CHAPTER 08: TEMPERAL CANDLE'S WHISPER

The creak of the door echoed throughout the darkness, as the boy closed the door to the cold and dying light he strained his ears, listening for any sign of his mother. Suddenly, that inert cautiousness melted along with the snow on his clothes and boots, he didn't care anymore. Why should he? His mother was the one with the secrets. He had nothing to hide. Swallowing loudly in an attempt to soothe his tightening throat was a mistake as it elicited tears from his fair eyes. The numbness was setting in, "… y-you… You were planning to…-" Saturn's last words to him before he left wasn't too fitting for a parting fair-well, the old man's jolly demeanor disappeared as quickly as he did.

"W-why do you n-not wish to speak to my m-mother now? She will b-b-be home soon…" Inquired Octavian as best as he could with his teeth chattering loudly.

"… It has not come to pass…"

"W-what has not come to p-pass?" The absent crunch of snow hailed to mute foreboding as the Elder mumbled to himself before addressing the boy. The fact that the evening sky was quickly draining away to reveal night's domain was not that comforting either. Stars may have been plentiful, but they were way too minute to invoke comfort.

"Boy, there will be a struggle. Between you and that woman. The choices both you and she make have not yet come to pass… and therefore the respective futures pertaining to those choices have not yet come to pass…" Eerie blankness stared right through the boy. "Choices of the now or later…?" He seemed to ask himself. The Elder talked on, already shimmering, dissipating from view, his words, however, remained strong until the end, "I just hope, for your sake, that woman chooses the later…"

"W-what 'l-later' ch-choice? Can you not tell me—P-please! Elder? S-Saturn!?" His small voice was lost in the snow storm, Saturn's words' echo washed away in the slush of snow and ice. "W-what is… what is mama gonna do…?" A small boy hugged himself as he watched the rest of the evening sky bleed away to reveal black, knee deep in snow, he shivered.

"How was your trip?" Octavian yelped as he slipped on the wet floor and fell on his butt, his thoughts sliced wide open at by the hostile tone. Small boots clattered to his side, leaving small puddles of melted snow. His mother's voice scared the living daylights out of him. Back home, soaking wet and shivering like a dog wasn't exactly the ideal image of 'normal'. How was he going to explain this? As he got up he mumbled something and his mother repeated her question firmly, "How was your trip?" The boy looked to his gloved hand and shrugged. Irritated by the questioning he remained silent. Cold and silent.

Why do I need to tell you anything? You do not tell me anything…

The longer it took for him to come up with an answer, the hotter the phantom pains grew, the ones he felt in memory of the slaps he got as punishment. He swallowed hard and looked up. Big mistake. Her eyes were like molten coal, there was no mercy there, no kind wrinkle in her eyes, and definitely no kindness in her harsh icy voice. The only warmth he'd be getting, if he didn't act fast, would be the warmth of his tears streaming down his face.

"It was… interesting." The blonde got up slowly and forced himself not to flinch at the sound of his mother's bare feet treading across the wooden floor as she approached him, blocking his only exit. The usual soft padding sounded more like hard hisses as her feet occasionally slid across the floor. She was standing in front of him now, towering over him, her arms crossed. Panic flooded him. Yet, he was so calm, it scared him.

What do you want me to say?

Octavian kept his head down and didn't look at her. He didn't need to say anything.

What do you want me to say?

He wouldn't say anything. All his mind could think about was all the lies.

Why are you looking at me for? With those eyes… You don't deserve those cold eyes… Your lies… What? What do you want me to say? What? What? What?

Every single one of them. Those lies, they tickled his ear as they hissed and whispered over and over again. Each breath he took was labored as his chest tightened. Why did she lie to him? His fingers dug into his palm as his fists clenched, as his mother asked him her question, again. It fell on deaf ears. Erratic heartbeat, shaking fists, and a cold sweat, the blonde stood otherwise stoic; his blue eyes absent of light as he regarded his mother with a dark laugh, "What? What about my trip do you want to hear? I'm sure you were, how should I put it? Busy—" The harsh sound ricocheted into the damp air. His cheek was burning. The slap, the raw slap, only left him smiling wider.

"Octa—"

A mad grin spread across his pale lips as he shot a glower at the woman. He laughed again, "Why don't you just spare me the scolding and hit me." When there was no response he shouted, "Hit me!" He stepped forward and looked at her. Her beautiful hair, strands falling into her strong face, her brown eyes… her watery brown eyes. Those lying brown eyes. The blonde screamed with all his might, "Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!" The rage. It took even him by surprise. All he knew was that he had something in his hand. Something with a comforting grip. A reassuring grip. He screamed till he couldn't breathe, "Hit me, you liar!" All those times when she promised that she would never leave him alone, she would always love him, that she would protect him till her dying breath… All of the contempt he had for those lies fueled his anger even more, he swung and swung until…Then there it was. The heavy plod.

Blue eyes peered from underneath stringy blonde hair as he looked down to see his mother on the ground, her arm cut, and her eyes full of what the blonde could only recognize as hatred. She got up slowly and side stepped away from the boy. Octavian shivered, her glare, he could feel it, boring into his back. Another laugh escaped his trembling lips as he watch his mother, the woman a few feet away from him, circling him, their eyes interlocked in some test of wills. Her blazing brown glare against his iron cold glower. Blood dripped from the dagger Octavian had in his grasp. "Liar… liar… ", he hiccupped as he laughed, "Lies. All of it. W-what you… you told me…" He swayed as he walked towards the woman, almost as if he were drunk with anger and madness. All the while, memories, no, fragments of those memories, floated around in his sight. Blinding him with sharp, white pain. The blood of those men he murdered screamed at him from the earth, he almost felt them. Pulling him down into that sea of blood. Tears streamed down his face, but he laughed again, disregarding the heavy pain in his chest, "Why not add a liar to that sea… And a murderer?" Even though he threatened to kill both of them. He knew he only harbored enough hatred towards one person. Himself. He had believed her. He was the fool. He was the one who murdered those men for her. He deserved it.

"What are you talking about? Octavian?" The woman watched as her son made his way to the door. "Octavian!" When the boy looked back, she jolted. Those eyes stopped her in her tracks, "They are… so cold…"

I believed your lies. I loved you… I loved you b-but… I am a burden… a curse… Don't worry I'll make it go away… the pain… all the trouble I have caused you… I'll make it all go away.

"…Like my heart it seems…" He answered. The boy almost laughed at himself. All this time, he was only trying, trying and trying so hard not to become a burden. Not to be someone that would bring disgrace, pain, or sorrow, to his mother. Yet, the one he truly loved, the one he decided to sacrifice his sanity for was lying to him from the start. Octavian swung open the door and hopped into the white snow, barefoot, droplets of blood sprinkled the scene.

"Octavian! Stop, where are you going—" her words were cut short by the same eerie laughter. Her son.

"Where am I going?" his gaze found her determined one, "Dear mother… I believe I am going to what te locals call Tartarus…" The boy held his arms out, addressing the forest this time, "You can have it! All of it! You don't have to wait anymore… I'll give it to you! My blood, it is what you wanted right? Right?!" He cried out with that crooked smile on his tear stained face. The blade was held above his chest.

All this time. She lied to me… He thought of all the times she left the house, with the war eminent, spreading form land to land, country to country…. And them. Running fugitives with ransoms on their heads that any petty beggar or child could collect. Both of them were wanted. Both! Not just him.

"Octavian!" His mother ran towards him, but stopped when he threatened to stab himself with the knife right then and there. "Octavian, please… I do not understand—"

"Stop lying to me!" The degree of his anger was lost in the tears and ice of his eyes. His mother gritted her teeth when tears of her own started to fall, "Oh, stop your crying!" He spat. He wasn't going to buy into those tears, the liquid that poured from her stubborn brown eyes—those beautiful brown eyes that he found safety in—could have been poison for all he cared. "You were planning to do this the whole time anyway, weren't you?!" He screamed. His shoulders started shaking, numbness wouldn't come to bless his breaking mind, not even if he pleaded. Coughing and clutching his hurting chest, the blonde tried not to vomit. "You lied to me…" Octavian raised his blood-shot eyes from the white snow to his mother. "B-but you won't be the one to do it," he managed a smile as he displayed the dull and blood-rusted dagger, shaking it slowly for his mother's eyes to behold and understand. "I will." The pure snow. He could finally quench the ravenous thirst for blood the snow had. "Gold coins for my capture, huh? With a deadening smile, the boy remembered the story he told in the caravan about him and Al Sada, it seems he was the fool who called death's servant his friend after all. He just didn't know death's servant was his mother. Then again, if she had told him, would he have believed her?

Maybe I can be of use… to someone… I love, after all…?

"So this is what all this if for?" Blue eyes narrowed at the sound of the desperation that shook his mother's—no—this woman's voice. "I am sorry for lying to you, my love, I'm sorry, but please, please!" she begged him, "Don't. Don't." She mouthed the words, as her voice could give her no strength in the empty silence. More tears came as she shook her head, holding his sad gaze. Kneeling in the cold snow, her thin clothing clinging to her withdrawing figure, her eyes pleading for him to stop, she looked so… so vulnerable. So sad. The travelling must have taken a toll on her. Octavian shook his head.

"Y-you were g-going to kill me… You were going to k-kill me… and collect the gold…" He stuttered as his teeth chattered. His voice failed him as he lost the will to face her. He looked away and ignored her screams. He plunged the knife into his chest. The shock of the pain grew tolerable once he remembered the faces of those he slaughtered. Their grisly faces grinned at him from the shadows of the forest, their voices added to the ocean of those in the blood sea.

He was beginning to drown. His vision faded at the edges, and he choked on warm liquid. Red soaked his clothes and splashed unto the snow. That was not enough. The snow was still white. It still pined for more. Blood. It wanted more. Octavian cried out as he forced the knife deeper, he slipped as his bare feet tried to get holding on something firm to stand on and fell into the snow. He tried to scream but the pain blasted the wind out of his ruptured lungs, blood instead came bubbling out in his mute cry. Octavian felt something as the dead took hold of his ankles to drown him, dragging him deeper and deeper, until he saw no more sunlight. Their bony fingers dug into his pale flesh. He knew the time had come to feed off his flesh… The hallucination didn't spare him any details. A gurgling sound came from his throat as he thrashed around trying to scream.

"Octavian!" A shrill plea. A cry. Echoed in the darkness, so sad and desperate. "Octavian, my baby! My b-baby!" They were sobbing, whoever that was. Octavian registered only that voice as it slowly disappeared into the void. "Octavian, no, no, no! NO!"

"I-I…" A pang of regret jolted the boy as he sunk. "I-I… I'm …"

S-sorry.

His mother cradled her child in her arms and shook violently as she sobbed, the salt tears pouring down her face. "My baby." She managed a hoarse whisper. A hiss of sadness. Getting up, she carried him back inside, the sudden loneliness gripping her breaking heart.

The hardest part was ripping out the knife, she steeled herself for it, but when it was out she burst into tears. She could only manage to stop crying when she cleaned his wounds and bound them so he wouldn't bleed so much anymore. She ran her hand through his soft blonde hair, "My baby," she repeated in the painful silence. Biting her trembling lip she moved his small body to the bed; when she saw how the bed was spread a few more tears rolled down her cheek as she tucked him in, sleeping beside him to give him warmth. "My little baby… Oh how… I love you… mama loves you…" She could only blame herself for this. The only person she cared about was about to leave her, no matter how much she clung unto his little body, he was going to die and leave her.

Slowly, her hand moved his still head to her chest, as she always did when he cried. She imagined how many times he cried alone when she went off to do… "My job…" She scowled and contemplated killing herself. "My job… my one and only blessed job was looking after you… And I couldn't even do that… My baby…! My… my little… Octavian…" She held him close and did the only thing she could do. She prayed. "Please… spare my son. Make him live… I-I have little to offer," She forced herself not to shiver from the cold that penetrated the cottage, only Octavian was covered by the blanket, "but I am willing to offer my life… in exchange… Please…" she whispered, weak with grief, all her energy and strength went into wishing, pleading, praying: "For a new day where I can see him laughing and smiling again. Mercy, please, gods, do something, anything… Please, my son… Spare him. Save him…!"

The smell of rain, mint and vanilla wafted into the room, pouring into it a calm. The woman held her child, hoping that she was strong enough to hold onto his spirit too. Sleep came to her. But not by her own will. Little did she know that that scent came from outside, where a man, an old man with white hair, stood at the site of spilled blood and madness; he smiled and looked upon the house with growing interest. Wind grew still, forests muted their sway and animals their call. The scent of rain, mint and vanilla came from a lit candle that was in the hand of the Elder. His green bells jingled as he stepped forward, he placed the candle on the windowsill and vanished with his pealing voice, "…the later…huh?"

The flame was small, yellow and it was as still as the child in the mother's arms. One breath after another, he began to breath, the flame reacted, and grew in warmth and light until it seemed to dance. Then, swiftly it fizzled out with a tsss. The winds and the animals returning to their chaotic nature in the dying afternoon, but the trees, the spectators, remained silent. A prayer was answered, but… at what time will it be fulfilled? The boy child breathes, but with borrowed air.

Blue eyes flash open and after a few minutes, the ceiling came into focus. The boy laid still for a few moments, unsure of what to do.

What happened?

When he tried to remember, the front of his head pounded as the pain exploded in a ringing hot pain. "Ack!" His movements were rewarded with more sharp, stinging, pain. This time in his chest. He cried silently as he slowly remembered. It felt like a rock was in his throat, all he could do from being overcome was to close his eyes and trace the good memories and preoccupy himself with putting back together the fragmented pieces. His frail little body trembled slightly as he sniffled; the silence was not enough. It could not comfort him. He didn't want it to. A pathetic whimper leapt from his aching throat and soon his vision became blurred, warm streams ran down his pale cheeks; and as he hugged himself he started to cry.

Eyes squeezed shut, as if he were experiencing the event again, he gasped and shuddered and then began to cry louder. Brown eyes stared back at him from the shadows of his fetal memory, they laughed, then they frowned, then they showed him love—his heart pounded away like a rabbit's as the little boy saw those brown eyes warp into anger and then sheer grief, "No…" he sobbed quietly, "N-no…" he choked on his tears and sniffled, the eyes were now hollow, his mother's face was now gaunt and deathly pale, her eyes were glowing with red fire underneath the paper thin lids, veins bulging from her neck, slowly snaking their way up to her face. The vision didn't stop there. Her black hair started to shed, falling out in spindly strands first, and then whole locks, leaving her scalp looking red and patchy. As if someone was ripping the follicles from the roots. The raven black hair seemed to writhe in pain on the floor, they hissed and then quickly shrunk as they decayed, leaving a putrid scent of sickness in the air.

When the boy shifted his eye from the horrible scene he saw his mother, her rib cage was being forced down by something. Crack. The sickening sound echoed through the damp earthy air. A black hand with ashen white veins reached out form the ceiling, the claws dug out her chest. Flesh being torn away from bone sounded almost ripping at cloth, the flaps of skin slapped the motionless body of his mother as large pieces were removed. Octavian covered his ears and shut his eyes, but he could still see. He could still hear the constant, rip, rip, rip, of flesh. Was it trying to get to her heart? The boy saw bone exposed and beyond repair, opened up like a game's carcass, like a deer after they had finished with it. Octavian wasn't sure if that horrified shriek, that terrible blaring, was from him, or the face, as calm as night, that peeked down at him. It twisted its neck from the ceiling and from the pulsing mass of ebony, a hand came into view. His voice failed him. He could not scream anymore. His blue eyes wide with horror, he could only stand shaking, mouth agape in a futile attempt to breathe as that hand slowly came towards him. That was when the whispers came. They came in a storm. Like those sand storms he had witnessed when he was younger, except this time, instead of red sand, spirits with fiery eyes raged around him, screaming, crying, moaning and tearing at him. "Mama!" The boy fell to his knees and held his head, "Mama!" He cried as the vision dissipated into nothingness.

"Shhh, shhh," warmth cradled the boy for a bit, he shook and took broken breathes as he tried to stop sobbing. His mother calmed him down, kissing his face and turning it to look her way, "Shh, everything is alright. It was only a dream, my love." As exhausted blue eyes found warm brown ones, they blinked away the tears. A sniffle or two later, the boy wrapped his little arms around her neck, mimicking the small soothing motion of his mother rubbing his back. "It's okay… Everything is going to be okay." In no time she had coaxed him to sleep some more, allowing him to rest his head on her chest to hear her heart beat.

One single small voice penetrated the groggy hush, "Mama?"

"Y-yes, my son?" Her soft hands caressed her son's face.

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." When tears threatened to overwhelm the boy again, his mother intervened.

"Before you say anything more. Let me just tell you this. I love you more than you will ever know, and… I know that you worry for my wellbeing, but you are a child, Octavian. I am the adult. Meaning, I am the one that is to take care of you… Not the other way around." She took a deep breath and sighed shakily, "I also know that despite what I am doing, it seems like I am not in control. I am not." She looked into her son's pale face, "No one is. That is just the way things are. The natural state of the world, if you like." As she said this the boy started whimpering, "Shh, shhh, I know, I know…" After a few minutes she continued, "Octavian? Do you know what else I know?"

He shook his head no, "What?"

"I know that each time I left for… w-work… you took upon yourself the task of ensuring our safety. Again, my job, not yours." She tickled him but only got a small giggle out of him, his smile wilted, just like that rosy complexion in his cheeks. She wondered where it could have possibly gone. "Octavian. You are a boy. I realize that I have not been clear to you what your roles might be… After all, y-you do not have a male figure from which you can emulate—um, I mean, appreciate and understand what is expected of you… That is, again, my own fault…" clearing her throat she brushed her black hair out of her face, "So I will make it clear. Little boys do not kill men. No matter how threatening or dangerous they may be—"

"So what should little boys—I mean, I do?!"

"Listen to me, sweetheart." It almost made her smile when she saw the anger flare in his empty blue eyes. At least there was something to work with, he wasn't completely unresponsive. "You are a boy. Not a man," her voice had a familiar firmness to it that she recognized as her Mother's, somewhere along the line she had adopted this sternness, despite her unwillingness to conform in previous years. 'Great', she thought, 'I have become my mother…'. "Men may kill as they choose, as they are fully aware of the consequences that follow afterwards—or at least that is what they should know… Boys will make mistakes."

"Like what?"

She smiled, realizing that he was being cheeky, she poked him in the stomach, "Like being arrogant enough to think that they can be sneaky and hide bloody clothes in a badly hidden bag." When he blushed she raised her brow, "And leaving the poisonous petals of the Quietus insaniam flower in the kitchen, and falling asleep on your 'secret maps' so when your mother comes to put you to bed she finds them underneath you, and—"

"Okay! Okay… I-I get it…" Octavian hid his face in her chest when she started laughing.

"Well… I cannot say I am not impressed regardless of the mistakes." Blue eyes peeked up at her, "You do have potential my dear…" her face grew serious again, she wanted to set some things straight. So he would understand. So he would recognize the danger. "Octavian, you know I love you, with all my heart, but I do not want to see my son fighting battles that he has yet to fathom the driving force behind it all… If you understand this then you can at the very least choose your battles wisely. You must understand this from now, there will always be the pain of war and the bloodshed that follows soon after…"

"…But if I pick the winning side…? There is no pain for the winners… right?"

Her sad smile told him different. "My son, the spilled blood that war demands comes from both sides. You must never ever pick a side… you will only be trapped there when the people turn to bitterness and hate in order to hold themselves high. And in the end…?" Octavian could almost see the fire blazing in her sad eyes, "It is they that do those horrible things—those terrible, horrible things— that they once protested to be unjust and heinous in order to get ahead. In order to win."

"… teach me, mama… teach me the ways of war so I may understand and defeat the enemy that is so determined to snuff us out of history." His determination was refreshing, much better than the deadened state he was in before.

"Do you know who the enemy is, my sweet?" Octavian shook his head hesitantly.

"They are you, and me. They are the small toddlers that cling to their mother's chests, they are the young men who has yet to become fathers, yet to hold their first child in their arms and love it… They are simply people who have been labelled as the object of hatred in the eyes of others. My love, in truth, they are no different from us, but as life would have it, war knows no mercy and differentiates no one… It devours all. It is the natural order of things."

"S-so… how… How can I fight…?"

"Octavian/ I want you to remember this. If you forget everything else that I teach you. Remember this." When he nodded she continued. "Fight, not for a side, not for the promises to be fulfilled in the future, not even for the sake of winning…" When she saw Octavian's brows curve in confusion she kissed his nose, "You fight for those you love. Because, if you lose, as long as you buy them time, you have already won. Understand?"

"…No… No I don't." She laughed.

"Well, you will soon enough." She almost cringed, the hard part was already here. "Octavian, did I ever tell you my name?"

"Yes."

"I-I did?" Her eyes widened with surprise.

"Yes, your name is mama."

"… Oh, Ha, Ha, Octavian." The woman rolled her eyes. "My name—my name is Sambethe. Sambethe, descendant of Nimrod, great leader and hunter of Babylon. Sometimes called daughter of Nimrod… Wife to the late Prince Asad, Lion of the North, keeper of white fire… and traitor to the Western council and Achaemenid Empire…" Octavian gawked at her. "So when I say that I can take care of things, believe me, okay?" The little boy nodded. "I have been fending for myself since I was born. My eleven sisters and I were taken and married to stabilize the peace between the Achaemenid Empire and the rest of the countries of Persia by my influential father. It didn't work. Long story short… I ended up running for my life." Her lips pressed against his brow, "And then I had you. I felt so happy."

"I-I am not a burden?"

"No. You are annoying, you are frustrating, you are exhilarating, and you are the joy of my life. Maybe when you have a child of your own, you will understand how I feel. However, until then, you will just have to take my word for it." Octavian grumbled underneath his breath but hid the smile when he borrowed into his mother's chest again. She laughed, "A few more years and you know you will have to stop doing that, you know?" The red in his cheek indicated that he knew what she was talking about despite avoiding her gaze, but he didn't budge. "I remember when you were so young and cute…" he peeked at her as she reminisced, "You used to love being breast-fed, sometimes you would hang on and—"

"No! Stop, no more! I'll stop, I'll stop!" The little boy covered his ears and shut his eyes tight, swiftly removing his head from his mother's chest. His mother only laughed at his embarrassment, "I-I know I am getting too big… that's why I want to do it while I am still able to… I won't be able to hug you or kiss you like I can now, so… so…" His face was as red as an Aanar. She missed aanar, the sweet seeds were so fresh, and the juice certainly quenched any dry-sandy mouth.

"My love," her smooth hand guided his gaze from his twiddling fingers to her face, "You may be frowned upon for being overly affectionate, but I will not. No one can frown upon a mother's love. Those that do are fools, nothing more."

Octavian sighed, "That's what you say about anyone who does not agree with you."

"I know. And I am usually right, my little aanar." Happy minutes of silence governed the warming room. The woman busied herself by twirling her slender fingers in Octavian's course hair. It was stiff with sweat in some places, almost like a reminder of the bleakness that took hold of him only a few moments ago, the sight of this made her wince.

"Mama? When will you start teaching me?" Again, his small voice snapped her out of her contemplation. 'No time to dwell on dark thoughts… Not this time…', she thought.

"… When we are much closer to our end destination." She answered.

"W-where…? Where would that be?" He questioned immediately.

She pinched his nose, "I will tell you when we get there. Maybe."

"Ugh! Mama! Stop!" Complaints soon turned into laughter as Octavian tried to avoid being tickled, "You know, I will become too old for this too!"

"I know." Her brown eyes reminded the boy of a mother wolf's, they narrowed slightly, but not for murderous reasons, just curiosity. Once she was close enough, she grabbed his cheeks and kissed his face, pulling him in to a crushing hug, "Mmmm! I know." She sighed, apparently at peace as a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and as Octavian struggled desperately to breathe.

"Mama, mama! C-can't… b-breathe!" He gasped.

"My dearest son," she cooed, breaking the embrace, she jerked the boy back and held his shoulders, "I shall teach you the basics," excitement was building in her otherwise calm tone of voice, which made Octavian agonize about what he got himself into, "the rest is up to you to learn and develop."

Octavian nodded, filling his starved lungs with the oxygen they so ached for; after a few moments, he took the blanket and gently draped it over his mother's shoulders, she was about to interject but he just grinned, "As someone who will grow up, I hope you understand that it is within by stubbornness that I will try to protect you… You can call it, the natural order of things?" Her own words were being used against her, Sam didn't know whether to be upset or impressed. "And speaking of the natural order of things… As Destiny has it, we may end up in Rome with the amount of running we are doing."

"Rome? My dear, the romans do not take kindly to peasants wandering their city." She chuckled.

"I know. But we will be something other than peasants."

"Oh? And what will we be?" Sam rustled his blonde locks, obviously not taking him seriously.

"Guests," Was Octavian's simple answer. Sam narrowed her eyes at her child, but he remained quiet on the subject. "It is late, I should get ready for bed." He slyly replied.

"Octavian. What is this guest business you speak of?" The brunette frowned, "I demand to know."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such impatient." He feigned disappointment and wiggled out of the heavy blanket. "…I will tell you when we get there." He jumped out of bed to change and smiled ruefully, "Maybe," leaving his mother baffled by the sudden change in confidence.

"Come back here young man. I have your bandages to change."

"I can do it! Mother, stop!" Octavian ran as best as he could to hide. A fruitless effort as he knew his mother was not going to give up. And with such a small house, she was bound to catch him eventually. He was like an injured rabbit being chased by a wolf. There was no escape. He shrieked, but ended up laughing anyway, when she found him. He could only evade her for so long.

In a small stone cottage in the snow laden forests. There was an outed candle that stood on a window sill, wisps of smoke still lingering stubbornly, awaiting the pink morning skies. Once alive with a fire that danced with yellow mirth, its blackened wick laid still but with dying embers. That fire now laid solely in the heart of a boy with eyes of shattered ice, its end destined to be a grand one. One that will blaze uncontrollably, fiercely, passionately, and inevitably burn itself out.

In the end the ice will melt and reveal the emptiness that the flames have consumed. The contents long ago given away. Like that of the delicate pink of the morning skies, this flame is on borrowed time. But unlike the skies and earth, its time is not governed by the sun and the moon, but by silver threads overseen by temporal sentience.

Still, threads they may be, temporal or not. Strain by the weighted pains to come shall bring about means for those silver threads to snap under pressure. And where shall those fated pains hail from? No one but the boy of a candle heart and frosty gaze could tell, could govern, and could change.

[Sorry about the long delay in the next chapter. Life got in the way lol ^^]