soon enough that the game was advancing quickly, and unpredictably.

He revealed the Dark One himself had accompanied the rest of Henry's family on their rescue, but splintered from the pack early on and, from what it sounded like in Felix's narrative, he was fully prepared to sacrifice his very life to save the boy, his own grandson.

It was known that asides from Pan, the Dark One was the most powerful being on Neverland, but Felix was all too happy to assure the girl that Pan was keeping him under observation.

He then informed her that there was also word of Baelfire, who had, somehow, found his way back to Neverland by summoning Pan's shadow from another realm, though he had yet to find the rest of Henry's rescue party. It came as no surprise that Pan had only trusted Felix with the task of finding the renegade Lost Boy, when Pan gave the order.

Envy prickled at Sabre in the chest. No one, save Killian, had ever come for her – not that it had ever been possible to succeed and by the time he had, she had long belonged to Neverland – but it seemed a small army was forming in order to return Henry from Pan's hold.

Lonely at the beginning, and lonelier then… Who else would have come for her?

No number of ghosts could have saved her.

Baelfire may have been exceptional, once, but there was not a chance that he and all the rest could all escape from Pan. Never break in somewhere unless you know the way out, she recited. And there was no way out.

But what if there could be?

"Does that satisfy you?" Felix asked boredly, cutting into her thoughts.

Sabre glared mildly at him, though she didn't really mean it. "For now."

"Good. Now, go to bed. You look like shit," the tall boy looked her up and down.

"Not a bad idea," Sabre sighed, clearing the hair from her eyes. "And I'll punch you tomorrow." She grinned as he smirked at her. The bed in the hut sounded heavenly by that point. Starting to trudge on her way, Sabre reminded herself of what she needed to do, purely for her own clarity of mind – befriend Henry, gain his trust, keep to the lie, and help in keeping Henry's family at bay; all by any means necessary. Then, and only then, would Pan fulfil his end of the bargain to her.

Hoarse coughing grated against Sabre's ears as she passed her own hut. Vasha.

Without a thought, she pivoted and darted inside, trying to let as little of the outside air in as possible, as though it were poison. Propped up on the pillows fashioned from carved up animal pelts, Vasha coughed and wheezed, barely able to stop to drink from the cup Nibs was holding up to him. Asking how he was seemed a pitifully futile endeavour.

Nibs looked up at her over his shoulder and shook his head. "He's not getting better."

"My blood didn't work?" Sabre felt her face crease. Again Nibs shook his head. "It's worked before."

"I guess you see how it used to be before you got here," Nibs said.

Sabre knew not to ask again if they could retrieve water from the spring at Dead Man's Peak. When first told their numbers weren't great enough to venture north she'd snapped angrily and gone straight for a sore spot. But as the anger dissipated, she knew it was true, and that was most of what made her angry.

Food was scarcer. They couldn't rely on the pirates for supplies any longer, the Piccaninny tribe was barely surviving as it was without giving a quota away. Belief had all but fizzled out. They needed greater numbers in their hunting, gathering and scouting parties. The beasts and Neverbirds had lost the fear they once held and could only be outmatched in aggression, and regular patrols were needed at all times to keep the camp safe to prevent an attack. Because, once they began, they would not cease. And the simple fact was, of all the boys, in the camp, only about half would be strong enough to survive a trek to Dead Man's Peak and they were the ones needed most to protect it.

And it would only get worse now that Pan's ultimate game had begun. Neverland cared little for visitors and trespassers. The sickness was turning it on its very own.

"Keep trying everything you can," Sabre said to Nibs, while putting a hand to Vasha's forehead. "I've never seen anyone burn up this much."

"The sooner Pan gets the boy's heart, the better. Or else, I'm not sure who else we'll lose," the fair haired boy replied, and Sabre couldn't help but agree.

As reluctant as she was to leave Vasha's side, Sabre feared that the only way to reverse the sickness was to do whatever Pan needed of her. And, to do that, she had to be sharp and focused to play her role, and that meant rested.

She was almost at the Boy-King's hut, the way secluded, when she found herself stopped.

"You did well," Pan's voice, though low, pierced her ears and crawled all the way up her spine. The chatter of the Lost Boys was faint behind them. "Couldn't have done it better myself – actually, that's probably not true."

Halted, Sabre looked to the left to find the Boy-King leaning comfortably against a thick tree trunk, a smirk playing on his lips. "A lot of lies are better when there's some truth to them," she mumbled flatly. She wasn't used to dealing with him so frequently, not anymore.

"Oh, what's the matter?" Pan cooed mercilessly. "Is the guilt eating away at that fair little soul of yours?"

Sabre gave no answer and refused to look him in the face. On the inside she flinched as Pan prowled towards her like she was dinner, the hairs on her neck standing on end. There were few things that could prepare her for an audience with her king, and a clear mind was certainly one of them. All she wished for was to sleep.

Outwardly, Sabre straightened, head remaining mildly bowed.

"You're not going to let your poor little feelings get in the way, now, are you? I'm not sure you'll want to know what will happen if you disappoint me," he growled close to her ear, relishing in the shiver. "Again."

"I won't. I'll do what you want me to," she spoke quietly, eyes far away.

"Yes," Pan breathed out, "like the good little dog you are."

Sabre bit back what she wanted to say, knowing he knew full well of her distaste at being called dog – though it was better than a couple of alternatives that came to mind – and opted for something more diplomatic; "Felix said that Baelfire and the Dark One have come here."

Pan moved around to face the girl, standing close, and quickly noted how she was roughly the same height as the Truest Believer. "Did he now?"

"What happened between you and the Dark One?" Sabre asked, before gulping at the boldness of her question.

Letting out a small huff, Pan folded his arms, but he took it well. "If you must know, before I had any Lost Boys, two people found their way to Neverland; a man and his son. I, having no one to play with, was rather bored at the time so I made up a little game to amuse myself," his eyes flickered with mischief, laced with malicious glee. "I made each of them an offer, unknown to the other. I told the father that if he completed his test I would restore his youth and send the boy away. See, he wasn't exactly father material, and the child was somewhat a ball and chain to him. And I told the boy that if he completed his test then he and his father could stay, start over. Live a new life," he laughed with scorn. "That very boy grew up to be the Dark One."

"So you were a monster even back then," Sabre retorted before she could catch herself, sensing that was all she was permitted to know. "Good that you're consistent, if nothing else."

Pan grinned, looking away uncaringly. "I'm in too good a mood to punish you for that; perhaps another time. We crossed paths a few times but all long ago. But you know some people," he turned back, seizing hold of her gaze in a snap. "They just can't let go."

Yes, indeed, she bit back silently, averting her eyes as soon as she could get away with it.

"You know he abandoned his son," Pan said, as though she may have already known the story it was clear he was about to divulge. He didn't wait for an answer, and spoke as if she had asked; "Traded him for the power of a dagger."

Sabre frowned, curious against expectation. "A dagger?" she echoed.

The Boy-King resumed his prowling, leaving her to pivot on the spot like cornered prey to keep her watchful eyes trained on him. He caught sight of her picking at the faded blue ribbon, and grinned – knowingly – to himself.

He came to a halt. "The dagger of the Dark One. Whoever controls the dagger controls the Dark One themselves. To become the Dark One, you must slay your predecessor with that dagger. And given the choice of his power and his son, well," the edge of Pan's lips quirked, gaze sweeping, "I'm sure you can guess which way he chose. Ironic."

The girl's brow furrowed only further to the point she could feel the physical crease. It had come as no true surprise to her when a distrust of the arcane had swiftly reared its head. Magick had been true and real in the lands of her dwelling before Neverland, yet it was quiet, running through the roots of the planes. Everywhere but untouched. Users of magick were unheard of, except in stories and myths and legends, where they were held – far more often than not – on par with the divine. In much lore, gods could not be gods without their mastery of magick.

Yet somehow, within the bounds of the Enchanted Forest – Sabre still practically loathed the name – magick users dwelled, in a comparative abundance. In all her years before setting foot on Neverland, Sabre had never known of any connection between the lands of her childhood and the lands where magick could be not only enticed but enthralled. Wars, alliances, trade, none had been heard of or passed between the two worlds, all except that barren misted mountain pass.

Left at the mercy of her inquisitiveness, Sabre couldn't keep herself from pressing on. No doubt that had been Pan's intention.

"Ironic how, exactly?" she kept her tone soft without a thought.

A blink and Pan was before her, hand raised and curling a coppery lock behind a little ear, the flinch gone unacknowledged. "Ironic given that he gave up everything so that Bae wouldn't grow up without a father," he told her, hand lowering to his side. "Tell me, in Aieria, what would have happened to a soldier who crippled themselves on the eve of battle in order to return home, on the word of a seer?"

"We didn't have seers in Aieria," Sabre retorted with what came first. Didn't – don't. If nothing else, it allowed a moment for Pan's revelation to sink in.

It didn't surprise her when Pan arched his eyebrow, absent of a smile though his eyes lacked in their coldness.

"Depends," Sabre offered in alternative.

"On what?" he questioned shortly.

"On whether this is rhetorical or not."

Pan gave a small sigh, its resonance shallow. "Let's say not."

Looking away to nothing, Sabre turned back the clock behind her eyes. Since she had remembered, she could no longer forget, not for long at least.

It was no longer difficult to cross the chasm and, if Pan had known all those years, he had never said.

Sabre altered her weight from one leg to the other, hands curled over the softly worn down belt at her hips. "Someone who did that would have been given a hearing, where they would have a chance to explain their reasons to a jury. The judgement would depend on that. But everyone would know they deserted even if they escaped without penalty, meaning everyone would judge them in their own way."

"I wonder what it must have been like for Baelfire," Pan said before Sabre had closed her mouth, musing. "Growing up as the son of the village coward. Growing up without a mother because she couldn't stand the sight of her husband for the shame he'd brought upon their family. Only to be abandoned by the man who had fought so hard to come back to him."

Sabre didn't answer, and imagined.

"But, really, you've done rather well so far," the Boy-King continued with unsettling authenticity when he'd grown bored of the silence, before taking a step forward that closed the distance between them, and Sabre's breath caught in her throat as his hands settled on her hips. "Can't say I've been disappointed."

Bowing his head, Pan drew back his top lip by a fraction, the heat of his breath caressing her mouth like simmering fire. She was unable to catch a glimpse of those sharp teeth but felt them a moment later, digging into her plump lower lip. The bite was unhurried, teasing, while the hands on her hips circled to meet on her back, drawing her in tightly. Pan nudged Sabre's head to the side, baring that pale neck. His lips trailed over her jaw and delved into her vulnerable throat that lay waiting, unnervingly gentle still. Sabre had brought her hands to Pan's shoulders, and, as she shuddered pleasingly, her small grip curled, fisting the fabric of his tunic. Continuing his sensual ministrations, Pan could sense the girl softening, contently coming undone in his arms.

He could have lied to her, told her that he'd missed her scent, her warmth, and the intimacy they had shared before, and she may well have believed him. All of it was welcome, evoked a whispering fondness, even. He knew that she understood that she was his, but like all hounds, she needed a firm – though sometimes careful – hand from her master.

Moments like those made her afraid. With Pan so close, the pillars of her inner resolve fractured. She had never been so foolish as to allow her fear of him to become erased, but she found that she frightened herself just as much. It was there, in Pan's arms, that she inescapably remembered how deeply she longed for him, his attentions, and wanted to mean something to him…that it all reached so much deeper than fulfilling her end of the bargain to be granted the boon.

Everything was so simple when Sabre could believe it that way, distance it as a cold business deal. It helped keep her rampant heart dormant.

Pan relished in the status of demon and god, but Sabre's devotion to him was anything other than blind, even if she rarely understood it. She knew what he provided for her, what she required from him, and what lay behind the surface veil. Over the years, the steps he'd taken with her had woven into vague patterns; not so much that she could ever call it predictable…just not wholly unpredictable.

The way each and every of the Lost Boys feared and worshiped him was far within the bounds of disconcerting, because it only showed how much power the Boy-King wielded to elicit it so effortlessly, unendingly. She preferred to believe that she obeyed and submitted because she chose to, for whatever reason, always knowing there were other options that she could take, however foolish or pointless; sometimes she wondered if some of the boys could even comprehend noncompliance to their leader.

Sabre moaned out softly as Pan's tongue and teeth caressed the tendon in her neck, firm, not yet rough. She no longer had the will to fight against reasoning, and nuzzled him back with a mounting passion until her cheeks and breast grew red and hot. Her lungs were starved in trying to remain quiet. Pan's breath held a husky edge as he drew away all too soon, his eyes consuming her.

Sabre looked down, waking drearily from the amorous daze. "Is this the only way?"

"Look at me," he murmured, a darkness overtaking him when she hesitated. "Look at me, little one. It's the only way for either of us to get what we need, whether you like it or not."

Sabre glanced down at her attire again while dragging the hair comb through her knotted locks. Any other day she wouldn't have given a thought of fuss over what she clad herself in, but this time was different.

Out of all the clothes she'd found, taken or been given, she carefully picked out the darkest part of breeches and boots, the lightest top and one of her many jerkins, both leaving her arms bare. She'd tried talking herself out of what she was going to do, yet knew she would end up carrying it out in spite of herself. As long as it didn't compromise the game, nobody really cared what she did. And it was because she'd never compromised any game before that she would do this.

The lord of Neverland couldn't see the way he could before.

Once each knot was tamed, she slipped her feet into her best kept pair of boots and descended into the woods. She didn't want to wear the face of the Lost Girl when she found who she was looking for.

Knowing exactly where she was headed, Sabre moved silently and swiftly, unseen, and whatever residual power lingered on served to protect her safety.

From a distance great enough to quell all fear of discovery, she spotted the fire of the heroes' accommodated camp. She circled it carefully, patiently, finding the one she sought…

The pirate was sat alone and unwatched by his comrades. Sabre picked her position, stood and waited with the haunting stillness of shadow.

It was first from the corner of his eye that Killian saw the figure. He turned, sitting up slowly. Like a phantom, gaunt and capturing, she stood between the trees with only the wind fluttering her hair and the ruffles of her clothes. She put a little finger to her lips, eyes unreadable from such a distance, then pivoted gracefully, walking away in a gentle gait. Killian muttered an excuse of collecting firewood and, both intrigued and filled with the same dread felt long ago, followed.

So familiar and such a stranger, the pirate couldn't turn away from her. He would lose sight of her then catch a glimpse of coppery gold or white, all the while knowing there was every chance that she could be leading him into a trap. And yet there was still a flicker of something undefinable in him that kept him moving on. Far from his camp, Killian slowed to a halt, pausing to look around for any sign of her, finding none.

"Sabre?" he spoke lowly. "Don't play games. Are you here? Sabre, come out."

"Here," the voice that met his ears with soft, both assuring and unnerving him at the same time. "I needed to see you," she said as he turned to find her standing behind him.

"Why? Our past two encounters haven't exactly been of the friendliest of circumstances," Killian quipped stiffly, disliking the plain view of his injury.

Sabre clasped her hands together at the hips, a diplomatic stance. "But I think you can guess why that was," her voice held an assured firmness. "How's your neck?"

The pirate gave a mirthless chuckle. "Fine. I think I prefer you fair haired," he paused. "I suppose I ought to thank you."

"That depends on one thing," Sabre cut in quickly.

Killian looked her up and down. "And what's that? I'm liking the get-up too, by the way, love. Like the tattoo, especially. What is that, a dog?"

The comment went unheard and the calmness of her demeanour splintered all too quickly into something close to broken. "On the day that Rufio died," she choked, "did you mean to kill me when you cut my throat? Because if you did then you can save any thanks."

The pirate didn't respond right away, the impish charm wiped clean away. Reading his face, Sabre was unsure if he knew his own mind.

"No, I didn't think of killing you and I certainly didn't want to, despite what you'd just done to me." The scar still lingered on his abdomen. "But I'm not sure either of us were thinking much at all in those moments. I'm still alive, thanks to you, and I know you owe me nothing, but tell me why you're here?" Hook asked of her.

"I told you, I needed to see you," Sabre repeated. "You were never my enemy, no matter what happened that day. None of you are, and I never blamed you for leaving me here. Even if sometimes I hated you for it. I know you had no choice back then, so I'd hoped you of all people would understand the position I'm in now."

"You're in league with Pan," the pirate accused, absent of sentiment.

"As were you," Sabre's tone sharpened effortlessly, eyes hardening over the surface. "I wouldn't have survived six moons in this place if I'd continued to defy Pan. And I know that you didn't escape from him; he let you go," she sighed wearily, collecting herself. "It was years and years ago, here, and one of the Lost Boys told me something I wasn't meant to find out. He told me that Pan was looking for the Truest Believer and that once he'd found him, he would kill me because he'd no longer have any use for me. And do you know what happened to that boy, who only told the truth to warn me?"

Killian sighed darkly. "What happened?"

"I was forced to execute him," she didn't think the colour in his face would drain quite so quickly; it spurred her to go on. "He was one of Pan's oldest Lost Boys, a child, and that's what happened to him for what Pan deemed as disloyalty. And he wasn't the first or the last," Sabre took a deep breath to collect herself. "Pan made alterations because of what I'd found out. I'm only doing what I have to do, just like you did. You should leave the island while you still can, all of you. Just give it up and Pan might let you get out alive."

"You know that won't happen," Killian answered, almost in disappointment. "They'll sooner die here before they consider giving up."

"That's what's far more likely to happen," Sabre snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "Even if by some miracle you do get the boy back, what then? Are you naïve enough to think Pan will just hold his hands up and let you leave?"

Rubbing his face resignedly, the pirate exhaled through the mouth. "We'll find a way, somehow."

Sabre rolled her darkening eyes in exasperation. "We both know you're not that much of a dumb cunt, captain. Convince yourself before you try and convince me. What good is a rescue plan if you have no way out? And chances are, there is no way out without Pan's permission. Maybe there are some things I've missed, maybe there's a loophole, I don't know. But a rescue is futile until escape is certain."

"Why do you care, Sabre? Why do our fates mean anything to you?" Killian questioned, absentmindedly scratching the wound on his neck. The hurt on her face struck him off guard, and he saw a hundred replies on her lips.

The girl looked down, brow growing heavier as the last light in her eyes dwindled. Raising them after a moment, the pirate could almost feel the weight of sorrow on her features. "For the same reason that I was abandoned here in the first place. I have been well bloodied here, but I haven't been broken."

Hope you liked it, please leave a review! What did you think of: how I'm working canon material into the story, Sabre's reveal to Henry and inner conflict, the flashback, the growing sickness in Neverland, Pan's story about Rumple (OUAT writers, you is dum-dums) and Sabre going to find Killian?

See you next time!