8:00AM

Even despite her muted vision of swirling gray shadows, Misty determined the sun was breaking across the horizon. The light of morning lit up her vision, but everything still remained an ugly gray cover. It irritated her, but in the end she supposed she didn't have anyone to blame but herself. Again, she could only wonder how she had been so careless, and how she could so easily fall into this horrible situation.

The dwindling buzzing of late morning crickets and the lower croaks of swamp toads were the only sound to her ears, as the man behind her hadn't yet muttered a word since his last cutting remark. At first, she was happy for the silence, even despite the blistering tension radiating in hot thick waves behind her. Instead, she had ignored him and focused on easing into a more comfortable position when the ride on the mighty Charizard became smooth and less threatening. But after an hour and some presumed minutes later, she was at snapping point.

Too many questions floated around in her head, consuming the silence that lay thick around her. She was overwhelmed with the desire for answers. She wanted to know where they were going, what direction they were heading, what town they were near. Had to know. As it currently stood, it would be near impossible for her to try and risk an escape if she had no idea where she was. For the time being, she was better off in the assassins hands, as loathe as she was to admit to it.

"Where are you taking me?" Her forward demand sliced the thick silence like a knife.

No answer came. At least, not a verbal answer. The menace surrounding him felt as though it suddenly doubled in intensity, pouring from in back of her in lethal waves. Before she could stop the impulse, she shrunk into herself and felt an icy chill of dread sliver up her spine. She really felt it was unfair for him to take out his anger on her, especially when she had so kindly offered him the reprieve of letting her go. However, she was hardly in the mood to negotiate with the man in back of her, and decided she could be just as uncooperative as he.

Forty-five minutes later, and she felt as though she were going to go mad. Both Ash and Brock had always told her she couldn't stand to keep quiet, and now she was one finally to believe it. The silence was eating her up, or maybe it was the memories. Normally, her mind was always filled with work and research and more work. She couldn't stand to let her mind wonder on the possibilities of what if's. It was just too painful.

She felt her shoulders slump in defeat as the thoughts had already done their damage, throwing her into a temporary fit of depression. How had things gone so wrong, she wondered. Her heart clenched at the thought, and she sunk even lower. Everything had turned so fast, and she'd completely lost a year of memories all in the span of a few minutes. What happened to second chances? What happened to love conquering all? A shaky breath escaped her parted lips, and she began to forcefully push the thoughts away. She needed a distraction, she knew, and the only thing she had at the moment was the man behind her. Taking in a quivering breath, she straightened and started to turn and engage herself into a one way conversation with the beast, if need be.

However, he beat her to it.

"Are you crying?" He asked in disbelief, and Misty couldn't decipher if the underlying tone was anger or something else. That question in itself gave her a start, and her old healthy personality roared up once again.

"Of course I'm not crying," She shot back, but paused when she could have sworn she felt him tense. Feeling slightly guilty, as though getting caught in a half lie, she quietly amended by adding, "I was just a little upset."

She had hoped to thaw a little bit of the ice around the assassin, but had been sorely mistaken. Silence once again stretched out between them, powered by the cruel thick layer of damning emotions radiating off of his large body. It gave her the unsettling impression that he hated her. No, loathed her. Despised her. The list could go on, but she pushed it aside with a shake of her head. After all, she didn't even know the man, and she supposed you'd have to have such a horrid personality in the first place, to be able to do his line of work.

The thought settled a cold numbness over her, and kept her quiet for the rest of the flight.

----

11:00AM

The campfire crackled cheerfully while both her and the assassin quietly sat at a wooden picnic table outside an abandoned forest cabin. On their way down for the midday rest, he had fished them some lunch in a nearby river before roasting it over the open fire. He had nearly thrown the roasted fish-on-a-stick on her when he'd offered it to her and she'd accidentally brushed her fingers against his. She almost felt insulted, but in the end decided to keep the comment to herself and merely ate in silence. The fish tasted dry to her tongue, as though it had been cooking too long and he'd forgotten she couldn't see to it herself.

"I would like to use the ladies room," She told him calmly a moment later, deciding she wasn't going to sink to his level of rudeness. In a curt answer, he told her to use the restroom in the cabin, and after a minutes hesitation, she realized he was going to make no move to help her along the way. Shoving her lunch down on the table, she quickly stood up and marched her way toward the cabin, deciding she'd rather face the unknown layout of the house than ask him for help.

Ash ignored her departure into the abandoned cabin, and tore off another chunk of his roasted fish, glaring viciously at the aged wood of the picnic table. His mood hadn't improved at all today; from the moment he had slid on in back of her and had to suffer the view of her right before him. At the thought, his hand clenched into an iron fist down on the tabletop. Just what was Brock thinking? He of all people knew about their past. It was like some sort of cruel joke, and even as he tried to ignore her, her blasted hair had whipped out in the wind and slapped him in the face. She was different. She was so damn different now. The color of her hair had deepened, and it now curled out just beyond her shoulders. She had become a woman, and not a single man would protest to that. He ought to know, because he'd been so damn shocked he couldn't take his eyes off of her when he first saw her. Oh, but it wasn't all that surprising. Somehow, he had known that she'd become a beautiful vixen. But she was also a witch. A scheming, cold hearted, lying witch.

It'd be a cold day in hell when he would forget as much. Never again, he vowed. Never again.

The thought made him suddenly stand up, and he cursed his own stupidity to let the woman enter the cabin by herself. Blind or not, he would not put it past her to try and use the situation to her advantage. He leapt across the small space between table and porch, thrusting his powerful form into the hallway of the cabin while his eyes began to adjust to the unnaturally dark interior of the wooden structure. Immediately alarm struck within him, a prickly feeling running up his spine and telling him something wasn't right.

He realized with sickening clarity how right he was a moment later, when he turned and caught sight of the formless creatures dragging a dazed Misty across the floor and into what appeared to be a large black hell hole covering a good portion of the wall. He'd never seen anything like it in all his time studying the creatures. And it scared the living hell out of him.

Instinct had him jumping forward and tearing Misty away. He would have liked nothing better than to have flung her back against the dust covered couch, but the strange behavior of the phantoms required him to instead keep her in his grasp. With his free arm, he unsheathed the specially embedded sword he had forged himself and brutally began massacring all that dared come after him and the girl.

A minute later he realized the giant gaping mass of blackness on the wall was indeed a portal, and the black creatures began pouring forth from it like a spurting fountain of water. They crowded the room, launching themselves at Misty without a heed to his deadly threat. It was wrong. The thought kept entering his mind as he plunged his sword into one after another. The entire setup was completely inaccurate. It was broad daylight outside. The files, files he had help document, said that they were weakened in the daylight hours so drastically that there was only a ten percent chance of seeing one. Yet, here they were coming out in angry swarms, filling the room in a massive army of black phantoms.

"…Light," He heard her plead in a choked whisper, one of her pale hands clutching at his sleeve. For the barest of moments, he could only stare into her clouded eyes. "Please," she added in a sob, and he was snapped back to his senses.

Knowing she was right, and it would be useless to stay and fight, he quickly made a run for the open door and flung himself and her out into the much brighter day outside. He hit the dirt and rolled to a stop, jerking his head up just in time to see a Godly amount of phantoms launch for the doorway as well, dissolving in a hiss of agony as the light penetrated them.

"What have you done?" He yelled in rage, jerking her from the ground and gripping her by the shoulders. "What the hell have you done?" He demanded, shaking her.

"I don't know," was her whispered reply before she crumbled into his arms.