AN: A fair warning, in this chapter, there is some animal cruelty. TT..TT

I want to thank you all who've left me feedback and have subscribed to this! It warms my heart so much, you have no idea, so, thank you! I appreciate that, I really do. And the story is actually just getting interesting, so I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the ride, too. I know I will.

Beta read by Elillierose

A heavy fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to calm his struck nerves. Air leaving him in hissed sighs, Gladiolus shook his head. He had gone overboard, big time. There was no justifying that. He should be able to do better, dammit! He whipped himself with self-scolding, leaning his head against the tree trunk as another deep sigh left him. "I'm an ass…" he muttered to himself. His teeth grit at the memory of the words, and another surge of fire ran through him.

How? How could she have possibly known?! Not in his wildest dreams did Gladiolus believe that she had actually read all that – his deepest fear – from just a few pieces of paper. But then, how…? Grunting, he slammed a fist against the trunk, hard, again, and again.

Ravus. The encounter hadn't left him for a day since then. Since then, he had been riddled with self-doubt. If he couldn't protect his prince then, what hope did he have to be able to be his shield? 'A weak shield protects naught,' that's what that man had said. And, Gladiolus' heart stung with the shiver that ran through him, maybe he wasn't fit to be his shield if he lacked the strength? Every day he was reminded of his own inadequacy. Every day he strived to better himself. To become stronger.

And then a stranger takes that and shoves it down his windpipe.

How did she do it? How on Eos could she just dig that out of him and ram it through him like that? Rage threatened to bubble inside him again, and he had to will it down. Once was too much; he couldn't afford such surrenders to his aggression. No doubt he was in for a lecture for his fit, anyway, Ignis roasting him for whatever impolite behavior or other nonsense he at the moment couldn't care less about. He knew it wasn't undeserved, though, he had it coming. But knowing he had it coming didn't exactly make him look forward to it.

Lost in thought and his eyes downcast, he didn't hear the steps rustling on the grass before Noctis was already close. "You care to explain?" The prince fixed him with a pointed look as he crossed his arms. "You didn't hurt him, by the way."

Shit. "Sorry."

"You don't need to tell me that. I said he's fine," Noctis shrugged, but the demand wasn't gone from his tone.

"Not that. I meant the whole thing," the brute returned the gaze as he pushed himself off the tree trunk he'd been leaning on for close to fifteen minutes. "I, uh, I went overboard." The other scoffed.

"You think?" he deadpanned, with a face that Gladio ironically recognized as the same he himself had given the junior countless times.

"Noct. I don't need you to tell me that. Look, let's just go."

"Not before you've given me an explanation."

"I just did."

"Don't really think that counts," Noctis' arms came back to his side, tension written all over his upper-body muscles. "What the hell was that about, Gladio?"

His mouth had run dry. Clearing his throat a little, the older man stood his ground, "You know, a lot of things I tend to share with you, Noct… but this is one you're just gonna have to let go." Without another word, Gladio pushed past him, ignoring the protests and demands of the young king. This was something he wasn't going to let them in on. This he had to work out on his own. It wasn't that he didn't trust them; it was because no-one but he himself could aid him in his duty. If he couldn't do this, on his own, then he wasn't fit for being his shield. It was that simple. It was brutal and it was honest. He either did this, or he'd die trying.

Gladio tried to ignore the subtle twitch and the tiptoeing look the gunner was giving him as he came closer. 'Shit…' He knew the slap hadn't been that hard, but hurting the kid wasn't the point. Prompto had never seen him lash out like that before.

"Gladio…?" Prompto begun, a bit apprehensively, little to the said man's liking.

"Sorry," he grunted. "About that…" He left it open, motioning toward his hand. Blinking a little, the gunner gave the limb a couple of shakes and shook his head,

"Unh, it's nothin', don't worry about it." Gladio's brows furrowed in doubt; he came to stand directly in front of the blond, forcing him to raise his chin to look him in the eye,

"Then why do you act like you're afraid of me?"

He heard Prompto gulping. His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out; instead the blond took a subconscious step back, the action like a knee into his gut. He hadn't wanted to see that. That flicker of fear on the other's face.

"Wha-what's with the closeness, all of a sudden?" Prompto forced a bit shaky chuckle, a hand rising to scratch the back of his neck; his demeanor screamed 'cornered'. "C'mon, Gladdy…!"

It was downright regrettable, taking in the gunslinger's reaction; he was about to say something, but the words never made it past his throat before,

"Gladio." Ignis' voice was an inferno. His eyes fixed on the shield, his whole aura radiated such authority Gladio knew exactly what was coming before the adviser even had the chance to get going. "Do I even need to say it? That was highly uncalled for, and despite your less than subtle disagreement with her practice, we didn't need you causing a scene. We're expecting you to control yourself in accordance to your position." The man fell silent, the fierce look delivering the rest of it silently. Gladio couldn't help a scoff; what he didn't need was Ignis to scold him. He managed that well enough on his own.

"Are we done here?"

"Would you like me to continue?" Ignis took a step closer as his arms rose across his chest.

"Guys!" Prompto's voice broke the staring contest that had ensued. "We should probably go."

"Don't get in-" Ignis begun but was cut off,

"For once, I'm actually with him," Gladio snorted, turning his back to all of them. "Let's head back before we get soaked."

"How come?" Noctis questioned, his tone softening. The survivalist pointed his finger towards the skies, where coal-colored clouds were already stretching over the land.

"There's a storm comin'."

The smell of smoke and cindering rose petals lingered in the stale air, a smog haze spreading from the golden urn into the small room like vaporous tendrils. The woman ran her hand through the ribbons rising from the pot, breathing in the aroma. Then, into the pot, she cast a handful of fur; the soft scent turned bitter with the burning hairs fouling the air as the tuft curled up and blackened.

Sitting by the table, the solitary figure held a deck of cards in her frail hands. The candlelight flickered on the ornamental decorations on the pieces of paper as she shuffled them with ease. Outside, heavy raindrops slapped against the small windows, and the roar of the thunder rattled the roofing shingles. The nervous, frightened whines of a small animal sounded pitifully from across the room.

Kimya held her eyes closed as she kept shuffling, a self-satisfied smirk over the aged lips. "Over the land, tall he stands," the age-worn voice prattled. "Like a lion, like a lamb." A lightning bolt struck, flashing the hut with whiteness, casting a grim shadow over the woman's features. With the fading light, she stilled her hand, and laid down the first card: the Strength.

"Driven by calling, a shield in his hand." The second card, the Four of Swords, a tired soldier resting quietly, four blades surrounding him. "Doubt and despair, his mind now cloud." On the urn, the furs had turned to embers, a stinging stench wallowing around the woman like a veil. "Of his cage, one needs to break out."

Setting the deck aside, she rose to wander across the room to a small cage. In it, a fat rat sniffled the air, its whiskers twitching with the anticipation. Kimya smiled a sorrowful smile before reaching a hand inside and grabbing the trembling creature, its small screeches elevating in pitch and volume as the fingers closed around it. In her free hand glimmered the steel.

"The dust of the earth, the vessel of strife," she prattled as she laid the rat onto the table, the knife poised above its belly; the animal was struggling and whining, terrified out of its mind with the sense of danger. Holding her eyes closed, she thrust the blade down, feeling the stilling as warmth spread over her fingers. "And the blood, to breathe in new life," she near-whispered as she reached over to drop a few droplets of blood into the urn; there was a brief flash of emerald as the crimson touched the smouldering furs.

Setting down the knife to lay down the third card, her smirk widened knowingly: the Death. "In a beast's body, shall he thus tread. Until he weathers, or until he is dead."

Outside, a lightning struck again, followed by the earth-shaking rumble. Inside the small hut, the woman snatched up the Strength, and threw it into the urn, where the paper wriggled a little before the corner caught fire. Dark eyes observed solemnly how the flames licked higher, consuming the blackening figure on the card. From somewhere in the distance came the haunting howls of a wolf; they were drowned under the rumble of thunder as a lightning bolt tore up the sky.

The rain pounded on the tent with the fury of the very gods, it seemed; the strong gusts of wind rattled the flimsy structures dangerously, but so far they had held. "Wow. It's really comin' down, isn't it?" Prompto mused in awe; as if to prove a point, he unzipped a crack into the tent cover and peeked out: he saw a shower. The landscape was drowned under the heavy pour, he could barely see the edge of the haven, all else was covered in mist. "Yep. Cats, dogs and a let's throw in a few grannies for a good measure."

"Close it up, will you? You're letting the heat out, what little we have, that is," Noctis shuddered slightly, raising his eyes from the playing cards he held in his hand for long enough to glance at him. With a slightly longing expression, the blond did as he was told.

"Yeah, and can we move on from the grannies already?" Gladio added a bit sulkily. "A fair share for one day." With that comment, something shifted in the atmosphere among them. Ignis fixed him with a pointed look, one that told exactly how little it pleased him that Gladio had refused to explain his fit with Kimya. He had apologized, but his tone had also made it clear that it'd be the best they left it at that. They had, if only to avoid a conflict where they didn't need one. It was clear that Gladio's pride had taken a blow, and they could all understand that he'd be a bit unwilling to talk about it. But the vehemence, the adviser thought, that was new. "Your turn, Iggs."

Neat brows rising a little, Ignis scrolled through his hand, and sighed deeply. "I'll fold."

"Again?" Noctis gawked mockingly. "Not your day, Specs." Snorting, the adviser flipped his hand over: two and jack of clubs, six of spades, and five and eight of hearts. No, today really wasn't his day. He'd lost 60 Gil to the others in four games, and Ignis was beginning to think they'd pump him dry if he kept going like this.

"Tough luck, man," Prompto smirked. "You should be glad we're not playing strip."

"Then at least I would still have my funds if not my pride," the adviser grumbled begrudgingly.

"Alright, so what'll be, guys? Everyone good?" Noctis snatched the deck, glancing at them both questioningly.

"I'm good," the blond chirped, his eyes cunning as he tapped the backs of his cards.

"Gladio?"

"I'll take one," the shield deadpanned; without a word, the raven handed him a card.

They went around their bets until everyone was satisfied; then, the prince made the initiative, "Alright, let's get to it. Prom?"

His face pure arrogance, the blond proudly laid onto the floor a full house. "Beat that!"

Smirking, Noctis looked at him, and watched how his friend's face faltered. The look was so knowing, so egotistically self-satisfied that Noctis might as well have said, 'watch me'. One by one, his eyes never leaving the horrified look on Prompto's face and his smirk spreading a little wider with each card laid onto the floor, he dealt out his four aces. "What was that you said again, 'beat that'?" he mimicked teasingly, feeling like giving himself a high five as the other's eyes widened astronomically. "So, I'd hate to disappoint you but…" Noctis was already reaching for the bet pile when a large hand closed around his.

Twingling a single card between his fore and middle finger, Gladio grinned disapprovingly, "How many aces are there in one deck?" Between his fingers, he held the ace of spades. The blond's gasp was loud.

"No way, man! You cheated?!"

"And would have succeeded," Ignis nodded with a mixed look of scolding and dark appreciation. "A flawless poker face, and the skill to pull it off."

Noctis chuckled, a guilty-slash-amused look on his face. "And was it the last card that gave me away, I wonder."

"I'm afraid your little scheme was doomed from the beginning. You dealt me that ace originally." Noctis let out a mock-grunt and faked taking a blow.

"There's always something!"

"How 'bout I'll deal from now on?" the shield smiled slyly; the raven made a face but handed the deck over anyway. "Thank you, Your Naughtiness."

"Bite me."

"Pull something like that again, and I just might," Gladio snorted, and let out a low growl before his lips pulled into a wolf-like snarl and he snapped his jaws in his direction. It was countered with an eyeroll and a small shake of a dark head.

"So, who's in for the next round?" Everyone raised their hands, Ignis a bit slower than the younger men; grunting an acknowledgement, the dark man quickly counted the cards to make sure Noctis hadn't slipped anything extra in there, and shuffled.

By the time the first man dropped out - Prompto, stating that he was 'about to take the eleven-forty-two to Slumberland' - Ignis was up to 90 lost Gil and a smirk-long gash wound on his pride.

The low rustling in the undergrowth was the sole warning. The first and the last, and so very missable in the vivid night. Droplets of fresh moisture fell from the tall blades of grass as it swept by; leaves bent and broke under the heavy pressure stalking closer.

It was hot, so hot! And a beating strong and relentless like a migraine attack of a heart thrummed into the hearing. The bushes and branches raked against the face roughly, but it was ignored. Ignored because it didn't matter. All that mattered was presented in front of the deadly eyes in the darkness. It was right there, the spiracorn calf, happily eating away as the mare busied herself with the same task further down the hill. From somewhere reverberated a low, hungry growl. More leaves were crushed as it crept closer.

A breeze came, and the mare's head was up in an instant, the large nostrils flaring as she deciphered the danger. The restless stomping of the hooves as well as warning neighs beckoned the calf to come to her, to come to safety. But it was too late. It had been too late for a long time.

In three terrible leaps, it was on the calf, its massive weight snapping a leg like a twig, the fine bones shattering under the onslaught. The adults had ran, the mare with the rest of the herd, her instincts telling her to flee, to save herself because there was no leader, no companion, no god that could help her baby anymore.

It sunk its teeth into the calf's neck, the warm blood gushing onto its tongue and gums, teasingly, lighting up a gluttonous urge to devour. With a disgusting clenching sound, the windpipe was crushed, the downed prey struggling against the chokehold in vain. The claws tore into its side, red staining the pelt as it let out strangled whinnies and wheezy breaths. From somewhere came the desperate neighs of the mother as it hopelessly tried to help her young, and yet feared to approach the scene, for there was the stench. The stench of distress and gore. Death. The calf smelled like death.

The thrashing of the small head got weaker and weaker as the lack of oxygen stepped up to claim its price. The teeth sunk in deeper, not allowing any relief as the struggles toned down to jerks, until all went still.

From somewhere deep bellowed a guttural growl, fearsome and ferocious, rumbling in its gut until rising up its throat. It threw its head back, and against the blacked-out sky sounded a long, wailing howl.

Gladiolus woke with a startle. His back clenching into a half-risen arch, bent in an angle that couldn't have been comfortable, the last echoes of the fading howl ringed in his ears, quickly to be drowned under the shallow, strangled pants. The sting in his abused muscles didn't register until the amber had made out the familiar interior of the tent, the sleeping forms of Ignis and Noct curled up on both of his sides, blissfully unaware of his terror as they kept slumbering with only a small, drowsy snort coming from Ignis as he shifted in his sleep.

Covered in cold sweat, the shield couldn't ignore the ache in his protesting back anymore, and with sheer willpower he managed to calm his breath enough to draw in a few deep, carefully coordinated intakes to help him to will his body to relax. It wasn't that easy; with the rush still ripping through him like an electric shock, the tense muscles clenched and loosened before clenching again as he fought his fright. With significant effort, he eventually felt his back muscles stretching back to allow his spine to touch the mattress again, and still drawing in a careful breath after another, he willed himself to go slack against the cushion. As the last of the adrenaline drained from his system, he was left shivering as the cool night air graced his sweat-sheened skin.

As he laid there, breathing small puffs into the darkness, the taste in his mouth registered. Through his shaken haze, it took longer than it usually would have to place the foreign flavor; the coppery taste that left behind the notion of umami.

Blood.

Gladiolus tasted blood.