A/N: I know you're all panicking over Relena, but I still have to get this out here…

Chapter 36

Hisashi

Keeping secrets was a messy business.

Hisashi never tried to know more. He trusted in the ones who issued him orders: Commander Barton, who often fought harder and lasted longer than the men he led; Master Winner, who prioritized the lives of both his soldiers and civilians; Master Chang, who followed the same strict discipline he demanded of them; and of course, Duke Yuy, who always lead from the front and never the rear.

It was because of this respect for his commanding officers that Hisashi did as told without question, and he certainly never tried to learn more. If that meant following an old artisan through the Capital's city streets, then he would do so. It wasn't any of his business what happened to the man afterwards.

While under Hisashi's watch, though, anything this Professor G got up to was of interest.

As far as Hisashi had seen, though, nothing of vital interest had occurred. Professor G had left the Yuy estate early in the morning, taking a rental carriage to the city center where his workshop was located. The workshop itself had the artisan's living space above it, and that's where Professor G had remained for several hours until the late afternoon.

Just as the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, the workshop doors opened and admitted Professor G back into the bustling city street. He had no luggage, not even a knapsack; it looked as if he were merely taking a pleasant stroll now that he'd returned home.

Hisashi dutifully followed him. Through the nearby blocks; stopping by local merchants for food and drink (the Duchess's new beverage, whiskey, was also being sold in the Capital!); and then his final stop, a flower shop, where he'd been for the past fifteen minutes now.

Given the time of day and size of the shop, Hisashi knew he would stick out too much if he went inside. The trouble was that it was hard to see inside; the florist's windows were half-shuttered to block out the piercing rays of the setting sun, and what parts that weren't blocked were covered by various flower arrangements set out for display.

The flower shop owner looked to be an older lady, head covered with thick gray hair, and she'd recognized and greeted Professor G on sight. For all Hisashi knew, they could be paramours - and he really didn't want verification for that.

So he waited.

Twenty minutes passed, and then half an hour…

Finally, the curtain that functioned as the shop's door was pushed aside - only the person that emerged was not the old artisan, but the florist. No one followed behind her.

Hisashi left his vantage point. The shop was a standalone building, and the only other exit was blocked by some crates; he was certain he would have seen the man using it or crawling out the window.

Coming to a stop before the front entrance, he smiled politely at the older woman moving some of the display plants back inside. "Hello, are you still open?"

The woman smiled in return. "Oh, for just a bit longer, dear - please come right on in!"

Hisashi did not need to be told twice. Entering the small shop, it looked as innocuous as the outside: there was only enough room for about two more shelving units holding a mix of half-spouted flora and shelves for seeds. The counter space was dedicated to some prime examples of flower arrangements, with only a till and a curtained off room that was being used as a storage space.

The only other thing of note within the small shop was the ornate countertop cabinet, placed along the far wall. A simple bouquet of dead lilac flowers was placed in front of its closed doors.

A Death's Door.

Hisashi turned around; the woman had re-entered, smiling at him affably. She carried a heavy flower pot, age-spotted hands steady.

"Did you find something you like?"

Hisashi felt a cold sweat break out along the back of his neck. "Not quite," he replied, keeping his tone lax. "Sorry for imposing."

"Not at all, dear."

She moved past him, idle in her ease, placing the heavy stone pot down near the counter. Hisashi watched her for a long moment and ruminated.

Interrogate her? Capture her? He had no idea how she had helped Professor G avoid his notice, and his commanding officers would want answers. The fact that this shop did not also serve as her homestead, as Professor G's did, meant she was a possible risk; if he allowed her to leave his sight, she may disappear just like the old artisan. He also could not go back to seek advice or further orders. Commander Barton was supposed to replace him later tonight, but doubtlessly he would head to the old man's workshop - not the closed flower shop several blocks away.

Until he could figure out how to proceed, he decided to try and stall for time. "That's a beautiful altar," he said, eyes moving over to the Death's Door. "Are you originally from the Maxwell province?"

The older woman made a small huffing sound - part amusement, part wistfulness. "I came to the Capital when I was still a young lady," she answered, moving towards the altar. Her fingers lightly prodded at one of the withered lilac blossoms; the small, desiccated bloom crumpled under the touch and fell to the counter. "I was sad to leave Maxwell, but it was necessary."

Hisashi frowned in thought. He supposed it sounded true; he didn't know many Harvester followers himself, and he knew the Maxwell province held the highest population of them. Perhaps few ever tried to leave Maxwell, except for extenuating circumstances; even the few Hisashi did know could be counted on one hand.

"Did your family move here?" he asked.

The smile she gave was small and unkind. "I'd already burned them long before."

Hisashi could say nothing in response to that. Not because he could come up with no words - but because of the knife now jutting out of his throat, from where it had pierced through the back. Thick, warm blood trickled down his throat and spattered over the floor and flowers, and he tried to grasp at the blade but it was wrenched out with a sickening squelch.

He took a hazy, torturous step forward, but the blood loss combined with the agony had him tumble on his next step. The old woman caught him gently in her arms, turning him around to carefully cradle as he bled out.

His vision was already hazy, so he could not make out the figure holding the bloodied knife in hand. His senses failed, one after another, and with another desperate, pain-filled exhale - Hisashi breathed his last.

Hisashi could smell lilac.

It was a pleasant scent; somewhat overpowering, but somehow, that made it all the more appealing. It was an improvement over the smell of iron that he could vaguely recall, and though lilac was all he could really acknowledge, he found he did not mind.

The flames leapt up. Hisashi watched in fascination as his skin blackened, charred, then started to smoke. It was a slow-going but effective process, his hair burnt to a light scattering of ash, his figure nearly unrecognizable among the burning flowers. Distantly, he could hear the panicked shouts of the people from the street, could hear the desperate splash of water being upended on the buildings nearby, could see the dirt and mud being flung at the flames that licked at the perimeter.

Hisashi followed those sounds, slipping through the now curtain-less entrance and stepping into the night-darkened streets. It was lit up by the fire raging behind him, but he paid that no mind. He couldn't quite recall what he was doing here.

He looked back, into the fiery depths where his body was burning to ash. His gaze drifted from what he'd become to the far wall: the altar had been opened, and from that gaping maw laid a darkness he could not tread near. The bouquet of dead lilacs lay still and unbothered in front of it, untouched by both flames and heat.

Hisashi turned back around. He did not much care for this street, so he walked. He walked past closed stalls, past frantic pedestrians; he walked past taverns, and residences, and dirty alleyways where whispers and whimpers were crooned out; he walked past the old artisan's workshop, devoid of life except for the single, solitary form of a young man with a frightening look in his one visible green eye.

Hisashi continued to walk until the streets grew more spacious, until the air became more clear. In the distance, he could make out the steeply pitched slate roofs, and though the estate gardener had favored other flower breeds this year, all Hisashi could smell was lilac.

His feet never met stone nor gravel; his breath never labored; his body never ached.

It was time to return home.

A/N: Okay, you can go back to panicking now~

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