Author's note: I received mixed on the previous chapters. But, if I have to say, I don't regret Rika's death in any way. Cruel, I know, but necessary. Syaoran and Sakura has to learn how to depend on each other and Rika has acted both as a connection and a barrier between them, thereby preventing any character development. (and das what this is all abouutt)

Anyway, I reeeeaally enjoyed writing the last chapter and this one. This one's shorter as well, but it's still within my word count goal I guess.

Enjoy~

Disclaimer: Cardcaptor Sakura does not belong to me in any way possible.


The wind brutally whipped against Syaoran's face as he wrapped his arms around the Princess. She was unconscious, her eyes closed and her body limp as it tried to protect its own from the upcoming trauma.

He threw the Princess over his shoulder as carefully as he can. Then, once he was certain of her security, he jumped from one debris to another to lessen the impact of their descent. His lightning powered and quickened his every move.

He felt no pain, his magic protecting him from the early injuries he sustained. He latched onto the well of magic inside him as if his life depended on it–for it did. Without the magic that dulled his ache and enhanced his body, he would crumple to the ground and never get up.

The ground cracked and dented beneath his feet once they landed. But he didn't stop there, no, he wouldn't stop until he was sure he and the Princess were out of the enemies' territory. He had no idea how far Yomu's evil grasp reached and, with no other choices entering his mind, he decided to run and let his feet take him wherever until his magic reserves ran out.

Not a second after his feet landed, he started bounding through trees while dodging massive boulders and debris that followed their descent. He was careful not to leave any tracks this time, making his steps lighter as jumped from the ground to the trees.

Without any prior destination, he ran and ran, randomly changing directions upon whim. He ran until he felt the telltale ache on his ribs, a signal of his draining magic. He ran until he was panting, the Princess a dead weight on his shoulder. He ran until his vision blurred and the world swayed around him.

And once he couldn't distinguish north from south and east from west, only then did he withdraw the power that radiated through his body, bottling it inside him once again and leaving him weak. He instantly fell to the ground, careful of the still unconscious royal, and battled to stay awake. But it was a fight he was quickly losing. His whole body hurt, every breath he took felt like a punch in the lung and darkness crawled on the edges of his vision.

Admitting defeat, he rolled to his side–mindless of the pain it caused–and wrapped his arms around the princess, tucking her head under his chin. He would protect her as best as he can, even in unconsciousness. With that thought it mind, he finally succumbed to darkness's cold embrace.


Sakura blinked and immediately regretted the action. Everything was bright, so bright that it scalded her eyeballs. Groaning, she raised her hand and covered her eyes. Her mind couldn't pinpoint where or how she was there, all she knew was her name and that she was positive the light had blinded her.

The sweet smell of flowers reached her senses and, as if it was a trigger, everything came crashing back to her all at once. Akatsuki…Rika…oh gods…With a sharp gasp, she bolted upright, breathing heavily.

Images swam before her closed eyes and her world spun until she surrendered and jolted upright. She turned sideways before heaving the contents of her stomach onto the blades of grass beside her. She felt sickly and cold.

Once her gags receded, she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and straightened, uncaring of the mess beside her. She was tired, so tired, and she couldn't find the will to feel anything. To live.

The corners of her vision were still blurred and she swiped a hand over her face in an attempt to right herself. It didn't work. With a pained groan, she fell back on the ground. As her back hit the soft undergrowth, the scent of flowers exploded around her, making her eyes tear.

"You're back," a soft voice called, somehow breaking through the waves of dizziness that swamped her. "But you are not well." Sakura heard the faint shuffling of clothes and suddenly, her vision was clear and the throbbing pain in her temples was gone.

Sakura opened her eyes, blinked, then took in her surroundings. She was in a meadow with the lady in black once again. Only this time, the meadow seem bleaker, and from a distance, she could see the splattering of wilted flowers starkly contrasting against the ones in full bloom. It was an eerie sight.

"Come." Sakura found herself being lifted, yet no hands touched her. Before she could gasp, she was set back on her feet.

The elegant lady now stood before Sakura, smiling. Her appearance was a lot more youthful than when she'd last seen her. Her skin looked smoother and held a soft, muted glow. Her dark hair, a beautiful pin straight, held a striking shine as the sunrays bounced off it. Then there were her eyes, formerly as beautiful as her black locks yet now even more so as a spry glint seemed to be trapped deep into those fathomless orbs.

"I hope you have not forgotten our agreement?" A pinch of sadness washed over her lovely features. Her voice was warm and melodious, oddly reminding Sakura of the two moons that lighted the skies at night.

Agreement? "Oh," Sakura said as she finally recalled their last meeting.

"Yes," the woman answered, her smile returning to her face. "My sister was delighted by your presence and for a moment she was well, but…now she is weaker," the woman paused, then added, "I am afraid." as if the emotion was startling to her.

"But…how do I help her?" Sakura knew she had a lot on her plate, but something told her she would not be leaving this place unless she told the woman what she wanted to hear.

Sakura finally acknowledged that this could not be a dream. One does not simply dream of the same person and the same place while continuing a conversation that transpired in their previous meeting–especially if that dream occured ages ago. She still remembered this place as if she'd gone here only yesterday. From the gentle breeze that carried a floral scent down to the feel of the soil beneath her feet, her body and mind recognized and were familiar with it.

Everything, even the little insects that she can see flying from flower to flower, was somehow created by the woman–and probably her "sister".

"You have to stop the mother," the woman said as she lifted the soft, black skirt of her silk gown and walked a few steps from her. "She awakens, and she is angry."

Sakura resisted the urge to frown. Mother? Whose mother?

"Mother is very kind and gentle, but humans are not kind to her," the woman continued, pacing and oblivious to Sakura's unsaid inquiry. "Not kind to all of us, in fact," she muttered.

"Why me?"

The unnamed woman spun to face her, her lips pursed. "You should ask why you came to me," she said with a hint of irritation. "I don't know how you managed to find us when we've mostly been left alone for as long as I can remember. I don't even know how we speak, human princess."

"Who are you?"

"Who I am is not important. You agreed to help my sister."

"And I would, as I said, but I have to see her condition first."

"You can feel her condition quite well without seeing her," the woman snapped. "But, like everyone, you chose to be blind." Overhead, the sun suddenly retreated behind rolling dark clouds and looming shadows crept from behind trees, threatening to eat Sakura whole.

"All right," Sakura said quickly as the shadows moved and snipped at her feet. "I'll help her. Tell me what to do." And hurry!

The woman relaxed immediately and the sun once again shone warm and bright above them. What exactly is this place?

"We are connected to Mother. Wait, that's not right," she muttered and tapped her chin before continuing, "we are all connected to Mother. That is why she is the Mother. She is the most powerful, and like how I will die without my sister, we will all die without her."

"You said she was sleeping, and now she's awake. Where is she and who woke her?"

"She is not yet awake, but she will be," the woman whispered as a shudder ran through her. She was terrified of the Mother, Sakura realized. "And she will be very, very angry at everyone, especially now that blood has corrupted her."

It irked Sakura that she didn't answer any of her questions.

"Then what should I do?"

"You must…defeat her. But she is guarded by evil, and he feeds her more blood. You must save her–defeat her–before it's too late."

"Where is she?" Sakura didn't want to deal with anyone's problems right now, especially when said problem kept speaking in riddles and won't give her a coherent answer–or any answer at all. But for the sake of returning to her own world, she pretended to be interested.

"She will not take form until you…do...you must awaken the others, only then will you be able to defeat her."

"Then how–"

"Our time is running out. You are rousing," she said hastily, licking her lips. "I do not know where the seals are. It is hidden from us, so we cannot interfere. You must find someone who does. Only then will she show, only then will you stand a chance. If you do not unseal, you will die. We will die."

"That makes no sense," Sakura said. "And I cannot help you if I'm too weak. I have a companion," she added, finally remembering Syaoran. "He's a better help than I, but he's in pain." If he's not dead already…

"It will," the woman waved her hand, "in time. I trust you and your…companion to do as you said." Then Sakura found herself falling, the ground opening and swallowing her whole. Terror filled her and she screamed.


"Wake up."

Syaoran felt something hitting his cheek. A tap. Once, twice, thrice.

"Wake up."

More taps, this time on his temples and arm.

Grunting, he cracked his eyes open. Bright light flooded his vision and he groaned, lifting an arm to protect his scorched eyeballs.

There was movement, and suddenly there was something hard poking his cheek. A stick, perhaps.

"I'm awake, alive," he croaked out.

"Good." Was that relief? "That's good."

Careful this time, Syaoran opened his eyes again. He was laying on the forest floor, probably in the middle of nowhere. The foliage was thick beneath him and he could feel several things crawling around a few parts of his body. He could also hear chirping and the sound of swaying leaves as wind brushed past them.

He should feel happy, or at least content. These were what he was used to, not the confining palace walls. But everything, every scent he breathed in, every sight he took in, was a mortal reminder of a life that had been cruelly cut off. So badly he wanted to curl up and let the world crumble around him. It was all too much. Hasn't he lost so much already? Was he fated to lose everyone he cared about?

Why?

Then his gaze landed on the princess. She sat beside him, staring at him with a stoic face. Her skirt and bodice were streaked with dirt and torn in a few places. Otherwise, she looked uninjured.

There was no trace of remorse on her face, no redness nor swelling that indicated she'd been crying. Such a calm demeanor she presented with her hand resting one on top of the other on her lap.

She was as unperturbed as ever.

Syaoran mentally punched himself. He can't afford to be weak now, not when she was holding up so well. She'd most likely understood the situation better than he, had probably accepted it before he even woke up, and was now ready to move forward. Where that "forward" was, he needed more time to think about it.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, her tone casual and light as if they'd just gone from a walk instead of a run that nearly cost their lives.

Syaoran tested his breathing. There was no pain, not even lingering aches, when he was pretty certain he was dying before he lost consciousness. Cautiously, he sat up. He frowned when he felt no bones cracking or muscles tearing.

"I'm…all right." But he does feel parched.

"Good."

Clearing his throat, Syaoran steeled his nerves again. Once he was confident he wouldn't immediately breakdown upon standing, he braced his arm on the ground and pushed himself up. The world spun slightly but it righted when he blinked several times.

Now that felt odd. Using too much magic usually gave him pain, and with the amount he spent–he was positive he drained himself–he should be writhing in agony for days. Yet he felt perfectly normal. In fact, he felt well rested.

"Do you know where we are?" The Princess asked as she stood and brushed twigs and leaves off her gown. Now that she was back to full height, Syaoran noticed that her clothes were more tattered than he realized. He silently berated himself for not being careful when he ran with her in his arms.

Syaoran surveyed his surroundings, turning in a full circle, before shrugging. "No, but we have to move. I don't know how long we've been out and someone might have followed us."

She nodded but made no further response.

He silently evaluated himself. His sword was still strapped around his hips and the dagger he always kept in his boots was still there. Aside from a few tears on his clothes and some scabs on his arms, he was fine and prepared for hours of walking.

The Princess, on the other hand…"Have you…hiked before?" He had heard that hunting was one of an aristocrat's favorite hobby. He hoped that she knew the sport and has some experience with the outdoors.

"No." She shook her head, her auburn hair swishing with her movement.

Somewhere along the way she had lost her decorative headpiece and seeing her without it was odd. Actually, simply seeing her standing there, surrounded by towering trees and undergrowth, felt peculiar. She didn't belong here, he realized, not any more than he belonged in her spacious palace.

Syaoran looked up, squinting, and used the sun's position to have a little bit of idea where to start. It was afternoon, the sun hot and blazing as he pondered where to lead her. He couldn't go east and risk backtracking to the capital. Not north where he knew barbarians and bandits flocked from their mountains, and south was out of the question.

That left him with west, where there was a port city not under the rule by any country. He could take her there, where traders and merchants crowded, and lose their tracks in the throngs of people. Then he would decide their next course of action.

"Come." Turning his back at the sun, he started walking.

In silence they walked, the only sounds that could be heard was the Princess's skirt as the thick garment brushed across bushes, and Syaoran's boots as he subtly stomped on the grass he walked upon to give way for her. He knew she was still wearing the heels she wore when she left her room this morning, and those were not made for strolls in the forest where a jutting rock or two and fallen branches were common.

On and on they marched, neither saying a word to the other. Occasionally, Syaoran peeked over his shoulder to check on how the Princess was faring and as the hours passed by, she grew worse and worse. Her cheeks were pale, her lips parted from her quiet pants and sweat trailed from her temples and dripped down her chin. There was strain on her eyes and the thin line of her lips.

Yet, despite her obvious exhaustion, not a word of complaint left her mouth. She kept up with him, regardless of her heeled shoes. Even though he had slowed his pace for her, he couldn't stop the growing respect he felt.

She had lost the only home she'd ever known, her sister by heart and her title all in one day. Last night she slept as a princess, and now she was walking through the forest with holes in her gown and scratches on her arms. He'd expected whining by now, maybe even tears, but she was silent.

Her nerves were something he found himself admiring.

Now, more than ever, he willed his strength. Because she couldn't afford his weakness. No, he would walk beside her and protect her with his best. He would be…nice and understanding. Syaoran gritted his teeth and forced unwanted memories to the farthest back of his mind.

If he broke down and cried then and there, he was certain that the Princess would laugh while kicking him on the ribs.

"We stop here," he said when he spotted a small clearing where he could build fire. The sun was setting and walking through the forest at night was a death wish.

A sound finally left her. A suppressed whimper so quiet he almost didn't catch it, but he did. Turning, he cupped her elbow and gently led her to lean against a strong tree. She was gripping his bicep as she slid down to the ground and sighed softly when she finally stretched her legs in front of her.

"Stay here while I gather some wood and food," he told her as he released her elbow and straightened.

She nodded in reply. Their eyes locked for a moment before she shifted her gaze downward.

With one more look at her, he slipped through the foliage and began his hunt.

An hour later, when the sky was nearly black and dots of stars welcomed the coming night, Syaoran came back to their camp with wood in his arms and two rabbits stringed to his belt. He glanced at the Princess, found her sleeping, and began working on the fire.

Once he was certain the fire was strong enough that a sudden gust of wind wouldn't kill it, he skinned the rabbit, speared it with a stick and roasted it over the flames.

"Princess," he called and shook her gently once he was done preparing their meal.

She groaned and blinked her eyes open. There were dark circles under her eyes and tiredness in the lines of her mouth, but still, no whine left her. Her emerald gaze found his, silently asking why he awakened her.

"Eat," was all he said before handing her the meat.

She regarded it for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she tried to identify the animal before it was skinned and cooked. Realization seemed to take over and her face twisted in disgust.

"Don't worry, you won't get sick. You're weakened and you have to eat."

Silently, she stared at him. Though her lips remained in a thin line, her eyes held a myriad of questions. Then, as if she received an answer from his face, she shifted her gaze back to the meat in her hand and took a small bite. It was followed by a bigger one, then another, and another, until there was nearly no meat left on the bone.

She licked her lips and silently handed the remains to him. Having finished his meal as well, he tossed the bones to the blazing fire.

"Thank you," she said, her gaze not quite meeting his.

"You're welcome."

Thick silence followed and the chorus of crickets seemed to echo in their surroundings. Suddenly, the princess shivered. Afraid of the thought of her catching sickness while they're in the middle of nowhere, Syaoran quickly stood and removed his cloak. He silently draped it across her shoulders.

She muttered words of gratitude as she gripped the edges of the cloth and pulled it tighter around her.

"What about wild animals?" the Princess asked after another moment of silence. Her voice was meek and her eyes were trained on the flickering flames before her.

"Animals are more afraid of humans than us of them, Princess. As long as we have fire, they won't approach us." Hopefully. "But in case there are those who are desperate enough, I'll keep watch. You sleep and have some rest."

"About Rika I–"

"Princess," Syaoran cut her off before she can continue. He pushed away the pain caused by the mention of her name. "She…she assigned you to my care. But let's not talk about her now. Rest," he said, his tone a clear indication that it was not up for discussion.

The princess muttered something in an undertone, something he couldn't quite hear, but leaned her back against a tree otherwise. She closed her eyes and let out a silent sigh.

Syaoran sat by the fire for a long moment, warming himself, before adding more wood to the fire and standing up. He listened to the sound of the princess's breathing to check if she really was asleep–she was–and decided to scout the perimeter.

A few minutes later, Syaoran came back to their small camp, brushing leaves off his hair and twigs off his clothes. So far there were no signs of any human or predator near their camp, but simply for the sake of precaution, he casted a small magic–since he was still too weak to cast traps–that enhanced his senses for a period of time. That way, he'll know once someone or something stepped in within a mile-wide radius of their vicinity.

Syaoran unbelted his sword and sat by the fire once more. He closed his eyes, but didn't sleep for the spell he casted would be broken once he lost consciousness. And with the soft strings of magic and the crickets' singing as his companions, he kept close and guarded over the princess.


On their second day of walking, the princess collapsed. Syaoran, more than a bit panicked, thankfully caught her before she hit the ground face first. He carried her in his arms as he sought the shade of the trees. His face was a blank mask, but his pulse was hammering under his ribs and a fine sheen of sweat coated his brow.

After settling under the wide, stretching branches of a huge oak, he leaned the princess against its trunk and checked her temperature. He muttered a curse. His worse fears came through.

She has a fever.

Syaoran knew what herbs he could use to cure her, but he couldn't leave her out in the open alone and defenseless. Gritting his teeth from the feeling of helplessness, he hefted her on his back and continued walking. He kept his senses open and alert, hoping to catch the sound of fresh stream or maybe a flowing river. If he followed the waters, a village would soon be in sight.

The travel has been hard, but to his eternal gratefulness, the forest has been kind to them. He had used the skin he collected from the animals they ate to make a canteen, refilling it every time they passed by a pond or a lake–with Syaoran drinking the water first to assure its safety.

As for hunting, Syaoran had to tie his dagger to the end of a thick stick for a makeshift spear. It was difficult at first, as he was used to hunting with a bow and arrow, but within a few tries, he was skilled enough to catch a wandering rabbit and even a fish or two in the lakes they encountered.

The day after leaving their first camp, Syaoran had instructed the princess to loosen the strings of her corset. It was obviously making her movements a thousand times more difficult, but because of her stubborn and unnecessary preference of proper decorum over survival, she'd opted to keep it on.

That frustrated him on a whole different level. He was a hairsbreadth away from strangling some sense into her.

She'd denied him vehemently and pinned him with a glare that rivaled the scorching sun. He, however, wouldn't back down. After a few strict words and a glare of his own, she had complied and had him turn around as she untied her bodice and fixed her corset.

They had continued their dreaded march, with Syaoran listening closely to her breathing, and was thankful that her inhalations were larger and more natural. Now, see, if she'd listened to him without looking like she wanted to spit at his face–courtesy be damned–her life would be marginally better.

Yesterday, they had stumbled upon a small lake and decided to camp near it for the night. After Syaoran once again erected a magical barrier that alerted him of unwanted wanderers, he had built a fire and caught some fish before roasting it and feeding the princess.

He'd insisted that she take a bath, with him as a guard, and she'd hesitantly complied. They were both dirty, their hairs streaked with dirt and their skin sticky with sweat and grime.

As someone who valued cleanliness more than the next person, Syaoran had to resist the urge dive in head first to the lake and scrub himself until he removed his current skin and replaced it with a new one.

But, of course, the princess had to go first. And so with his back facing her, she had undressed slowly. So slowly that Syaoran very nearly stomped to her and ripped away her clothing. He wanted to be clean and soon, damn it. But after a few minutes of shuffling clothing and more than a few muttered frustrations from the princess, he heard the sound of parting water.

It was then and there that the realization had sunk in. He, an adult male, was merely a few yards away from the naked princess–whom he was pretty certain by now is an adult despite her questionable maturity–who is, without doubt, the prettiest woman he has ever seen.

The realization, of course, had been unwelcome, and he had to bit his tongue to halt his line of thought. It was very dangerous.

Much later, he'd heard the unmistakable sound of water running down bare flesh and splashing back into the lake as the princess finished her bath. By that time Syaoran had been certain that someone had somehow stuffed sand down his throat and choked him with it. He mentally punched and chastised himself. What the hell was he doing? He was a guardian, damn it.

As he'd heard her shuffle through her layers of clothing, Syaoran had told her to discard her petticoats. There was a pause and he knew there was an argument itching to escape her lips, but she only sighed and resumed covering herself.

After she'd finished redressing and he received an approval to turn his back again, he looked at her skirt to see if she complied–she did. Her face had held unhidden disgust. It was clear that she loathed wearing the same dirty clothes after a fresh bath, but both of them knew that she had very little choice.

Syaoran had waited for her breath to even out–to assure she's asleep–before he had stripped himself and finally had the luxury to take a bath. Then, once his bronzed skin was scrubbed raw, he'd hastily redressed and went back to keeping watch.

They had refilled their canteens before they left camp and today, they'd already drank the last drop of their water a few hours before. If he doesn't replenish their supplies soon, he would start to weaken as well. Gnashing his teeth, he tightened his hold on the princess's knee as he trekked over a particularly steep hill.

It was noon and the sun was blazing, mercilessly pelting Syaoran with brutal rays that seemed to crawl under his skin and melt his very bones. Still, he trudged, on and on until it was nearly sundown.

As he went on, the princess's breathing became heavier and shallower against his ear, and her temperature had significantly increased since noon. He ignored the sweat running down from his face in buckets and his tired, trembling legs and walked faster, now desperate to take her to shelter.

As the night drew closer and closer, fatigue finally won over Syaoran. His legs gave up and he dropped to his knees, jostling the resting princess on his back and eliciting a pained moan from her. After leaning her against a tree, he murmured an apology as he smoothed a hand over her brow. She sighed words under her breath and seemed to sleep more peacefully upon his contact.

Syaoran's hands felt as heavy as steel bands and it seemed a thousand rocks were resting upon his eyelids. Still, willing himself to fight the undefeatable lethargy, he pushed back to his feet to start a fire. He could use his magic, but he was of lightning and if he so much as attempt to create fire with it, it would quickly spiral out of control, thereby burning the whole forest down.

One could say that fire and lightning are cousins, as they are both elements of high energy, but one is not the other.

As Syaoran stoked the fire, he realized that he couldn't hunt today. He simply didn't have the energy to. Darkness has chained him, and was now pulling him closer and closer to unconsciousness, no matter how he fought. Blinking his eyes open, he tried to cast the familiar magic barrier, only to fail and fall on his ass. He was out cold before he even realized.

A finger poking his cheek awakened him. He groaned and pried his heavy lids open, found that he couldn't, and closed them again.

"Wake up." It was the princess's voice. She was awake? She sounded healthier, her voice no longer held the dreaded note of tiredness she possessed these past few days.

Syaoran forced himself to sit, eyes still closed, only to fall back on his back with a thud. He moaned and tried to clutch his suddenly aching head. His limbs were as heavy as oak branches and he couldn't move them. In fact, he couldn't move any part of his body.

Everything, from the tips of his hair down to the soles of his feet, felt like it was replaced by pound after pound of stones. Why was he this lethargic?

A hand touched his cheek then his forehead, checking his temperature. But Syaoran knew he has no fever for he was feeling cold, as if ice had replaced his bones. Despite that, he was not shivering, his body no longer had the strength to do so.

"Open your eyes."

Syaoran obeyed, the heavy lids parting just the tiniest bit, and he saw the blurry form of the princess peering down at him. Her eyes were hard and her lips were set into a thin line.

"Come, I'll help you up," she said and, despite the unusual weariness he felt, Syaoran could feel a tug on his lips as he imagined his small form carrying his much, much bigger one.

"Fe..ver?" His words were groggy and slurred as if drunk.

"I feel fine," she said as he felt her hands encircle his wrists.

She grunted as she pulled–or tried to–him back on his feet. Syaoran, unwilling to put too much strain on her lest her sickness returned, helped himself as much as he can. Despite the protest his body screamed, he used his elbows and hands to anchor him up.

Syaoran swayed once he was upright and if weren't for the princess who pushed a shoulder underneath his arm, he would've planted his face on the ground. He cursed himself. What was happening to him? He felt drained, so drained that even when he tried to pull from his magic reserve to give him strength, he came up empty. His magic was suddenly gone, tapped out down to the very last drop.

"Are you sick? It's nearly sundown, you've slept for almost a day."

"Wha…?" What the hell? That wasn't like him at all. No matter how tired he was, he always woke before the sun rose. A trait he picked up during the times in his life when hard labor was a necessity. He looked at the sky through half-lidded eyes and true enough, the last rays of the sun felt like a hard slap on the face.

What happened? Did they enter a warded place? No, they didn't because he would've known once they did. Wards were made to nullify magic, and they were often planted in places where people want to hide objects of value.

No matter how weak he had been, Syaoran would've still felt the sudden withdrawal of magic from his body, but he didn't. But then again, there are mages who are powerful enough can create wards that has silent effects.

To test his theory, Syaoran pulled at his reserves again. Once done, he ruled out the possibility of wards. His magic was there, but it was empty, sucked dry by something that probably attacked him in his unconsciousness.

"Where do we go? I thought I heard something in the bushes and I think someone's there," the Princess whispered as she peered at him through her thick lashes.

"West." He wheezed, his lungs constricted and painful. If this continued, he'd have no energy to even breathe. He would die without even knowing what or who caused his death.

She frowned, clearly not knowing which particular direction led west. Her eyes scanned the surroundings and Syaoran knew she was seeing nothing but thick, towering trees.

He wasn't any help either. He couldn't open his eyes any longer. His chin drooped down his chest.

"Stay awake!" She commanded, one hand coming up to pat his cheek.

"I am," Syaoran drawled. "Tired…but will stay…standing."

She took a deep breath and started leading him…somewhere. He didn't know where, and found that he couldn't muster enough energy care. He could only drag his feet under him as he tried to ease his heavy weight off her fragile shoulders.

"Wea…pon?" Syaoran's voice sounded so distant even to himself, and moving his lips took grueling effort.

"Yours are still on –" the princess grunted "–and there's nothing left important back in the camp."

Syaoran felt uneven terrain, stray stones and fallen trigs scraping the soles of his shoes. Their pace slowed, but they continued to move. He felt the land becoming steeper and steeper until it eventually evened out. They must have trekked another hill.

The princess's breathing was erratic and he could feel her sweat drenching his arm. But she continued to assist most of his weight without a word as they began descending the high ground.

It was then that a sharp gasp left her lips and suddenly, with his eyes closed, Syaoran felt the world tilting and tumbling upside down. He heard a pained cry, but didn't know whether it came from him or the princess. All he knew was that he was rolling down, twigs and jutted rocks digging through his clothes and cutting his skin.

He didn't know how long they fell, but only when he felt a sharp blow to his torso did the world stop spinning. His eyes opened in shock. Everything was a blur, and when darkness beckoned him once more, he offered no resistance.


Yomu sighed as he dragged a hand over his tired face. For two whole nights he had stayed awake. The first night he used to hunt for the runaway royal and the mercenary, but no matter how strong the spell he casted, he couldn't find any trace of their life force. The second night, after realizing the futility of his search, he went back to finishing his work.

Now, all of the ingredients are accomplished. On his right hand he held a vial of mixed concoction. It was a viscous liquid with the color of deep purple. He swirled the vial once, twice, before tipping it against his lips and letting the mixture trail down his throat. A mixture of flavor burst in his mouth, coating his tongue and stinging his glands.

As he swallowed the last drop, he felt power fill him. Grinning, he tossed the vial away. The glass's shattering echoed in the cave he was in.

Thanks to Akatsuki and his stupidity, Yomu's plans had to skip several steps. But nevertheless, the missing steps were more for the stability and certainty of the spell. He needn't no assurance now. The spell will work.

Standing from his golden chair, he faced the empty chamber in front of him. He had carved the room from underneath the palace with his own magic. It took several arduous years–especially when most of the royal family were still alive and he needed to hide his tracks–but finally, only a few months before, he had completed his masterpiece.

This massive cave, dug from the very earth that She slept upon, will aid Yomu in accomplishing his goal.

The sound of his steps bounced off the walls as he made his way to the center. His hand was gripping a naked corpse by its hair and dragging it with him as he walked. He breathed, once, twice, thrice, before letting the hair untangle from his lithe fingers. The body fell on the cold floor with a resounding thump.

He chanted under his breath and soon, a lines and curves appeared on the ground, swirling and spiraling until it formed a magic circle. Its lines were colored a deep wine red, and it seeped on the stone floor, painting it with ugly blotches.

He chanted some more and the circle started glowing. As more spells left his lips, the circle's light brightened and intensified, until every nook and cranny of the spacious cave was bathed in deep purple.

Once Yomu was certain that the tether of magic that connected him the circle was firm and secure, he looked down at the body beside him. There she lay, as serene and beautiful as her mother had once been. If only she was as docile in life as she was in death, then she wouldn't be laying at his feet now.

Heaving a sigh as he felt a deep longing in his chest akin to how a child would feel once he lost his favorite toy, Yomu materialized a sharp sword from thin air. He looked at the corpse one last time before he struck, cleaving the head from its body in one swift swing. He bent and picked up the head by its long, brown hair.

"Come!" Yomu bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the whole cave. The circle he stood upon shook and trembled. He roared and the walls quivered, causing clouds of dust and pebbles to rain around him.

He held the head in front of him and its blood, cold and dead, dripped from the severed neck, falling in red droplets and mixing with the lines that painted the circle.

A cry was heard. Not from Yomu, but from the walls of the cave as it continued to shudder. It was a cry so mournful and so full of agony that tears streaked down Yomu's cheeks. His knees weakened and threatened to give up, but with a grit of his teeth, he steeled himself.

As more blood dripped, the more the cave quivered, as if the rock itself suffered as the cry grew louder and louder. Water slid down from walls and through tiny crevices in the ceiling, mimicking tears as the tormented wail continued to fill the suffocating air.

"Come!" Yomu repeated, his voice thickened with emotion. He raised the head higher and the cry from the walls turned into a growl and the water turned to lava.

The cave stopped quivering, but only for a moment. Once it came back, it was an earthquake instead. One that threatened to shake the foundations of the cave into crumbles of stones. Chunks of rocks fell from the ceiling and small, sharp pebbles slashed at Yomu's skin.

"I offer this to you." As the words left his lips, the lava and the earthquake ceased. I have your attention now…"I offer you, oh Great Queen, the head of a white witch." With a grin, he let go of his hold.

As soon as the head tumbled on the magic circle, the light intensified and the growl shifted into a screech. A sound that promised vengeance and suffering. A cry of hate.

"Welcome back," Yomu said with a laugh as he started to twirl from glee. "How was your sleep?"


Sakura shot up with a gasp. Agony lanced through her entire being, ripping her skin and bathing in her blood. She screamed and writhed but dark engulfed her, immediately ruling out the possibility of rescue.

With her nails she clawed at her chest, hoping to carve her heart out in order to ease the still growing pain. It was as if something was trying to crawl out of her skin, something that was so deep in suffering that Sakura couldn't stop unwanted tears from trickling on her temple.

Then, as the pain increased so much that Sakura wished for death, strong fingers jerked her hand from her chest and pinned it to her sides. She felt something wrap around her whole body, rendering her immobile. Her screams for help turned to whimpers as torment overtook her entire being.

She suddenly felt warm breath, as gentle as the fluttering of butterfly wings, waft over her face, and she knew nothing no more.


Author's note: Have you guys watched the new cardcaptor sakura anime? I swear the ending theme is like one big freaking ANIMATED FANFIC. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I've never fangirled this much in forever asdakjasd

Anyway back to the fic, I have classes again so I don't know when I'll have time to write again. But I have started on a few paragraphs for the next chapter so I don't think the update would be months from now. (I hope)

Again, thank you everyone for the feedback!