Four Months Before the Golden Rooster

by 0o Moon Calf o0

The tale of Yue, Clow, and Cerberus' lives from the boys' creation in 1681 to Clow's death in 1814. Clow Reed blew into the sleepy English town of Lightwater ready to change the world...But he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Not by a long shot. (Early chapters are up for revision & do not reflect current prose style/quality) Pre-canon. CxY. Contains no lemons!

14. Through a Glass, Darkly

Four Months Before the Golden Rooster

Part Four: Card Games

Reed manor lay dark and cold.

The empty hallways—so full of life and livelihood during the day—stood now like silent sentinels. The moon hung high in the sky just outside their protected gates, and its pale light cascaded eerily through the high, arched windows. An entire labyrinth of senseless, winding pathways was bathed in bluish monochromacy and the darkest shadows of the night.

Clow Reed smiled to himself, a wicked and calmly-sinister smirk playing about his lips. He loved it this way: the manor at night. He loved the tomb-like quiet and colorless scene that graced these halls only in the latest hours of the day. Rest assured, he was a man of character, a man of upbringing; he appreciated the frivolities of living in this house. The sorcerer could not deny that he had and was and would be brought great joy by the sounds of Cerberus's frolicking feet in the morning. He would concede that he could find no wonder in his life more breathtaking than the sight of the early morning sun glimmering upon Yue's pale hair. Yes, Clow Reed did not hate the day: the daytime brought him pleasures and joys;

But he loved the night. The darkness.

It was one particular hallway in the west wing in which the sorcerer was standing now, surveying the ghostly, glaucous scene. In the morning and the afternoon these passageways would be filled with energy and vitality. The sunlight would be streaming through the windows and his little lion would be galloping across the house like a wild stallion. The sounds of voices—quite probably the sounds of good-natured arguing between his two boys—and livelihood would fill their empty, stone depths by day. But tonight—on these dark and secluded eves not a thing stirred within the deep, murky heart of the manor. He alone was its sole and solitary inhabitant—its sole ruler! The only person tonight who could hear the creaks and groans of his complaining home! The only one who could decide single-handedly whether or not to go to its aid or simply stand by and watch the night suffer in solitude. Yes, yes. He, Clow Reed, alone, at this hour, had the power to be the king of his castle: and he could choose to be a merciful and empathetic lord, or, just as easily an unconcerned one. He had dominion. He was its master!

The sorcerer stood glamorously this eve, his new, elegant satin cloak draping lazily about his shoulders. He was leaning with a dominating casualness against one of the stone sentinels which in the day would become the manor's warm and cheerful walls. But though his slumped body and careless expression gave every impression of apathy, his glimmering cloak did not touch the ground. On contrary, it dangled off the magician's broad, reclining form in perfect order—so that its sophisticated, shimmering veneer need not be tainted by the dirt of the floor. Its silver chains sparkled the most brilliant azure in the moonlight. Clow was smartly dressed tonight beneath his regal mantle—far more debonair than he ever had let himself appear during the day (when his only audience was his sons and those fools down in the village), and the long inky hair which Yue often referred to as 'wild' and 'messy' was slicked neatly back and gleaming sinisterly in the near-dark.

He felt powerful: domineering!

The west wing was often Clow's sanctuary. For some reason or another, Yue and Cerberus rarely frequented it. (In fact, he supposed he hadn't seen them on his turf for any long duration since that night so long ago when he had brought them there himself after the blizzard.) It was as if they could sense his dominance—his mastery of this place, and dared not set foot on it lightly. The fact reminded him of his strength—it made him feel prevailing. But he had to admit still: he did wish that Yue would visit him from time to time in this place.

How many nights had he stood here, watching masterfully over his castle, and longed—fantasized—that he might meet Yue, his lunar child, like this: in the darkness? Often he watched the moonbeams trailing in, and marveled appreciatively at the beauty of their glow. Many a time he almost believed that he saw the young boy, just visible through the varying rays of light and shadow…

… an outline in the gloom—an elaborately arranged body leaning on the windows—cascades of long, flowing hair pouring around him like a waterfall…

Oh how it filled him with mysterious longing, this specter! Even victorious and vivacious as he presumed to be these nights, he felt parts of him grow weak at the idea of its presence. Sometimes his mind went wild! His imagination gripped his senses, and he could just see that image—that beautiful, enticing image—! And he would run to him—like a knight to his holy grail—he should pounce like a predator upon his desired prey—! He would!

But even in fantasies, Yue remained ever illusive. The specter was never real. It would vanish like smoke, and leave the hunter hungrier for the baiting! He couldn't understand it! Sometimes, he couldn't understand it at all—it made him want to scream! Clow Reed, master magician, brilliant theologian, the only man on this earth that could have conceived what he had about the elements—the only man who could ever have brought the spirits of the moon and sun—!

And yet he was not that boy's master.

Somehow he was not.

Yue was far different than Cerberus: their very celestial signs declared it! Cerberus was forceful and blunt where Yue was silent and compliant; Cerberus was domineering where his brother was meek. Submissive. Shouldn't he be submissive? Humble, docile, lowly, cowed? Or like his lunar sign: passive, dependent? Yue was indignant and paternal in his own right, but he longed to follow another—it was in his very nature: how could he ever live without another, as the moon could never shine? His metabolism could never sustain itself without his master as its crutch! And yet he could never reach that child—he, Clow Reed! Even in his daydreams he couldn't rush to the figure in the moonlight! He couldn't grasp him like he wanted and pin him to the wall! He couldn't feel the tiny body strain weakly against him—couldn't feel his own masculine dominion over such a helpless creature! No! He could reach his phantom no more than he could draw the flesh and blood version here to this place at night.

Strange things overtook him sometimes where Yue was concerned. Strange urges—flashes of things he could not quite comprehend. He felt like a predator—a beast! And Yue was his prey. He wanted to dominate that boy—as he should, as he should! He wanted to make him into the submissive creature he should have been by nature! How he longed sometimes to grasp that boy by the shoulders and throttle him to the floor below. How he ached to hold his squirming body to the rock, and feel the frightened heart beat against him—see those pale violet eyes grow wide as they realized their true master! He must be their lord! He must be their master—he, who gave the both of them life and flesh and blood! WHY could Yue allude him so! WHY was he the one chasing his subordinate and not dominating all of his being! WHY?

Clow couldn't understand it. Why such thoughts came to him… and why all of them should be true.

And so he sighed and leaned against his wall—the one thing he could have dominance over, no matter what. He watched the moonlight as it danced in through the high, arched windows, and whispered softly to himself of his own greatness.

'For we know in part, and so we prophesy in part…

At present, we see the world through a glass, darkly….'

These thoughts were not Clow's, but they did flow through the mind of another lost soul that night: another of Lightwater who found himself restless and unable to sleep. If only Clow could have known these such words, he could perhaps have discovered early on how greatly they related to him—perhaps if he had, there would have been no tragedy to this tale at all, but then again, perhaps it would also not have come to its happy ending. It would be a long time before Clow could realize that he could only see in part, let alone prophesy in part. And though his illusion of absolute grandeur would accordingly fade from him after being knocked from his pedestal, one looking back in retrospect could question whether he ever truly understood the other words of that wise phrase:

That we see the world as through a glass, darkly.

Chapter 7, Through a Glass Darkly

Dawn rose quietly over Lightwater village.

Normally there would be no one up to whiteness it—the hour was now quite early these days as the morning was breaking. Winter and spring had come and gone so quickly they had almost felt like a dream. Clow had spent much of his time locked away in the west wing, and Cerberus Reed (who was now quite remarkably awake despite the earliness) hadn't even felt the need to butt heads with him for quite some time. For the most part, life in the manor was peaceful—uneventful, but peaceful all the same. Cerberus had full run of the land once more. In a way, it was as if the rest of 1682 had not happened at all, and he would wake up one morning to still find it was the past summer, and he and his brother would be going at it like warlords. Actually, sometimes it was that very thought which terrified him, the thought of going back to the way things had been before: of he and Yue being literally at each other's throats as they had all those many moons ago (no pun intended). Could it all possibly be some fantastic dream, he wondered to himself. Could it be that all they had been through together those past seasons was simply an idealistic fantasy? Sometimes it felt like it must be—like the growing camaraderie between himself and his sibling right now was more believable as an illusion than reality. How far they must have come to get here to this point, in the summer of '82…

But every morning he awoke to the rising sun. He watched the fat orange disk climb its way into the sky through his bedroom window. He watched the heavens blush brilliant pink at their new company, and the outline of trees beneath change slowly to green as the shadows amongst them receded. He had a good enough view from his own bed, but some days, when he was feeling particularly adventurous, he would tiptoe across the way and watch from his brother's (which was immediately beneath the panes). Today he had felt brave, and was, at that moment, watching the morning sun with front paws clasped against the window frame and the back stretched out dangerously close to Yue's braided hair.

In days past, Cerberus might have tried to take advantage of a situation such as this: his brother slumbering innocently away at his feet. Perhaps, a year or so ago when they were still fighting, he might have 'accidently' yanked at the boy's plait as he dismounted to the floor. Or maybe he would have swatted him with his swinging tail rather than let it lay at rest (as it did now). For that matter, maybe he'd have even got more creative! Now, however, he had learned to be a bit kinder—at least he wasn't usually one to outright antagonize anymore! Of course, that wasn't to say the little lion wasn't still a firm believer in sibling rivalry (he still stood by what he'd said the summer before: tormenting your siblings is part of the job description)! It still had its uses—curing boredom for one—making sure life didn't get too mushy-gushy around here. Hell, sometimes Cerberus wondered what kind of grief Yue would give him if he ever woke up during one of these early encounters and discovered a rather immediate lion straddled over him. As the thought crossed his mind, Cerberus was gripped by images of Yue Reed slowly dismembering him and using all the chopped-up bits as target practice—he would be in hundreds of impaled pieces before Clow was even awake! But the young cub shook off the impulse and stood his ground: the passage of time had taught him to temper his flamboyant nature and occasionally contemplate his actions. Flinging himself about might be enough commotion to cause his unpleasant fantasy to come true—and even without looking, he could tell by the slow and deep pace of his brother's breathing that the boy was indeed asleep. For now, while he watched the sunrise, Cerberus felt a slightly wiser man, and not one in the mood for childish games—at least not until later in the day.

Yes, many things had changed since last summer.

As he contemplated these things, the lion cub did indeed tear his eyes away from the dawning sky. Golden eyes glanced down at his front paws, his feet, his tufted tail. He too had changed over this short span of time—and not just in the philosophical, 'self-identity' sort of way that Yue or Clow would be going on about. Physically he had changed as well as mentally. His paws, while still overlarge, had become less obviously disproportionate, and the bulk of his body (which Yue usually referred to as a ball of fluff) had grown longer and leaner—his tail was looking less and less out-of-place by the day! He hadn't really thought about his wings, but perhaps they were a bit wider now too—and he could swear his face looked longer and slimmer as well.

On one occasion in the library (during one of the rare times when Cerberus had felt brave enough to enter the place,) he had bothered Yue into books about lions. While this had gotten him a lot of dirty looks and death threats for the persisting disruption of the younger boy's studies, it had also landed him with a pile of leather-bounds and a bunch of pretty pictures. He liked to think that perhaps he was growing up a bit—kind of like the great beasts of these old field journals (although there was this business about something called a 'mane' which he grudgingly felt he was still generally lacking). Yes! He was king of his castle—head of his pride! But, of course, a fabulous monarch could hardly rule alone—that's how it worked in prides, the pretty books said so! Cerberus had thought long and hard on this metaphor for his life (he had heard that sophisticated people used metaphors—he had had to ask Yue what a metaphor was, mind). Yue, he had decided, was allowed to be the beta male to his awe-inspiring alpha!

Clow was the omega.

The sun was growing wider in the sky now, and the little lion wondered vaguely to himself how much time had passed since he had first wandered up here, nestled amongst these sheets and long, flowing hair. Yue stirred slightly in his sleep, and drew his brother's attention at once. He didn't awaken, but all the same, the boy clenched himself more tightly through his slumber and his breath shuddered—though obviously deeply comatose, his brow had become furrowed slightly with anxiety.

Lightly, Cerberus leapt down from the window. With the precision and grace of a much lighter feline, he tiptoed around the distressing teenager and nestled himself up against Yue's chest. At this close proximity, the worried lion could feel the minute tremors of his sibling's trembling (and knew, as it was well into June, that it had nothing to do with cold). Cerberus sighed; Yue had been having a lot of nightmares lately. Thankfully, none of them seemed to be prophetic, at least as far as he could tell (Yue was supposedly without that power to forecast), but that certainly didn't make him feel any better for his little brother—or any less angry at Clow.

Five or six months had passed since Clow had sealed his most recent two cards, The Shield and The Sword. He couldn't say things had gone back to normal exactly, but all the same, it was hard to pinpoint precisely what all had changed because of January's strange events. Cerberus scowled elaborately in the direction of his 'father's end of the house. Clow…the illusive villain to his valiant superhero! He couldn't really say he disliked the man—hell, he loved fool, like any good family should—but there was something about his actions as of late that really rubbed his oldest son the wrong way: especially where Yue was concerned. Although, the disgruntled cub had to admit to himself, he didn't know exactly what had transpired between his two housemates the night Shield was sealed, but he was sure that there was something mildly sinister about the whole affair. His brother hadn't seemed well that entire day, and Cerberus suspected that it had nothing to do with his 'mental anguish' or 'conflicting energies' or any of that crap he had overheard that pair talking about in the aftermath. For one thing, Yue's recovery had been temporary after Shield was put into card form—he had collapsed promptly afterward, and had been in terribly ill health for at least a few days afterward. Clow had actually said he'd felt feverish… surely that couldn't be magical? At any rate, Yue hadn't been quite normal since—these nightmares, for instance! That idiot Clow could say whatever he wanted about Shield being the 'manifestation' of 'something Yue was trying to reveal about his personality' 'just like Sword' was the 'incarnation' of his and Cerberus' private conflict, but he could scarcely fool this mature, and grown-up lion! Whatever the circumstances, the fact remained that Shield had been ripped from his brother's innermost heart—however gently, consensual, and well-intentioned the actual extrication may have been. Yue showed no physical signs of having been harmed by the procedure (spare for his brief spell of unconsciousness immediately afterward, of course), but all the same, Cerberus couldn't help but sense something unnatural and bruised about the sorcerer's aura now. Like these nightmares he was having—it was as if there was a raw and bleeding wound upon his sibling's soul which, though healing, was still leaking its infected puss all through his vitalities. Would he have this open wound in his heart forever, the lion wondered concernedly. Was he doomed to be eternally barraged by infecting energies?

Cerberus didn't have much time to dwell on these angry and distressing things, however. He settled himself lightly against his brother's curled and quivering frame and licked him affectionately on the cheek. The instant he made contact, Yue's entire body relaxed instantaneously—his touch could have been a sedative for its all-encompassing effect! The boy's frantic breaths halted for a moment mid-struggle, and started again with the slow and peaceful breathing of deep slumber. Cerberus felt his anger and frustration leave him as if it had been an over-filled balloon that had finally popped. Yue seemed to unconsciously comprehend the source of his relief (though profoundly asleep) for he shifted in his bed and hugged the cub to his breast.

For a moment, Cerberus hesitated—after all, wasn't he supposed to be the 'lordly lion' here? The king of his castle? The mature and independent grown-up man? But then his physical senses overwhelmed him. The little cub let his self-righteous façade fall. Curling up like a cuddled kitten, he gratefully gave in to his own soothing comfort within the younger boy's embrace. At first touch, Yue's flesh was pale and cool—not too far off from his sarcastic demeanor—but Cerberus had learned now that warm blood ran beneath his brother's skin. Like the contact of a foreign metal first feels cold to the body, he understood that if he snuggled himself closely, the warmth that Yue buried in his core would flood out into his own frigid fur. He didn't think these things to himself in so many words, but he knew them to be true. And so the matured lord gave in to his infantile impulses. Coiled into a tight, fuzzy ball, he clung to his companion's breast like a newborn to his mother. It was something he would never have done many months ago, back when the young magician beside him had seemed untouchable, let alone comforting, paternal—a real being of flesh and blood which one could relate to. Yet cuddle the little kitten did. Cerberus purred softly with contentment as he lay there, comforted and coddled. Listening to the slow, steady tone of Yue's heartbeat, he drifted back off to sleep.

He could rule the manor later—when morning had really set in.

…

Clow Reed had not stayed up all night, and in fact woke up later that very morning feeling like an entirely different man than the creature which had stalked his house at night (and having a curiously nagging headache).

The sun Cerberus had been steadily watching hours earlier had fully risen now. It was flooding through the vast, paned windows of the small downstairs dining hall where Clow was seated, enjoying his morning over a warm cup of tea. He had changed his clothing from the previous night—in place of his elaborate cloak, he now wore no more than a humble cotton shirt and a very worn-out brown vest. His hair was loose and messy again, there was a newly-patched hole in his trousers, and his glasses had on them a tremendous smudge which the wizard had apparently not yet noticed.

In fact, Clow didn't seem to be noticing a lot of things. Though he sat easily and elegantly within his carved wooden chair at the table, his mind seemed to be elsewhere than the beauty of the moment. The sun outside was warm and inviting, and it was spilling carelessly through the great paned window at the magician's side like it were flowing directly from Aquarius's water vase. The light ignited the reflectiveness of Clow's glasses (smudge and all), and, for a moment, made the view of his eyes go completely opaque. His cup of tea was still steaming lightly as if its master had only just poured it from the stove, and beside it laid a rather old and extremely dog-eared book: both of which were currently hovering untouched upon the dining table. The magician himself was leaning back in his seat, legs stretched as far as they would go beneath one of the table legs, and he seemed to be bemusedly watching something out the window. Whatever he was staring at seemed to make him happy, for the lounging wizard wore a lazy smile plastered across his face. It was indeed, he thought to himself, a lovely day.

There was one other thing, however (besides whatever was fascinating him in the outside world) that he was slowly getting more and more consciously aware of: a strange warming sensation which had little to do with the sunlight. The sensation was radiating into him via his breast pocket, and while not altogether uncomfortable, was rapidly getting to the point that not even for the sake of his lovely view could Clow ignore it any longer. Sighing whimsically to no one in particular, the sorcerer sat up in his chair and rested his hands back on the dining table once more. "Honestly, you lot," he chuckled good-naturedly, reaching into his shirt as he did so, "You're getting as bad as Cerberus!

"Can't I get a moment's peace?" he asked, still smiling, and drew forth a relatively small pile of what looked like some rather usual tarot cards. He held the deck aloft for a moment and surveyed them in the streaming sunbeams. The cards shimmered in the morning light, and an onlooker might have noted that the sheer intensity of the surrounding rays almost made them look as if some were glowing in the luminance. Clow, however, was not such a fool—he knew that his cards didn't look like they were glowing, some of them were glowing. The magician's smile widened slightly for a moment, and he let his elbows rest easily on the hard wood before him while he shuffled through his mismatched deck, and lay out each of its members in a neat row across the shiny oak surface. He dealt out the glowing cards first in the order that he found them: The Shield, The Dark, The Watery, The Windy, The Shadow, and The Wood. He gave a good, long gaze to each of the lunar cards as he set them in front of him and watched as, one by one, their warm and persistent glow began to lessen. Next, he moved on to the silent solar cards, and set them gently beside their brethren. The Light, The Fiery, The Glow, The Earthy, The Sword, and The Erase. Twelve cards, he thought to himself contently as he admired his work (which nearly ran to both edges of the circular table), in this one year or so he had sealed twelve cards. How many more, the wizard wondered lucidly as he gently fingered one of the nearest elements. How many more of these precious little spirits would he encounter and seal? Already he had a dozen, and yet he felt his two sons had much more yet to give him.

In all honesty, it was amazing how much Clow's perception of his 'elemental' cards had changed since he first began sealing them. The first five cards, as he recalled—the true elements—had been, according to his original plans, the only articles he had intended to make. Initially, the cards which had now become his passive quest had begun as nothing more than catalysts to help him bring Cerberus and Yue into life. To be fair, he had of course thought of the ways they would be useful in magic (most magicians called upon the spirits or gods of the elements, after all, to grant them power in their spells—having those actual spirits in one's hand must surely make them better weapons: tools for doing one's sorcery), but in all honesty, their creation had been completely secondary. Now he loved creating these tiny entities, for each was a tiny adventure into the minds and hearts of his housemates. This too had changed from the beginning (roughly a year ago, Clow imagined) where his first cards had been more elemental in their origins than psychological. The first cards, for instance, had been purely logical: they were the elements attributed with the souls of the sun and moon that he had sought to incarnate; Light and Dark too were a logical extension, although, admittedly, the credit for their discovery and accidental creation went wholly to Cerberus and Yue. Even his first unanticipated card had been based upon external factors: The Glow he had sealed moments after saving Yue, and only then because the new dawn had seemed significant at the time (and, again, much of that perception was due to Cerberus' irrational fear of the color purple). Erase had been his turning point. That card he had sealed away not because he had perceived it in the surrounding environment, but because of something Cerberus had done—and done in pure determination. Shadow, likewise had been born not because Clow had calculated it to be an essential 'element', but rather because it had been a hidden feature in Yue's life: a boy beneath whose sign that spirit dwelled. And as for Shield…

As Clow turned his attention to his last card, he paused, confusedly. All this while whilst he had been reminiscing about his patchwork deck, the sorcerer had been lightly handling and musing over each card in turn, but now he froze in his tracks. Though all of its fellows had remained deferential and kept to the neat little row their master had placed them in, the Shield had meanwhile broken itself pointedly from the line, and was now lying (with deceiving inanimateness) several inches above the others. Clow sighed—a bit dejectedly this time; "Still, Shield?" he murmured as he lifted the card lightly in his hands, "Even after all these months?"

The comments were not out of place. Ever since the night he had first sealed The Shield into its present form, this experienced magician could have no doubt that it was very different from the others. That first night, Clow had stayed exclusively by Yue's bedside—monitoring his ague-induced fever, and keeping a finger on the tiny pulse flickering in the boy's wrist. Every evening thereafter, however, he had laid the cards (including Shield) in a neat little pile within their designated drawer of his nightstand. And every morning thereafter, he had subsequently opened the drawer to find eleven cards still resting in their neat little pile, and the Shield card lying insistently apart from them. Sometimes the spirit within it had been even bolder, and on more than one occasion, he had found it in the most distant corner of his nightstand, or across his bedroom, as if it running away from him, its master—or perhaps as if it were running towards another 'master' of sorts which it had once had. Once, he had found it in Yue and Cerberus' bedroom.

That was all long ago, however, and now the Shield was usually content to sleep soundly in its drawer with the rest of the magical deck—though albeit still in its own pile. Why the card insisted on doing this, Clow hadn't the foggiest, but every time Shield separated itself, he felt a tiny prang of unease. Why was it that this card refused to lie with its brethren? Was it perhaps because it was never meant to be sealed at all? The thought made him feel queasy—ominous. If it were true that Shield was never meant to have been his, then the question now became: did he somehow harm his younger son when he ripped the card so forcefully from within him? The very prospect terrified him. Images flooded his mind of a fever-ridden Yue standing out in the snow, pointing the sharpened tip of Clow's staff directly at his breastbone. The entire situation now seemed so reckless! He'd had no idea what kind of effects that might have had on Yue, to rip out such a predominant part of his nature. He had fainted afterwards! If he had caused any harm to his son's body! In such a vital area! To say nothing of his soul!

But thus far, it appeared as if the young mage had sustained no real lasting damage from the ordeal—thank the divine (in whatever forms it or they may exist)! Mercifully, it seemed that only Yue's metaphysical heart had been wounded by the extrication. This worked all the better for Clow, for he secretly was developing a special favoritism for the Shield. The Shield was unlike the others: though each of the cards felt warm and welcoming to the touch, the Shield pulsed with a life all its own—and he meant that quite literally. Even now as he was holding it lightly in his fingers, Clow could just perceive the throbbing waves of energy and sensation which were radiating from within the thin paper. It was a peculiar sensation. This was why he now carried the cards with him—and Shield on top—in his breast pocket. Once he had even gone to bed with this one particular card resting in that pocket, only a layer of cotton away from his skin, and lay there taking in its strange impulses. It was as if inside the card a tiny heart was beating, only inches of sinew from Clow's own. The sorcerer had grown accustomed to laying it across his chest and feeling its rhythmic pulse throbbing outside of him, quickening and slowing in a rhythmic pace of totally independent creation. It was a particularly bizarre sensation (feeling as if one had a second heart, constantly pounding offbeat from the one twitching within his ribs), and yet Clow found it strangely exciting—arousing. Perhaps it was because he had a likely suspicion just whose blood it was beating in time with?

The invigorated sorcerer had no more time to dwell on these such thoughts, however, for that very moment, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the nearby grand staircase. Smiling secretly to himself, Clow gathered together all of his cards, and replaced them—with Shield closest to him—back into his breast pocket. Ensuring that they were safely tucked away, he preoccupied himself once more with his book and still-lukewarm tea; he did not go back to his long look out the neighboring window. Clow Reed knew exactly who it was coming down his stairs—and he certainly knew that person wouldn't think nearly as highly as Clow did about his admiring the 'scenery'.

"Breakfast is on the stove, Cerberus." He called once he had gotten himself situated, and waited patiently for his unknowing company to join him.

…

The sunlight from downstairs was flooding in through the upstairs windows too.

As the distant, burning orb above grew higher and higher in the sky, the arched, north-facing windows of the east wing's main hall were lit positively aglow with soft yellow light. It fell gracefully upon a wooden door at the far end of the corridor, behind which lay a very particular bedroom, and behind which someone was still blissfully sleeping.

Streaming rays cast the room alight. They cascaded through a single paned window, and cast the very air into a warm, comforting glow. Every corner of the small rectangular space was cast fully ablaze in the gleam of the summer sun, from the pristine chocolate sheets which fell immediately beneath the window sill, to the lumpy, faded set which lay strewn across the opposite bed. It cast into shining brilliance the gold-etched covers of carefully stacked books and the gleaming surface of a silver hairbrush which lay beside them on a nearby bedside table.

Cerberus Reed was ridiculously happy. He loved the summertime, frankly—and this day in particular—but, in general, he just loved the summer. The blankets which surrounded him were cozy and pleasant, and tucked lovingly around his sides. He felt like a little sausage being slowly roasted over a fire—and in Cerberus' opinion: that was a very good thing indeed (not just because it made for good eating, either!). Why was it he got up so early every day if he could stay so nice and cozy like this? Perhaps his brother had the right idea after all by sleeping half the day! He felt groggy and punch-drunk, and was seriously tempted to roll over and doze on for another hour or so—it was a very enticing idea. All the same, though, loving the summer meant that one also had to love, well, being out in the summer weather. Besides: this was a remarkable day! He, the lordly master of Reed manor, could scarcely deprive his subjects of his presence on such an occasion! Yes, it was all for the benefit of others! How he, the king, would so love to stay here in the warm—but, alas! He simply had to make the sacrifice for Yue and Clow! Why—they'd be lost without him for a day!

All this rushing through his head, Cerberus drug himself into consciousness, and rolled himself into a sitting position all in one magnificent, stylized sweep. He yawned pointedly, and stretched out his back in a highly drawn-out and luxurious way (as felines are so prone to). Yes, he thought as he surveyed his 'kingdom' of surrounding bed and sun and dust, he was indeed a wonderful person. It was amazing how much more mighty he felt here, sitting high above his servant ground. This tall bed may well have been his long-deserved throne, and the sunlight streaming in from the window behind him might as well have been—

Wait a minute…

Cerberus' act was instantly shattered before it had even reached full-swing by the weight of a startling realization: he slept in the bed opposite the window.

In a wondrous imitation of a morning exactly three hundred and fifty-five days prior, the little lion launched himself into the air in a panicked frenzy. Paws were sent flying. Sheets were cast away. The entire cub writhed momentarily with the pain and suffering he surely must be feeling right then—the pain that his brother had surely inflicted upon him for daring to trespass on his bed!

And yet… there was no pain.

Cautiously, the trembling beast peeked open one eye, and surveyed his tangled body before him. He—he was alive! And intact! He hadn't been killed, maimed, or otherwise slaughtered! Oh dear... that must mean his brother had dropped dead sometime during the night. How sad—and on today of all days. But there simply could be no other explanation! Alas! His poor little sibling! Oh how he would mourn! Oh how he wished there could be another way! But, how else could he have been spared?

On the other hand, Cerberus reasoned as more of his mental faculties came back to him and he felt brave enough to open the other eye, if his partner in crime were dead, then why was the bed strangely vacated? And who had tucked him back in?

Coming fully to his senses (and his proper visual capabilities), the highly confused cub at last noticed something he hadn't before: a curious flat object lying directly on the pillow in front of his cowering form. Unable to contain himself (and hoping for the clue that could crack the case), he drew nearer to the strange offending item. It was a spare corner of paper which had been torn off, and upon it was written, in thin, slanting script, a rather short but composed note:

'You get a reprieve from my wrath.

Sleep in your own bed!'

Then, at the very bottom, it read—in perfectly neat hand:

'Happy birthday.'

The message was not signed, and for a moment Cerberus could only blink stupidly at the parchment. He read the note to himself again, lingering for a moment on the last line. Then his eyes fell upon the large capital 'Y', at the page's head. The letter was very elongated, and drawn directly opposite of its usual direction. He had seen it so many times gracing the front of signatures: there could be no mistaking Yue's handwriting.

Happy as a hog in manure, Cerberus hopped out of his brother's bed (and even bothered to arrange the sheets into some sort of neatness) and promptly bounded out the door, off to meet Clow—his subject—in the kitchen. 'Happy birthday.' Indeed! The date was June the 20th, 1682—and today, he ruled!

…

Clow was still acting far too interested in his the details of the dining table when Cerberus—after a series of clambering sounds in the kitchen—decided to grace his master with his presence. At least, that as the impression the magician received as his oldest son not so much walked as pranced through the door, and gracefully settled himself in the chair opposite Clow (plate of breakfast in hand all the while). Of course, his little cub was usually enthusiastic—about almost everything, and most certainly about food—but even so, his arrival this morning seemed to be filled with more than the usual amount of… grandeur. Even as he thought this, the sorcerer's small companion glanced up at him, the grin on his face both excessive and somehow smug. Blinking a few times, and raising his eyebrows quite nearly to his hair line, Clow, for the first time that morning, decided to pay his tea some attention: hell, if Cerberus's…overly-satisfied…smile was any indication, he might well need something stronger than tea to get through this day.

"Hello, Clow." Cerberus chimed pointedly, grin still plastered disturbingly on his face. He took his time with every word as if there were some hidden joke going on in this discourse to which Clow was not privy. The older man hesitated before responding: it wasn't that he had anything against his son—and it wasn't as if the boy were doing anything wrong—but something about him simply seemed… off…today, and it made his bewildered master slightly uncomfortable. Without meaning to, he glanced quickly back towards the window behind him (though, with all four of his chair legs on the ground, he could scarcely see anything out of it ) as if wishing that he could be joined by whatever he had been watching through its panes instead. He quickly snapped his eyes back, however, and, blushing slightly, hastily responded:

"Good morning, Cerberus."

Thankfully, his eldest son seemed not to have noticed the momentary glimpse to the side (probably because his eyes were squinted into that inexorable grin, Clow thought to himself)and simply seemed pleased with himself at getting a reply. Exceedingly confused (and dealing with the sudden onslaught of a few other, unrelated emotions as well,) the magician took another steadying hit off his teacup. "You seem…energetic this morning," he stammered out as he lowered it back to its saucer, and surveyed his charge.

Cerberus had been merrily sampling his breakfast plate and looked up to smile at Clow once more, golden eyes positively glowing. "Well," he began with purposeful pride, tossing his head back somewhat narcissistically, as if to tousle some unseen mane. "I was just in awe of what a lovely day it is today!" He paused for a moment after this last, savoring something secret behind his words. Then he smiled once more—less broadly, Clow noticed to his relief, but nonetheless giving every impression that there was some essential component of this joke that he was missing.

The whole incident was getting somewhat irksome, Clow thought as he momentarily surveyed his furrowed reflection in his tea. A year or so past, he might have suspected that Cerberus was up to something, acting so haughty. Hell, even six months prior, he would have taken this sudden…jovialness as a sign that Yue was bound and gagged somewhere in the house, and that he was going to have to spend the rest of the day trying to find the boy before he asphyxiated! He could remember a not-so-distant time in which Reed Manor was a battleground for the most furious sort of sibling rivalry—and when, subsequently, such excessive joy from his little lion was a sure indicator of some serious mischief. Not that long ago, he could recall these halls and rooms and stairways each being the site of an all-out war of abuse and cruelty, and he, the neutral mediator, reaped the love from both battling nations. Now… was it possible that he scarcely knew his sons? The reflection in the tiny tea cup was staring back at the wizard more darkly, more angrily. A piece of the nefarious creature who had stalked the manor by nightfall twinkled in its eyes. The beast within him was wounded and crying once more. Inside his breast pocket, he could feel the Shield card positively burning against him! But no… he had to resist it. With surprising ease, Clow made sure to keep his face carefully blank, though all the same, the thoughts—now that they had been given attention—were still buzzing about in his head: Was that the joke? Was that what was making Cerberus so merry: some secret bond his was sharing with his brother to which he, their master, was an outsider?

"Clow?"

The older sorcerer's head snapped up immediately in response to the voice, his trance shattered as suddenly as it had begun to creep in upon him. Clow Reed blinked stupidly a few times, and unconsciously pushed his glasses back up his nose. Cerberus was no longer smiling at him broadly, but instead had his head cocked to the side, face composed into what might either have been worry or curiosity. A slight flush crept into the magician's cheeks: had he been acting strangely? Noticing the rather large smudge on his lenses, he hastily bought himself time (and saved face) by removing them and cleaning the glass haphazardly on the arm of his tattered house coat. Replacing them somewhat roughly, he composed his face as best he could, and managed a hasty smile towards his companion.

"Sorry, Cerberus," he replied with forced merriness, "I suppose I was a bit lost in thought.

"It is quite a lovely day outside, isn't it?" he added, pretending he could see the weather through the window behind him as he gestured in its direction.

"Huh?" Cerberus responded, confusedly, "Outside?" Had he so quickly forgotten his elaborate act? Perhaps that was all the more proof that it was something lighthearted.

"The weather," Clow continued, smiling more genuinely now that he was sure there was nothing malicious going on between himself and this cub at the moment. "I've actually been watching it myself down here. It truly is a remarkably beautiful sight." (as he said this, he glanced fondly back towards the window, images of his excellent viewing session from earlier that morning flooding his consciousness) "This sunlight especially," he continued, "is particularly pleasing on the…landscape—so very brilliant today."

"Well, of course it is!"

Now it was Clow's turn to look confused. "Cerberus…" he began slowly, but to no avail. As quickly as his son's sudden burst of anger had emerged, it seemed to have retreated. Before his companion even had a chance to question, the little lion had already settled himself back down in his seat, and was examining is toes rather glumly. What was this, then? 'Of course it is'? Of course it was what? Bright? Sunny? Was there really something deeper to this strange extremeness of emotion in his child today—something he was unaware of—something he had forgotten?

Though still extremely dumbfounded, Clow struggled to find something to say—to ask—that might bring a solution to this situation. He wracked his sluggish brains for one thing that might provide some comfort—whatever he was comforting for!—but before he had the chance to do more than open his mouth, Cerberus cut him off:

"Hey, where's Yue?"

Immediately, Clow flushed and even darker shade of scarlet, "Wh-what!" he stuttered. The cub's face was unreadable as he raised a questioning (or was it accusing!) eye towards the older wizard opposite him. Without warning, Clow's heart began to pound far faster than Shield's. Why was he asking such a thing! Did he know—had the boy realized that he had been—and that this card was—! Was he perhaps so gleeful because he had known he'd caught his master red handed? Cerberus was so quick to criticize any time he got near his other son—and not even for any reason, really! No, he had entered this pompously, so it couldn't have had anything to do with recent observations—and he hadn't done anything recently (not that it was even a crime, after all, for a 'father' to be with his child, right?)! But, all the same, could the happiness have just been a ruse to lure him into this sudden change of conversation?

"Wh-what are you talking about?" he shouted defensively.

Cerberus did something which Clow assumed was very similar to raising an eyebrow. "Uh, Yue," he replied flatly "You know: about five foot, skinny, sneering, pretty-boy, usually sits with us every morning?" He was looking at the other sorcerer as if the man were out of his senses.

Mentally, Clow slapped himself. Of course. He should have realized—of course!

"Oh…" he murmured, taking an embarrassed glance down at his tea, "Right…

"He's—err," (He took an involuntary glance over his shoulder toward the window behind) "He's out on the front lawn." Hastily, he took a massive sip of his teacup to avoid looking at Cerberus.

"'Out on the front lawn'?" he repeated, accusingly "You mean the one that looks right through that window over there?" He gestured forcefully behind Clow's back.

"Lovely day my arse! You don't care about me at all! You just—you just want to wank off watching Yue get all hot and sweaty out there! You and your fantasies!"

As Clow stared, plastered with shock at his son's new-found profanity—and his suggestions!—Cerberus threw himself from the table, and strode toward the door.

"C-Cerberus!" Clow screamed, his voice cracking—but his mind was completely wiped by the little lion's knock-out punch—he could think of nothing to say. So, instead, he settled for a meek: "Are-aren't you going to stay for…breakfast?"

Cerberus merely glared back at Clow's pathetic, stuttering form. "I'm not hungry!" he shouted, and without a moment ado, tore out of the room, a trail of tears in his wake.

…

Outside, it really was a lovely day—at least as lovely as the days ever became in the summertime. A clear azure sky spread for miles above the earth, and rays of glimmering sunlight spilled plentifully down from the heavens. There was a gentle breeze blowing too: it rustled the leaves of a surrounding forest, and bid nesting birds to sing softly at each other in the distance. Around the edge of the manor's glade, a pleasant shade fell from the ancient oaks. It cast a cooling shadow over the wood's edge, and was punctuated here and there by transitory flickers of light, which floated gracefully across a majestic young creature who stood in their midst.

Yue Reed was only fleetingly aware of these idealistic sensations around him: the swiftness of the wind, the beauty of the sunlight, the sweetness of the songs. He stood beneath the cover of a far grove, rooted serenely in place amongst the grass. His silver hair sparkled like wildfire in the passing patches of sun, and both his stillness and his pallor against the brilliantly green landscape made him appear as if he might have been a silent statue—a guardian deity standing sentinel over the forest. The breeze tousled his silken tresses which were hanging somewhat loosely around his neck, the boy however seemed not to take any notice. All of this young magician's senses were turned invariably inward. He heard the sounds of the rustling trees, the murmuring wildlife, but as if they were coming at him from the end of a long tunnel—or perhaps as if they were passing through the membrane of an enormous bubble surrounding him. On the other hand, some sounds appeared to be incredibly amplified. Yue's eyes were closed, and he focused hard on his breathing. He consumed his thoughts with the movement of his breath in and out of him—like the ebb and flow of the wind itself. In the murky silence that enclosed him, he listened to the slow sound of his own heartbeat, which seemed to radiate out to every part of his body and consume the surrounding space. He felt the beating of his pulse extending into the wood and fiber that lay in his hands, and imagined that these too were a part of him—one with his own flesh, surging with his own life. And the strain that would be tearing at his arms was non-existent.

Not once averting his eyes, the sorcerer felt his way along the long shaft in his right hand, running fingers across his guide feather until they reached a carved groove in the adjacent wood. Grasping at the hardened arc in his left hand, he listened to the soft clicking noise of the knock sliding onto the string, then, in one fluid swoop, both drew up his bow and pulled back the arrow against his ear. He could feel the softness of feathers against his face, and the movement of the bowstring on his expanding ribs. Holding his breath momentarily, he took one last glance at the target before him, and then all at once released both air and arrow, which whisked past him like musket fire. There was a sharp striking noise and calmly the boy lowered his arms, smirking softly as he eyed the bull's-eye shot some fifty yards ahead of him.

Yue had been coming out here to the front lawn and shooting for many moons now, ever since the snow had stopped piling up on the ground. It had been a much easier feat in the springtime, just passed, when the weather had been milder and he needn't have worried about staying out all the day. Now in mid-June, however, the days were hot and sticky. Now to get a proper day's workout in, he had to get up desperately early in order to beat the infernal heat which would soon be reaching unbearable levels. Thankfully, though, this was a rather nice day (as summer days go)—ironic though that thought was, the young blond mused to himself, recalling the calendar date. As he knocked his next arrow and prepared to clear his mind once more, he wondered vaguely if Cerberus was still sleeping in his bed. He shouldn't have thought such things, however, for no sooner had he relaxed his body and drawn his bow, than a loud and boisterous voice screeched:

"YUE!"

Many things happened at once: the small, flying lion landed roughly on the ground; Yue startled terribly, his bubble of focus completely shattered; there was an awful splintering sound as the arrow missed the target entirely—it whipped through a narrow gap in the trees, tearing apart at least two of its feathers. Cerberus roared with laughter, and flopped onto the grass, rolling back and forth with unrestrained amusement. "Man," he commented heartily, still chuckling quite hard, "I LOVE doing that to you!"

Yue said nothing, but setting down his bow and his quiver, he turned slowly and strode up to the offending creature. He loomed down at Cerberus, his expression unreadable but certainly not happy. "I'm going to have to re-fletch that." he whispered silently…deadly. Cerberus stopped rolling and blinked up at his brother.

"Huh?" he started, but he hadn't the chance to say anything more intelligent when Yue swiftly swooped down upon him, and yanked a small covert feather from the back of his right wing.

"Yipe!" the small beast yelped in response, leaping at once back to his feet. "That hurt!" he protested, pouting (and genuinely seeming to tear up, Yue noted, though he forced himself not to give in so easily to the pathetic creature). His brother disregarded this exclamation, and instead peered intently at the stolen plumage he held. He ran his fingers softly over the edges, examining them with apparent curiosity.

"You'd actually make decent fletching, Cerberus," he commented both smugly and (to Cerberus's terror) seriously. Yue smiled at him slyly, fixing the cub with a sinister glance out of the corner of his pale eyes. "I may have to come steal more of these from you in the night—while you're sleeping." This last he said as little more than a whisper: leaning over his brother's shoulder, breathing down his neck. Cerberus trembled. Yue smirked, content. That should keep the little gnat out of his bed for a week or two at least. Standing back up straight, he strode a few yards back across the lawn to where his bow and arrows were still lying on the ground. He gathered these—after a few moments' search, he even found the arrow that had gone off-target—and gracefully settled himself on a nearby boulder to re-fletch his various damaged shafts. All this while Cerberus merely sat there where he had been left, perhaps contemplating waking up one morning to find himself shamefully plucked and roasted like a chicken should he cause any more trouble (as if Cerberus could ever stop causing trouble!). After several tense seconds, however, he shook himself back into his senses and, resuming some of his earlier vigor, trotted over to where Yue was seated amongst the tree trunks.

The younger boy had already cut off the bottom of the quill and had bisected his stolen prize into two halves to be attached to his arrow shafts. The curious cub inched closer and watched intently as his companion carefully segmented out individual fletching, and shaved off the old, broken remains left upon the arrows. "Say, Yue?" he asked, still enthralled by his sibling's rhythmic and meticulous movements, "I've got a question for you."

Yue paused, looking up from his work, and glanced at his brother, bidding him to continue.

Cerberus took the green light. "Where exactly do you normally get those things?" he inquired, nodding his nose toward the prepared feather slices. (He imagined that there were a lot of birds in these woods that could provide them, but Yue didn't seem the hunting type.)

For a moment, Yue said nothing. Then, silently, he set his work down on the rock beside him. Cerberus cocked his head in curiosity, but the young mage paid him no mind. Measuredly, he reached behind his neck, and carefully gathered his long, shimmering strands of hair. He laid them gently across his shoulder and leaned forward slightly. A moment later, vast, fluffy feathers and wide, muscular wings burst from the back of his shoulder blades. Unconsciously, the lion took several steps backward and he gazed with both shock and awe as his partner majestically unfolded his wide white arms. Eyes closed, Yue relished in the feeling of having his body whole once more: cumbersome and presently ineffective though his wings were, he nonetheless always felt a bit better about himself when they were released. Perhaps it was because magic was what he used to seal them away, and not some natural process of his physiology, that made him seem so…perverted to be without them. Luxuriously, the blond stretched his extensive extra appendages—in a great display of his wingspan—until the long flight ligaments at his shoulders and wrists complained for the strain. He opened his eyes slowly as he lowered his limbs back to their natural resting places at his sides. His piercing violet eyes met Cerberus's, and the young cub instantly understood that this was his answer.

"Wow…" Cerberus commented softly as he inched forward, mesmerized by this sudden unfurling. He stopped himself immediately in front of Yue's left wing, and drew himself nose to nose with the overblown plumage. "You use your own?" he asked as he stared. His brother's primary flight feathers were simply enormous—longer than Cerberus himself would have been even measured nose to tail. It was difficult to believe that he could have small enough feathers to spare that might be harvested for something as thin as arrow shafts.

"Generally speaking." Yue replied casually, bending his right wing inward and carefully beginning to thumb through his own secondary coverts in search of more fletching material.

"That doesn't take long to grow back, does it?" the little cub asked, frowning back at his own protruding limbs. He shook the right one slightly as though it were still causing him discomfort from being plucked. ("This one's still throbbing!" he whined, more to himself than his sibling.)

"About a week or so regrows a small one," the younger boy responded somewhat distractedly. He then turned momentarily to meet his brother's eyes and added, with obvious sarcasm "Though I wouldn't recommend pulling out anything much larger."

"Don't mock me." Cerberus whined, still poking gloomily at his missing feather ("My wing has its own heartbeat…" he complained) "I'll still be able to fly like this, won't I?"

"Cerberus, have you ever heard of molting?" Yue retorted, raising an eyebrow as he peered back at his companion. The lion cocked his head curiously to the side, looking completely blank about this strange new topic. His eyes were wide, however, and his jaw trembled with anticipation of some horrible truth about to be unearthed to him. Yue bit his lip: sometimes he forgot how much basic information this boy lacked. Much though he would love to torment his brother just a bit more, telling him that all of his feathers were eventually going to fall out felt excessively cruel (and on his birthday no less). "It's nothing," he said at last, deciding better on it, "You'll find out.

"Anyway," he continued, hurrying to change the subject, "I wouldn't worry about one or two feathers impeding your aerodynamics." After all, he thought as he gently pulled out a few of his own plumes, covert feathers like these were more a matter of padding than function anyway. Cerberus however didn't seem satisfied.

"That's easy for you to say!" he commented as he watched his brother harvest himself, "It's not like you're really using yours!"

Yue froze. The cub's face fell. The words echoed about the glade.

Cerberus's expression seemed to droop even more as the thought began to sink in on him. He turned his head to his toes and kicked gloomily at the dirt. "I wish you would come up and play with me in the skies," he murmured quietly. Yue averted his eyes, turning his head away shamefully and staring fixedly at the grass. His left wing gave a feeble twitch. His brother appeared not to notice him at all.

"I wish you would fly with me," he continued, eyes suddenly brimming with very real tears. Yue stopped his brooding immediately, and stared dolefully at his sibling's turned back. "You could probably do it if you wanted to!" The beast insisted, voice swimming with a curious amount of emotion "You've been coming out here so long to 'train' yourself—you just need to try harder!" He was shouting now and the blond behind him couldn't fully understand why. He knew sometimes that this small creature was lonely and bored in this household where he was so starkly different from his fellow inhabitants, but surely it couldn't be bothering him this much? He was nearly crying earlier too—could it be that there was something else on his mind, something predisposing him to sadness?

"You're so lazy!" the little lion persisted, screeching shrilly. Yue winced. "You—you just need to practice more! If you would just get up and try sometime—!"

"I did try."

Yue's voice was soft and barely articulated. Cerberus halted in his tears at once, and twisted around, looking at his brother as if he might have spoken a foreign language. "Wh-what?" he stuttered.

A sudden cloud passed over the sun. A moment of shadow fell upon the manor. The young blond sorcerer was still sitting calmly amongst the tree trunks. His head was hung low, but his eyes were bright and focused, seeming to glow at Cerberus in the sudden darkness. A gust of wing rustled his hair and his face flitted in and out of view beneath his fluttering bangs. "I gave it another try earlier," he whispered softly, attempting to gesture toward the cliff side and the lake with his available left wing. He could do little more than flap it feebly in the proper direction, however, before he tensed suddenly with pain, and the limb fell limply back down.

"You're hurt!" Cerberus chimed worriedly, taking a few galloping strides towards the boy. Yue sighed—his brother had a knack for stating the obvious.

Unconsciously, the mage raised a hand to massage the back of his shoulder, "I think I just may have sprained something," he replied calmly, attempting to dismiss Cerberus' overzealous concerns. The lion in question, however, would hear nothing of it. He stared with wide, emotive eyes at his sibling's sagging wing, and followed the Yue's long, pale fingers as they gingerly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh, just take your shirt off!" The cub shouted suddenly, tearing his eyes away.

Yue raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Cerberus whined back, "Don't you trust me?"

"Not hardly." Yue replied flatly, but nonetheless, after a moment's pause he reached down and began carefully undoing the string of buttons down his front.

…

The sun was much higher in the sky now, and the blissful aura of that morning had faded into the lazy glow of mid-afternoon. The air was now sticky with heat and thick with moisture; through it the once-gleaming sunbeams looked drunken and blurred. It stuck to waxen tree leaves, burnt grass, sweaty flesh, and weighed heavily on the lungs of the only two living creatures who were out on the glade at this hour.

Cerberus and Yue Reed at least had had the sense to migrate themselves out of the direct light of the dawning day. Both siblings were, at that moment, nestled in the grass beneath the shade of a nearby glade of trees. Yue was lying prone on the ground, eye to eye with the overgrown blades of grass to which the summer humidity was sticking. His arms were lying limply by his sides, and he had coiled up his long tresses of hair into a kind of rudimentary pillow. The concept of a shirt seemed to have been forgotten long ago. Violet eyes looked heavy and half-open, but were nonetheless responsive as they flinched momentarily with a sudden flicker of pain.

He let out a long hiss towards the beast on his back.

"That would be the spot, huh?" Cerberus inquired, leaning down over Yue's right shoulder.

"Yesss," the younger boy whispered back, drawing out the 's' as he closed his eyes again and bid his aching body to relax.

"Yeah, I guess you were telling the truth then," Cerberus continued lightly, turning his focus back to his sibling's bare back, "Can't figure out how you could injure that one without flying."

This situation had been progressing for roughly the past fifteen minutes: Yue lying shirtless on the ground with a half-curious, half-caring lion standing on his back, trying to work some of the kinks out of his flight muscles (needless to say, this was one matter he considered himself pretty well versed in, thank you very much!). The first couple of minutes, the cub had tried working on the wings themselves, but now had bid his roommate to hide them away. He currently had his front paws deeply buried in what he assumed must be Yue's left supracoracoideus. The area was, in fact, slightly red and swollen like a developing sprain (what may have been the beginnings of a bruise were lightly coming in near where it connected to his shoulder).

He said 'assumed' because, similar though their flight functions were, Yue's musculoskeletal anatomy was widely varied from Cerberus' as far as wings were concerned (well, widely varied in general, but…). Whereas his own wing joins were nicely situated directly between his shoulders and his rib cage, for instance, the lion noticed that Yue's enjoyed no such anchoring. Instead, the shoulder of his brother's wings lay within a deep, bony-ridged, circular depression in either of his sibling's scapula, forming a fragile-looking ball-and-socket joint (though Cerberus could hardly have understood it thusly at the time). In fact, his scapula themselves looked quite enlarged compared to Clow's (the only other human he'd had the pleasure of studying), and impeded so much on his thoracic vertebrae that Cerberus wondered if they would touch when Yue brought his arms back. Though the holes in his back for these extra appendages had been roughly sealed with skin upon the disappearance of their master's wings, Cerberus could still feel a bounding pulse though the area—as if vessels were still surging blood to and from unseen limbs. Altogether it looked a lot flimsier a system than he himself was enjoying—the cub was reminded of a conversation he'd had with the blond nearly a year ago in which he'd been called lucky that he was a quadruped rather than bipedal. At any rate, this was all much more alien to Cerberus Reed than he would have initially believed, but he was still getting by. (Yue flinched as the beast, lost in thought, continued to absentmindedly massage his sore tissues.)

He'd poked around rather meticulously at first, not being entirely sure in this situation what his sibling might have injured. When you came right down to it, he figured, basic flying musculature was rather like a marionette: pull one string and they go up, pull the other and they go down. All else was accessory, and Cerberus didn't like things too complicated. The difficult part was figuring out which was which. He thought he'd identified the 'down strings', his pectorals, which were huge and reached from the bottom of Yue's wing joints, across his ribs to meld into stronger musculature in his chest. The offending muscle he was working on now was what he believed to be his brother's supracoracoideus, the 'up string' which raised his wings after their downstroke. The only thing which still kept the cub wondering was that, if this really was one of Yue's primary flight muscles, he had a sneaking suspicion why the boy couldn't get off the ground. One of the largest muscle groups in birds—and hell, even longer in Cerberus himself—Yue's supracoracoidei were short: they reached only from the base of his wings and were in all appearances attached directly to his spine. There was so little muscle and space in comparison to Yue's massive wingspan, that now the older boy had no problem understanding why he always hurt himself if he tried to fly. His brother must not really have any upstroke at all—how could he with such flimsy anatomy in that region—and he wasn't sure when or if ever the boy could develop the weak musculature well enough to sustain flight.

Maybe Yue's wings were all for show, he thought terribly, swallowing down bile. Perhaps he, Cerberus, was simply doomed to roam the skies on his own, his brother little more than a cripple—a flightless avian.

Oh God, he was a bloody penguin!

It was a terrible thought. Could this day get any worse?

"Cerberus?"

The little lion blinked stupidly a few times. He felt as if he had just been yanked back from somewhere very far away. Damn, getting older made him cerebral!

Yue had opened his eyes and was watching his companion with a worried stare. If Cerberus had been human, he would have flushed horribly.

"Sorry," he murmured, shaking himself out of his stupor. Brain now back on the situation at hand, he purposefully turned back to kneading his brother's back. Yue laid his head back down but continued to watch the creature all the same. What was he so worried about? He was fine, right? He was the great Cerberus Reed! What reason did anyone have to worry about him?

"Cerberus, what's wrong?"

For the second time, the little beast paused. He knew what Yue was getting at. He was having a particularly depressing day. All of this stuff about feathers and wings and disability would have been bothersome on any day, but there was obviously something making it all seem much more stressing on this particular afternoon. Damn it, nothing had been right since breakfast that morning—but what could he say? Was it really worth saying? Rather than look his companion in the eye, he turned his head down and studied his toes with feigned interest.

"It's nothing," he said softly to his feet, "Something stupid."

"Cerberus," Yue whispered again. His voice was even quieter than Cerberus', but his tone was gentle and sincerely concerned; the lion atop his back couldn't help but glance up and meet his gaze. "What is it?" the young boy whispered again (Cerberus had to remind himself how young Yue still was, his manner was so fatherly that moment). The senior studied his junior's face with uncharacteristic scrutiny. The blond's eyes were soft and clear; they quivered with genuine worry as if to invite him to speak freely, no matter how 'stupid' the problem.

Cerberus Reed sighed.

"It's Clow," he said at last. Yue looked at him curiously, but did not interrupt. Taking a shaky breath, his partner pressed on (simultaneously resuming his kneading of Yue's trapezius, peaking beneath the boy's flight muscles). "It's just…" (he hesitated) "It's just, I don't think he remembered my birthday.

"I know. I know, It's dumb," he hurried on before his sibling could get a word in, "I know it doesn't really matter much in the grand scheme of things, but…I don't know, I guess I just thought he'd acknowledge it a little. I mean," he punctuated his main point by driving a particularly powerful thrust alongside his brother's spine, and Yue had to bite his lip to keep from groaning and braking the cub's mantra), "I mean: look at all the crap we've fought through to make it to one year!"

"That isn't stupid," Yue panted back (trying not to let Cerberus on to just how much his eyes were watering in pain). Cerberus himself nodded dejectedly, but made no response except to withdraw his paw from his roommate's musculature. Moving slowly as not to startle the beast, the mage rolled over onto his back, and faced his brother (now situating himself near the cusp of his ribcage) square in the face. "It isn't stupid at all, Cerberus." Once more, the leonine creature smiled weakly and nodded, though his eyes were still dejectedly drooping. He looked so pitiful that Yue began to feel knots tying themselves together in the pit of his stomach. Damn it. He had to say something!

"Look," Yue began again, trying to make his voice sound as light and hopeful as possible, "It could just all be a simple misunderstanding." He was grasping at straws, but he'd be damned if he was going to let his brother realize it. "Clow is foreign, after all—he's from China. I actually hear they're not too big on birthdays over there, except for certain memorial years…" his voice trailed off. That was pathetic, the young magician thought to himself. He should just bury himself in a hole and never try to communicate with sentient life again.

Cerberus seemed appreciative of his brother's attempt, however. "Thank you, Yue," he murmured genuinely, trying a second time to smile. "I'm sure you're partially right," he continued, either regaining a slight bit of his confidence or else feigning it well if he wasn't, "I'm sure people over there do have really different ways.

"But, all the same: I still think Clow would have said something. Especially after all the danger and shit we've gotten ourselves into this year! It's almost a miracle we both survived to see summer again!"

Yue flushed a scarlet color, but threw his bangs in his face to hide it as best he could. "We've not been in that much danger," he muttered in reply, "just the blizzard really…"

Cerberus genuinely chuckled—half amusedly, half sadly. "So says the fool who went and got his heart ripped out because he'd gone fever-crazy."

Yue's face suddenly drained of all color, but a second later it returned once more, even redder than before. Against his will, his heart began to pound against his ribcage as if it knew it was being talked about. (Damn him and his flighty nerves!) How could he possibly compare that situation to the blizzard? Sure, perhaps sealing Shield had been a bit… intense, but scarcely life-threatening! Honestly, to suggest that he had been so reckless as that little bastard—! "Th-that doesn't count!" he coughed out defensively, still trying to hide his burningly scarlet face from view, "It's not like I was even hurt—!"

"Not your body."

Yue froze mid-sentence and stared at his brother, skin once again once again seeming to pale beneath his ruddy cheeks. His heart began to pound even harder. Eyes were fixed bewilderedly at Cerberus. What was he talking about? He tried to ask the cub this aloud, but found his throat had gone curiously tight. Cerberus however seemed to have read his intent.

"You think just because there's not a scratch on you that you got off Scott-free from that whole affair, Yue, but you didn't!"

"Cerberus," Yue attempted to cut in to his own defense. "Whatever you seem to think is wrong with me—"

It seemed, however, that his brother would hear nothing of it. "There's no seeming about it really," the cub shot back in all seriousness. Yue bit his lip in frustration, but remained quiet. "You just can't tell because you can't feel the presence of your own life force."

The younger boy had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Honestly, now Cerberus was going too cry to him about how he'd somehow corrupted his power or his soul or whatever? His sibling had been opposed to the whole Shield affair right from the off, there was no denying that. To be fair, the cub hadn't said anything specifically to him until now, but it was clear all the same from the strained relations at the moment between the little lion and his master that there was some sort of battle of wills going on between the two—and Yue was somehow certain that he was at the center of it. True, he had to admit looking back on it all, his actions the past winter did seem a bit…rash, but he could scarcely believe that sealing away the spirit of The Shield could have caused any serious damage to his essential being. After all, it was just like all the other cards, wasn't it? There wasn't anything unusual about it—didn't Clow says sword was based on some sort of personality trait of Cerberus' as well? And he certainly wasn't making a fuss about that.

All the same, however, even as Yue tried to mentally talk himself down, he couldn't help but notice the strange quickening of his pulse and the ominous feeling of sickness that seemed to be rising in his throat. Did his body know something that his conscious mind did not?

"There's a gaping hole in your aura now," Cerberus continued, looking his sibling quite seriously in the eye, "like a big, bleeding wound,

"Right here." he whispered, and nudged his nose pointedly against the middle of his sibling's breastbone—almost directly to the spot where Clow's staff had touched. There was no denying the anatomical significance. Yue's heart began to beat so hard and so fast that he was certain Cerberus must be able to feel it through his chest wall. It made him feel dizzy. The nausea that had been creeping up on the boy suddenly reached a fervent pitch. He wanted to be sick.

"Please let me worry about you," Cerberus whispered most quietly of all, lying down across his companion's body and snuggling his head into the boy's chest (apparently unaware of his sibling's current level of discomfort). "Little brother," he added slyly.

For a moment Yue seemed paralyzed, and the lion appeared to have resigned himself to not getting a response. Then, very slowly, he raised shaking arms and wrapped them comfortingly around the cat's neck. "Only by ten days," he muttered weakly, but relaxed nonetheless and allowed his wayward sibling to remain in his embrace.

…

The sun had finally set.

The rest of Cerberus Reed's day had been no better or worse than it had started off, but whether it was better or not, the lion in question found it much easier to deal with after his conversation with Yue.

Clow still did not seem to even realize that there was anything particularly special about the 20th of June—and perhaps it really was simply a matter of not wanting to make a fuss—but whether he was ignoring or forgetting, one way or another Clow seemed a hell of a lot more pleasing on this side of being comforted by his brother. Either because of this new outlook, or perhaps because the older sorcerer was still trying to figure out what he had gotten shouted at for earlier, the lion cub found his master a lot more jolly that evening. Even the food seemed twice as good as usual!

Yue had stayed and entertained them for a time, but had retired early when Cerberus had decided to descend upon the dinner table with a new level of gluttony. Clow had laughed heartily at the whole affair, and, indeed it was the nicest time the growing feline had had alone with his father for as long as he could remember. Now, however, he was fat and happy and it was at last time to head off to bed himself. Not an altogether bad day, he mused, smiling contentedly. At least it had ended on a high note, even if it hadn't been the birthday he'd originally imagined. True, he may not exactly have been the beloved lord of his castle, but he was older, and he was well loved—even if by some rather disturbed individuals. Hell, maybe he was a bit wiser now with his newfound age. Maybe he didn't need those old games of grandeur so much anymore—at least not as seriously. But damned if he was going to let them see any change in his façade: they might forget who their better was, after all; it was only for their own good!

Cerberus skipped his way down the hallway and up to his bedroom door. He seriously doubted that his brother would be asleep at this early hour, but in a surprising showing of consideration, he entered carefully and quietly all the same, closing the door again behind him.

As he suspected, Yue was anything but slumbering. Instead he was lying artistically across his bed (in a way that only Yue could), a rather large book propped in front of him. Nope, nothing unusual there. Just an ordinary evening in the manor. The only slightly interesting thing that was out of place would have been his shirt, which the young mage had apparently discarded. Instead he had opted for a cold, wet cloth which he had lain across his sprained shoulder region. He had also taken his hair down (maybe he was cold) and it was cascading freely all around him, dangling off the bed. For a moment or two, Cerberus was filled with the unpredictable urge to put his kitten face back on, and have a good swatting session with the loose strands. A moment later, however, another curious sight caught his eye.

The little lion froze. He blinked a few times. What was this?

On the other side of the room, where his own bed stood, and which was usually strewn with little more than dirt and dust, an unexpected bit of color had appeared in Cerberus' peripheral. Lying on his pillow, amid the mess of tangled blankets, was a bouquet of sunflowers. Both confused and oddly enticed, the cub gently leapt onto the mattress (careful not to disrupt the delicate disorganization of the sheets) and examined the flowers more carefully. The blossoms shown as bright as the early morning sun that he had watched rise that very day. They smiled up at him with their cheerful faces, and something about it all made the beast's eyes well suddenly with tears.

"I guess Clow didn't forget your birthday after all."

Yue was no longer reading. He had set his book to the side, and was watching Cerberus with an oddly tentative look on his face.

"I—" he stuttered, less eloquently than he normally would, "I hear that it's a bit of a custom out here in Western Europe to give someone flowers on the anniversary of their birth."

Cerberus smiled to himself, eyes still heavy with emotion. But he would entertain hi brother. "I thought you were talking earlier about Clow being from China," he offered back.

Yue flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. Cerberus struggled not to chuckle. "Yes…" the boy began, even more flustered than before, "Well… None of us exactly live there now, do we? Clow left China, you know," he continued, a little more strongly, glancing up to meet Cerberus' eye, "to come here; to give birth to us—and to make his cards—so…

"So maybe this is his way of saying that he does acknowledge you, and is happy for you, Cerberus, even if his culture up till now isn't one to outwardly show it."

The young sorcerer fell silent again the moment he had finished, and buried his face beneath his hair as though embarrassed by something. Cerberus smiled again, a bit more widely, but he wasn't going to push Yue. Not tonight.

"Yeah," the lion replied carefully arranging his flowers on the nearby side table and climbing into bed himself, "Just maybe."

…

Ten days later…

Day rose again over the tiny village of Lightwater, Surrey—as it had exactly ten times now since that fateful morn of June the 20th, 1682. There was no blinding light outside as there had been a week-and-a-half ago, but the sun still shone weakly through a sea of puffy white clouds. It was perhaps the coolest day southern England had experienced all summer long. A gentle ocean breeze drifted in from some distant coast line. Birds in the surrounding trees were singing and chirping in delight at the splendor early afternoon. Upon the placid wind, the scent of wildflowers floated lazily up from the plains below. Yes, it was truly a lovely day—perhaps not with the blinding summer assault which Cerberus had enjoyed a sort time prior, but ringing all the same with a gentle sort of beauty. Even the sky above seemed to have made contrasting accommodations for this, the thirtieth of June: where they had been a weak robin's egg color on the twentieth, the heavens above were now a stunning shade of periwinkle. A midday moon hung high in the sky as well; a year ago, the same moon had been born full and shining before the witching hour, but today he was risen at noontide—a thin, retreating crescent. Somewhere unseen, the constellation cancer hovered above the northern hemisphere.

Groggily, Yue Reed opened his eyes.

The hour was late, that much he knew full well, though his lethargic brain seemed not to want to process very much else. What was interesting was that he didn't particularly care how late it was. Damn it. Couldn't someone arrange for morning to come later? Violet eyes were still leaden and heavy and objected heartily to being held open. Grumbling, Yue closed them once more and rolled onto his side. The world could just piss off: he was waiting for the rest of his consciousness to come online first, before he braved it!

The young blond hated mornings—even when they came in the middle of the day (which they quite often did in Yue's case). He'd dealt with 365 of them so far, and was rapidly deciding that he liked the activity of 'waking' no better one year out. Oh lord, and it didn't stop there, did it?—Yue mused to himself as his mind began to stir more consciously—This was going to keep happening to him every day of his life!

…Oh, God's—! And a sorcerer of his power could live for centuries! Centuries! As in plural! Damn it all, he whined to himself as he pulled the covers up over his head, centuries of this? Couldn't he take a nap in there for about thirty years or so? Or could daylight take a nap? (perhaps he should move to the arctic…) Still half-asleep and whining pitifully, to himself, Yue began to do some (overly) serious maths. 365 days in a year, and even if he only lived three-hundred years… and that wasn't counting leap days—!

Needless to say, he didn't like the numbers. Couldn't just this once the night stretch on forever and let him sleep to his heart's content? The moon was still up, wasn't it? Couldn't someone just put the bleeding sun to bed and call it nighttime?

At the word 'sun', Yue's eyes snapped back open and he sat bolt upright, tossing his sheets aside. His melodrama was as quickly forgotten. The weak afternoon sun was filtering in through his window, the textured glass casting an array of highlights and shadows onto his half-naked form. He blinked a few times, seemingly with confusion. He looked left. He looked right—shaking his head slightly as if trying to get some unseen thing to come into focus. Curious, he thought to himself as he let his tense muscles relax, he'd thought that he'd felt something amiss in his bed and assumed surely that he's wake to find Cerberus laying on him again. There was, however, no cub in sight. Well, happy birthday, Yue, you're already going senile! Perhaps he wouldn't have to live through those one-hundred-and-nine-thousand-five-hundred-and-seventy-two or so mornings after all: not if he was already going mad at age one!

However, before he could continue this train of thought, the young sorcerer noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye (something which, thankfully, seemed to suggest he was not going senile). Unbeknownst to the boy as he had slumbered—or as he had grumpily awakened—there was something pleasant-smelling and purple gathered at the head of his bed. With both confusion and insatiable curiosity, Yue turned around.

Lying beside his pillow, their blooms cascading across the fabric, was a bouquet of fresh lavender. His brow furrowing slightly in confusion, the blond lifted up the sweet-smelling blooms and examined their pale violet faces. They really were a lovely collection of flowers—the scent of the lavender fields had always been his favorite part of the late-spring early-summer period—but what were they doing here? It was then that the fledgling magician noticed something else which had escaped his attention prior. Beneath where the pile of lavender had lain there was a small, scribbled-on bit of scrap paper. Setting the blossoms down for a moment, he took the parchment in both hands and held it closely to his unbelieving eyes. In large, messy handwriting it read:

They were almost out of season.

Happy birthday.

For a moment, Yue could only stare at the paper—blankly, as if it were written in a foreign language. Then, slowly, very slowly, a smile crept its way to his lips; he laughed out loud—first timidly, then with no restraint. Falling back against his bed, he chuckled softly to himself and held the flowers to his chest, breathing in their soft perfume.

So, perhaps Cerberus wasn't such a fool after all!

…

Clow had once again situated himself at the table of his self-created dining space, book elaborately laid out before him. Long ago he had discovered that this particular scenario was simply perfect for setting himself up to appear composed and dominating whenever he was expecting someone's entry. His sons were rather predictable, after all: they were each polite enough to at least grace him with their presence every morning. And this in turn, Clow thought to himself bemusedly, meant that he could easily be ready for them when they arrived like clockwork in the front doorway of this little room. The wizard smiled and chuckled quietly—seemingly at his own brilliance. Cerberus had already been down for the day and had long ago bounded out for the grounds; he was probably frolicking around out there by now—Clow didn't care. Not today, he mused hungrily, sliding his tongue cunningly across his teeth; today he truly was the matter of his household—and there was simply no way Yue could deny him. The typhoons in his belly began to roar again even at the thought of the boy and what perfect plot he had in store for him! He had composed his dress a bit more than usual today: around his shoulders he wore the sleek vest and cape normally reserved only for his nighttime indulgences; down his legs were a fresh, dark pair of trousers and newly-shined boots—he had even slicked back his flyaway hair! Yes, Clow felt masterful—powerful! This was his moment, his chance, and that blond British beauty was at his mercy.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the sly sorcerer's ears were greeted with the soft sound of someone very light-footed descending the steps of the nearby grand staircase. Clow smiled once more—wider this time, wilder. Showtime! Before the young blond in question could so much as reach the base of the stairway, he rose from his chair and situated himself elegantly in the room's polished wood doorway.

"Why hello there," he whispered seductively, "Yuè." He let his tongue toy with the last two syllables, impregnating them lavishly with their foreign pronunciation—savoring them as if they were a fine wine.

Yue froze in his tracks, clearly taken aback. With a swell (oh yes, very much a swell) of masculine pride, Clow thought he heard him gasp. The moment suspended temporarily in time, the older man took the opportunity to look over the child that stood gaping before him. Fair, colorless skin shone like porcelain in the midday sun; its pale hue could have disguised no blemish or flaw: it betrayed every vein which coursed beneath his flesh, every flush that brushed his cheeks. Barely-whiter garments streaked down his sides: thin, summery, only just disguising the lean body beneath. His eyes shimmered with a surprised innocence (virginal innocence, the beast inside him cooed, though such a thing could scarcely been said in this time and this place of a male), although they seemed strikingly more violet today, either from increasing blood flow or… or something else. Curious, Clow's own eyes wandered to his hair, which was undoubtedly different this morning. Yue had tied his hair very low today; it streamed straight down his back, unhampered, until it reached the very base of his spine. Here he had tied it and plaited beneath so that the pearly strands only just brushed the floor. The great quantity of loose, shimmery locks almost made Clow whimper for the desire to touch them—to run his hands through them—but it was what the boy had done with the top of his hair that was momentarily requiring his focus. He had twisted the front strands around his face up and around the back of his head today, so that they rested just above his ears like an accentuating headband; and into this roll, he had artistically nestled an array of fresh lavender. The violet color of the flowers matched brilliantly with his pale irises and bid them shine twice as brightly as they might normally have done. He looked simply lovely.

Now it was Clow's turn to be taken aback, though he was careful not to show it. Today, he had to be in control—dominating.

"You look beautiful," he commented unabashedly, waltzing easily forward so that he stood dangerously close to his young ward. Yue took a shuddering breath as his master loomed over him, inches away, and ran a large tanned hand through his hair. Clow smiled victoriously; the boy shivered at his touch—he seemed to melt like a candle to his flame. He felt his pride…swell even more. His inner beast roared like thunder. "Yes," he whispered almost silently, drawing even nearer as he plunged a second hand deep into the colorless silken tresses, "very beautiful,

"But," he brushed the back of Yue's neck lightly with his thumbs, and forced the boy forward until the two of them were nearly touching, "if I may ask, what of the flowers?"

Yue chuckled airily, weakly; his eyes were focused hard on his master, pupils suddenly wide and dilated (Clow grinned with glee—all was going according to plan!). "I suppose they mean I'm a poor liar," he replied at last, his voice feeble and cracking with emotion. He could barely speak; he was like clay to Clow's hands—he could mold him any way he wanted.

The older man made no reply, but slowly, gently, he began to move his hands. The right one slowly slid its way down the blond's figure—taking quick survey of his vast, avian musculature as it caressed his back—until it reached the base of his spine. Yue whimpered weakly as it slid into place, sending a curiously hot chill through his vertebra. Powerful arms tensed suddenly, and the boy gasped as he found himself pressed waist-first against his superior's body. Clow straddled his stance slightly, allowing Yue's legs to slide between his—he had to have him as close as possible, had to feel that child so near to his flesh! His right hand still grasping the young mage's back, he held them as closely as he could, supporting the boy some for the increasing angle at which he was having to lean to keep their faces parted. Yue was still frightened—he was so innocent. He was a ripening apple, begging to be picked. The left hand moved as well; it softly slid across his neck, and cradled his chin lovingly, thumb stroking his cheek. "Clow…" Yue whispered weakly, but his master was scarcely listening.

Clow was still smiling coolly, his attitude carefully as if nothing were amiss, though he could sense full well the adrenaline rush quickly overcoming the creature in his arms. His grip resting around the child's neck, he could feel the pulse positively pounding alongside his throat—feel as he swallowed hard in panic, in uncertainty. The sorcerer let his hand fall down the blond's neck, a single finger lightly tracing down his windpipe all the way. Upon the crux between his clavicles, fingers paused momentarily. Yue gasped powerfully as the hand plunged beneath his shirt, and clamped down in the place directly on top of his heart—and with the fierceness it was pumping right now, he had no doubt that Clow could feel it! A horrible flush rushed to his cheeks like a forest fire.

"Your heart's beating so fast," Clow remarked calmly (in a tone that he hoped sounded at least a bit concerned—as if he didn't know why Yue's blood was racing) as he palpated beneath his son's breastbone. "And you're flushed" he pressed further, hungry eyes gleefully scanning the youth's emotion-filled face with mock surprise, "you're not feeling ill again, are you?" The incident with Shield to which he had been referencing had been months ago, but the ploy still had its desired effect: Yue's face reddened even further, and he had to toss his hair across his eyes in an attempt to hide it.

"No…" he muttered almost inaudibly. The beast inside of Clow was now a whole cheering squad—the boy was completely his now! All he had to do was press a little more…

"That's good," the wizard murmured in reply, releasing Yue's ribs and raising both arms to cuddle the child into his chest, "after all," he cooed…

"It would be a pity if you were unwell on your birthday."

And suddenly, there was silence.

For a moment in time, all that Clow could perceive of his young ward was the twitching of the boy's heart awkwardly beside his own—racing like a frightened animal. But even so, Yue did not respond. Odd… he'd thought surely that the child would get so flustered at this point… had he said something wrong? Perhaps he had taken him entirely too far?

But a second later, the blond boy spoke again, though his voice was different now—still tremoring with adrenaline, but somehow more cool… more controlled. "I'm sorry," Yue replied from somewhere in the region of Clow's chest (and much more composedly than the wizard would have thought him capable of at this point), "I'm sorry, but what was that last?"

Clow blinked, utterly dumbfounded. He hadn't been expecting this!

"Well, today is your birthday, after all—" he answered, still trying to sound as intimate as he could muster through his surprise, "the thirtieth of June."

"That's what I thought you said." Yue replied curtly, at once releasing his hands from his master, and easily pushing their bodies away. Clow looked as if someone had hit him in the face with a sledgehammer. Still shaking slightly, the younger sorcerer brushed aside his partner's numb hands, and backed himself to stand on his own a foot-and-a-half away.

Clow was still gaping. "I…" he stammered, obviously trying to rap his head around where the beautiful boy in his arms had gone "I don't understand…!" His composure—his act of dominating coolness was at last completely shattered. He had failed—he had failed to dominate him, again! He looked up to Yue with a hurt, twitching gaze.

Yue's face, however, was unreadable. "Maybe I'm not as mature as you think I am, then," he whispered. Clow seemed more confounded than ever. "I'm sorry," the blond said again, stronger this time, "but I think my place right now is out with my brother—playing in the sunlight perhaps."

With difficulty, the older magician seemed to find his voice again "But… Yue, I don't understand! What brought this on?" now it was his turn to sound weak.

There was something accusatory behind the boy's eyes, but the child himself merely shrugged with mock playfulness. "Vita luna." he offered whimsically, and then in a flash was dashing out of the entrance hall and out onto the grounds to join Cerberus (he had something to thank that little brat for, he thought to himself as he lightly fluffed the flowers in his hair).

Clow Reed could do nothing for a moment but simply stand there, staring at the spot where Yue had just vanished. His brain seemed to have gone completely offline. How long he stood rooted there, the sorcerer could not be sure, but he knew it was when he could be fully certain that his son was gone that he let words tumble from his lips once more.

"…why…?

"Why? Why! WHY!"

The screams echoed throughout the spacious entry hall, but there was no one left to hear them. Yue was gone—he had been there and now he was just gone, off to play with Cerberus. Yue of all people! Angry and powerless, Clow fell to his knees, fists beating the floor with frustration as hot tears threatened to leak from his eyes.

WHY was it that he couldn't have that boy? WHY could he always somehow elude him!What had he done wrong? Was there something going on here that he didn't understand! Something he had overlooked? NO! NO! There couldn't be! He was the master of his house, damn it! He was in charge—in control! He dominated them! They would DIE without him! Why? Why! WHY!

Panting and heaving, Clow threw himself against the floor. Viciously he grasped at the key around his neck, and hastily murmured the spell to release it. Pausing only for a moment he thrust himself hard off of the wood floor, and jabbed the point of his staff with unnecessary force at the boards upon which Yue Reed had just recently been standing.

"SEAL!" he screeched as he tossed a tarot card roughly over his head.

There was a bright flash of light, but the wizard below didn't particularly care. Once it had sealed, he snatched the card out of mid-air before it even had a chance to float to him. With purposeful force, he flipped the thick paper over and hastily read the scrawl on its front: The Illusion.

An Illusion? An illusion! It was all supposedly a bloody illusion! His control? His dominance? His brilliance? His absolute understanding? All an illusion! No, damn it all, NO! He was in charge! He was their master! He was master of their very souls! HE was the one who had given them life! How could they possibly hide anything from him! If not for him they would still be just a couple of revered spirits floating around comatose in the cosmos! He may not have created their souls, their hearts, their being, but he brought them into life, damn it! HE made them breathe! He had to be superior! He HAD to be!

Panting from the tsunami of emotions overtaking him, Clow grasped at his skull as though it were about to burst, falling once more to his knees. He had to think of something! He had to think of something to remedy his situation!

Then, at once, it came to him.

Plunging a hand clumsily back into the pocket of his vest, the magician withdrew yet another battered old tarot card. "What is it then?" he asked aloud to the strip of paper, "What is it then that I don't understand about them? What is this secret camaraderie they're keeping from me?"

Then, hurling the card into the air, with the last of his strength, he once more cried "SEAL!"

Blinding light filled all the room. Clow collapsed. Seconds passed in which he was only just hanging onto consciousness—would it be so bad to slip away? Who was there to see, after all? But a heartbeat later, the light had begun to dissipate, and a familiar, still-glimmering object floated down close to its master's face. Sighing, Clow took the card in hand. Forcing himself into a sitting position and pushing his glasses back up his nose, the wizard stared at the emblazoned paper before him.

His face broke out into an evil grin.

On the front of the card was the figure of a small girl; long flowing hair cascaded down wither of her sides, past a shimmering looking glass in her hands, and flaring out behind her were wings of fragmented glass. Licking his lips, Clow chuckled wildly and deviously—he might have been some demented child giggling over an early Christmas gift. The Mirror. Oh yes, somehow—innately—he knew what this card was for!

Perhaps, he thought slyly to himself, it was high time he started actually using these things!

Still grinning like a giddy schoolboy, the foreign sorcerer raised his staff to the lonely card. His sons were both out in the yard—off bonding in their special, secret way, he supposed, perhaps talking about what their father had done so grievously wrong. Running his tongue one last time across his lips—like a snake—he spoke softly to his paper companion:

"Show me Yue.

" Mirror!"

…

…

Love never fails.

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears…At present, we see the world

through

a

glass,

darkly…

then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.—1 Corinthians 13

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AN: Hello everyone! I know, it's been a long time since I last updated-I'm sorry! I knew that my brain was a bit scrambled about this chapter, but I didn't know that it was going to cause me this much trouble. In all honesty, I've been going through some really rough times in my personal life right now: what with comas and deaths and traumatic injuries-as well as an increase in my course-load-I've simply been overwhelmed lately. But there is nothing, nothing, which will ever keep me from finishing Rooster here-and this is just the first arc! So, don't worry: no matter how long I'm gone, I swear I'm working on the next chapter somewhere, and I'll be back eventually.

Anyway, I apologize that I didn't have time to look over the last couple thousand words (the CxY scene and what follows) properly, but what with my visual disabilities and the overwhelming nature of my life and schedule right now, it simply would have taken to long for me to read over that last bit before posting. On that note: I'm actually looking for (not just one, but) a few good beta readers to help me out as far as managing this fic goes. I could really use a few people who could help scan these very long chapters for me and help spot typos, grammatical errors, and things like redundancy (repeated adjectives, etc.), as well as a few kind souls to help me with the massive revisions/ rewrites of the earlier chapters. Please let me know if you're interested in either (or both) of these beta positions. Also, because I'm not sure people are aware of it: On my profile page you can always find a teaser summary of the upcoming chapter of Rooster, as well as an occasionally-updated status of where I am as far as getting said chapter written. Just something so that you lot don't all think I've fallen off the face of the Earth when I'm really stricken with massive writers' block.

In case anyone was wondering: yes, the wing anatomy was essentially correct (I mean, obviously there aren't any flying human specimens that one could compare to, but...). One of my biggest pet peeves in the fanfic community are people getting wing anatomy incorrectly (or illogically on flying humans), so, as a medical major, I did an extensive research project and worked out a functioning anatomical/physiological system of muscles, nerves, bone, and blood vessels for the case of a humanoid who happened to have wings. (Seriously, I have a ton of anatomical drawings on the subject which I did to work it all out, so...). Just a fun fact :). I know that this chapter had a bit more adult language and themes than previous ones: this will be more common as time moves on and the fic gets darker (Yue's got to get that level of psychosis in the Final Judgment somehow!) but I swear that, no matter how bad it gets, there will never be a culminated sexual relationship between Yue and Clow-and subsequently no true lemons (maybe a few limes). There may or may not be a slightly explicit scene opening up the next chapter-even Clow is entitled to sick, twisted fantasies, even if they aren't coming to fruition. I haven't decided yet, but there will be appropriate (perhaps even comical, I'm thinking) warnings surrounding the section in question if I do decide to go that direction. So, rest securely, my lovelies-and thanks for reading! Don't forget to review (please? No, seriously, it was two new readers reviewing this thing that gave me to oomph I needed to push through the last couple of scenes and get this chapter finished, so seriously: review)!