7. Unforgiven

He felt the brush of fresh air, how it pushed at him from all directions, it was his first clue of freedom regained. Then his muscles began to ache for being used again. His senses were flooded by scent and sensations: the smell of cut grass, mud, rainwater, wet wood, and the feel of weight, pain, the prickling feeling prolonged numbness brought to your limbs once you tried to move them again. Everything returned to him slowly, in small doses. It helped him regain his bearings, to awaken.

The rain was rustling against the canvas that covered the back of the wagon he was being transported in, playing a strange drumming tune, an invitation to a new day. It was still dark and gloomy, wet and chilly, yet Zero felt comfortable. After being denied the joy of using one's senses for a long period of time, he enjoyed these little feels all the more.

His head felt heavy and pain prickled his temples when he tried to open his eyes, but otherwise he was in good physical condition. Something from his experienced lurked about, like a reckless child shining a mirror at his face; this something jarred his thought-process, seeking for attention but gaining none. He deemed it unnecessary, although he couldn't quite chase it away for good. Had it been an epiphany of some sorts, or a memory he'd wanted to forget?

As he began to struggle into a sitting position, he realized his hands were bound. It made the process of sitting up certainly more difficult but not impossible. Zero had suffered through his share of capture before (he'd always known it would end like this eventually), so he was acquainted with the necessary actions for escape. He took his time to get to a sitting position, conserving his strength the best he could. Once he succeeded in sitting, he pressed his back against the wall, and gave his surroundings a long scan. It didn't take him long to recognize the figure sitting on the opposite end of the wagon, his revolver pointed firmly at Zero.

Cain was struggling to stay awake, to keep alert, and still sleep sought to claim him. He'd positioned himself in a manner that brought about constant discomfort, so he'd have a harder time of falling asleep, but past a certain point even such precautions seized to be useful. His hat covered his face somewhat, and his long coat provided him better protection from the wind and cold than Zero's worn shirt did. Cain looked the same as before, stoic and honest to a fault.

It was only now that Zero could look at the man he'd once called friend for good since he had locked Cain within an iron suit nearly a decade ago. The memories flooded Zero's mind instantly, and so he recalled his own hurt pride that had driven him to horrible deeds back then. He went even further, recalling the simple days back in the Central City when he and Cain had been friends and partners. That was before Cain had been on the protective detail of the Mystic Man, before Zero had been dishonored and kicked aside from the force, before he had killed Cain's wife to quench his own insatiable lust for disorder. Once upon a time, Zero had considered those days the most peaceful he had lived. Now he no longer looked back with regret and yearning.

What was done was done. Cain had chosen his ideals over his friend. He had looked at Zero's bloodied appearance, his shocked face twisting as Zero had exhibited exhilaration over his violent outburst, and Cain had held him still with all of his strength, shouting at him to stop. Zero had done worse things since then and so had Cain. That moment had truly been a point of no return for them, hadn't it?

In hindsight, Zero didn't miss being a Tin Man. It hadn't been his calling. He did miss their friendship though, had taken Cain's betrayal more deeply than he had cared to admit, which had led to the tragedies he couldn't undo. He'd taken away Cain's family, his job, his purpose, just as Cain's actions had cost Zero all these things. For awhile he'd felt better for stripping Cain bare, like he'd felt Cain had done to him. Time had changed that, given him new thirst, new limits.

His first intent had been to kill this man, end it quickly, and get it off his chest (all that suppressed rage). Azkadellia had raised the stakes, wanted him to cut deeper, do more damage. His undoing had been her council, her promise of a place at her side. Now it was impossible to mend things, to bridge this abyss between him and Cain, but he accepted that. Without Azkadellia what was he even worth anymore? With her gone, he would give Cain his revenge.

Cain blinked a few times as he suddenly woke, taking notice of his prisoner awake and well. His grip on his revolver grew stronger; his eyes found Zero's easily, drawing a cynical look from his former partner. Despite his shaken appearance, Zero was very much himself within moments: self-assured and cocky.

"Was it not good enough for you?" Zero asked curiously, leaning at the wall behind him. "Or did my punishment go against your Queen's law?"

The brim of Cain's hat moved first as he lifted his chin to gain better view of Zero. He could tell what was going through Zero's mind even now; the mockery was based on an assumption that Cain was reluctantly retrieving Zero. Too bad that wasn't the case.

"You've been summoned Zero," he explained calmly, sounding perfectly content. "I'm simply picking you up."

Zero tried to recall the complex justice system of the O.Z. before Azkadellia's reign. He remembered pieces there and then, always returning to the frustration that had marked his years as a Tin Man, for the convictions of the guilty had sometimes been easily averted. There was room to play within the boundaries of the law. A long time ago, he would've never dreamt he'd also be bending the rules he used to uphold.

"I suppose there will a trial, the crowds will scream for murder, and we will all cheer when my time comes," Zero contemplated with unusual detachment. He had signed off to his fate.

"The Queen didn't summon you," Cain then revealed, taking small pleasure in witnessing Zero's face as he gave away the revelation. "It was Azkadellia."

With three simple words, Zero's confidence washed away, leaving behind bewilderment, worry and raw passion. It tainted his voice, burned his eyes and chest. "She's alive?" he whispered, thunderstruck by this information.

Cain didn't remember seeing Zero this bare before. Everything about Zero was bathed in blood in his memory, his intent clouded by cruel wit, curses and threats, and his face always unrelenting. Even in the presence of his wife, Zero had felt reserved. But Azkadellia brought forth something else, something genuine. Ambrose had been right, Cain deduced.

"Yes, she is," he offered confirmation, still baffled by the visible way Zero hung onto his every word.

"Where?" Zero asked next, sounding more threatening already. His eyes had become sharper, danger was present there. He reminded Cain of a predator protecting its kin.

"Azkadellia has surrendered herself to be judged by the Coffin," Cain then revealed with an uneasy voice. He feared the ancient relic, truly didn't desire such a fate for anyone, so Azkadellia had his respect for making this choice.

Color drained from Zero's face, a wave of illness passed through him, but he forced it under control. For a moment he just breathed in and out, let the news sink in. He knew what the Coffin was, just like every child in the O.Z. did. It was a cruel device in old tales, a living thing with a mind of its own. Azkadellia's mother had banned its use, her predecessors had all feared it, but Azkadellia had recovered it and kept it locked. Zero recalled his shock when he had learned she had the Coffin within her grasp and it was simply waiting for a suitable victim. How could it be that she was the one it would devour after its long wait?

"No," Zero whispered, his anger flaring at the Queen again. "She will die," he said, clearly disturbed by the news and his vision of the future.

Cain didn't argue. Wasn't this why he was here? To bring Zero to his mistress, so she would have someone she cared for on her side at the end?

"She's been calling for you," he then said, finding little joy in Zero's pain. He had expected to enjoy this more, relish the moment, but Zero's pain only made his own chest ache. It was like looking into a mirror, a thought Cain didn't easily admit.

Zero narrowed his eyes. "That's why you came for me?" he questioned with disbelief. Azkadellia had destroyed Cain's life, his family, his home, and yet Cain would offer her final solace before the end? Just how valiant could one man be?

Cain cocked his gun in response, his face hardening. "I'm doing this for DG. Not your Sorceress, and certainly not you," he clarified.

Zero turned his face away from Cain's scrutiny, feeling its hating stab a bit too intensely. His mind was captivated by a single image; Azkadellia trapped in that damn thing, faced twisted in pain, tears streaming down her face. Surprisingly it reminded him of another sight he had once witnessed: her face as he nearly squeezed the life from her body. He had known of her death wish a long time now, but he had not believed she would have the means of ending her own life. Now she had something to do it for her finally.

Cain didn't know what went on in Zero's head. Somewhere along the line Zero had become more than a remorseless villain. He exhibited signs of life Cain hadn't seen before in him: caring, worry, fear. Cain had never stopped to wonder how Zero had become entangled with Azkadellia, he had simply assumed the worst when they had first parted ways and then considered his suspicions proven when Zero had become a Longcoat.

Now questions arose; they crumbled his certainty and willingness to carry on. He had wanted to hurt Zero, to see him experience the same pain as he had when Adora had died. Now he wondered if that was what he truly wanted, or just a diluted revenge fantasy that would never give him any satisfaction outside the confines of his mind.

"We are not even yet, are we Cain?" Zero asked all of the sudden, returning to his usual confrontational self. He baited his former friend, seeking cheap thrills from hurtful words.

Cain's grip on his gun became firmer again. "We will never be even, Zero," he said.

"So you will make sure your bitch Queen condemns me after I've watched my Sorceress die?" Zero asked, curious about Cain's motives. As noble as the man was, Zero was a weakness for Cain, something that was able to shatter his ideals and lead him toward darker paths. Zero didn't expect Cain to be untouched by this assignment as no man in his position could be.

"It sounds almost poetic, doesn't it?" he then mused, drawing parallels between his revenge on Cain and Cain's current actions.

"You would have to have a heart that's torn out of your chest to even begin to experience what you put me through," Cain responded. "I doubt there's a thing in the Outer Zone that can make you feel that."

The words prickled as intended. Zero could see that Cain knew about Azkadellia's meaning for him, he sensed it now; and then all made sense.

"You did that to me once, remember, partner?" Zero taunted now, invoking old memories. Although it was distant now, Cain had destroyed his life once. He'd traded their friendship to this long torturous rivalry that only death could end.

Cain hadn't expected this; he was honestly caught off-guard with the accusation. Looking at Cain's face made Zero feel sick. He trashed his head a bit, banging it at the wall behind him. The pain that followed was sobering.

"It may have not meant anything to you, but you destroyed me," Zero shot Cain with a blaming look, and his voice dripped poison as he spoke.

Cain felt a small sting of conscience. He knew he had done the right thing by reporting Zero, but it was also true that this had started a chain of events that had led to Zero's downfall. "You deserved to be dismissed. You crossed the line," he clarified without an ounce of doubt.

"You crossed the line when you did that to me," Zero responded, drawing parallels. "You deserved punishment."

And for the first time, Cain considered that perhaps Zero had acted on revenge rather than just blindly following orders. It hadn't really crossed his mind, although the grudge held should've been obvious. The epiphany was odd, but it fit with the picture. Somehow this knowledge made the victory he had savored a cold dish to enjoy.

The two men stared at each other in the twilight. Fires of anger smoldered still, although reduced to embers. In the end it didn't matter that Zero had a motive as well. Two wrongs didn't make a right.

"I don't care about your justifications. Tell yourself whatever you want to sleep sound at night. You're a monster, and I will sure you never hurt anyone again," Cain finished, resigning to silence.

Zero didn't comment. He hadn't wanted understanding, and he knew he was at the end of the line. Somehow though, the verbiage helped distract him from the real issues. Everyone else might have resigned themselves to watching Azkadellia die, but not him. Not him.

The morning sun arrived, flooding into the room through the windows. It landed its spotlight over the Coffin, somewhat diminishing its horrifying experience. DG had fallen asleep sometime in the night when Azkadellia's cries had died out again and there had been sufficient quiet for her slip into dream. Ambrose had also napped here and there, unable to give himself similar freedom to follow his basic instincts. He had covered DG with a blanket, helped her settle into a better position, and sat at a distance from her, eyes cast on the Coffin and the girl sleeping by it.

These feelings for her had developed unwanted. It had begun when he had still been Glitch and she had been one of the few in the long years to treat him like a person. Her kindness had won him over, corroded his defenses. He hadn't remembered the past, how he had guided her in her youth and prepared her for the throne. It had been easy to love her when he hadn't known of their connection. It had been easy to see her as a woman instead of a child. Alas, now he was bound by his memories, his position.

A senseless man could love whomever he wanted, but a man with sense could not.

He recognized this as madness, but he couldn't reason himself out of love, couldn't struggle with the sweetness her presence spread in his body. She was truly a source of happiness, light. DG wanted to believe the best in everyone, despite being a sarcastic character. She hid her softness in bluntness and stubbornness.

He assumed this was why she had not yet realized the dilemma of Azkadellia's fate. It had been easy for her to accept blame in releasing the Witch and possessing Azkadellia, but she had not accepted Azkadellia's confession about embracing the Witch's council, not for real. DG wanted to save Azkadellia and the only way to do that was if Azkadellia remained innocent.

Ambrose' senses told him that such believes were futile, but his feelings demanded he give DG a little room for hope. This put him in a terrible position. He pitied the person who would have to tell DG the truth that was plain to see for everyone else; that Azkadellia was too far gone for salvation, despite being only partially accountable for her actions. The Coffin would judge her and the screams of her downfall would burn into DG's memory, leaving her scarred for losing her sister twice.

DG moved a bit, and then turned to her side. Her sleepy eyes fluttered open and her face sought for the sunlight that landed near her. For a moment she was somewhere else, somewhere happy, until she remembered where she was and why. Sadness returned, and she sat up, throwing the Coffin an unsure look, sighing soon after.

"No change?" she asked him tentatively.

"No change," he shook his head.

Ambrose was about to stand up from his spot when she'd already stood up and ran to his side, sitting right next to him, all too close for his liking. He stiffened because of the closeness, trying his best to appear natural, while she didn't seem to notice a thing was amiss. If there was a change in DG from their travelling days together, it was an air of maturity, responsibility, in her adventurous and rebellious character. A Queen didn't have the luxury of always following her heart, and it was evident that DG was also realizing this.

She shifted, and he caught a whiff of her scent, so sweet and homey. It felt torturous to draw that breath, so he held it in once he had it, fearing of never getting this chance again.

"I've caused her so much pain," DG lamented, pulling her knees to her chest, locking them still with her arms. She felt responsible.

"At some point, we must learn to accept our mistakes, and understand that we are not responsible for the ripples they cause," Ambrose comforted her. He had given this a lot of thought, having recognized her motivation some time ago. Of course she loved her sister now that her childhood was regained, but she also tried to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders all for nothing.

"Aren't you deep," she joked back at him, poking his side playfully. He didn't return her playfulness though, just felt the uncomfortable torture of her closeness and worked on containing it. Ambrose's smile was strained.

"I,-" he started with uncertainty, "I have every reason to hate her for what she did. I have simply chosen to look at things differently." He confessed, fearing this would cross the unseen line.

DG was quiet at first, taken by her words. "I'm sorry Glitch," she apologized sincerely, "It's easy for me to forget that she hurt a lot of people I care about."

She hadn't started calling him Ambrose like most people had, probably because she still knew him as Glitch. He didn't mind it. It was something that only they shared together.

"Do you think other people could learn to forgive her?" she then asked, sounding unsure and perhaps a bit frightened as well.

He considered this for a second. "It's difficult to say, people react so differently – Some probably, but all? I fear we are not so evolved yet," he explained to her.

She took in his answer bravely, although it didn't exactly ease her conflict. The duality in Azkadellia was something she had trouble grasping. Her Azkadellia, so vivid in her memories, was a darling, the best big sister one could have, whereas the other was twisted and evil. How much of that persona had been the Witch and how much Azkadellia herself? Who was qualified to judge that? How could she make the people understand something she didn't understand herself?

DG leaned her head against Ambrose's shoulder absent-mindedly, sinking further into her messy thoughts. "Can she be saved?" she asked, finally surrendering to this question she had wished to avoid.

Ambrose held his breath for a bit, felt his chest tighten. Instead of his dark view of the future, he'd rather offer her hope. "She had worn a mask for a long time," he said eventually, "Can she still remember who she was underneath it? Or is there someone who can show her the kind of person she wants to be?"

She waited for an answer anxiously as he paused for a second.

"I don't know," Ambrose then admitted, looking at the Coffin on the other side of the room, resting majestically in the sunlight. "It all depends on her. No one can make her walk in fire if she decides it burns too hot."

"She's strong," DG assured more to her than him. Her face lit with almost childish belief. "She endured the Witch. She can endure this as well."

Ambrose didn't like thinking of her as naïve. In many regards she was not a naïve person, but Azkadellia was a blind spot for her, someone DG could not judge. Her mother had begun grooming her into the next Queen in silence, knowing in her timeless wisdom that Azkadellia was no longer a viable option. DG had many traits that would make her into an excellent ruler, but there was also room for growth. No matter how things ended, it wouldn't be easy. She would need to show her own strength in this ordeal and the aftermath.

Realizing she was inching too close, he stood up suddenly, disrupting their peaceful moment together. Although Ambrose clouded his discomfort with jarring smiles and movement, it shone through briefly. He too had a mask he needed to wear, but in his case the mask was his old identity, not his new one. He desired to be Glitch more than he desired to be Ambrose.

"I should check with the guards," he announced with an awkward voice, not quite balanced between the act and his genuine anxiety.

DG frowned at the sight of his strange behavior, but couldn't voice her questions, for he had already gone by the time she could utter her first word. Instead she was left in the room – Azkadellia's former quarters – alone.

She hadn't preoccupied herself with the arrangements of their stay. Someone had always brought her food, helped her find a comfortable spot to sleep in, and informed her of the happenings outside. Now she could feel a sting of embarrassment for realizing this. It wasn't fair to lose her here when her responsibilities and kingdom waited, yet she wasn't ready to let go either.

She knew there would be a time she could no longer be this selfish, when she would have to think of everyone else first. DG would rather hold onto this moment where she was still free from the responsibility, unscathed by the power that had intoxicated her sister. She could see clearly that this was difficult for everyone else though; that they were here for her, not Az. Of course she was grateful and felt blessed to have such friends, but the truth remained that she knew quite well this could not go on.

In time she would have to face reality and act as judge to her sister's bloodstained legacy. Then she could no longer look at Azkadellia with her sentimental eyes. If the Coffin deemed her sister worthy, it would be her job to appease the people who desired her sister dead. It seemed like an impossible task to accomplish.

DG made her way to the Coffin, sat next to it and leaned her body against its smooth side. The Coffin didn't react to her touch and no noise escaped it. She knew Azkadellia was aware though, could sense it beneath the pulse of the ancient mind. The fear and dread she sensed inside were a cloud of dark intentions, hovering around her and the relic.

"Two little princesses dancing in a row," she began singing softly, and continued with a melancholy voice, "Spinning fast and freely on their toes, where the night will take you there's only one way to know."

She swallowed, vanquishing the negative emanating within the Coffin with her song, calming her sister. Her voice carried further as she continued; it sounded more nursing, more loving, "Two little princesses dancing in a row…"

The wagon stopped after an endless journey, weighted down by silence. Anticipation was all over Zero's body; it had crept into his blood stream, it nourished his muscles, his mind. He waited obediently, showing unusual patience as Cain proceeded with the necessary caution in getting them on the move. Others came to watch over while Cain exited the wagon. Hands grabbed Zero, pulled him up and on the ground.

The light was dim by now, the sky reduced to cloudy and ominous. Zero wasn't given much chance of regaining his footing, let alone absorbing his surroundings. They were immediately on the move, headed towards the entrance of the Sorceress' castle. This had once been a glorious pinnacle of her power, and now the castle was reduced to an abandoned skeleton with its riches robbed and its inhabitants long gone.

For the first time Zero considered the time that had passed. Days and weeks no longer sufficed, did they? Deterioration of this level would require months, he realized to his horror, keeping his eyes fixed on the small details, the crannies and nooks of his former home.

His escorts pulled him onwards, and Cain led them further into the depths of the castle. It no longer rained, but a cool breeze of air dominated these halls. Zero's dirty hair, a tad overgrown during his imprisonment, hung over his face, hiding his calculating eyes. His walking was labored; it clearly required more focus than usual with each muscle screaming at him for rest already. Zero followed though, struggling to remain on his feet. Cain had given him something to eat along the way, but hunger was already clutching his insides. It was insignificant to what lay ahead though; it could be brushed aside.

Stairways, an elevator, a long hallway of reflective floors and surreal emptiness followed as they proceeded. They passed by some guards, clearly the protective detail of someone important, he deducted and decided he didn't care. Zero recognized the last hallway though as Azkadellia's private corridor that connected with her quarters. He found it distasteful that they had turned her home into her gallows, but he did not complain.

Eventually they reached the doorway, and Cain signaled them to a halt. Zero was left suspended by the men escorting her as his own legs gave away under his weight. He felt positively drained, but his willpower kept him going regardless.

Cain opened the double doors leading to their destination and entered alone. Zero heard his voice speaking, conversing with his allies in the distance. Something unexplained bothered him, a feeling of unease had settled inside his body. He wanted to look, to see, but at the same time, he wanted to keep his head down and be ignored. Scents and sounds roused old memories; he almost expected to walk inside, and find her by her mirror, waiting for the strings of her corset to be loosened.

A young girl appeared into view. He didn't recognize her at first, but then he caught his elusive thoughts and placed her. This was DG, Azkadellia's young sister who had resurfaced in the O.Z. and rebelled against her rule after being assumed dead for nearly a decade. The way everyone around her treated her, Zero could tell she held the power here. How strange for this one to oversee Azkadellia's torture herself, he thought bitterly and raised his face to see her, to stare her down.

DG found Zero's intense glare unnerving yet magnetic. It demanded her attention, cursing her for reasons unknown, unspoken.

"I want him restrained at all times," Cain advised them all, pointing his words especially to DG. She nodded without enthusiasm, trying to grasp why this man's name was on her sister's lips at a time like this.

"You should behave," she then said to him, surprising Zero with her frankness, "We're doing this for her, not so that you can start up trouble again."

A twisted smirk decorated his face. "I find that hard to believe."

Zero glanced around him, waiting for the soldiers to let him go, but their grip remained. He pointed his eyes on DG again. "She calls for me and me alone," he explained, alluding to his wish for privacy.

Cain quickly snorted at the hint with contempt. "We are not leaving. Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of us."

A soft moan pierced his ears, drew his attention in an instant; Zero's head snapped towards the source of the sound, an area unseen by him in his current position. DG also heard it; it crumbled her decisiveness a bit, hearing Azkadellia begin again. For the first time since this had begun, she saw someone else react to Azkadellia's pain with equally undivided attention.

Zero tugged at his arms a bit, struggling free. Cain gave the guards a distinctive nod and they freed Zero, releasing him to the floor. His hands were still bound, but he found new strength, kneeling and then standing up all on his own. His steps were disjointed as he walked past the trio of DG, Ambrose and Cain, and continued towards the Coffin that slowly came into view.

All eyes were upon him now, on his slow approach. Zero didn't see or hear them though; his attention was on the Coffin, this dreadful creation he had always feared and shunned. Nothing betrayed what it held inside; it looked almost harmless at first. But the closer he got, the clearer her wailing voice became. He started making out more than just noise: a ragged breath, yelps of pain followed by sobs and aggressive growls.

He kneeled by the Coffin, settling himself near its deceptive front. His gut screamed at him to run while he still could, to look away from this deceptive thing. He wasn't as immune to its call as the rest of them were; no, he understood its hunger quite well and was the ideal victim for its touch. A survivor would've followed his instincts, yet Zero brought his bound hands over the Coffin's lid, moved his fingers across the smooth surface. When he turned his head towards his audience, to take in their mesmerized faces, their lack of understanding, he could hear the Coffin breathe a whimper, his name.

There had been a time when he would've stricken them all down in her name without hesitation. But now the Coffin called him to it with an almost magnetic pull; it was unexplainable how strongly he felt it. It felt timeless; its carvings had embellished it with power that surpassed any living thing today. Years from now Zero would be gone and the Coffin would remain, judging the guilty all the same. His petty grievances felt small in the Coffin's shadow.

He rested his hands on the lid, positioned himself so he could sit there comfortably. In no time he realized he was caressing its surface, like it was her skin he touched, with love and care.

"Azkadellia," he spoke finally, sounding neither loving nor hateful. "Can you hear me?"

Everyone waited for an answer almost breathlessly, but he wasn't surprised when none came.

"You never did listen to me, you headstrong bitch," he said, sounding quite affectionate despite the insults. "Why not start now?"

He brushed his dirty face against his shoulder to remove some of the grime, but it was difficult to act with the restraints. Then he leaned over, kissing the surface of the relic, just as he had kissed her hand so many times in the past to prove his loyalty.

"I'm still yours," he vowed. "And I will do your bidding."

TBC