Chapter Four: The Players in the Shadow

A short column of three motorcycles sped down the main avenue through the Capital, taking care to avoid traffic around the square. In each of the three motorcycles were a pair of students from the academy, all poised with the same goal. Their destination? A flat in the capital that was home to an elderly collector and owner of a model ship that had piqued all their interests.

The students drove in teams of male and female but who actually was the driver was a different conversation. Jenny, being the daughter of the executive of Jones Automotive Company, naturally drove her motorcycle wanting to show off her driving skills to Nicholas, who provided an otherwise unwilling audience in the sidecar. She often liked to boast of being a test driver for any new car her parents patented. Normally she would be at the head of the pack, leading the cavalcade to wherever they needed to investigate for their next story. This time however, she was at the very rear of the convoy, following her newest top reporter Seron who sat on his motorcycle at the head, with Meg in the sidecar. Seron brought her up to speed about Mr. Kozin, the owner of the second Firefly.

"I suspected him at first," Seron started, trying hard to talk over the drone of the engine. "When I saw the second model, I was certain he was the culprit. But then he showed me the ship and I saw that its smokestack wasn't broken."

"So why did he want your model so badly?" Meg asked, shouting while pushing aside a lock of hair from her face.

"He thought his model was an original; he's owned it for more than 10 years now. So he was naturally interested in my model, an exact replica."

"But if he has one, and if you had one, where's the third one?"

"That I don't know. But we should at least get the second scroll first."

They turned a corner, avoiding the congestion around Capital Square and led the small motorcade of students into the residential section of the capital, towered by apartments complexes and the streets marked by planted cypresses at regular intervals. Occasionally they would see the name of a high-end apartment building such as "Comfort Arms" or "The Paradiso," but Seron's stoic and unexpressive cobalt eyes only looked for the sign that would lead them to their model collector, and their next clue in the search for this illusive and mysterious treasure.

As he searched and mentally plotted their course, Meg was confounded. Never would she have thought that she would be at the epicenter of this new escapade. The entire treasure hunt was because of her grandfather's deeds, and if he never crafted the ship, Seron would never have noticed it that day in the market. But why? Why would Seron undertake a mystery that didn't even have a connection to him? Why undertake an investigation for her?

"Seron?" she asked, speaking as loud as she could over the loud engine.

"Yes, Meg?"

"I have a question. Why are you so interested in this case?"

Seron looked to her as if it was a notion that didn't even bear considering. In a moment, he felt as if his loyalty and love for her was subconsciously being challenged by her in his pursuing this newfound case. Was it God posing a test to him to prove his love was genuine? He gave no clue to her of the silent debate being deliberated in his head as he gave her his answer over the loud humming of the engine.

"You and I both have a dog in this fight, Meg. I bought that ship for you, and I want to get it back so you can have it. And whatever treasure Sir Maximilian found is rightfully yours. He built the ships to give to his family, and you're a part of it, Meg."

"But that's just it, Seron," Meg pressed, still unsatisfied. "This whole matter concerns me since it's my grandfather and, by rights, my ships. Why does this matter to you so much?"

Seron averted his eyes from her, pondering the question himself. The answer was readily apparent to him, but he wasn't sure if this was the right moment to bring up his real reason for why he pursued this case and why he undertaking this investigation all for her. It was far too soon to talk about such things now, and he reasoned they still had a long way to go before this mystery was fully solved. Still, Meg deserved an answer, even if it wasn't completely true.

"B-because you're m-my f-friend, Meg."

He prayed in his head that would satisfy her question for now, as the answer was far more personal and one that required a serious and heartfelt conversation with her. Seron looked over, and saw Meg had a smile on her gentle and sweet face. Her indigo eyes darted to him and he felt a tightness in his chest and his entire body turn numb. The motorcycle swerved for a moment but he brought himself back down to earth in an instant for fear of losing control.

"That means a lot to me, Seron," she said, batting her eyes at him with a smile that would make any man fall in love. "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome…always."

Just then Seron spotted the street sign reading Oak Avenue and turned, keeping an eye on the right side of the road and watching the numbers as they steadily increased by twos.

"36…38…40…" Meg slowly counted as they went past each apartment building.

"Here we are," Seron called, pointing to the flat. "42 Oak Avenue."

Seron immediately signaled the motorcade to come to a halt on the side of the road. They parked their motorcycles in a perfect column, one behind the other, and dismounted, following their lead investigator to the front entrance of the flat of their person of interest. Seron pointed the way, saying,

"This is the place. He's expecting us."

They walked down the street to the flat in single file, getting a good look at the flat. It was rather modest standing at about 3 stories tall with three windows on each level. The building was made from brick and mortar colored a faded red up to the roof which had white plaster and grey stone crowning the flat. It was the kind of flat that anyone from any walk of life, Roxchean or Bezelese, could be found in. As the six friends approached the front entrance, an elderly woman in her mid-50s came rushing out of the flat, screeching like an eagle's call with fear in her beady grey eyes as if the worst crime imaginable had just unfolded before her.

"EEEEEEEKKKKK! Heaven help us!"

At that shrill scream, the sextet of students sprinted to the front door and inquired of the elderly woman what was the matter.

"Is something wrong madam?" Meg asked, concern shimmering in her dark eyes.

"Wrong?" The woman repeated incredulously, her beady eyes growing to the size of saucers. "Wrong? 'Is something wrong,' she says! I should very well say so!"

"What is it? Perhaps we can help," Meg offered earnestly.

"I'm terribly sorry, children, but I'm afraid—Oh, Lord love us!—I'm afraid there's nothing you can do for me. It's poor Mr. Kozin. Mr. Kozin is dead!"

The six students' jaws dropped to the pavement, as they realized what a dangerous fix this would put them in, not only for their little treasure hunt but also for their lives. While the others looked at each other uneasily and some even wondered if perhaps they should call off the hunt, Seron stepped forward and spoke the old woman, his cobalt eyes hard and unrelenting.

"Madam, is it possible for us to come in and see for ourselves?" he asked candidly. "Mr. Kozin was expecting us."

"I suppose you could, but it shan't benefit you any. Oh, what kind of heartless fiend would murder dear old Mr. Kozin?"

As the old woman lamented and mourned, Seron led the club in and searched for any sign of Kozin. He wasn't in the hall, which as he first found it; Spartan and bare. Seron pointed to the sign marked DISPLAY in bold Roxchean and led them all in, quietly hoping that Mr. Kozin was in there and fully alive and well. His cobalt eyes turned left and saw a red armchair of linen, and there, sprawled out on the floor looking dead for all intents and purposes, was their second ship owner, Mr. Kozin.

He was dressed in a red plaid robe tied at the waist with brown embroidered pockets, lying on his stomach in a daze. His face and his balding head were flushed and bright red as if he had had far too much to drink. Reading spectacles lay perched lazily on the bridge of his hook nose. His body was perfectly still and made not a sound. At a glance, he was as good as dead.

Seron carefully, cautiously approached the body as Meg, Jenny, and Natalia stifled a scream of shock at the sight of a corpse. Larry stood to the side, examining the body with a hint of suspicion and apprehension in his blue eyes, clearly not convinced that he truly was dead. Nicholas tried to comfort the girls and ease their pain as Seron tentatively pressed his two fingers onto Mr. Kozin's neck. He felt something. A gentle rhythmic pulsation, but not conspicuous enough to easily discern the state of their collector. He confirmed with Nicholas as he turned his green eyes to him to inquire if the old woman's allegations were indeed true.

"Dead?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"No," Seron replied, "he's alive. Just unconscious."

They all breathed a sigh of relief as their crisis had been narrowly averted. Now they could get some answers from their collector once he came to. But that also brought up another quandary that no one could solve: why was he unconscious in the first place? The answer soon came as Meg pointed to a display table in the center of the room, her violet eyes wide in visible shock.

"Seron, look! It's my ship!"

Seron looked up, and the worst of his fears were made manifest when he saw Kozin's battle cruiser, the same battle cruiser that he had mistaken for his own that carried the name FIREFLY on the stern, sitting perched on the table but with one oddity to its form: the smokestack had been broken off.

"I knew it," Seron responded to himself as he stood up and examined the model. "We're not the only ones searching for the Firefly's treasure."

"What do you mean?" Natalia inquired as she and the others walked over to Seron.

"Look at this."

Seron showed his classmates and his secret love the smokestack that had been broken off, and to their surprise it was completely hollow, and small enough to fit in a small rolled up piece of paper to be found. They all realized it as quickly as a lightning flash on a stormy autumn night. Seron had been right on the money about everything. The model, the scrolls, the story of Meg's ancestors. It all added together and fit squarely like pieces in a well-made puzzle. Larry looked to his friend with sapphire eyes that spoke of uncertainty and concern, knowing exactly what this meant not just for the treasure, but for all of them. It was now a race, and it was against players who didn't go by the rules, as was evidenced by the school shooting.

"Someone's beat us to the scroll," Larry breathed, still trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Then that means…" Meg began, examining the model while her violet eyes dashed back between the empty smokestack and Seron worriedly.

Seron, always proved to be cool and calm in tense and dangerous situations, but no adventure before had ever been as treacherous or as life-threatening as this. With one scroll in the possession of an unknown party, it was only a matter of time before they came after all of them and got the third scroll, as all three were needed to discover the location of the treasure. Seron's cobalt eyes glinted with a fiery luster but he gave not one clue to his thoughts as he mentally barricaded himself in the fortress he had constructed to keep all others out.

"We have one, and they have one," Seron said matter-of-factly. "We have to find the third one and fast, or else…"

"Or else what, Seron?" Meg asked in a plea, clutching at Seron's sleeve.

Seron hesitated to tell her, for fear of scaring her with the prospects of just what lay in store for them. The attack on him at the school proved that whoever was after the scrolls would get them at any cost even if it meant murder. Since he held a scroll, they would target him again, and they might potentially threaten her to get what they wanted. His mind was made up, and shakily took Meg's hand in his.

"Or else they will come after us," Natalia remarked, shifting her glasses. "Whoever wants the scroll, they've proven they are not above using murder to get it. We'll have to watch our backs…all of us."

They all nodded resolutely, and deliberated on what to do next. It was logical to get information from Mr. Kozin once he came to about exactly what happened, and perhaps with some good fortune, they would get a clue as to who was behind this game of cat-and-mouse. They didn't have to wait long, as they heard a groan from behind them. The six students turned around to see their man in question slowly rise and climb into the armchair, clutching his head in obvious pain.

"Our corpse has come round!" Jenny shouted in rejoice, jumping into the air.

Natalia could only plant her face into the palm of her hand at Jenny's bad choice of words as Meg and Seron approached him to get an answer and find a clue to solve this mystery.

"Mr. Kozin," Meg asked politely, "are you alright?"

"Argh…I will be in a minute, thank you," Mr. Kozin responded, rubbing his eyes tiredly, still in a daze.

"Could you tell us what happened to you, Mr. Kozin?" Seron inquired, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"Rgh…it's very difficult to remember…it all happened so fast. Perhaps it was a dream?"

"We found you passed out on the floor, sir," Nicholas put in. "We can say it was definitely no dream."

"Please just tell us what you can remember, sir," Jenny encouraged, fishing out her notepad and pencil. "It could really help us figure out this whole business about the scrolls."

Mr. Kozin stroked his black-haired goatee and searched through the archives of his memories to find a suitable answer for the six youngsters. He knew as well as they that this was connected to the mystery behind the scrolls and the models. His dark eyes panned to each of them, and could see the desire to help and the eager anticipation on each of their faces, explorers looking for insights on setting foot in uncharted land. Slowly and methodically he gave what information he had to offer.

"Just after I received a call from you about the ships, someone else called me up, saying he had some old engravings that I would find fascinating. He offered to come over right away and drop them off for me to review later…"

Jenny wrote his story down and flipped to another page in her notepad as Seron coaxed him into further deliberation.

"Go on, Mr. Kozin."

"Yes…argh, my head…well, he came by and began to tell me the details about the engravings. I had gone to get my reading glasses to view them when I felt something cover my nose. I don't remember anything more after that."

Larry nodded, and in an instant knew just what had happened to their elderly collector.

"Chloroform."

"Yes, that's precisely it!" Mr. Kozin said, pointing to Larry as if a light bulb had turned on in his head. "He covered my nose with a cloth doused in chloroform!"

Meg and Seron inched closer to Mr. Kozin as Jenny scribbled that last added detail into her notepad. The next piece of information they needed would be the most important to solving this puzzle placed at their feet.

"Mr. Kozin," Seron said quietly, his cobalt eyes heralding a task of great import, "this is very important. Can you describe the attacker for us?"

Mr. Kozin rubbed his head and groaned, still shaky on his ability to recall. True, it meant a lot for the children that surrounded him, but the events happened so quickly and before he could discern what had happened he fell unconscious. The archives in his head had become a maze, whose hedges in desperate need of shearing.

"I only got one good look at the man…" Mr. Kozin began hesitantly.

As their spirits were all about to sink, Meg soon stepped up the game and saved them all as she quietly and soothingly said to him,

"We could really use your help here, Mr. Kozin. Just tell us what you can remember."

Mr. Kozin seemed to run laps through the maze of memories in search for that one glimpse, that one image of the man that had assaulted him and taken their scroll. It was a long and arduous search, one that seemed to take hours on end, but slowly, one by one, the facts came to form a distinct picture.

"Well…I remember he looked rather young with reddish hair. He had a brown suit and fedora, and I was sure that I had seen him from somewhere before…"

Seron stood up as he mentally snapped his fingers, recognizing the description. On that day in the Capital Market, when he first bought the ship that started this whole escapade, Sergei Petrovich Kozin was not the only person who hounded him and harangued him to buy the ship. There was another man, equally as persistent in his desire to buy that model and by extension have that scroll, and was just as tempting with his increasingly higher and more valuable bribes to snatch the ship intended for Meg from Seron's hands. He knew who it was in an instant.

"The man from the Capital Market…"

"Yes, yes!" Mr. Kozin said, finally having his memories back and his consciousness fully regained. "It was him! I know it was him!"

"By any chance, sir," Larry cut in, "did you get the man's name?"

"I don't think he ever did give me his name, unfortunately. That's why the whole call seemed strange to me. I am sorry I can't give more information."

"No, it's alright, Mr. Kozin," Seron admonished, "you've helped us a great deal already."

"Yes, thank you very much, sir," Meg added. "Now please do get some rest."

"Thank you, young lady. And I hope you all find that scroll."

"Thank you sir."

The six students filed out of the flat leaving Mr. Kozin to recover from his attack, but Jenny was thoroughly unsatisfied with such a vague description, and cast her doubts on ever being able to find the scroll.

"Well that guy was no help. A ''man in a brown suit' is not the most precise description in the world. How the heck are we going to find this guy?"

"It's better than no description at all," Nicholas protested. "We can at least put a report in for the police to search. They'll have better luck than us at this sort of thing."

"As much as I hate to say it," Seron stated gloomily, "Jenny is right. We need a name if we're going to get anywhere with this case."

"We'll just have to keep searching for the scroll then," Natalia concluded, "and hope that our brown suited man pops up somewhere."

They mounted their motorcycles and turned around heading back in the direction of their academy campus, all downcast by the lack of results in this treasure hunt. Not only had a scroll been swiped from under their noses but they had their assailant but could not pursue! Seron was the most depressed of the bunch, knowing that it may mean a dangerous future for not just him but Meg as well. Who knows when they would strike next and who they would target? He could not bear the thought of Meg being kidnapped or even killed by whoever had targeted him and stole the scroll. It was important to hold on to this last scroll and more importantly, keep Meg safe from harm. He made as much clear to her as he rode back at the head of the cavalcade.

"I'm sorry we couldn't make much headway today, Meg."

"Don't take it so hard, Seron," Meg reassured him with a bright smile, as if hiding behind a curtain that concealed something more depressing for her. "We at least got a physical description of who took it."

"It doesn't do much for us without a name to go with the face, unfortunately."

"Oh, don't be so negative, Seron!" Meg rejoined apprehensively. "You've got to keep your hopes up in times like this, and just pray that something will come along that may help us!"

"Whatever happens, M-Meg, they w-won't get the treasure. I p-promise you that."

Meg looked to Seron in shock, never once hearing him use the language vows to keep and hold close to the heart. As long as she had known him he was unassuming in the business of promises and in matters of the heart in general. He kept to himself most of the time as if he lived in a fortress that barred everyone, even her, from entering. For the first time, she could see a small chink in the castle walls open, a chink that was intended for her.

"Seron, what do you mean?" she asked slowly, unsure of just what he meant.

"J-just what I s-say," Seron said shakily. "I bought th-that ship for you, Meg, and whatever t-treasure the Firefly holds is rightfully yours. They w-won't get the scroll from m-me, no matter what happens."

"That's a pretty big commitment you're talking about, Seron. Are you sure you can handle it?"

Seron gulped, knowing that it was a hefty order for him to take just for Meg. But his heart was as solid as a rock in his commitment to her. He had undertaken this entire case for her, and he would finish it for her. And if it really held as much connection to her that Meg let on, he would be right by her side through and through. It was what he could do for her simply because in his soul he loved her. There was no other reason he needed in his mind.

"Of c-course, Meg. I'm your…f-friend after all."

Meg smiled, seeing through Seron's stoic and impassive cobalt eyes saw someone whom she could trust, as much as she could trust Lillia, or Jenny or Natalia from club. He had stood by her in their adventures together and when things were tense he was always there to help her. Beneath the tough exterior that exuded an aloof and cold figure was a caring and kind boy, no different from her. It was surprising to her that someone as mild-mannered and unassuming as this boy that was driving her home would be the object of practically all the girls' affections on campus, looking past his top grades, physical stamina and calm disposition.

She was about to thank him when they saw a familiar-looking man wave to the small motorcade as it drove up a residential block, calling for them all to stop and chat with him for a while on matters of unknown import. Seron, sensing that this man perhaps knew what they were after (otherwise, why call them out?), signaled for the rest of their band to stop on the side of the road. He helped Meg out of the sidecar and came face-to-face with the man that called them out.

He had light auburn hair and looked to be in his mid-30s with eyes that shone of diamonds and precious gems found in a mine. His suit was brown with a red tie protruding from under his vest and atop his head rested a matching fedora while clopping black dress shoes heralded the march of his feet. Seron immediately ran the figure through his memories and soon found a match among the records of faces stored deep within his mind. The record spoke with a single phrase:

"How much for the model?"

His eyes narrowed but remained as expressionless and deadpan as ever. He confided in Meg just who this man was as he whispered in her ear, tickling her soft skin with his warm breath.

"I know him. It's the man from the Capital Market."

"You mean…?"

"Yes; the one we're after."

The man in the brown suit removed his fedora and modestly leaned forward as if introducing himself to royalty. He was about to speak when Jenny came running, calling out venomously to the man as if he was already condemned to the gallows.

"Hey, you!" she screamed, pointing an accusatory finger. "So you're the one that knocked out Mr. Kozin! Where's the scroll you stole from him, you crook?"

"Take it easy, Jenny," Nicholas laughed uneasily, "he must have called out to us for a reason so let's hear him out first."

"Please excuse her, sir," Natalia apologized, bowing. "She is easily excited."

With the matter of apologies swiftly concluded, the man in the brown suit then turned an eye to the black-haired boy and girl standing side by side, and addressed them with the utmost intent of confidentiality.

"Mr. Seron Maxwell?"

"Yes," Seron replied to his call, with a mark of mistrust in his voice. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Reiner. I'd like a word with you, if I may, about this matter concerning the ships…"

He looked around, with fear glistening in his eyes as if he knew someone was watching them.

"…but we're not safe here. It'd be much easier for us to talk in my flat."

"Very well, sir. Lead the way."

The man in the brown suit ushered them all to follow him as they walked up to an apartment building standing beside a small flower garden. The man reached into his coat pockets to find his keys and began searching for the one that would lead them all into his flat. Meanwhile, a few blocks behind them, two figures parked in an idling blue sedan on the side of the road watched the small vignette unfold with clear apprehension.

"I knew it," said one in the backseat. "Reiner wasn't bluffing. He's going to tell them about us."

"He'll ruin everything!" confirmed the other. "They must not learn what's going on. You know what to do."

"Right. Drive."

The sedan drove forward as the one in the backseat grasped the stock of a gun and lowered the window, aiming at the seven figures as they sped closer and closer to Reiner's apartment building. The weapon was cocked and the iron sight were trained on the figures that were obstructions in their plans.

Jenny heard the sound of a revving motor and turned her garnet eyes to find the sedan pulling up on them at an alarming rate, clearly above the speed limit for such a narrow street.

"That car's going awful fast, isn't it?" she asked no one in particular, pointing to it.

Larry looked to the sedan, sensing something amiss and saw in the window the gleaming steel barrel of a weapon which appeared to be a submachine gun. He gasped as his soldier's instinct kicked in and sensed danger. It was something he was always told and taught to sense by his parents who had grown up as soldiers in the last years of a war that tore apart a continent before it was stitched back together. It was a familiar feeling whenever trouble was near on one of their club's adventures. He felt it here and now and if another second was lost it would be the end for all of them.

"A gun! Everyone, hit the deck!"

"Dammit, they spotted us!" cursed the driver. "Do it! Now!"

The air was quickly filled with tracers as shots were fired in quick succession. Seron grabbed Meg and plunged to the ground with her in his arms, forgetting in an instant all the terrible feelings of anxiety from even touching her, feeling only the need to protect her. Larry quickly followed holding his head fast and narrowly avoiding a bullet that he was sure intended for his head. Nicholas tripped on the steps, a mistake that saved his life as a bullet clipped off a lock of his long brown hair and lodged itself in the hard building walls. Jenny ducked as a tracer bullet tore through the sleeve of her uniform exposing her bare skin. Natalia's life was also spared as she hugged the walls for some vain protection while a bullet clipped the waistline of her school-issue skirt. Thankfully for her, it was not enough to have it fall off.

Once the rain of bullets had stopped, Jenny and Natalia pursued the car as it sped up the street and around a corner shouting all varieties of obscenities and curses.

"Bandits! Crooks! Trigger-happy thugs! Gangsters!"

And what of Reiner, the man in the brown suit?

He was not as fortunate as the rest. Three bullets had pierced his back and left holes in the oak brown door in front of him as they exited through his chest cavity. He staggered backwards grievously wounded as his sight began to blur and his senses started to fail him. He fell, Seron grabbing him by the shoulders as he collapsed into his arms while his brown fedora, through which the gunners had left their calling cards, fell to the stone cold pavement along with its master. Seron propped him up against the wall and Meg loosened his red tie, trying hard not to mind the blood that had stained his vest and the lapels of his coat. His grip on life weakening, Reiner offered the youngsters a warning.

"Take care…" he breathed, "and get out…while you still can. They…they will…kill you too…these men don't play nice…"

"Who? Who don't play nice?" Seron pressed, hungry for answers and seeing his chance at getting them fast slipping away.

"Who did this to you?" Meg added, sharing Seron's appetite for a clue to this mystery. "Tell us, please!"

Reiner shifted his eyes straight ahead and raised a trembling shaky hand, pointing to something. Meg and Seron looked to see what he pointed to across the street.

There before them stood an old church, perhaps more than a century old by the looks of it, built with mortar and stone. The windows were made of finely crafted stained glass presenting religious scenes from the old books and teachers and scholars passing on the knowledge they had dedicated their lives to study and repetition. The steeple stood high, perhaps more than 10 meters to the dark belfry where the choir of bells awaited for the next time to ring and call all to worship and reflection. Nothing in that church nor in its structure gave any clue to Meg, Seron, or anyone standing on that sidewalk, clutching the wounded Reiner and desperately searching for the truth that seemed to further elude their grasp.

"The church?" Meg asked quizzically. "What does he mean?"

"Mr. Reiner?" Seron called, shaking him slightly. "Mr. Reiner? Please tell us: what do you mean by the church?"

No response came from Reiner as his body grew heavy and his arms went limp. Seron, fearing the worst, placed his two fingers on his neck, and felt a slow and quiet pulse.

"Is he dead?" Larry asked.

"No," Seron reassured. "Just fainted. But we should get him to a hospital, and fast."

"I'll call emergency services right away," Nicholas vowed as he got to his feet and found the nearest phone booth.

Seron looked to Meg who had the hint of disquiet in her deep navy eyes, looking down to the unconscious form of Reiner. They were back where they started, and both of their spirits sunk as they felt the only thread that connected them to the truth of this case was cut in two. What on earth could he say to console her, and tell her it was going to be alright? What words could he give to her that said things would change and they still had a chance? He felt more helpless now than ever before in his life, and could only agree with Meg when she finally spoke.

"Looks like we're back to square one, eh, Seron?"

"Yeah. I think so."

A/N: Don't you just hate cliffhangers? Well here's another one if you're not sick of them yet! Meg and Seron just can't catch a break can they? What's next for our heroes? Read, review and alert this story to find out!

Until next time, gang!

Jordan

P.S. If anyone knows how to read and/or translate Japanese, please support the Allison and Lillia light novel English translations here: baka-tsuki(dot)org/forums/viewtopic(dot)php?f=15&t=3632