Kallen pried the door open, her eyes wide with fright, as she frantically surveyed the room for whatever destruction she thought would occur. Beads of sweat came down her forehead, her shivering frame a testament to the anxiety attacks she'd been suffering from. Her lungs were burning, her chest heaving up and down, as she endeavored to calm herself, as well as her murderous rage. Her fingernails pierced through the wooden door, her pale, blanched expression masking the terrified thoughts she's nurtured for the last couple of days. Her red hair was in disarray, the bangs wildly falling to her eyes without the slightest traces of pity, or misery, or whatever else might've come across her mind when she heard the missing, irritating boy was back.

Her mother was there, sitting on the couch with a tiny, sad smile on her face. Meanwhile, the boy in question was settled beside her, covered with one of Naoto's old, ugly sweaters, a black one with oversized sleeves and outstretched hands that almost covered the boy's body like a blanket. There was a white teapot placed in front of the two, a small pink rose on the front of it, with three porcelain cups around it. There was a quilt blanket shared between the figures, with a cup of ramen noodles tossed aside in the trash. The chopsticks were still there, on that one, lone table.

Kallen took a deep breath, and sighed. She slammed the door shut, causing both her mother and Naoko to jolt and spin around. She took off her combat boots and looked up at the missing person warily, her hands by her side as she slowly made her way toward the den. In all honesty, Kallen was proud of herself; though her demeanor was calm, poised, cool, mentally and emotionally she was tearing at her heart, ripping it to shreds while silently demanding where Naoko had been, if he knew how much trouble he caused for all of them. She resisted every urge to punch him, to suffocate that skinny little neck of his and wring him until he apologized, in the afterlife or otherwise.

She'd gotten incredibly mature.

And when she towered over him, she couldn't help but notice how wrong that assumption really was. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Kallen, please," her mother said softly, standing protectively over Naoko. "Not now."

"Are you kidding me?" Kallen asked darkly, turning her subtle, boiling rage to the poor woman. She stopped herself then, and closed her eyes, trying to channel her anger into something more positive, something that wouldn't include a body cast in the system. She turned to Naoko again, who stared at her with a somewhat shameful alarm. It was the first time she couldn't tell what he was thinking, the unreadable air tracing over the atmosphere so easily.

"Rivalz had been worried sick," she explained. "He couldn't even sleep for the past week. And Mom? She's been pulling her hair out trying to find you."

He never answered.

Kallen clenched her fists, as she walked closer, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of his expression. "Just what were you thinking, going there by yourself?"

"Kallen, listen." her mother whispered softly, placing one hand over Kallen's shoulder. "Naoko he…he remembers everything."

And for some reason, she wasn't surprised.

Kallen could recall that fateful conversation, the chaotic moments of when Shirley told the pilot everything she could've possibly thought to remember. She told Kallen about seeing Lelouch there, along the fray, trying to get everyone out of a world the pilot wasn't interested in. She told her about a friend named Euphie, and how she risked her own freedom endeavoring to bring everyone to this side. She told her about the pain she suffered at the hands of a person named Arthur, of how badly her father kept moaning and groaning, about how she thought of murdering the abuser multiple times, if only for that brief, momentous relief in which she could be spared from the emotional burden.

So many questions swirled through Kallen's mind. So many thoughts pertained to the boy sitting in front of her, the memories of his power so very real, so very much alive. She wasn't sure if it was Geass, or if it was something that Arthur guy did to clear his memories, but in the end, she couldn't be more sure of it.

Yet the doubts were still there, still crossing over any assurance she would've had along her normally confident arrogance.

She released her fists, and turned to her mother. She gave the woman a barely collected smile, an appearance that already raised suspicion. "Mother, I need to talk with Naoko for a bit."

"Kallen-"

"Please."

The woman regarded her daughter for a long while, that same, motherly instinct which governed her instincts kicking in through the lights of her eyes. Apprehension took hold of her features, her own perspective claiming the appearance of a sibling rivalry that was about to explode at the seams. But in the end, the right to oversee that fight was no longer in her jurisdiction, a prospect Kallen knew her mother would have a hard time to accept. It wasn't long before she still backed down, and turned to Naoko, who stood to some silent, daunting command.

Kallen saw those golden eyes then, those piercing, golden eyes that reminded her so very much of C.C.

Your room, he seemed to say.

Kallen nodded stiffly. "Fine," she answered, as she brushed away her mother's hand. Slowly, she started away from the nervous wreck, who by now was holding both hands in front of her torso. She could sense the anxiety coming across the room, diffusing into the air without any reluctance. Prayers that her mother might've spoken, wishes she might've held, if only to spare the remnants of that happy, kind past, shielding such a hopeless thought from the cruelties this underserving world instigated upon it, was all crumbling away. The fragile balance was breaking before her very eyes.

But alas, it wasn't Kallen's problem.

Kallen led Naoko into the bedroom, her floors now cleared from the clutter both she and Naoko caused. University fliers were scattered all over the walls, from study abroad, to classical concerts, to even dance recitals for which she hoped Naoko might show. Assignments lay upon her desk, messily covering her laptop with warnings and reminders of what would happen should her grades fall below a certain point. Sparks of life from her recent times with the Black Knights carried the responsibilities into the folds of her bed, papers and papers of strategies and tactics endlessly swarming over the covers. The Guren's keys lay on top of her bookshelf, patiently waiting for the day when Zero finally orders the attack against Alfheimr. All of the objets, all the documents that covered whomever was nearby, demolished that beloved, photo shrine, her friends' faces now unseen by the mess that took over Kallen's life.

She could feel Naoko's gaze from the difference of the room as Kallen closed the door softly, knowing full well her mother dared not follow her here. She bit her lip, and pushed herself away from the entrance. She folded her arms, and was about to say something, when she followed Naoko's gaze towards the photos. "Yeah, I need to clean up here."

He turned around, a small, playful little smirk tugging at his lips. Yeah, you do.

"You probably need to call Rivalz soon."

Uncertainly, his eyes came away from her face, his pupils fixated on a small, lonely corner hidden away from the disorganized mayhem. He turned back again, a different subject reminiscing his covert thoughts.

He was saying something. He was asking something. He was doing the same thing he always did, communicating through gestures and expressions, his lips slightly parted. But Kallen never understood any of it, nothing at all that could possibly have reminded her of that secret language the two always shared.

And it never bothered her.

"I talked with Zero." she said finally.

The surprise was clearly etched on his face, but she kept on, ignoring that familiar, rebellious confusion. "Apparently, the UFN will be taking care of the civil procedures. Starting tomorrow, everyone in the Tokyo area will be evacuated."

you…fighting?

"I am," she answered quietly, the once complete sentences now filling her mind with gibberish. She continued, turning her stare away from the boy, tuning him out altogether. "Zero contacted me yesterday too, actually. While we're fighting, you will in custody of the Black Knights. They won't allow you out of their sight until the tribunals are over."

She could feel him squirming. She could hear his inaudible protests banging against her head, though no matter how much he screamed she still kept herself away. "Once this thing blows over, you'll be living with me and mom. Maybe Rivalz, or anyone else you've managed to worry. You can do whatever you want, but you just need to be somewhere I can keep a close eye on you."

No.

Kallen turned, burning away the astonishment from her face. A dark shadow encompassed her normally clear blue eyes, as she replayed the resounding rejection. "What?"

I…this isn't something…he wants to…did Zero really…?

"I don't care," she snapped, causing him to fall silent. "It's clear what Alfheimr is after is you. Mom said you got all your memories back, right? Surely you of all people can't deny something like that."

what…interrogation…

"You know, I don't care what anyone else has to say," she dismissed then, reclaiming the moments of those happy, hopeful times. "You're here now. You're Naoko, and that's all there is to it."

Kallen-

"I need you to understand that," she said forcefully. "I mean, a life here wouldn't be so bad, right? At least you don't have to go out on the battlefield. You can just stay here, do whatever you want, be whoever you want. Gino said you were a really good dancer, so maybe you can do that."

She could hear the uneasiness in that tone, the very idea becoming more and more repulsive to her, but all the same, she jabbed herself in the side with that idea, trying to, at the very least, fool the boy into thinking her sincerity was genuine. "Who knows? Maybe you could work part-time with Rivalz, then go to school at TU. I hear the auditions are coming up soon.

"You've got a lot of friends too, and mom's looking out for you. You've got a home, a warm bed, food on the table. You've also got the Black Knights for protection, and if those terrorists try to come near you again, you won't have to worry. I mean, seriously, who wouldn't want this life? It's not that bad-"

She stopped when she felt his hand on her wrist.

The shock sped back before her eyes. Wordless illusions came crashing down onto her, the mind-numbing sensation of distortion slowly retained its properties from which her mind managed to partially banish. The heartless mood came into play, and all the while she could see his face, his miserable face, at the very thought of her own, selfish idea.

She bit her lip. "Naoko, everyone's after you," she said, after quite some time. "At the very least…at least you could stay behind, for my mother's sake."

He never answered.

"And what do you think will happen to Rivalz?" she asked, after swiping her hand away. "What'll you think this'll do to the guy, huh? And Milly?"

Still, only silence.

She gritted her teeth. Suddenly, Kallen took his arm, her frustrations pouring from her mouth. "So that's it then? You're just gonna leave and never come back?! What'd you think everyone else will say, huh?! You want to prove them right?! You wanna be some coward who can't even stand to face his own shadow?!"

He blinked.

"You're pissing me off," she muttered warningly, shoving him away from her. "You know how helpless you are? You know how fucking vulnerable you are in this stupid, miserable world? Just a few months ago, you couldn't even walk and now you're gonna pull some fuck-ass stunt like this?! Who the hell do you think you are anyways?!"

His mouth moved.

"Come on Naoko!"

He returned her argument with his, spiteful one.

"Say something!"

And he did. He really did.

But she's already tuned him out.


Morgan shivered violently in her front of her easel, her white, seemingly harmless dress covering her pale, immovable legs. One palm was held against her puffy eyes, the other lying cast away somewhere, beyond the darkness, beyond her reach. Cold ice tugged at her heart, the irritating jabs of isolation filling her senses bit by bit, the slightest of movements a result from the incessant cries she heard the mourners screech just hours ago. Quiet, inaudible sobs escaped from her lips, though the sorrow has all but gone away, removing itself from her depressing existence for which even the menace had attempted to deliver her from.

Completed sketches of her dreams lay torn and tattered, the canvases destroyed within the seconds. Paints lie scattered across the floors, the splatters so ironically entwining with the shadows surrounding the once happy, vibrant colors. Strands of green hair came to the fold, mixed in with sketches of smiles, of dancing, of compositions not even she could muster the strength to create. Streams of fabric lay wasted along the corners, empty promises for which not even she could fulfill coming through to her so very decadently, pathetically, mixed in with rage and sorrow all the same. Her eyes were helpless, her gazes so very fragile, as she contemplated on that one, beloved silhouette that always came to grey her so, during this time, during this moment.

That child was ripped from Morgan's arms before she could even flinch.

There was no place the witch could retreat to. She couldn't go back to that ballroom, for fear that her sweet joker would tear away from her emotional onus. She couldn't come into that beautiful, dreamlike world, a place where only the mundane ruled, where even the peacemakers kept neither confusion nor controversy down beneath the folds of their morality, where friends and family and lovers were brought into the solutions, poverty and rich, perverted and chaste, sinner and saint, all of whom belonged to some faction of hope that still desperately existed from within the illusion. She didn't have anyone else she could confide to, no one at all that might even take hold of her pain and sadness, no one to even listen to her during her time of need.

There she stayed, in that art studio, in that hellish cage, forever entwined with Arthur's orders.

Pain erupted from her chest, black veins so easily caressing her collarbone, her lungs, her heart. Thoughts of enviable pity glazed over her brain, her mind overtaken by the fact that forgiveness had avoided her, that happiness dodged her like a plague among plagues. Once proud, narcissistic mindsets came from beneath her soul, despair likening with each past failure she reminisced from her mind.

She had no one.

There was someone outside. Someone was knocking. Someone was telling her about finding Queen Euphemia. Someone was out there, saying that they'll be fighting soon.

They'll be destroying everything in sight, while reclaiming Lord Mordred.

Someone was there. Someone was gone.

A lord came in. A lord was bowing to her, the same, threatening atmosphere established between the two silhouettes. A lord prepared the armies. A lord was smiling. A lord was awaiting her orders.

Another lord came in. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another.