Chapter TWs: None

They run until he is ready to collapse – their feet sore from carrying down the winding passages of the palace and the chests aching for air. Azar crumbles before him, her nails scraping into the walls as she slides to the ground as she tries to regain her composure. He can see the fear in her, the way her eyes clamp shut as she attempts to keep the world from getting into her. She looks small then, so much like a child that fears the monsters in its dreams. It is a reminder that she is still so ill equipped for the path she has been brought down. Within the course of hours, what may be her entire world has come crumbling down. Magic she cannot possibly begin to understand has torn its way into her life, pulling at the cracks in her façade until the unappealing truth is revealed underneath.

He provides her with no sympathy.

"Get up." He commands. Stepping forward he takes hold of her arm, pulling her back to her feet. It causes something to awaken and she snaps her eyes open, the flames inside sending a wave of heat at him. "Get up, or I will leave you to die."

It takes her only a second longer to rise, his words seeming to do the trick as she takes a place at his side. He notices the way her legs shake, though she tries to hide it by stiffening her posture until her back is locked straight. The attitude brings back a sense of tranquility – the image one might expect a lady to have in less violent situations. He snorts, amused by the sheer ridiculousness of her act. Again she glares.

"I am fearful and you threaten me." She says, voice even despite her clear emotions. "Yet when I try to stand tall, you mock me. What should you have me do instead?"

He crosses his arms, the weight adding to his still heaving chest uncomfortably, before speaking, "I would have you act truthfully, but to be a heap upon the ground does both of us no favors. You must stand and fight, or die cowering. Either way, I harbor no desire to protect you."

"I never asked for such things." She counters, raising a slender brow. The rapid rise and fall of her chest has almost ceased, slowly returning to a more even flow as they take their first hint of rest in what feels like far too long. "And I do now cower."

"You fall into a mess upon the floor at the first sight of real trouble." He says, reveling in the way his jeer causes the breath to catch in her throat. "You are weak – a pathetic creature who should have never been brought here to begin with."

She snarls, her braid snapping forward as she steps towards him. Heat comes from her, the waves of her anger pooling over him as what resolve she had crumbles under the pressure of the chaos around her. It suits her better, he decides while taking a cautious step back from the girl. Her chest heaves again, the opulent brown hues of her skin stirring with red fury – her change in attitude does nothing to dissuade him and he laughs at her expense.

"You find this humorous?"

"I merely find your behavior odd." He comments, eyes upon her as though she might choose to strike him at any coming second. "Save your fire for those who deserve it, little spark. You might actually make it out of this alive."

He turns from her, undecided if he intends to leave her or not. She follows.

"There are none more deserving of my ire than you, Merikh." She answers, trailing behind him with soft steps. "Or have you forgotten your crimes? Erased them from your memory so that they might not guilt you further perhaps?"

"I feel nothing but contempt for you, foolish whelp." He says, turning to her so suddenly that her next words catch in her throat. He can see the way it chokes her, the way her eyes widen in shock as he flashes his teeth at her with clear annoyance. "Sargon robbed me of life. Took away my freedom – the only body I had ever known! You are nothing but a loyal dog at his feet; lapping up whatever words he feeds you! I committed no crime against you that he and Babylon did not deserve!"

"And what of before?" She shouts. "What of the atrocities you admitted to me freely only last night? You say we have done things deserving of your hostility, but what of your own sins? What was it we did to deserve your callous nature before? What did we do to deserve domination and damnation at your hands?"

"Do not lecture me, girl. You speak of things you do not know – of ideals and dreams thought up only by the most foolish of men." He says, throwing back his infected appendage and coming to a sudden halt. She recoils, barely stopping in time to keep from stumbling into his sharpened talons. Then, she draws back from him, as if letting their skin meet may spread the curse upon her own. "The world will offer you no relief from its darkness, nor will I."

A rush of air makes its way from her chest, slumping her shoulders as it makes its way through her nostrils. The flames in her still linger, but dim as they are deprived of the oxygen she held only moments before. Defeat, though not a complete surrender. He expects as much from her at this point.

Cautiously, she reaches her hand forward and pushes his blackened hand from her face. He does little to fight back against her, letting her overtake his strength as his arm comes to rest at his side once more. A sigh. He takes a moment to watch her, notes the determination in the furrow of her brow and the stiffness of her shoulders – eyes her pocket, imaging the treasure hidden inside. Finally, he replies, "You would be better off cowering with the others. I am no bodyguard."

"I do not need one. You, on the other hand, are in need of both a healer and this trinket." She rocks back slightly on her heels, hands tangling together as a smile works its way upon her lips.

He frowns and nods, knowing fully that she is correct on both fronts, "We will need to find our wayward love birds then. Our task is all but impossible without them. I suggest you pray to your God they still live, or you will have much more to fear soon enough."

He walks forward, listening for the girl to follow behind him. She does not and he takes another few steps towards their new destination. Still she remains unmoving, arms now placed over her chest and brow raised. He groans, turning with a huff towards her and throwing his arms out as though his frustration might somehow solve her disobedience, "What is it now?"

"Apologize."

"What?"

"Apologize."

Staring at her is all he can do for a moment, his utter disbelief at her command turning him to stone. When he finds his voice once more, all he can muster is an appalled, "Apologize? What for?"

Air flows from her lips, creating a sound bordering between a sigh and a groan – just as quickly, she places her hands upon her hips and leans forward, her hair tumbling into her face. He had not noticed before, the way her braid has come loose and given her an unkempt appearance to match her frustrations. She snaps, "For calling me a coward!"

He mutters a curse and pushes forward. Behind him, Azar chuckles – the noise harsh, but inexplicably sincerer. The noise sends a wave of electricity through him, reminding him how desperately he wishes to complete this journey alone. Still, she follows, unknowing of his distaste with her presence, or at least uncaring. They need each other, after all – their feelings on the situation unimportant if they wish to survive. For now, he notes, thinking back to his promise on the ocean's shore.

"You made it sound as if you knew where we would find them." Azar comments as he leads them down the darkened hallways. There are no signs of life within the palace. The richly colored walls have been littered with the scars of battle, the intricate mosaics torn apart by battles unknown to them. He promises to make Eudocia pay for these transgressions. "What is under the palace?"

"The Well of the Ancestors." He says and she makes a small hum of noise, indicating her lack of knowledge to him wordlessly. He scrunches his nose, searching his mind for the history lessons Sargon had been taught as a child. "The well provides water not only to the gardens above, but to the palace – perhaps even some areas within the city."

"And they could survive such a fall?"

He stops, turning to watch her as he thinks back to Zurvan's annoying detour so long ago. "Perhaps. If the well is no longer dry. The Vizier drained it of all water when his armies laid siege years ago. If we are lucky, the damage has been reversed."

She frowns, coming to his side. Her eyes stare straight ahead, seeing nothing as she takes in his words. Finally, she nods and turns her gaze to meet his own. There is trust there and he finds his teeth clenching uncomfortably as she offers it to him so freely. She says nothing to indicate she notices and instead comments, "And if it is?"

"They may have been swept out into the city." He replies. After some thought he adds, "No. They would have been, I have no doubts."

The passage ahead them remains empty, only the light of the stars and moon pouring in through the fretwork on the walls. The cloth around them dances lightly with the wind, curling and lifting from their place on the walls around them. It seems almost peaceful, like he might be within a dream. If it were not for the heat of adrenaline still piercing his heart, he might almost believe it to be true.

He continues forward until they come to a locked door, shaking the thought from his mind as he continues, "We will need to find the well. Confirm ourselves if they have survived."

They fall into silence and he waits to hear the padding of her feet before taking his next step. It comes slow, hesitantly; it is almost as if she has become lost herself. He wonders if their minds have traveled along similar paths and if she remains lost within her thoughts. Instead she surprises him by asking, "What if the well is dry?"

He does not answer her right away, instead pausing to carefully examine each word he thinks to say, "Then they are dead."

"So you have already said." She affirms, voice tingeing on annoyance he had thought she had forgotten. "What I mean to say is this: our task is impossible without them. What hope will we have if they have been killed?"

"None."

She says nothing, but he can see the way his reply has made the hair on her neck stand. Her arms follow suit, the gooseflesh rising along them rapidly as her mind whirls with thoughts of the worst outcomes. The color in her eyes becomes dull and a fear rises in her like nothing he has ever seen. Doom . He can practically see the way the word repeats in her, the way it catches in her throat and threatens to fill her.

Doom, doom, doom.

The air feels heavier, as the weight of everything around them comes to rest on both of them just as quickly as the word has left his mouth. He finds he regrets saying it altogether. He regrets confirming what he knows to be the truth because with its utterance comes the first crack in the only hope they hold. His teeth clench and he forces his eyes off of her. The feeling remains and he finds himself filled with a strange concern for his companions well being – if only because her weakness is now his own. She must be strong if she wishes to survive.

"Regardless of what we find, we will fight." He sooths, offering both of them some comfort from the realities this sudden war has brought them. "If it comes to that, I will stay. She will have my kingdom only when I fall."

"Persia is not yours." She says. Her eyes have left him again, once more locked straight ahead. "You are no prince, nor king. Not so long as I live."

Laughter escapes him; its tone cruel and mocking as he abandons his desires to see her well. Again, his promise on the beach rings in his head. He will end her – he will watch her squirm beneath his boot before running his blade across her throat. He will steal her voice; ruin the very thing she uses to oppose his rule.

A threat catches in his throat. The thought to remind her of what waits at the end of this journey with the bite of his voice appeals to him like nothing he can remember. For one brief moment, he swears he has never felt anger so primal and dangerous. It makes his vision red, straining them until it feels like the inside of his head is buzzing. He breathes, the intake of air cooling him inside and out. She still watches him through it all, her expression hard and resolute. Even with her hope dying before her, she finds reason to fight. He finds that appealing.

After all, what fun would she be if she let him win so easily?

"Stay close. And be on your guard." The order comes as he runs his talons upon his scalp. They sting his flesh as they scrape along, pushing the mass of white hair back. "We will head through the kitchen. From here our destination is not far."

Without so much as another glance in her direction, he pulls a lever and releases the lock on the door in front of them. The smell of food wafts forward, the scents still lingering from the meals cooked only days before. It makes his stomach ache violently, as if it is a wild animal tearing into him for sustenance. He swears that he can hear Azar's doing the same and when she places a quivering arm over herself, he knows it must be true. They have no time for such frivolity though and he grabs onto her wrist, muttering a harsh "keep moving" as he drags her forward.

"Search for a lever."

"A lever?"

"There is a passage here hidden away. The only means in which we may enter the well – unless you desire to dive in yourself." He says, turning to watch the way her body tenses at the suggestion. "Then start searching."

With a nod, she moves into action. Almost as if she is mimicking his actions, they both begin to scour the room for their escape and their companions' hopeful release. He does not hold his breath for the latter.

"What will you do if there is water?" She questions as they come to stand at each other's side. His hand hovers lightly over hers as the words tumble from her lips, only to be snatched away as he realizes the weight of them.

"We are not going for a swim, if that is what you mean." He sneers, shoving aside anything within his grasp. "The sight of water does not leave me helpless."

The mocking remarks he waits for never come. Azar only gives him a small nod and he shifts his gaze to the wall, its warm stones at his fingertips, trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence that sits between them. Each bump within the surface eases his mind, momentarily distracting him from more unpleasant thoughts that linger within. It is something of an uncomfortable tension, only eased by the fragile pressure of his touch. He nearly jumps back when it is broken, the next stone in his grasp shifting into the wall as he presses down. Behind them, a door slides open, grinding loudly as the old mechanisms of the palace open their path.

Azar does not hesitate, practically jumping forward with both a spark of determination and adventure. The desire she has to find the others outweighing her hesitation to run into danger. He suddenly realizes she has probably never been within the palace walls. Nor would a girl like herself have ever even left the city. He moves to catch up, placing an arm in front of her as she makes her way towards the edge of their path.

"Be on your guard. This part of the palace has been deserted since before Sharaman." He warns, eyeing their path down. "If you wish to wait here—"

Before he can finish, she has ducked under the blockade of his arm and jumped down into the cavern below. It makes his step back in shock, staring at the spot where she once stood in confusion. Carefully, he peers over the edge, some small part of him fearing the worst. After all, the girl does not know how to control the medallion within her pocket yet – one wrong move might spell disaster for her, or worse still the loss of the artifact entirely.

A wave of relief washes over him when she steps back into view, a smile stretched upon her lips and a glimmer of something in her eyes. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she calls up, "Would a coward do such a thing?"

"No!" He says, snorting as a smirk etches its way into his features. His brow creases, amusement filling him despite the stone of nausea that still sits in his stomach and the tightness in his throat. "But ask me if you are a fool instead."

She waves up at him and vanishes once more, the darkness consuming her as she moves on ahead. Taking a deep breath, he jumps after. The landing is hard on his feet, sending shocks up his spine that make him pause. He never quite gets used to such things, the wear on his body that these adventures promise, or the way his mind tires so quickly with these troublesome distractions. Carefully, he lifts his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders and listening to the satisfying pop of his bones. The tightness goes with it.

"Water!" Azar's voice is somewhere ahead, cutting through the blackness that obscures her person. "The well, it must be full."

He moves forward, feet carrying him towards his companion as he cracks the knuckles of each finger slowly – he pauses uncertainly when he comes to the infected hand before casting aside the strange doubt and doing the same with that hand. Azar comes slowly back into view ahead, standing at the edge of their path and staring down. Her chest moves in slow, but heavy bursts as she tries to catch her breath. As he joins her, coming to rest at her side, he has already confirmed what she now knows. The air is thick with moisture and the walls around them slick with water, as it drips from every crevice around them.

"Then our mission moves to the city."

"Where will we find them?"

With a shrug, he turns from her. They will have to climb their way back out and return to the kitchen. He wonders if Azar is up to such a task. The walls, after all, have been laid thick with moisture, making it difficult for him to even climb out. He hums with minor distress, wondering if he might find rope within the kitchen. If he could climb out alone, he might find the means in which to help her escape. Leaving her would be suicide: either at the hands of the Prince, or the loss of the medallion. A risk he cannot afford to take. He frowns, suddenly frustrated with her desire to push on ahead in her attempt to prove him wrong.

He is only a moment from telling her so when she screams. The surprise the sudden noise fills him with nearly roots him to the spot and he feels he must force himself to face her. His hesitation only grants him the briefest glimpse as she tumbles over the edge and into the darkness below. Time slows, quite literally, and he darts forward.

"Azar!" His shock shoots through him and he slides to the ground, her name still on his lips as he catches her hand within his own. She gapes at him, her honey colored gaze practically glowing in the darkness as fear works its way into every muscle in her body. She is shaking. His talons tear into the stone where he lays, holding them steady and from tumbling into the water below. "Climb!"

Nodding feebly, she throws herself up onto his arm, as he uses what strength he can to pull her towards him. It only takes them a moment to have her back onto the ground, his arm shoving her upwards with one last push before she scrambles back deeper into safety. He can hear blood pounding in his ears, like a drumbeat in his chest and head. It hurts, actually physically hurts, to have such a feeling coursing through him. So much so he feels like he may be ill. From the look on Azar's face, her dark skin pale and mouth agape like she may begin retching at any moment, he would say she is feeling much the same.

"Next time," he starts, some small part of him knowing fully that his orders are feeble (what possible reason does she have to listen?), "you wait."