Persepone1: Happy Halloween, everyone! As a special treat from Lawli and I, we have an update for you! I bet you're all expecting a continuation from that cliffhanger we left on last time. Well here's the trick! We decided to do an interlude instead to explore the past of Zero, our beloved friend and phantom!

Lawli: Yes we're evil to keep you waiting on our trio's fate. ;P But hopefully you'll still enjoy the chapter? Happy Halloween!

Side note: We have some Japanese dialogue in this chapter. Considering neither of us know Japanese, we simply typed English phrases into Google Translate. I have since learned this is a terrible system, but translations for what we intended to say will be included at the end of the chapter (we welcome any corrections from actual Japanese speakers.)

Edit: Special shout out to ichiruzuka, who has kindly provided us with the a better translation than the nonsensical mess we had before. Thank you!

Chapter 12: Interlude

Scritch, scritch. Scratch.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He had only just drifted off, for there was no way to sleep comfortably in an alleyway. The nights were too cold, danger lurking in every shadow, and the empty hole in his stomach kept him awake. No he didn't want to open his eyes, not yet. Maybe never again. How nice it would be to just slip deeper and deeper, to escape the cold and the hunger and do nothing but sleep for all eternity.

Scritch, scratch.

But the sound, the strange noise very close to his ear would not go away. It continued, oblivious to his annoyance, and with a sigh, he forced his eyes reluctantly open to confront the irritation head on.

He was confronted by a gigantic pair of eyes looming directly over his face and, startled, he scrambled upwards.

The eyes belonged to a little girl, he realized, probably only a little younger than he was. Seemingly unperturbed by his skittish reaction, she stared at him intently. But her gaze was flat, devoid of curiosity, as if he was just another piece of trash in the alley.

"W-who are you?" he asked, wondering if perhaps she was homeless too. Her ratty dress and dirty face certainly suggested it.

Rather than answer his question, she showed him the object in her lap. It was a tattered little book filled with paper, and drawn on the top page... was his face.

"Recorded," she declared flatly, deadpan voice a perfect match with her expression.

And he had to agree, she had indeed recorded him into her book, for her sketch was intricately detailed, from the bags under his eyes down to the last strands of hair. The fact that she had apparently done all this work with only the tiny stub of charcoal clutched in her fist made the achievement all the more impressive. How long had she been watching him sleep?

Before he got the chance to ask, a man appeared at the mouth of the alley, looking very much like a horror come to life from a children's book - tall, dark, and completely covered from head to toe in a heavy cloak, like the grim reaper. The dangerous illusion shattered when he opened his mouth, betrayed by a voice laced with worry.

"There you are, Anya! I've been looking all over for you!"

The boy watched as the strange girl (Anya?) simply glanced up and asked, "Did you get the bread?"

"Forget about the bread!" the man exclaimed, approaching the two children. "I specifically told you not to wander off!"

Anya blinked, unperturbed. "So... no bread then?"

An exasperated sigh. "No, I haven't had the chance to buy bread yet. I was too worried about you. I thought you had gotten lost or - or kidnapped!"

"I'm not lost," Anya insisted. "He is." At this she pointed at the boy, who stiffened under the attention.

"I'm not-" the boy began to protest, but Anya interrupted him.

"Can we keep him, Jeremiah?" she asked.

Somehow, the boy got the sense that her guardian was rolling his eyes. "Anya, he's a human being, not a puppy you found on the street. We can't just take some stray kid home."

"Why not? You took me in off the street. We found Xingke and Tianzi wandering around the docks, Sayoko rescued Rolo from that rundown boy's home, and Mao just appeared one day without anyone knowing where he came from. We live in a circus of strays," Anya pointed out. "And besides... he's not "some kid". He's special. Can't you feel it?"

Jeremiah paused, crouching down before the boy. A sensation drifted down the boy's spine, whisper light and oddly probing, and he shivered under the wordless scrutiny. Slowly, the man lowered his hood.

The boy gasped, his eyes riveted to Jeremiah's face. The man was young, probably still in his early twenties, but his face - or what human remains were left of it - revealed horrors far beyond those years. His right eye was missing, replaced by a glowing artificial one, a technology the likes of which the boy had never seen before. The eye followed movements exactly as a real eye should. To add to this oddity, an orange half-mask was welded to Jeremiah's face. Jeremiah tilted his head as the child fingers hesitantly traced the trail of wires under the skin.

"Does it frighten you?" Jeremiah asked, his voice gentle.

The boy paused, and he shifted his gaze, looking not at the piece of machinery, but the man, the single golden eye shining with concern and kindness, asking for acceptance.

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, you do not frighten me."

Jeremiah smiled. "What is your name, child?"

The boy faltered. "I-I don't... I don't..." His name was a mystery to him, as was everything else in his life. He had been born the moment he had met his angel, and he clutched the gift he had left him, the umbrella, close to his chest. It was his greatest treasure, the only clue to his savior. He had searched every inch of the canvas covering, every grain of the wood handle, looking for a name, an address, anything to lead him to the boy's true identity (for he couldn't really be an angel... could he?), but the umbrella yielded nothing save for a small bird carved into its handle. The caricature meant something, he was certain of it, but whatever significance it held was lost on him.

Jeremiah nodded, understanding the boy's loss of words. "I see. Then what would you like your name to be?"

"Zero," Anya declared. "His name is Zero."

"You can't just decide for him, Anya," Jeremiah scolded.

"I didn't," Anya insisted. "That is his name. No past, no identity, he is Zero."

"Anya-" Jeremiah protested.

"No," the boy spoke up. "No... Zero is fine." He liked the weight of it, the mystery that it brought. Zero, the value for nothing. Anya was right. Such a name suited him perfectly.

Anya held out her hand. "Would you like to come with us, Zero? You'll see amazing things, see where dreams begin... You might even find what you're looking for."

What he was looking for...

A smile, green eyes shining bright against the muted grey of rain.

If he could find those eyes, find him... Zero clutched the umbrella to his chest, and slowly, ever so slowly he took Anya's hand.

He didn't see her eyes flash red, and for a second, just a second, Anya's lips pulled up into a smile that belonged to someone else entirely.

It occurred to Zero that he had no idea where they were going, that he had essentially handed himself over to a pair of strangers. They could be taking him anywhere, and he had heard countless horror stories of what happened to foolish children who were stolen away and never seen again.

But it wasn't as if what he had before had been paradise. Even if Zero was brought to the darkest hell, at the very least it would be a change of scenery, and preferable to a pathetic death starving in the streets.

Besides, Zero couldn't believe that Jeremiah meant him ill. He was too gentle, holding his hand and keeping a protective eye on Anya, who was distracted easily, often stopping in the middle of the street to sketch a passerby, a carriage, a flickering lamp post, anything that happened to catch her interest. It was only due to Jeremiah's careful vigilance that he didn't lose her many more times in the crowd.

"Why do you draw these things?" Zero asked, indicating the rotting bird carcasses hanging from the butcher shop display. The vendor insisted they were freshly slaughtered, but the flies and the smell lingering around the aging corpses begged to differ. His idea of sketching involved young women doing elegant, pretty pictures of scenery or posed portraits - although where this image came from, he wasn't sure. But Anya appeared to enjoy candid moments, and it mattered very little to her what the subject matter was. People, animals, shrubbery, there was no discernable pattern.

Anya shrugged. "They're for my memories."

Zero raised an eyebrow. "And you need to remember this?" he asked, casting a disgusted glance at the slightly green meat hanging like convicts at the noose. "Are they really so important?"

"It's all important," Anya insisted. "Everything matters. We can't just pick and choose the nice things and shut out the rest."

And at this statement, she gave Zero such an odd, searching look that he became quite unnerved and didn't press her further.

With such continued distractions, it took far longer to reach the bread shop than it would have ordinarily. The woman behind the counter eyed Jeremiah suspiciously, cloaked from head to toe and asking to buy enough bread to feed a small army, but her eyes softened when she saw the children, and she gave them each a small crust of bread free of charge.

Anya simply played with hers, turning it around and examining the tiny morsel from all angles (perhaps a future subject for one of her impromptu sketches), but Zero devoured the crust in seconds flat, and Jeremiah, eyeing his gaunt face and thin body, broke off a larger piece of one of their many loaves and passed it to him without comment.

Zero accepted the offering gratefully, happily licking the crumbs off his fingers. His other arm was still securely wrapped around his umbrella, and Anya gazed at the object curiously.

"Is this a memory?" she asked, her pointing finger causing Zero to tighten his grip protectively.

"Yes," Zero said, but it was so much more. It was a warm smile and the brightest eyes he had ever seen, it was light and salvation. His savior, his precious angel had given him this gift, and the very fact that Zero could touch what he had touched made it a treasure far more valuable than the most beautiful gems.

But Anya did not know this. She could not understand what the simple umbrella meant to him any more than he could understand what her sketches meant to her, so she simply nodded in satisfaction and brought her attention back to a few weeds springing up between the cobblestones, crouching down in the dirt to get a better look.

Jeremiah sighed at Anya's absent mindedness, readjusting the countless bags of bread (never putting them down, for thieves pounced on bags left unattended), to scoop Anya up onto his shoulders. The girl made no protest, didn't even pause her drawing. Instead she simply balanced her sketchbook on Jeremiah's head and drew on. They made an amusing sight, the great giant of a man humoring the whims of a tiny girl, and Zero gathered that this happened quite often.

"Stay close," Jeremiah said to him. "You don't want to get lost."

Anya glanced upward, her face smeared with charcoal from pressing her nose too close to the paper. "He already is," she insisted. "We all are."

Still, Zero pressed close to Jeremiah's side, eyeing his surroundings warily. Soon, the noise and bustle of the city faded away as they descended deeper into the mountains.

When Anya had said that she and Jeremiah lived in a circus, Zero had pictured brightly colored tents, flashy costumes and fantastic displays. What he found was a refugee camp.

Yes, from a distance, the little settlement hidden in the clearing of trees hinted at spectacle, with brightly painted trailers, intricate props laid to rest on the ground and performers of all shapes and sizes rehearsing their respective trades. But that was only the surface, only what the audience was allowed to see. Zero, however, was witnessing a moment behind the curtain, beyond the forced smiles and theatre paint. He saw the gaunt faces of starving children even younger than himself, elderly men and women shivering and coughing, for a life on the road was hard, especially on those who couldn't work. He saw young girls scantily dressed,escorting strangers into their tents for extra change, people with horrible disfigurements even worse than Jeremiah who only had use as objects of public ridicule.

Anya was right. This was where the outcasts gathered, forced to the edge of society for they could be accepted nowhere else, and having no other choice but to bow and scrape for the entertainment of their audience.

The children clambered around Jeremiah eagerly, grasping at his cloak and begging for piggyback rides.

Jeremiah chuckled, pulling down his hood. "Let me get these to the Sayoko first, then I'll be happy to play with all of you."

"Who's that?" a little girl asked, peering at Zero curiously.

"A new member of our troupe," Jeremiah replied, placing a protective hand on Zero's shoulder.

"He's Zero," Anya declared, climbing down from Jeremiah's shoulders. "He was lost, and I found him."

The girl giggled. "Luciano ain't gonna like that!"

Jeremiah frowned. "Luciano isn't the ringmaster yet."

"Practically is. They say the old man has one foot in the grave," another boy chimed in.

Zero glanced up at Jeremiah nervously. It had never occurred to him that he might not be allowed to stay.

"It'll be fine," Jeremiah assured him. "You're one of us, kid. We'll take care of you."

Zero nodded, not feeling better in the least as they came to the dining tent and dropped the bread off. Thankfully, most of the children followed the food, some helping the young woman prepare the meal, most clamoring for handouts (which she put up with admirably).

"Come on," Jeremiah said, taking Zero's hand again. "I'll show you around a bit before going to the ringmaster's tent."

Zero nodded, feeling as if he needed another four pairs of eyes just to take the whole thing in. In one direction a contortionist was folding himself in a little box, in another a pair of young acrobats were performing flips on the grass, and children were everywhere he looked. Such a little place so overflowing with life.

"You all live here?" Zero asked.

"Well... no," Jeremiah admitted sheepishly. "We're just camping out here for a time. Technically this land belongs to Prime Minister Kururugi."

Zero glanced up at Jeremiah curiously. "He lets you stay here?"

Silence.

"He doesn't know, does he?" It wasn't a question, for the guilty look on Jeremiah's face was answer enough.

"It's fine," Jeremiah assured him. "He has so much land, he doesn't even notice that the circus is camped on his property. And anyway, after we've finished our last show we'll be moving on."

Zero stopped in his tracks. "Moving on?" he echoed.

"Of course," Anya answered. "We're a traveling circus. We never stay in one place for very long."

It made sense, Zero should have realized that they would be leaving. But even as he acknowledged the logic of the information, his mind was rebelling against it. His angel was here! How on earth was Zero to find him again if he left?

"But no matter how far we go, we always come back,"Jeremiah said reassuringly, noting the look of panic on Zero's face. "It'll be okay."

It certainly was not okay! There would be so much time wasted, waiting to return. Time he could spend looking for his savior. The city was the only connection Zero had to him! He couldn't leave!

But then again, how much progress had he been making when he was still in Tokyo? None at all, and besides, just because he met his angel in Tokyo didn't necessarily mean he lived there. It was the nation's capital, people came to visit from all over the country to trade, shop, or just see the sights. He was so limited as a street urchin, there were only so many places he could look, and no hope if his angel was of noble class. By traveling across Japan, Zero widened the net of his search considerably, for children from all walks of life sought the entertainment of the circus, plus he had destiny on his side. No matter where he went, or how far he traveled, he and his angel would meet again.

Zero tightened his grip on Jeremiah's hand, eyes bright with resolve. "Let's go see the ringmaster."

Determining which tent belonged to the head of the circus was not difficult. It was the largest in the camp site and colored a bright, ostentatious red. Like everything else here, it was a sight to behold from a distance, but upon closer inspection, Zero noted wear along the seams and fading in the canvas.

Anya went in first, and Zero finally forced himself to let go of Jeremiah, pulling his shoulders back and following her lead. Presenting himself with Jeremiah as a crutch would not do. He had to convince this man that he was useful in some way, rather than just another mouth to feed.

The inside of the tent was sparse, merely two beds and a desk, both hinting of better days. In the corner of the room were clearly relics of the circus trade, a white suit and top hat, a long cape, and for some inexplicable reason, a long thin box that took up a debilitating amount of space in the room. But the interior did not attract Zero's attention for long, for his goal was the man seated at the desk.

Sprawled was perhaps the more accurate word. The man's feet were propped on the desk's surface, uncaring of the various paperwork taking residence there, as he lounged back leisurely in his chair. Zero found himself staring at the flashy tufts of orange and crimson hair, and for a wild moment he wondered if the man was a clown.

But no, the way the man leaned forward in his chair upon the little group's entrance, eyes glinting, spoke of authority. His eyes flicked down to Zero briefly before returning to Jeremiah. "Another stray, Orange?"

Jeremiah stiffened at the address. A private insult, Zero supposed. "Where's your father, Luciano?"

Luciano grinned, leaning back more comfortably in his chair and resting his arms behind his head. "The old man's out on business. Setting up the preparations for the next town and all that. We don't want to be run out like last time."

Jeremiah did not falter. "When will he be back?"

"No idea," Luciano replied with a shrug. "So you best settle your business with me. Unless you intend to hide the kid in your tent and hope nobody notices."

"I was hoping we could find some work around here for him," Jeremiah said reluctantly.

Luciano let out a short, mocking bark of laughter. "Doing what? We have enough kids running around, don't you think? Especially with so many of the whores getting knocked up lately."

Jeremiah's fists clenched, and Zero wondered if he was on the verge of slugging the young ringmaster in training. "Your father-"

"-is not running a charity," Luciano pointed out. "You know very well that business has not been good as of late. We have to take care of our own. We don't need another useless street rat."

"I'm not useless," Zero said, his voice low and vehement. The statement was unexpected, even for him, and he was uncomfortably aware that he was now the center of attention.

"He's not useless," Anya agreed, stepping up beside him. "He's special, and he belongs with us."

Luciano snorted. "And I'm supposed to take the word of a couple of kids? Stop wasting my time."

"Let's not be so hasty, Luciano."

A man stood at the entrance. He was tall and solidly built, with greying red hair and shrewd brown eyes, and if he indeed had one foot in the grave, his demeanor gave no sign. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of his son lounging comfortably at the ringmaster's desk.

Luciano took the hint, standing up as quickly as he could while leaving his dignity intact. "Hello, Father. I trust your business was conducted smoothly?"

The true ringmaster laughed. "As smoothly as one can hope in a gypsy circus, I suppose. Now, what is all this about?"

"Jeremiah's brought in another gutter rat," Luciano accused. "He expects us to accommodate him, as if we don't have enough-"

"No," Anya interjected. "I was the one who found him. He's mine."

That seemed to capture the ringmaster's interest. "Is that so? Well then, perhaps he deserves a chance to prove his worth."

"Father," Luciano protested.

The man silenced him with a wave of his hand. "You know Anya doesn't warm up to just anyone. And besides, we've found some of our best attractions from the bottom of a gutter. Anya is one of the best acrobats we have, and we all know how special Rolo and Mao are."

Luciano curled his lip. "But we can't afford it," he insisted.

"We shall see," the ringmaster replied cooly. "Now boy," he said, crossing his arms and looking down at Zero expectantly, "what makes you a worthwhile investment?"

Zero flushed, unprepared for such scrutiny. "I... well-" What could he possibly say? Luciano was right; he was just another street rat. Nothing special about him - at least, nothing marketable.

"He has power," Jeremiah stepped in. "I felt it here." He tapped his mechanical eye. Zero looked up at him, shocked, wondering how he could have possibly known.

Luciano's glare intensified. "Another of your special cases. We got more freaks in here than a nuthouse. And besides, what good is he if he can't even string a sentence together?" he demanded.

"I can sing," Zero said suddenly.

Luciano laughed, gesturing dismissively. "We have plenty of singers already."

Zero faltered at the scathing words, but Jeremiah nodded reassuringly, encouraging him to continue. "None of them can sing like I can."

The words sounded confident, but beneath that fine layer they were hollow. Yes, Zero could sing, but he was uncertain if he should flex that particular skill. The last time he had tried... bad things had happened, things he hadn't intended.

But everyone in the room was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for a demonstration, and Zero realized that he had just dug a hole for himself that he could not get out of. So he took a breath, closed his eyes, and he sang.

The song had no words, just musical notes strung together in melody, and Zero felt as if it had just emerged from the depths of his being. He soared through the highest arias, the lowest tones, and not once did his young voice tremble.

And then he felt it, the burning in his eyes, the tint of red in his vision, and for a moment, Zero was going to let it come. Let them see what he could do.

But then he remembered Jeremiah's kind touch and Anya's reaching hand, saw them empty and lifeless as a set of puppets on his strings, and he felt panic rising in his chest.

Stop.

He couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop? His voice didn't even pause, just continuing on, enslaving all those who had been kind to him, unleashing the gates of hell.

Stop, please stop. No.

"STOP!"

The scream was wrenched from his throat, and Zero gasped, his lungs begging for air as sweat cooled on his brow and tears streamed down his face. He felt warm arms around him, holding him gently and whispering soft words in his ear.

There was a moment of silence, which was broken by a derisive snort.

"What did I tell you? He's useless."

"I'm sorry," Zero whimpered. "I can't - I just can't! I'm sorry."

"If he can't sing for four people, how is he supposed to sing in front of a crowd? We're better off throwing him back right now," Luciano said, folding his arms.

"I'm not so sure."

The ringmaster pinned Zero with a thoughtful gaze, and Zero fought not to shrink away and thus make himself appear even weaker. He still couldn't believe what he'd done - what he'd been about to do. Why had his control faltered? How?

"I thought there was some real potential there," the ringmaster finally said. "Confidence can be built up with time. We'll give him a sort of trial period and see what happens, and in the meantime I'm sure there are little ways he can help out around here."

"Father!" Luciano protested.

"My decision has been made," the man answered, the finality in his voice leaving no room for argument. "Jeremiah." Jeremiah stepped forward, offering Zero a reassuring gaze as he did so. "Why don't you set him up with Mao. He doesn't have a roommate yet, does he?"

"Mao?" The way Jeremiah faltered caused a twinge of nervousness to flutter up from Zero's subconscious. Even in the face of Luciano's antagonism, Jeremiah's resolve had never wavered; but now he was unsure of himself - of the ringmaster's decision. "Are you sure? He doesn't have a roommate for a reason."

The ringmaster nodded, his eyes once again finding Zero. "I would very much like to see what Mao makes of this boy. We can of course make different accommodations later on, if need be."

Jeremiah frowned, obviously displeased with the arrangement. Nevertheless, he bowed his head in silent acquiescence, picked the distraught Zero up, and carried him out of the tent. Zero didn't protest, his mind still abuzz with thoughts and worries about everything that had occurred within the ringmaster's tent: how it had felt to sing, the way he had almost been unable to stop, and the fact that his new home within the circus might have earned him a dangerous enemy with the power to make his life there miserable.

"Zero."

Jeremiah's voice broke him from his musings, and Zero realized the ringmaster's tent was now far behind them. They were nearing the far end of the campsite, and even though Zero could tell it was not their final destination Jeremiah stopped before they could get too close. He set Zero down on his feet and leaned forward so they could speak eye-to-eye.

"I do not speak ill of the people here. We're all lost, in some form or another, and this place is a safe ground for all of us. We come from many walks of life, and most of us cannot fathom what the others have experienced in their days, but still we manage to exist together peacefully."

Unflinchingly Zero stared into the face that was only half man, and wondered at what horrors lay in Jeremiah's past. And almost as quickly as that curiosity came to him, so did the realization that whatever happened in Jeremiah's past was no longer consequential. One's life experiences shaped the person they grew into, Zero firmly believed that (who would Zero be if he had not met his savior? Still a forgotten child, but with no hope of a better future), but now Zero understood that with or without those experiences there was one basic fact - one commonality among all of them - that would never change.

They were all human. Despite their oddities and imperfections, despite the fact they might be labelled 'freaks' by ordinary society, despite the many things in their lives that separated them from one another... they were all the same. They were all made of flesh and bone, and they all had hearts beating within their chests that bled the same color. In this place, that simple truth reigned above all else; that simple truth bound them together as a family.

Jeremiah's hands settled on his shoulders, both of them - even the one crafted of metal and wire - radiating a natural warmth. "But I must warn you to be careful around Mao," he said, voice low in Zero's ear. Zero blinked, surprised. Had this conversation not been about tolerance, about reminding Zero they were all equals? Was this not a safe place for them all? As if sensing his thoughts, Jeremiah continued - still speaking in a strange whisper - and Zero almost swore he saw the pupil of the machine eye glow a soft orange. "He is not a bad person, but he is... different. His talent is one we cannot explain, and he uses it without abandon. If you have nothing to hide, it is nothing to be afraid of."

"Nothing to hide?" Zero repeated, still confused. "I don't understand."

"As I said, it is difficult to explain. You must be able to understand that."

With a knowing smile, Jeremiah pressed his index finger to the space between Zero's eyes. For a brief moment, Zero's vision tinged red. He blinked wildly, panic surging in his veins, but just as quickly his power flared, it receded back to its usual quiet dormancy as nothing more than a comforting hum in the back of Zero's mind. Zero opened his mouth, a hundred questions ready to tumble free, but Jeremiah only winked at him. He then took Zero's hand and they resumed walking.

"I'm sorry to frighten you that way. I only want you to be prepared."

Zero nodded silently, still not comprehending.

The second Jeremiah parted the flap of the farthest tent, revealing two perfectly made bed rolls and an eccentric-looking boy with white hair smiling and gleefully clapping his hands, it made perfect sense. Mao turned his head towards them, and Zero was startled by the cloth veil covering his eyes.

"I knew you were coming," Mao said, grinning as he sat up. He gestured to the unoccupied bed. "That one's yours. I just made it up for you." Zero glanced at the little cot curiously, wondering how Mao had managed to set it up with his vision obscured.

Mao tilted his head, made a face, and then let out a sharp laugh. "Well of course I can see enough to make the bed!"

Hearing his thoughts so plainly voiced by another made Zero gasp. How..?

"I can see very well," Mao continued, pulling himself to his feet and moving with a lazy swagger towards the pair. He spread his arms - which Zero noted were unnaturally long - out to the side. "I can see everything. Things no one else can, things that don't even have a physical substance!" He reached his right arm forward. Every instinct Zero possessed told him to retreat, but Jeremiah's hands on his shoulders kept him firmly in place. "I can see everything, I can hear everything. I already know everything about you, boy with no name, boy with no history, boy with no future until he found us - Zero!" Mao clapped his hands again, his smile positively ecstatic.

Thankfully Jeremiah spoke up, and his voice was a soothing normalcy Zero clung to. "As I'm sure you already know, Zero will be travelling with us from now on."

"Of course, of course, but it's still not permanent. Still plenty of time for Luciano to get his way and have him left behind." Mao sniggered.

"Regardless." Jeremiah sounded exhausted. Zero could imagine how having a conversation with this strange boy could tire one out. "Please make him feel welcome. The day has brought many changes for him, and he needs time to adjust."

"He's thinking rude thoughts about me!" Mao accused, although he did not sound offended in the slightest. It couldn't be anything new to him - people thinking rude things about him, that is. "Ah! There he goes again. What a loud brat you are."

"But I haven't-" The words died in Zero's throat as Mao pulled the veil from his eyes. It was impossible to tell what color they really were around the blinding red sigil ingrained on the iris. Zero stared, completely dumbfounded. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and besides the shock, the sight only filled Zero with an endless curiosity.

This seemed to catch Mao off guard. He leaned forward, his lips twisted now in a thoughtful frown. "You're a funny one, aren't you? No wonder Anya likes you. How strange." Zero tried pointedly to keep his thoughts directed elsewhere, because it was obvious he could keep no secrets around Mao. But even that attempt proved futile. Mao unearthed the thought buried beneath the rest: the thought the Mao should know all about what was strange. He clapped his hands, his odd eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, I like you too. I think I'm really going to like you, Zero."

Zero swallowed, at a loss for what to do or say - or what to even think - around his new roommate. On one hand, even if he did not understand the sudden liking Mao had taken to him, he was happy not to have made another enemy, but he was still nervous. How on earth was he supposed to room with someone who could, for lack of a better explanation, read his mind?

"There is no better explanation," Mao said. "That's it. Very simple. Of course, that usually frightens people - and unfortunately you're no exception to that, you loudmouth - so I don't bill it as that."

"Mao is advertised as a fortune teller," Jeremiah explained.

"It's not as scary that way," Mao added. "People actually love it. They think it's amazing I know so many things about them. But what's more amazing are the things I don't say out loud. I know all of the Area's greatest scandals!" Zero only nodded. He supposed that would be an interesting benefit of mind-reading, although what good could knowing the greatest scandals possibly do Mao? Again, Mao read his thoughts instantly, continuing his one-sided conversation. "Well I could sell the information if I wanted. But without tangible evidence, there's rarely a reason to. But sometimes knowing is just fun."

"How is that fun?" Zero spoke the question aloud only because hearing Mao essentially talk to himself was unnerving.

Mao gave a little shrug. "Well it's more entertaining than your idea of fun." He turned his head a little towards Zero, the sigil in his eyes flashing a brilliant red. "Pining after someone you don't even know."

For a moment it felt as though time had frozen. Zero's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. All other sound around him became muffled, although he was vaguely aware of Jeremiah speaking - advancing on Mao, perhaps with the intent of silencing him.

"You don't know him, do you? This angel of yours. You don't even know his name! You carry his trinket around and that is all you have of him!"

"Stop it."

"That and a memory!"

Zero didn't realize he was shaking until he heard his own voice wobble. "S-stop!"

But Mao did not stop. The words dripped from his mouth like poison, entering Zero's bloodstream and eating away at him from the inside. Zero curled in on himself - and, strangely, he could see Mao doing the same.

"And she probably doesn't even know you exist. That encounter probably meant nothing. And despite your feelings, even if you love her and even if she is all you think about because she saved you, it doesn't matter because she probably doesn't even remember. But you'll still waste every moment of every day remembering, wishing! And that is not fun, what is fun about that?"

The sudden change in wording brought Zero back to the present. Having his most precious memory wrenched into the open from its holy place in Zero's heart and so completely tarnished by another's words left him shaken, but beyond this he could think of only one thing: someone else understood his pain. Someone else had gone through it too - held on to a meeting that quite possibly was (but couldn't be!) nothing more than chance, and devoted far too great a portion of their heart to a person that might not even know they exist.

Before Zero knew it, he was beside Mao. The other boy had collapsed onto his knees, both hands covering his ears as he muttered to himself. Any anger that had started to fester by Mao's unwanted mental probing dissipated, replaced with a sense of sympathy Zero could not recall ever feeling for another person. He reached out - feeling Jeremiah's worried eyes on him all the while - and touched a hand to Mao's shoulder.

"It's okay," Zero said, voice soft. Mao shook his head. "She does know. I'm sure she does. They both do."

Zero would not accept anything else. If could not maintain the hope that his angel was out there waiting for him, what meaning could his life possibly have? How could he continue on if he did not know their meeting was destiny, that they would meet again?

"You really believe that." Mao was not asking, nor did his voice hold any ridicule. When he locked eyes with Zero, his expression was only one of desperation. He wanted to believe, Zero could see; he wanted so badly to believe that whatever girl existed in his memory would find a way back to him. Mao wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to recompose himself. "Maybe it's not so bad you're such a loudmouth."

"I guess not," Zero agreed, offering his first smile to the other boy.

"Keep hold of that."

At first Zero thought Mao referred to his restless mind, in which case there was very little he could do. Zero's brain was in constant use, to the extent where it sometimes kept him up at night, too many thoughts rolling around and Zero powerless to silence any of them.

Then Zero noticed Mao was pointing at the umbrella - the precious token from his savior Zero always kept on his person. "I won't," he said. He took the umbrella in his hands, cradling it against his chest, and green eyes drifted into his memory. "I won't ever let him go."

They were a strange people, the circus folk; carrying traditions and superstitions everywhere they went. Everything was an omen to them – from the alignment of stars to the dryness of the grass at their newest campgrounds. Zero never saw fit to complain, even if he found it absurd. Despite their oddities they were a docile people, and accepted his presence among them easily enough. That was more than Zero had ever hoped for: a place to belong.

Of course, nothing in the world came without a price. After the first two weeks on the road Zero overheard the ringmaster's son complaining loudly about how not everyone was pulling their weight.

"He's a scrawny little freak – should've known he was lying before. 'No one can sing like I can'. What a load of crap! I say we toss him."

"But Jeremiah insisted he has a power. He's never lied to us before."

"So he has a gift, big deal. Fat lot of good it'll do us if he just keeps to his tent all day. How're we supposed to make a profit?"

"That's your job, isn't it? If you expect to run the show one day, I suggest you figure it out."

Zero left his hiding spot at that, not wanting to know how Luciano planned to figure things out. He had no intention of being beaten into submission. If they wanted him to perform, so be it. He had a talent – and he was sure it would amaze them. The power of absolute obedience wasn't a common one, after all.

He decided to demonstrate after supper. Most the gypsies were in the best of moods then, sated by food and drink, and idle chatter filled the air. Talk always turned to performances at some point – who was doing well and who had passed their prime – and that night was no exception. To the small group gathered around the fire, he asked for a volunteer. There was a chorus of giggles, and several hands raised.

Zero chose a mousy-haired young boy and motioned for him to stand. The boy did so and everyone watched with rapt attention as Zero came to stand beside him. He opened his mouth, and when he did he was suddenly overcome with a bout of anxiety. Was it okay to demonstrate his abilities? He'd always kept them a secret in the past, afraid of what people might think, afraid of what might happen if he used them wrongly. Accidents seemed to follow whenever he'd utilized his power before. Never had Zero meant for harm to befall anyone, but somehow it always happened, and was proving a point to Luciano worth risking that? These people had taken him in, treated him kindly...

The excitement in the air fizzled.

Someone scoffed. Zero recognized Luciano's voice, commenting snidely: "See? Worthless."

Burning anger shot through, making his hands clench at his sides and his vision bleed red at the corners. The boy he'd named his volunteer became rigid, eyes growing wide and equally red.

Zero opened his mouth and the boy did as well.

"Sing," Zero commanded.

And the boy did, his voice climbing higher and higher and never once faltering or cracking. The boy's voice slid effortlessly up a scale, and then another, reaching notes thought to most as unfathomable – especially for a boy who, in all the time he'd been with the circus, had never spoken more than a handful of mumbled words.

He'd always been able to control others. That was his gift, which he'd possessed as long as he could remember. It wasn't simply asking someone to do something and having him or her obey without question; it was a certain feeling, a burning in his veins. He knew when it took effect – he could feel it, the power coursing through him. Often he would see red and he would know that whatever instructions he gave would be heeded. It worked well enough when he spoke.

But when he sang…

Zero swept his arm out and the boy turned as if on a string, a marionette under his master's control. "Sing for me!"

When he sang, it came without any effort. The notes floated from his lips and Zero received whatever he wanted. He didn't even have to verbally communicate his desire; it was as if they understood, naturally - as if his thoughts seeped into them through the mere inflection of his he couldn't shake the niggling feeling that what he was doing was wrong. Not because it was immoral to manipulate others, but because it was dangerous. He still knew so very little about his power – the nature of it, its limitations. To use it without being sure could only bring disaster.

One last, pure note and then the boy's voice was just a ringing memory. Zero lowered his hand and the red faded from the boy's irises. He stood, blinking and disoriented in front of the amazed crowd.

To Zero's satisfaction, everyone - even Luciano - applauded.

A soft noise reached his ears.

Zero blinked and inclined his head to the side, hardly surprised to see Rolo hovering uncertainly at the threshold of his tent. Ever since his demonstration at the campfire the child had become his shadow, lurking around corners and always watching when he thought Zero unaware. Zero was always aware, of course, but for some reason, despite the fact that it unnerved him to be under such constant scrutiny, he could never bring himself to tell the boy to stop.

There was something about the boy – maybe just that he was so small and frail, and his lavender eyes always stared at Zero with such quiet awe. He stirred some protective instinct inside of Zero, which for whatever reason Zero was unable to squash back down.

He let Rolo enter, and tried not to flinch away when the boy came to stand beside him. Eyes that had seen far too much for a boy so young swept over the tent, lighting up upon spotting the paintings scattered across Zero's bedroll. Paintings was a generous word, as the images on paper were hardly what Zero would call skillful or beautiful. They showed none of Anya's practiced attention to detail, or the grace of a steady hand. Rather they were more frantic attempts at trying to recall the exact shade of green eyes, the precise shape of an extended hand, but there was a natural progression in the works that showed practice and repetition did in fact pay off.

Rolo did not seem to notice any of these things. He pointed enthusiastically to the paintings, his eyes locking meaningfully on Zero's, as if to ask if they belonged to him. Despite the display around the fire proving Rolo had a set of perfectly functioning vocal chords, Zero had yet to hear the boy speak, and even though it made him curious he knew better than to pry. He was young himself but not blind to the cruelties of the world, and it was all too clear that some tragedy had befallen Rolo to make him this way.

Zero began to assemble the papers into a messy pile. Using his powers on the general public was something he still felt uncertain about, so in an attempt to be useful to the travelling fair he had tried to create art. He painted (or attempted to paint) the thing most beautiful to him: the memory of a rainy evening, and glittering emerald eyes. Transferring the memory to paper had been and remained an act of love, and still Zero could not look upon the face of his angel without tears pricking at his eyes. The ringmaster, however, had taken one look at them and scoffed, declaring them worthless.

"They're mine," he answered honestly. "But they're nothing special."

He was about to stuff the paintings away under his bed sheet when Rolo reached out, gingerly taking hold of the topmost paper and running his eyes over it. His head tipped to the side as his gaze travelled down to the next picture in the pile, which depicted the same face from a different angle. When he looked back at Zero, his eyes were crinkled at the corners with a sort of understanding. You like this boy, Rolo's eyes seemed to say; he's all you've painted.

Flushing, Zero snatched the paper from Rolo. He hated the sight of another pair of hands on his angel, even if it was just a painting, and it really was none of Rolo's business anyways. Zero had no obligation to share the secrets of his past with the boy, and he felt as if to talk so casually about his savior would tarnish the memory of their special encounter – make it no different than an everyday occurrence that might have happened to anyone. And it wasn't. It couldn't have happened to just anyone, because it was fate – destiny that had brought the angel to him that rainy evening, and destiny that would see Zero found him again.

"Who…?"

Zero stilled, breath catching. The whisper of Rolo's voice was scratchy and hoarse from disuse, not at all what it had sounded like under the influence of Zeros power, but Zero didn't know what surprised him more: Rolo actually speaking, or the question he had begun to ask. It was the question he asked himself so often, when the memory replayed over and over in his mind and kept him up at night. He would recall the warmth of fingers brushing against his own, the brightness of that smile, and he would wonder: Who are you? Where are you?

And he would feel his heart break, as he did now, as reality settled heavily on his shoulders and his dreams vanished like wisps of smoke into the night sky. Each day that passed, his hope of finding answers to those questions diminished slightly further. Destiny may have brought them together, but with so little information and the circus already prepared to leave for the next city the following morning, Zero had no chance of ever finding his savior again. He'd tried to do as Mao told him - to hold on to his love - but he'd searched all around the campgrounds, and at night when the awed crowds came in droves to their fairgrounds he searched among them, too, to no avail.

A memory was all he had of that boy; that was all he would ever be.

"No one."

Zero smoothed out the edges of the painting, and then his fingers trailed to the center of the page. Reverently he traced the lines of the boy's face, hovering over the smiling lips as he wondered at their softness. Would those lips yield to him in a kiss, or would they be slack, unresponsive as paper?

Rolo frowned, his eyes never leaving Zero's face, probing...

"It's none of your business," Zero snapped when he could not handle the scrutiny any longer, his patience leaving him as he parted with the concoction of memory and fantasy in his mind and hid the paintings away again. "Who he is makes no difference if he remains nothing more than an image on paper." He sighed; feeling a pang of guilt as he realized Rolo had shrunk back from him. Frightening the boy hadn't been his intention – but when was the last time anything had gone according to his plans? True, his memory did not extend far back, but someone with good luck did not end up as he had begging on the streets.

"I... I don't know his name." Why was he even talking about this? Who was Rolo to make him feel as if he needed to explain himself, to make Zero feel as if he could do more to find his angel? Zero had already done everything in his power! The boy knew nothing of how he had suffered, knew nothing of the impact of one single act of kindness, and knew nothing of Zero's feelings!

Rolo tilted his head inquisitively, and Zero could read the question in his expression: You draw him, search for him, yearn for him, but you don't even know his name?

Zero colored, and he was angry at himself for feeling embarrassed. It was different from when Mao pried this insecurity out from him; Mao had done that out of resentment, and maybe even as a warning from someone who knew firsthand how clinging to the past could create a lonely future. What did Rolo know? How dare Rolo judge him!

What did it matter, anyway? Zero knew how he felt. The rest were just details, details they would have plenty of time to fill once they found each other again.

Rolo touched his arm tentatively, but Zero pushed his hand away.

"Don't patronize me!" He regretted the words immediately. Rolo flinched as if he had been struck, eyes full of confusion and hurt, making Zero feel absolutely despicable. To take his anger out on someone so defenseless was unforgivable. Despite the age and wisdom of Rolo's eyes, he was still just a child, still innocent. "I need some air," Zero decided, getting to his feet. He couldn't look at Rolo as he left, too ashamed of his actions, but the weight of the boy's eyes followed him even so.

The circus was a bustle of activity, everyone rushing about, packing up and preparing to leave. The last show had closed days ago, and it was time to move on to the next destination. Zero had already come to terms with his new lifestyle, but it still pained him to see the campground stripped, entire lives stuffed into the cramped trailers that would be their homes for the next few weeks. He had grown rather fond of the lush mountain land, such a contrast to the grime of the city, and would be sad when the time came to depart.

He would have to apologize to Rolo later, Zero realized that. But not just yet. He wanted a chance to cool his head a bit, let the sting of his outburst fade before going back, otherwise he'd just end up snapping at the child again. Exploring the land seemed like a decent distraction, especially considering they would be gone soon, and who knew if they would come back here again?

An hour later he was regretting his decision as he stumbled over tree roots, his breathing heavy with exertion. He had vastly underestimated the sheer amount of land that surrounded their little enclosure of tents, and belatedly Zero realized that he really should have asked Jeremiah to accompany him. But he was far too stubborn to admit defeat and too lost to even know how to turn back, so Zero pressed on.

When the wildness of the forest began to thin out into even stone pavement and manicured lawns, Zero knew that he had step foot on to forbidden territory. Camping out on a small piece of Prime Minister's countless acres of land was one thing, but it was quite another to tread just a few yards away from his house

But was it really a house? It seemed too small for someone as powerful as a prime minister. He knew that the Japanese valued minimalism, but he couldn't imagine a politician entertaining such a practice. All the same, the dwelling was imposing in it's own way, and the traditional architecture made him feel incredibly out of place.

The smart thing to do would have been to walk away, leave this place that was so clearly taboo. But no matter how smart Zero was, he was still an eight year old boy, and no amount of intelligence could combat his rising curiosity.

But the sound of approaching footsteps was certainly sufficient to nip it in the bud.

Zero suppressed a startled squeak, and for a moment he was frozen, powerless to do anything other than listen to the footfalls coming closer and closer. Then his mind cleared and he did the only logical option available to a trespassing child: he hid in the bushes and waited with strained ears and bated breath. The steps paused, then seemed to disappear altogether. Zero's brow furrowed in confusion. He remained crouched in the dirt another few minutes, unable to understand how someone's footsteps could fade so abruptly. Maybe it hadn't been a person at all; perhaps some kind of animal. Whatever the case, he was alone now, safe to-

"Doko ni kakureru no, shonen?"

Zero gasped, covering his mouth with his hands to keep the sound from giving away his position. The voice was low and gruff, speaking what was presumably Japanese, and if anything the foreign tongue made Zero even more nervous. Could this be the prime minister? Zero paled at the thought, and at the worries that followed after it. What would happen if this man discovered him? Especially if this was the prime minister, he could do whatever he wanted! And weren't the Japanese supposed to be a barbaric race - known for cutting off their own soldiers' heads if they lost a battle? Those were the Britannian rumors, and if the Japanese would do that to their own men, what were they capable of doing to a Britannian trespassing on their lands?

Slowly, Zero attempted to swallow his fear and turned around to face the man. He had only seen the prime minister's picture once in the newspaper, but immediately he knew that was not the man who stood before him. This man was much taller, with an athletic build and a face that matched his voice: stern, gruff and slightly pinched.

With a sigh, the man crouched down. Zero remained rooted in place, afraid that any move he made would draw unnecessary attention to himself. It seemed as if the man hadn't found him yet, for while Zero stared plainly up at him, only Zero's silhouette was visible within sanctuary of foliage and darkness.

"Soko kara dete kite kure. Nani ga atta no ka oshietekure."

The words were incomprehensible, but Zero thought that there was just a hint of gentleness behind them, something that contradicted that grim face, and he almost came out. But then he remembered that he was still on private property, and that there was an entire circus troupe further down the mountain that was also trespassing. If he got caught, it would possibly reveal them, and he couldn't have that after all the circus had done for him.

A pause, and then came another sigh. "Suki ni shiro."

Zero let out a little squeak in surprise as the man grabbed his arm and gently pulled him out from the undergrowth. He looked up at the stranger with wild eyes, shaking like a startled animal.

Oddly enough, as Zero emerged from his partial concealment, the man's gruff exterior melted into surprise as well.

"Nani? Wakaranai no ka..." He paused, dark eyes sweeping over Zero's pale skin, and switched languages. "Who are you?

"I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have trespassed! I was looking around and I got lost and I wasn't sure how to get back by myself and I should have gotten someone to come with me but I wanted to be by myself and-" Zero babbled, and inwardly he winced at his ramblings, for he would have hoped he would have been able to come up with a better lie than this long winded account of the truth.

Thankfully, the man interrupted him. "Ah, I see." His voice was heavily accented, but he seemed to grasp the Britannian language well enough. "You are part of the circus troupe down the mountain."

"You know about that?" Zero asked, alarmed and upset he had revealed that secret so easily. His eyes widened as another thought struck him. "Does the prime minister know?"

The man chuckled. "No, that man does not look beyond his own problems."

Zero furrowed his brow, trying to understand how a person could not notice a group of people squatting on his own land. "Why haven't you told him?"

"I see no reason to," the man replied simply. "And besides, you are leaving soon, yes?"

Hesitantly, Zero nodded.

The man smiled. It seemed like an odd expression on such a stiff face, and Zero half-expected his skin to crack. "Then we should get you back. You are lost?"

Another reluctant nod.

"Come, I will show the way." The man walked forward into the woods before Zero could process what was happening, and he scrambled to catch up with his guide's long stride.

"Who are you?" Zero asked, panting lightly at the exertion.

"I asked first," the man pointed out. "You did not answer."

"Zero," he replied automatically, then blushed, belatedly realizing how strange that sounded outside of the circus. "My name is Zero."

His guide cast him a quizzical glance, then shrugged. "Britannian names are strange to me. I am Tohdoh Kyoshiro."

The name wasn't familiar, but that wasn't surprising given his condition. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Kyoshiro."

A chuckle and a small shake of the head. "I am always forgetting names are backwards. It is Kyoshiro Tohdoh."

Zero blinked, confused. "Oh... Mr. Tohdoh then?"

Tohdoh nodded approvingly.

They walked a few minutes, the silence thick and awkward, until finally Zero couldn't stand it anymore. "So," he began, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet forest. "What were you doing out here?"

Tohdoh glanced down at him, raising an eyebrow. "I find you in bush, and you ask me this question?"

Zero flushed. "Well - I just - you seemed surprised when you pulled me out out of the bush. Like you were expecting someone else... or... I don't know."

"Yes, this is true," Tohdoh agreed. "I did think you were someone else. Another little boy about same age."

"Your son?"

Tohdoh paused. Zero frowned, wondering if maybe Tohdoh's Britannian wasn't as good as he'd thought. But Tohdoh looked as if he understood the question well enough, just as if he didn't know how to answer it. This confused Zero even more, because Zero didn't think it was such a difficult question. Maybe he'd gotten too personal?

"Yes," Tohdoh said at last. "I suppose he is my son."

"And does he often hide in bushes?" Zero asked incredulously.

Tohdoh smiled, soft and fond, and Zero felt a small, inexplicable pang in his stomach. "At times, yes. He is always running around, climbing over and under things. He is a - what is the phrase? A handful."

But even as Tohdoh listed the child's faults, there was a hint of tenderness in his voice, a genuine affection buried under that rough exterior, and Zero found himself jealous of this boy he had never met. He had never had parents to care for him, no one to look for him when he was missing or retrieve him when he was hiding in a bush. None that he remembered, anyway.

Warm hands and a soft voice singing as they rocked back and forth...

Dizziness struck, a splitting headache assaulting his temples. Zero stumbled with a gasp.

Tohdoh grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Zero nodded, groaning when the action only made the dizziness worse. "Yes, I don't know what happened."

Tohdoh brushed a cool hand across his forehead, checking his temperature.

"No, fever," he observed.

But Zero didn't hear the diagnosis. His eyes were wide, staring off at something familiar but so very far away.

"My poor baby, sick in bed. Here, I'll sing you a song to make you feel better."

The song flowed out gently, warm and comforting although he was sure he had never heard it before, and Zero closed his eyes.

"Sleep, little one."

"Yes," Zero murmured.

An image came to mind, pale skin and long black hair. But no face, no face...

A scream, gunshots and-

"No, I don't want to see this. No!"

There was more music, more pain in his skull, and for a moment everything lit up in red. And then the darkness called him home.

The ground was moving.

Zero blinked open heavy eyelids and focused on the bouncing beige tarp overhead. A groan escaped him as the makeshift bed he lay on gave a sudden lurch. He had to be in some sort of wagon, but where was he being taken, and why? Zero racked his brain, trying to remember how he'd gotten there and only succeeding in making himself dizzy.

"He's awake!"

Three faces appeared above his, none of them which Zero expected to see. He looked from Rolo to Anya to Mao, then asked, "Where is Mr. Tohdoh?" The last thing he remembered was meeting the stern Japanese man near the Kururugi shrine, and talking about his troublesome son.

Rolo tilted his head questioningly, and Anya voiced the same curiosity. "Who?"

Mao didn't have to ask. "A Japanese," he explained. "Zero met him in the woods. He's gone. Carried you back to camp three days ago."

Zero's eyes widened. "Three days?" He'd been unconscious that long?

"Yeah. Jeremiah wouldn't let anyone near you."

"You don't remember?" Anya leaned closer to him, squinting and trying to read something - Zero couldn't fathom what - in his expression. "Interesting," she said. She reached for her pad of paper and stub of charcoal.

Zero glared, not in the mood to be a model for one of her weird sketches. Mao slapped the paper out of Anya's hands. When she shouted, he shouted back. Zero covered his ears with his hands and willed them all to go away.

"You're bothering him," Mao kept saying. "Can't you see you're bothering him? This is why you can't make friends. And don't think you're friends just because you found him - he's thinking right now how he wishes you'd just disappear!"

The charcoal dropped from Anya's hands. Zero glanced over and was shocked to see tears beginning to well in the corners of her eyes. A different kind of frustration sparked in Zero's veins. He rounded on Mao, shoving the older boy. "Don't talk to her like that!" Anya might be strange, but she meant well, and at least she didn't exploit others weaknesses just to feel better about herself, like Mao did.

"Shut up, nobody," Mao snapped, whipping one of his long arms out.

The strike never landed. Zero shut his eyes, bracing himself for the impact, but though he heard the slap he never felt it. Blinking his eyes open, he was surprised to find Rolo in front of him, holding a hand to his cheek, which now bore an angry red imprint. "Rolo..." After his outburst the other day, why would Rolo defend him?

Before Zero knew what he was doing he launched himself at Mao. He'd never been in a physical fight before, and Mao was a lot bigger than him, but none of that mattered. Zero a arms and legs lashed out. He wasn't particularly aiming anywhere, he was just satisfied whenever he heard the other boy wince. Maybe this would teach him to pick on the weak!

The wagon stopped abruptly, sending the fighting boys into a heap on top of one another. The flap at the back of the wagon parted and Jeremiah poked his head in. "What is going on in here? The entire company can hear you fighting!"

"He started it," Anya said, pointing to Mao. Any traces of tears were gone from her eyes. Zero wondered if he'd imagined them.

Jeremiah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mao, why don't you come walk with us for a little bit." It wasn't a suggestion. Bitterly Mao disentangled himself and hopped out of the wagon. "Zero, you too. If you're well enough to fight, you can walk with the rest of the men."

Zero flushed. He paused to look at the other two, and ask if Rolo's cheek was still hurting.

"He's had worse," Anya whispered. "He'll be fine."

Zero nodded, then reached out to grab his umbrella. His hand met only hard wood, and a new wave of panic seized Zero's heart. Where was his umbrella? He lifted the nearest tarp, thinking maybe it had rolled away from him with all the wagon's jostling, but it wasn't there. Desperate, he turned back to Anya and Rolo, but they only stared helplessly back at him.

Was it really lost? The precious gift from his angel, the only clue Zero had to ever finding him again...

"Zero," Jeremiah called.

Unbidden, tears sprang to the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away furiously and slid out of the wagon, landing easily on his feet. It was strange; he'd been unconscious for three days, but his body did not feel lethargic or cramped from disuse.

"How are you feeling?"

Zero gave a noncommittal shrug, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his threadbare pants. He still felt a little bit dizzy, but he didn't want to complain to Jeremiah - not after the man caught him fighting with Mao. And he was more concerned over the loss of the umbrella than of himself, but he didn't want to bring that up either. It would look childish of him, to be so attached to something everyone else considered so menial. None of them could understand, and Zero would just have to look for it himself, once they arrived at their destination.

He asked, "Was I really asleep three days?"

"Not the entire time." Jeremiah's voice dropped to a whisper. "But as far as everyone else knows, that's the case."

Zero didn't understand the need for secrecy, but allowed the conversation to continue in conspiratorially hushed tones. "I don't remember it," he said. "And I don't feel like I've been asleep for a long time."

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder. Zero followed the direction of his gaze and found Mao trudging along near the rear of their party. He was definitely out of earshot, but Zero didn't know about the distance Mao needed to be at to use his power. Jeremiah seemed satisfied, though, so Zero assumed they were safe. "You were only unconscious a few hours," he said. "You woke up not long after nightfall."

Zero scrunched his nose. "Why did you tell everyone I was asleep then?" Adults were confusing.

"You were not yourself." Jeremiah frowned, appearing to search for his words. "It is difficult to explain, but you were... different. You had no idea who I was, and you were convinced your name-"

"My name?" Zero's voice rose with excitement. He wasn't so worried about the memory lapse if it meant he'd remembered his name. "I knew my name? What is it?"

"It doesn't matter." Jeremiah settled a hand on Zero's shoulder to keep him walking. "Mr. Tohdoh explained that you'd fallen. You must have hit your head, and you were confused for a little while. That's why I thought it would be best to keep you from the others."

Disappointed, Zero sighed. Even if he hadn't been making sense, that name had to have come from somewhere. Maybe it was just buried in his subconscious, along with the memories of where he'd come from, who his parents were. And maybe none of that mattered anymore, but still. Why would Jeremiah want to keep it from him? Zero wanted to know, wanted at least to understand his past.

But Jeremiah wouldn't be giving him answers anytime soon. He'd turned his focus ahead, and from that Zero could tell the discussion was over.

The sky had just begun to darken. Hidden inside his tent, Zero tried to ignore what that meant and focus on breathing evenly. After a week on the road, the fair had arrived at its next destination. The city wasn't as big as Tokyo, but the people who lived there had a love for the absurd, Jeremiah had explained, and so the fair was always a popular attraction.

This was to be Zero's newest test. Already he had survived sharing a tent with Mao, and though small he managed to pull his weight, usually by way of helping Sayoko prepare and distribute meals to the rest of the company and cleaning up afterwards. Tonight, however, he would perform for the very first time - something which both excited and worried him. When he'd demonstrated his abilities on Rolo, he'd been remarkably successful controlling the power. But that had been for such a short amount of time, and when it overcame him Zero liked the feeling of his power too much to simply ignore it. It seemed to possess him as much as the people he chose to use it on - so the thought of using it for an indefinite period of time honestly terrified him.

He stared at the crude sign Anya had painted, which would hang above the small dais that had been set up for him. The blocky, childishly rough scrawl proclaimed him Angel of Musicin blue ink.

"There's the freak."

Zero did his best to hide his nervousness as Luciano approached. He kept his head bowed, fingers biting into his palms.

"Not getting cold feet, are ya?" Luciano held something up.

Zero caught a glint of metal and his eyes were automatically drawn to it. He paled as Luciano dragged the tip of the short throwing knife - the favored prop from his act - along the bridge of his nose.

"There's been a lot of faith put into you. Better not mess up. Or, y'know, maybe you should." Luciano gave one of his sadistic grins, and Zero couldn't help but shudder as the knife's edge nicked his skin. It was a shallow wound, not even deep enough to draw blood, but still a threat only a fool could have ignored. "I've been trying to convince my father that a living target would really make my act."

With a laugh, Luciano returned the knife to its sheath. The flap of the tent parted and Rolo stepped inside, carrying a change of clothes in his hands. He looked hesitantly at Luciano, who did not bother to hide his disgust, before proceeding forward and laying the clothes beside Zero.

"I'll leave you to get ready. Just came for the sign anyway," Luciano said. He stooped down to retrieve Zero's sign, and with one last smirk in Zero's direction took his leave.

Zero breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. Bless Rolo and his perfect timing. "Are these for me?" He indicated the clothes, which seemed more like random scraps of fabric now that he was actually looking at them.

Rolo shook his head and pushed aside some of the scraps, revealing an umbrella.

Zero gasped, reaching instinctively for it. Tirelessly he'd searched for the umbrella among the storage bins, but all his efforts had proved fruitless and eventually he'd come to accept that it had been lost somewhere in the woods near the Kururugi shrine. Just the sight of the precious gift from his angel brought him indescribable relief. "I thought I'd never see this again."

With a hesitant smile, Rolo pointed to himself. Zero understood. Rolo had found the umbrella - maybe even sought it out, specifically because he knew it held significance to Zero - and kept it safe for him.

He wished Rolo had brought it to him sooner, but questioning his motives wouldn't get Zero anywhere. Ever since their argument at the last settlement, Rolo had reverted to his strict observance of silence. Just when he had begun to make progress in tearing down the boy's barriers, he'd gone and messed everything up. Guilt gnawed at the pit of Zero's stomach, reinforced by this newest evidence that, though Rolo's lips remained tightly sealed, his loyalty to Zero had not diminished.

Before he had a chance to scurry away, Zero pulled Rolo into his arms. As expected, Rolo tensed up, his eyes widening with terror. This only lasted a few short seconds, until he realized the hold was not a prelude to malicious intentions, and he softened to the idea, bringing his own arms around Zero's neck.

"Prala."

Rolo spoke so very softly Zero almost missed it. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he wondered if this was indeed what brotherhood meant. The warmth that spread through his entire body was a comfort he'd never experienced before, and it brought a bright smile to his face. He ran his fingers through Rolo's fine hair. "Yes, Rolo," he whispered, "I'm your brother."

The declaration felt both incredibly right and terribly wrong on his lips. The words had a nostalgic air about them, as if he'd said them a thousand times and felt the same surge of affection and protectiveness that came with them, but that couldn't be right. As far as he knew, he had no siblings.

But then why did the urge to protect come so naturally? Why, when he looked at Rolo's pale, hesitant face, could he almost recall a pair of similar violet eyes?

It didn't matter, Zero decided, letting Rolo go after another quick pat on the head. No matter if he'd had a brother in the past or not, he'd made Rolo his family now, and he would ensure no harm ever befell him again. Whatever horrors lay in Rolo's past, Zero would shield him from them, and defend against anything that dared to threaten him in the future.

"Zero!"

The flap of the curtain parted to reveal Anya, fully dressed in her costume for the evening. She was training to become one of the aerial acrobats, but for now her job was to call attention to the newest attractions the fair had to offer - namely, the Angel of Music.

"You're not in your costume yet?"

She clicked her tongue and hurried forward to help him. Apparently the rags Rolo concealed the umbrella in we're meant to be his outfit. Anya dressed him in a silky white tunic and matching vest, under which he wore loose blue pants which tied at the waist with a purple sash. As far as costumes went, it was rather subdued, something Zero was grateful for. He knew drawing people in was his goal, but he would hate to be out in anything too showy.

"We must hurry to your stage. People are already arriving!"

Zero had just enough time to grab his umbrella and secure it to his person before Anya pushed him out of the tent. The coins sewn into her pink skirt jingled merrily with her movements, providing a cheerful distraction that lasted until they reached the tent holding the makeshift stage that had been set up for him. Luciano had hung the sign somewhat crookedly, he couldn't help noticing, as he mounted the first step.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked Anya, nervousness creeping into his voice. They'd instructed him many times on how the performance should go, but how was he supposed to draw an audience? How would this actually make money? "What if no one watches?"

"That is my job. Your power will see you succeed in yours."

His power... Zero hated to put his faith in something he still did not first understand, but he nodded reluctantly. Failing in this would mean getting tossed back onto the streets, and he would do anything to keep that from happening. He would rather die than go back to that meaningless existence, not to mention this was the only way he possibly had of finding his angel again.

"Wait behind this curtain until I return," Anya said.

Before Zero could say anything more, she turned gracefully on her heel and flitted off down the dirt path.

"Come and see, come and see! Come and see the Angel of Music!"

"Come inside! He is a descendent of divinity, our Angel of Music! His voice is of the Heavens, you won't believe your ears!"

Excited murmurs followed these proclamations. Zero tried and failed to swallow his nervous, and several times thought his anxiety might truly get the better of him as his stomach threatened upheaval. He clamped a hand over his mouth. Sweat had begun to accumulate along his brow, and the tent, with all the new bodies crammed into it, felt entirely too hot.

Anya suddenly appeared beside him, her eyes blank as always. She handed him a handkerchief which he took gratefully and wiped his face with.

"Go now," she said. He opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head and pointed to the curtain. "Go."

Zero stumbled as he was forcibly shoved through the curtain. His appearance was met with a round of hearty laughter, his audience's spirits already warmed by the mugs of ale in their hands. The crowd amazed him - not for it's size, but for the mix of classes and cultures in attendance. Beggars stood next to heiresses, some without shoes and others in a dazzling silk dress or tailored suits, and they all wore identical expressions of anticipation. They came in all shapes and sizes and from all walks of life, and it was truly magic that brought them all together - the power of the fair, of performance.

At some point during this revelation, his fear vanished. When Zero took a step forward he carried himself with confidence. And when he sang...

When he sang, they listened.

Their attention was not of the leering sort, as with many of the other spectacles the fair offered. Rather they stood with rapt smiles and wide eyes that did not leave him for a second. He sang two songs for them, and they applauded enthusiastically.

Some of the women wept, and he even heard one of them cry, "Ángel! Bendito niño!" - a proclamation several others joined in on. Zero's heart soared. He saw the gypsy plant they'd stationed in the audience - a small, dark boy with big eyes and matted black hair - scurrying through the crowd, feeding them lines like, "He's descended from the angels!" When Zero called for an volunteer, as planned beforehand, that was the boy he chose to make the crowd more receptive to the idea of his control.

"Can you sing?" He asked the boy, who shook his head. "Show the crowd."

The boy did, opening his mouth and grating out the first verse of a Spanish hymn. Everyone recoiled. The boy looked back at Zero helplessly. "You see, I can't."

"But I want you to sing."

This was the moment his power should have activated. The magic words had been uttered, and yet, that familiar sensation at his core did not surface. With a mounting impatience the crowd waited for a miracle it did not seem would ever come.

The boy raised an eyebrow at Zero, a silent question. Neither of them knew what to do. For lack of a better option, the boy tried to sing again. He was not as terrible as he'd played himself up to be, and had the audience not been expecting more he might have passed as good.

A murmur began to rise up. Aggravated tones, sharp exclamations. They wanted their money back; this tent was a waste of time. Some of them came forward to collect the gold coins that had been thrown onto the stage. With mortification came a spike of anger, because this wasn't how it was supposed to go. He couldn't fail, couldn't be tossed out on the streets again, he refused to!

"Sing!"

The boy froze, the air seeming to catch in his lungs. His eyes widened, and Zero watched in fascination the moment his control dominated. Behind his own eyes Zero felt the telltale throbbing of his power. It flowed through his veins and took possession of him as well. When he tossed his head back and threw out his arm, the boy spun towards the audience as is pulled by an invisible string.

An aria passed through his lips. The song was one of another land, the language that which the gypsy boy had no business knowing. And yet the words were all there, perfectly pronounced as his voice climbed higher and higher throughout the song. The disgruntled sounds from the audience morphed into disbelief, and Zero couldn't keep the grin from his face.

He turned his attention away from the boy, who sagged like a lifeless doll and stumbled back to the curtain, and pointed at a prim woman in the front row. She took an uncertain step back but couldn't manage another before her features crystallized in the picture of serenity and the pure notes of the song picked up exactly where the gypsy boy had left off.

"Sing!"

From her, he moved on to a stout balding man at the center of the room, and then a poor beggar with missing his front tooth. Each time he said it, the effect took place more quickly, the singing became more pure. It was the longest he'd ever exerted himself this way, and it became obvious in the way he swayed on his feet, overcome by wave after wave of vertigo. But he couldn't stop, couldn't stop.

"Sing!"

A girl in tattered clothes, the boy with no shoes, The heiress with the red silk dress. They were all his puppets, and the crowd loved it. Zero loved it.

"Sing for me!"

Zero's act became the circus's most popular attraction. Everyone scrambled to see the little boy with the angel's voice and devil's eyes. Everyone... except the one person he wanted to see. Every performance, he stared into the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of familiar green eyes, only to be answered with crushing disappointment. No matter how much he grew in renown, it was worthless to Zero if his angel wasn't there.

Still, fame did have its benefits. Now that he was an asset rather than a burden, he was treated differently. The others regarded with awe and respect, and if he looked closely, Zero could see the fear in the eyes of those who had once only held contempt.

It was a rush unlike any other, especially for one so unused to it. The power that Zero had once feared he now delighted in using. And it was so easy to look someone in the eye, bind them to his will and get whatever he wanted. An extra loaf of bread, spare change, a little jig from an unsuspecting clown. Anything.

Of course, anyone would notice that the others were distancing themselves from him. Anya couldn't seem to look at him anymore, and whenever he was near Mao, the mind reader would get a troubled look on his face and turn away.

The only one who remained by his side was Rolo.

"You don't need them, Prala," Rolo insisted on his more talkative days. He'd become much more open now that Zero actually sought out his company, rather than merely tolerated it. "You only need me."

Zero smiled, lightly ruffling Rolo's hair. "I'm so lucky to have such a sweet little brother."

In truth, no matter how much Zero had come to care for little Rolo, his possessiveness was unnerving at times. He would get fiercely jealous of whoever came near Zero, and he was growing increasingly resentful of Zero's angel. He would glare at the many paintings decorating the new tent, and once Zero had even caught him trying to burn one with a candlestick. Zero had slapped him then, causing Rolo to dissolve into tears. Zero had felt so guilty for making him cry (again) that he had ended up forgetting his anger and holding Rolo until the sobs subsided.

Rolo was just afraid of being abandoned, Zero reasoned. He could understand that, for it echoed his own feelings. Once Rolo realized that Zero wasn't going to leave him, he would calm down. And when Zero found his angel again, he was certain that the boy would welcome Rolo as he had Zero.

But the thought of his angel smiling at someone else, looking at another with that warm green gaze stirred something bitter in the pit of Zero's stomach, so he always abandoned that train of thought for something more pleasant.

Like his next performance, for instance. By now, his initial stage fright was a thing of the past. Singing for an awestruck crowd was a thrill, and making them sing for him was even better. Zero found no greater entertainment than in that moment when the eyes of his latest victim glazed over red with submission, face breaking into a vacant smile as he or she jumped to do his bidding.

Anya came to take him to his stage like always. She would be replaced by someone else in the near future, he figured. Her training on the trapeze was progressing quickly, and soon she would be far too busy to draw attention to his act. At this point, the Angel of Music was so popular he hardly needed her assistance anyway.

"Are you ready?" Anya asked quietly, the trinkets sewn into her costume tinkling lightly as she made her way towards Zero.

Zero pulled his cloak on with a flourish, pausing only briefly to grab his umbrella. Zero had found that since Rolo had returned the umbrella to him, he was unable to bear letting it out of his sight, so he had integrated it as part of his act. "Of course."

Their walk was quiet, which was to be expected. Anya wasn't exactly known for her talkative nature, but something about the silence struck Zero as different than her normal brand of reclusiveness. Had this tension always been there? Maybe it had, but it was only now, with this likely being their last walk together, that Zero was at last noticing it.

The thought was a lonely one, especially since this was really one of the only times he ever saw Anya anymore. When was the last time he had talked, really talked to her? Or Mao and Jeremiah, for that matter? He had told himself that his isolation didn't bother him, that they were jealous, that he didn't need their friendship, but that wasn't true, was it? This circus, these people, were the only family he had ever known. He couldn't lose them.

"Are you angry with me, Anya?"

Anya paused, glancing sidelong at him. Pointedly she avoided making eye contact. "No, I'm not."

Zero frowned. "The why...?"

"I don't blame you for your actions, I blame Luciano. I blame Jeremiah. I blame myself."

"My actions? What crime do you find in my actions?" Zero demanded. "Is it wrong to be successful, to help the circus dig its way out of this money pit?"

"It is if that success is pulled from people against their will," Anya retorted. "And we are to blame for that. We pointed you to the mob and told you to sing, to take and control. You knew better, but we wouldn't listen, and now you're under your own spell."

Zero stopped in his tracks, grabbing Anya by the shoulders. The girl stopped, but her expression didn't change. "My spell? I'm not under any spell! I'm in control. I always have been."

Anya smiled, and her eyes flickered. "Not always."

"You make it sound like I'm enslaving my audience-"

"Not just your audience," Anya pointed out. "Innocent bystanders, members of the circus, the people you once called friends."

"It's not like that!" Zero insisted. "It's harmless, no different than a few practical jokes."

"Do you see anyone laughing?" Anya asked flatly. "They're afraid of you, Zero, and you're too drunk with power to care. What will happen when your commands aren't so harmless anymore? It starts with the little things, little acts, and then it grows and grows. People will get hurt, people will die, and it won't matter to you because you won't know who you are anymore. That is how a tyrant is born, Zero."

Zero was silent as Anya looked at him, expression flat, eyes cold but still not meeting his gaze. "A-are you calling me a tyrant?"

"Not yet, but soon," Anya replied, shrugging out of his grasp. "It's only a matter of time, and when that happens, you'll be all alone."

"No," Zero whispered. "No, you're wrong! I won't... I'm not... Look at me."

Anya ignored him, once again walking towards his performance tent.

"Look at me," Zero pleaded, grabbing her arm. "Dammit, Anya! Look at me!"

Anya glanced down at her arm trapped within his grasp. "Are you going to make me?"

She didn't sound angry, just mildly curious, and for the first time it struck him how young Anya was. So young, yet she had the eyes of an adult, and they made Zero feel like a foolish, naughty child. And maybe he was.

He dropped her arm.

They walked together in silence once again until the performance tent came within sight. Anya opened the flap, revealing his eager audience.

"Go ahead. Your puppets await."

Zero scowled. "You think you know all about me, don't you?"

Anya laughed, something he had never once heard her do before. "I know that I do. You have no idea just how much."

And that smile, it wasn't Anya in that smile. It was cool and knowing, displaying a kind of ancientness that was beyond even the maturity Zero had observed in her before.

When she blinked, the impression was gone, and Zero stepped into the tent to face the audience that had no idea what they were getting into.

The poor little lambs.

As soon as Zero opened his mouth to sing, any uncertainty Anya may have instilled in him faded away. The uncertainty, but not the anger, and it melded into his notes, giving power and dynamism to his voice.

It was during this part of Zero's act that he saw her. She sat in the front row, lavender eyes lit up with delight. He wasn't really sure why this little girl in particular drew his attention. Maybe it was because her long rose hair reminded him a bit of Anya. Maybe it was her pretty white dress, or the way she cuddled up to the older girl sitting next to her (her sister, mosty likely).

All Zero knew was that when the last notes of his aria faded away, rather than go to the little gypsy boy planted in the audience like always, he made his way to the stands.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl, voice gentle.

The older sister glared at him, but the little girl giggled and blushed.

"Euphy!" she chirped sweetly. "I'm Euphy."

Zero smiled. "Would you like to come on stage with me, Euphy?"

Euphy gasped. "Oh, could I, Cornelia?" She glanced towards her sister, who frowned and pulled her closer.

Cornelia glared at Zero with mistrust. "I don't know, Euphy."

"Please, sister?" Euphy begged, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

Cornelia wavered, clearly uncertain, but finally sighed. "Fine."

Zero smiled and bowed. "She will be perfectly safe with me, I assure you."

"She better be," Cornelia growled.

Slightly unnerved by the malicious intent the older sister was radiating, Zero took Euphy's hand, leading her upstage.

"Do you sing, Euphy?" Zero asked.

Euphy blushed again. "Well... yes... a little."

"Would you sing for me?" Zero asked.

"Oh, well... I don't know. I'm not all that good. Nothing like you," Euphy answered, glancing from him to the crowd a bit nervously, as if it was only now dawning on her just what she had agreed to by stepping onstage.

"I'm sure that's not true. Sing a song for me," Zero coaxed.

"Go ahead, sing sweetheart!" a voice called from the crowd.

"Yeah, let's hear it!"

"Sing!"

Soon a steady chant started up, urging the little girl to sing. Cornelia looked positively murderous as her sister squirmed, suddenly very shy.

"But I..." Euphy protested.

"Sing," Zero cooed.

Euphy froze, lips snapping shut as her expression went blank. When she opened her mouth once again, pure notes fluttered out.

Her voice was sweet, a gentle lullaby that barely needed any help on Zero's part. She seemed like an angel in her pristine white dress, everything about her radiating innocence and light. The crowd loved her, captivated in a way that was beyond even Zero's talents.

And quite suddenly, everything Zero had been suppressing bubbled to the surface. His anger, despair, and frustration erupted out of him and focused on this single tiny girl. For she had never seen hardship, never gone a day without food or shelter, didn't know what it was like to stand in the rain for hours and hours until a single umbrella over her head seemed like a godsend. She had everything that he had never had, a place to go home to, a family to love her, but most of all she had a purity that he had lost long ago.

Zero had the irrational desire to taint her, to stain her soul until she as dirty as he was. He pressed closer, felt the familiar heat rise in his irises as he softly crooned in her ear: "Sing."

Euphy's voice rose higher, adopting a richness that a grown woman would not be able to master, let alone a small child.

Still, Zero was not satisfied. "Sing!"

Her voice rang out, and it was impossible to tell if Euphy was pausing for breath. Zero could feel his control, connecting him to her, and he relished it.

But then he felt something. A faint pull from the girl's mind, and the song faltered slightly, not noticeable, but astonishing nonetheless. Zero had never encountered resistance before.

Zero frowned, joining her melody, counterpointing her sweet soprano and pushing on her harder. He wouldn't lose control now. But he could still feel her fighting him, pushing against his power. It was a mental battle now, with Euphy struggling to escape his grasp, and Zero holding on to her tighter and tighter, binding her soul to his will.

"Sing for me!" he cried, and Euphy spread out her arms as a sound that was not of this earth erupted from her mouth.

Euphy smiled sweetly, so eager to please her master as tears ran down her face. She still resisted him, but it was weak, like a butterfly fighting to escape the claws of a hawk, and Zero summoned the last reserves of his strength to crush her.

Pain erupted in his eyes, a red hot burning as he was momentarily blinded by crimson, and receding before Zero even had the chance to scream.

And the crowd watched on, oblivious to the internal conflict, unable to rip their eyes away from the scene. Not even when Euphy's tears mixed with blood.

It started with her nose, a thin trail of red flowing out of her left nostril, barely noticeable. Her eyes came next, the water already on her cheeks diluting the red and turning it faintly pink. It began to gush from her ears, streaking her hair with morbid ribbons.

But still, Euphy sang on, and the crowd made no effort to stop her, not even her sister, until finally the blood began to pour from her mouth, clogging her throat and producing a terrible choking noise.

Euphy looked towards him, dress stained red, and curtsied.

"Was that all right?" she asked him, voice raspy. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to-"

And then she collapsed.

There was a moment where the world held its breath, waiting for the child to stand up again, to smile, to sing.

Instead, she laid quietly in the dirt. Silent.

"No!"

The voice, Cornelia's voice, full of anguish, broke the spell. Someone screamed, people ran, some to the exits, others rushing to the stage, everyone talking at once.

But all Zero could see was Cornelia, cradling her sister's body in her arms.

Her body, crumpled, dress stained with blood, legs contorted grotesquely at all angles.

"Speak to me Euphy!" Cornelia begged. "Wake up! Please. Euphy. EUPHY!"

She lifted her head, her tear filled eyes finding Zero's.

"YOU!" she hissed. "This is your fault! You killed her! You killed my sister!"

Zero shook his head, stepping backward, away from her accusing glare. "No, I... I didn't... I couldn't..."

Shrill shrieks filling the air. A sickening crunch and then silence.

"Did you hear that?"

"He killed that girl!"

The mob swarmed, surrounding Zero, suffocating him with their bodies and their words.

And then a warm hand, clasping his. Surprised, Zero looked over to see Anya, who had somehow slipped her way into the crowd.

Anya met his gaze squarely. "Run."

"Run, Lelouch - take Nunnally and run!"

She yanked on his arm, displaying such a strength that Zero had no choice but to follow her as he cut her way through the crowd, fighting against the resisting wave of bodies until they emerged into the clean night air, slipping anonymously into the throng.

They ran faster and faster, Zero's lungs protesting, his legs aching, but he didn't care didn't notice because his mind was full of terrified lavender eyes, the sound of gunshots, the flash of the sword, and music. So much music...

When they stopped, the circus tents were long out of sight, and Zero (Lelouch? He didn't know anymore) collapsed into the grass, tears streaming down his face.

A gentle hand rubbed his back. Zero looked up, surprised-

Only to find a stranger staring back at him.

She wore Anya's face, but someone else lurked behind those eyes, glowing crimson in the darkness.

"Who are you?" Zero asked, eyes wide.

Anya smiled softly. "I don't blame you for not knowing me. That is what I wished for you. But I never anticipated this, never imagined your mind would fragment so horribly. You were meant to be taken care of, not left alone in the cold. Please forgive me, my darling."

"What are you talking about?" Zero demanded. "I don't understand. What-"

The words dried in his throat as he caught sight of his reflection in a polished medallion hanging from Anya's costume. The reflection distorted his image, but what drew his attention was his right eye, the entire iris glowing a deep red so intense that not even the cheap gold surface could temper it.

"What... What is this! My eye-"

"It is the source," Anya answered, putting her hand over his eye. "This is where the dissonance began. I will seal it, seal you, and right this terrible wrong."

Her hand burned, distorting his vision, and Zero - Lelouch wanted to scream, but he couldn't find the breath.

His life flashed before his eyes; Rolo's smile, Tohdoh's hand against his forward, Jeremiah, Mao, Anya, all gone in a matter of seconds.

Not again. Please, not again.

Green eyes, a bright smile illuminating the rain. Gentle fingers wrapping the cool handle of the umbrella into his grasp.

"No!" Zero begged. "Please, don't take him away from me!"

"Hush now," the girl whispered soothingly. "Sleep. When you wake it will all be over."

No, no.

Zero's eyes drooped, tears streaming down his face.

Anya smiled, gently stroking the sleeping child's hair. "Sleep, Lelouch. Be patient. Soon, she will find you."

Persephone1:Dun-dun-duuuun! Eventually, all these plot threads well tie together and become clear. Probably. We hope. In the mean time, next chapter we go back to the main storyline! If you enjoyed our little trick or treat, we would love to hear about it in reviews!

Lawli: Baby Zero is my favorite character. I had too much fun exploring his past and bringing back the circus characters! Anyways… reviews are my favorite treat, omnomnom! Have a delicious Halloween, everyone~

Translations:

"Doko ni kakureru no, shonen?"

"Where are you hiding, boy?"

"Soko kara dete kite kure. Nani ga atta no ka oshietekure."

"Come out from there. Tell me what's wrong."

"Suki ni shiro."

"Do as you wish."

"Nani? Wakaranai no ka..."

"What? You're not..."