An Unlikely Event

As lightning became nothing more than dull flashes far from view, the stormy skies floated away, carrying its apology into the night. Yet, despite the wolf running away, tears still fell upon the mansion—unhindered by distance. Its rain drenched the bog with sympathy and dampened the hearts of many, all unable to comprehend the loss of someone dear. Nothing could brighten the atmosphere, not even if the sun decided to grace the Bog of Murk with a miracle. Eternal night would forever rule, its gloomy, overcast shadows inevitable.

Shadows which crawled into the hearts of both master and slave.

Silence refused to leave. Ruined, the bedchamber was utterly ruined. Unappeased by the tension hovering amongst the air, silence lingered as a thick miasma. All remained quiet between two shocked souls, except for the rainfall: it was plummeting through the gap where a destroyed window resided, its hissing decent flowing through Rayman's ears and mind, washing it clean, wiping it blank, cold and numb. The sound brought shivers down his spine as, with great nervousness, he switched his troubled stare to the Hunter behind him.

He discovered a sight that dried his throat raw and he gulped. There, a once prideful, elegant man said not a word, nor moved. There Razoff kneeled, no longer the predator Rayman had known upon arriving in the mansion. Instead…a man just as complex as any other creature, who had suffered way beyond his dues, appeared lost. Rayman felt his normally cocky eyes soften.

The Hunter now looked more like the prey hunted beyond hope.

And Rayman's brain malfunctioned to a halt when he realised that, in truth, the sight did not bring him pleasure. He frowned when it brought pity instead—a sickening pity out of his control. Where was the sarcastic Hunter he had once known? What had happened to the Count who once stood tall and proud? The walking enigma? The personification of cunning?

Rayman could stand it no longer. A muffled curse hissed under his breath, the sound mighty against the suspense. The stillness broke: its heavy shroud shimmering against the Guardian's emotions, yet Razoff remained unfazed.

"Go after her!" Rayman yelled before he could hold it back. A scowl befell his face. His fists trembled at his sides, those hand muscles clenched tight as he took a step closer. Tone fierce, vicious and desperate, his voice rasped, "Damn it, Hunter…go after her."

"…I'm afraid I can't."

Incredulous, disbelieving, Rayman snorted down at the man on his knees. The disgusted sound triggered the Hunter to spare him a glance, and Rayman felt a glimmer of hope at what he saw. A very familiar, dignified glare was on the Hunter's face. How the man managed to make such a defeated expression graceful was beyond him; it seemed an impossible feat. Razoff's gaze rose to meet Rayman's own—dull obsidian meeting anxious blue.

However, at finding an unyielding burning behind the boy's stare, a dejected sigh escaped Razoff.

"I can't go after her," He explained, hurt. Physical, his pain was almost physical. Its agony—his inner pride—forced his gaze away and broke their eye contact. "Interfering would bring more harm than good in the end, for I am bound by more than you know…and I simply can't go against it. There is nothing you or I can do. And with this in mind, boy, I want you to return to the cellar."

Rayman felt both his heart and mind ache at those words. No, no the Hunter was rejecting him—was pushing him away! How could such an intelligent person become so blind to those who wished to help?

But Hunter, I do know…I know all too well. Your own brother told me mere hours ago.

Then the latter words struck a chord. Exasperation swiftly replaced his shock. Flowing through his veins, anger burned and boiled. Surely Razoff was insane to believe that he would simply take Rosyetta's kidnapping in stride? That he would just forget it happened? Rayman stood firm, defiant, as rain hit his back and soaked his hair. Droplets fell from the blonde strands hanging low over his face, the hair partly obscuring his eyes. Those eyes held rebellion and a growl of distain erupted from the Hunter's throat.

Voice raised, the Hunter repeated, "Go back to the cellar, boy."

The hidden threat rang through the short distance between them, unheard yet felt. Only mere metres separated a slave from his master. Rayman felt sweat form at the nape of his neck as unease began to build; they were both far too close for comfort. One mishap, all it took was one small move, one fatal mistake…and the Hunter would lash out at him to soothe his own pride.

And yet the Guardian merely gave a gentle smile. "…No."

It was such an insignificant thing, some might believe it to be naïve, but sometimes all one truly needs to shatter an inner barrier is a smile. Rayman knew weapons meant for attack would never break it…but a gesture meant for healing could. As long as it remained sincere and compassionate, a single smile possessed more emotional strength than any physical strike. Confusion crossed Razoff's face and his eyes narrowed, for the smile upon the boy's face clearly resonated with words unsaid:

'I am not going anywhere.'

I won't surrender, not when ya need me, Rayman mentally promised.

The calm mask upon the Hunter's face cracked. Just under the surface, the Guardian spotted what he had been waiting for.

"I said go back to the cellar, Slave!"

"And I said no, Hunter."

Dull pools finally caught ablaze. "Don't you dare disobey me!"

"Ya can't just stay here! Pull yourself together! Rosyetta needs ya—

"ENOUGH!"

It all happened so fast that it was Impossible for Rayman to register. All of a sudden, fury forced Razoff's hand. He abruptly stood up, so livid, so intense—a doll to his own temper. Deep down, unbridled fear grasped Rayman's core. Foreign, it choked his lungs, stole his breath away. It blanked his mind; it strangled the cry from his lips. Wide sapphires merely watched as the Hunter stalked towards him. Onyxes burned, predatory. That snarl was lethal, deadly. Splash! Booted feet echoed, puddles breaking underfoot. Nothing, nothing stood between them. The small distance shrunk. A slender hand raised: a forewarning.

But the slave already acknowledged what would follow.

Faraway thunder roared in disbelief, screaming for the man to stop. Yet, despite how Rayman froze up inside, great courage flowed from his eyes. He did not move, would not move. He would not back down. With his lack of resistance came growth in the Hunter's rage and those facial features darkened. Thrown back, the hand came down—flying towards his face—

A gasp resounded as Rayman flinched against his will. Cream eyelids suddenly shut. He could feel the presence of the almighty Hunter stood before him—less than half a metre away. He waited. Suspense stiffened the atmosphere: so unbearable against his skin, unbreathable in his chest. Yet still he waited. Nervous chills slithered down his spine, still waiting, waiting, waiting…

Lightly, a palm landed upon his cheek, strangely gentle. No painful sting, no loud smack on skin, no harshness. Although unseen behind closed eyelids, Rayman felt anxiety in the Hunter's touch. Uncertain, Rayman dared to take the risk. He dared to open one of his eyes to peer up at the man...only to blink when he discovered that looking up was unneeded.

For Razoff had kneeled directly in front of him on one knee. His own eyes were closed as if in great inner conflict, the hatless head bowed, the expression tormented. Rain continued to trail down his cheeks in the form of unshed tears.

The hand did not leave the slave's face, and confusion evidently revealed itself. Rayman arched an eyebrow. Why…? Why had the Count not slapped him as expected? To his bewilderment, amid the silence, the Hunter whispered a plea pulled straight from his heart:

"...Return to the cellar…please…"

For the first time, the Hunter had said 'please' to him—had asked, not ordered him.

Once characteristic determination within Rayman's soul dwindled away: a once bright flame, untameable, now fading. It shrank until mighty fire became a measly ember, but its glow was not powerful enough. Dark despair lurking around the edges began to eat his light away and he felt its cold teeth tearing it apart.

"Hunter…" He trailed off, at odds and subdued. What could he possibly say to that? What should he do? Nearly unheard above the weather, he muttered a question, "Why, Hunter? Why do ya want me back down there so badly?"

Razoff allowed himself a half-hearted chuckle. Tapping where his hand still touched the boy's face, his smile appeared sad, yet somehow fond, and Rayman was unable to understand it. "Because, down there, you're as safe as I can make you. No one can see you. I need you to remain unseen."

Because Vincent is already prepared for the slaughter by my own vile hand. My contract to the Guild is binding and my letter to them is clear. I can't have them knowing about you just yet, boy…I want you to have more time.

Unbeknownst to Razoff, as he stood back up and withdrew his hand without a word, Rayman found his cheek cold where warmth had once been. He brought his hand up to touch his face. The warmth of Razoff's touch had gone, leaving him feeling strangely alone inside.

Rayman glanced to the broken window in the corner of his eye. It could all be over in a heartbeat, he could simply escape. The barrier that would have fried him like before was gone, and the window was no more. Surely there were none of those special guns to lock onto him here? In addition, the Hunter was also blinded by grief and thus vulnerable. It was a secure escape route. He could bolt out into the bog, continuing his journey to find Ly, following what he deeply craved to do—resuming an oath he had vowed long ago. And yet…

He cringed, his heart clenching. And yet the concept of simply abandoning the mansion and its inhabitants felt wrong in so many ways. Yes, he could escape…but he should not. Firstly, Vincent and Bow needed him above all else, for both relied on him for confidence. He then caught a glimpse of the Hunter as the man picked up the cracked hairclip, dull eyes lost as he rubbed a blood speck off its crystal. A frown crossed Rayman's face. Secondly, the Hunter, although he hated more than anything to admit it…required his help even more so.

To abandon this place, this prison, this Count who had lost his way…was akin to abandoning all he had been created for. A guardian was assigned to protect the innocent, not to become ignorant. To leave now, in order to obtain his own freedom, felt selfish and cruel.

Ashamed of himself, Rayman strengthened his heart and looked away from his ticket to freedom.

Leaving now is not an option; I'm not heartless. Although I've sworn an oath to bring Ly back to me one day…I also promised Vincent that I would never abandon him either. Vincent is here and now. The Hunter is here and now. Rosyetta is here and now. They…they need me more, Ly.

Thus it was this acceptance of the truth—as he finally accepted what was real—that steeled his resolve to stay.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Both males froze. Tense, both hearts pounded against their ribs. That noise…it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Oak, it distinctly sounded like horrid banging on double, oak front doors—demanding entry. Entry that they would gain regardless by breaking the doors down. The Count grimaced at how it deafeningly resounded throughout his mansion, at how it shook the walls—ringing within his skull.

Those stern eyes narrowed. Someone was attempting to bash their way in.

And Razoff felt a sickening jolt in his stomach at knowing who it was.

Onyxes sharpened in understanding and switched to the boy beside him, who unconsciously darted his gaze up in unison. The firm, unnegotiable gleam Rayman found there kept him silent and he swallowed at the dryness it forged in his throat. Razoff's gaze was serious, giving him no room for argument.

All the while, the banging increased. The sound of splintering wood soon followed. Blue eyes widened, knowing that steel lined the inside of those doors. Whoever was breaking them down was certainly not normal.

"Change of plan, boy. I don't think you would make it to the cellar in time," He began, tone low and surprisingly calm. While approaching the doorway, dying lilies squelched and broken glass crunched under his feet. A single, shaky hand gripped the doorframe. The solemn expression he gave over his shoulder spoke volumes. "I would ask you to remain in my bedroom…but I know you too well. Your curiosity will get the better of you. Just…stay out of sight, and please…" Hesitating, he inhaled a long, desperate breath. His last words before departing echoed with hidden horror:

"And please, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see…do not come out. No matter what happens, don't reveal yourself…and don't blame yourself…for what you might witness."

Rayman opened his mouth to protest, before suddenly becoming hesitant. Blood ran icy cold in his veins as realization dawned on him.

Did…did Razoff just…give me an option to observe this?

After watching the Hunter vanish around the corridor's corner, curious eyes trailed down to the floorboards under the doorway. Expecting a flash of orange fur or keen, amber eyes, disappointment emerged at discovering only empty space. The feline was nowhere to be found.

"Odd," Rayman whispered. "I thought Morgroff would be here right now."