TATTOO YOUR SOUL

Kathain.

Kathain.

Kathain.

The entire group, with the exception of Robin and Sakaki, held one thought on the mind. They thought only of the girl with the odd gift to see the future and whatever cruel tortures Solomon had to be putting her through. None of the main group seemed to care about Amon. Well, except for Nycole. The empath pitied Amon.

Robin hated seeing things so. She hated feeling such violence and anger towards Amon, and his supposed betrayal. No, Amon hadn't liked the situation of pseudo-hostage keeping in Kristo's house. But Robin couldn't believe that Amon had betrayed them. Even as the girl continued stumbling along, somewhere in Central China, following Kristo, Brett and the others blindly, Robin disbelieved. To bring Solomon upon the witches would bring the soldiers right to Robin, to the Devil's Child. Amon would never do such a thing.

"How much further is it?" Bear's exhausted made him sound almost like whining.

They'd been walking for an hour or so after jumping from the train. The sun had risen, warming the day with a mellow, pink glow. Robin had welcomed the coming of the sun, while Kristo and the witches loathed it.

"A little bit more," Geoff replied.

Nycole tried to giggle, to lighten everyone's collective mood before the overall gloom suffocated her. "Y'know, like the Irish always say. 'Up the road and around the bend.' Of course, the bend could be, I don't know, twenty, thirty miles away."

She garnered a tiny laugh from Sakaki.

But it was hardly enough.

"Just a little further. There's should be a town up ahead. We can hop back on the bullet-train when night falls by following these tracks or by getting new tickets at the next station," Brett rationalized soundly.

Geoff shook his head. "No. More. Trains."

xxxx

They came back.

This time, they returned with tools, grizzly devices of torture and the secret, dark arts of inflicting pain and suffering. These tools where paint for these awful artists. For these people, ecstasy came in the form of sweet agony in their canvases. Their canvases were the captives these Solomon operatives sought information from. That day, it was Amon.

"Kathain, look away."

But she could not.

Kathain wished she could turn her eyes, shut them tight and try to ignore this world. This was all her fault, and Kathain had to be woman enough to watch. The precognitive had to, no matter how horrific it was.

In the end, the girl wished she'd listened to him.

xxxx

"Kathain…."

Sakaki raised an eyebrow to the girl beside him. They had given up on the bullet train and cut their losses, taking a plane. At that moment, they were soaring high above the world, drawing closer and closer to Moscow, where another plane awaited. The small, independent, private flight company was just another person who owed Nagira a favor- a big one. Sakaki had to thank Nagira's cunning and skills at arranging travel plans for the quick bodger.

The empath seemed so sad, so distant and solemn. Haruto wondered what the girl felt through her connection to Kathain. He hated to think about all the things Solomon could do to the precognitive and Amon.

"What is it?" Brett inquired from the seat across from them.

Nycole smirked. How like Brett. The fire elemental didn't have to ask her if something was wrong. He knew not to bother with making the effort to ask. Brett had learnt that the sullen expression on Nycole's face meant something had happened, and he only had to ask what it was.

The empath shifted her weight uneasily; Robin didn't like the stalling tactic Nycole used. "She's so sad."

"Is she being hurt?" Kristo was the only one who would dare ask the question.

Nycole shrugged. "Yes… and no." The girl rubbed her arms dolefully. "They're hurting her heart and soul, but not her body."

"And Amon?"

Nycole looked out the window. "You don't want to know."

xxxx

"You have to stop… He can't take any more…."

Kathain's heart cried out across the nations and the world. She couldn't bear it anymore. Amon, thankfully, tried to stifle cries and shout of agony, gritting his teeth, but even the muffled sounds of his suffering were too much. Amon was a mangled mass of bruises and gashes when the Solomon operatives finally let both captives loose and left them alone in that empty cell. Kathain's heart fell with the former hunter's limp body fell to the floor with a gentle thud and he lay deathly still.

"Amon…."

He didn't say anything.

Hesitantly, Kathain crawled across the floor towards the still man. He didn't move or flinch at all. The girl touched his shoulder tenderly, afraid to hurt him.

"Amon…."

His eyes cracked open, glazed over and glassy. "I'm here."

Gently, Kathain rolled Amon onto his back, holding the hunter close, just as close as he once held her. She knew this pain. She had felt it in those brief glances into the former hunter's future. Her hands knew where not to trespass, where the injuries were the worst and needed to be avoided.

"Keep talking…" Amon murmured the words, barely able to speak.

Kathain blinked. "What would you like me to say?"

"Anything."

The precognitive girl swallowed hard. "Alright." She thought for a moment, chewing on her lip and pondering what exactly to tell the man she held. "I'm going to tell you a story, Amon. A story millennia in the making."

He settled deeply into her embrace, his eyes sliding shut. Kathain paused, wondering is Amon had slipped into unconsciousness, but the man spoke. "Go on."

"Ok…"

She sat and thought of exactly how to word it.

xxxx

There was once a great king. However, his throne was taken from him, stolen by an usurper. Now, that usurper sits upon the throne.

There was once a prince with a crown of glowing metal and flame. His crown was robbed from him by fate, by death, and by regret. He had failed his position and his people. He had allowed the stinging poison of betrayal to eat away at his house, his clan, his people. His crown was stolen because of suppose crimes against his kin. He had to eradicate what he saw as a bastardization of the blood.

The Prince will become a general, a leader. He will be a prince among men, no longer needing his crown of metal. His glory shall come from within.

The Queen tried to return her king, the true king, to power, to his rightful place. She called the very best, smartest, and strongest warriors and soldiers of her domain to her side, to her aid. The Prince answered her call to arms, as did the General and the Assassin. He followed, but not as closely as the others, keeping the Queen at arms length.

She orchestrated it all, the puppet master in the absence of her king.

There came the rift, severing a once proud and united clan into two distinctive factions. For while an usurper sat on the throne, there was peace. Times were good. There was food, shelter, and prosperity for all who lived in the dominion. Under the usurper, there was an uneasy truce. Yet, there were those, however, who continued to support the true king, despite all this false crown did for the people. And the Prince had given his fealty to the true king.

That is, until he himself began to question the motives for a return to power.

The Queen drew her warriors close around her, making secret moves and ploys left and right to ensure her king return to his crown.

The Prince watched in caution. Things were unusual at best. Swords and arms were kept close, unsheathed at all times and ready for battle. None of them wanted this fight, this war that suddenly became their cause. And, still, it was unavoidable. The Prince kept a wall of ice and flame about him at all times.

The Queen made her move.

The return of the true king shattered the balance the balance between supporting factions, plunging the kingdom into chaos and disarray. The people argued and bickered, even right up to the dawn of war.

And, thus, light was cast upon the secret war.

xxxx

When Amon made a slight whimper, Kathain stopped.

She had been absentmindedly stroking his hair, smoothing the jet-black locks like raven's feathers, up until that moment. Then, even the girl's hand froze, mind-way through a pass. Kathain furrowed her eyebrows and tried to look into his eyes, moving just so slightly to avoid hurting him.

His eyes were closed, but Amon had not fallen unconscious. No. He slept. And he dreamt. Kathain sat back, resting her head against the wall, sighing in relief.

"Oh, Amon."

xxxx

When they finally strode down the cobbled stones of Rome, Japan and the jumping nightclub Nocturne seemed so very distant and far behind them, as though it had been a different life. The streets of Italy seemed new and refreshing, yet oddly daunting. It was as if this new and, yet, old country welcomed and threatened at the same time.

Robin felt eased, at home. Rome had been her life for so very long. It had been everything she had ever known to be home, before Japan and the STN-J, and even that had been a lie, a terrible lie. The witch had grown up in the shadow of the lumbering Colosseum and the Vatican. As a child, the nuns had taken her up to Foro Romano to play and picnic among the decrepit ruins of Roman glory and splendor. Her Art History professor had taken Robin to the Pantheon to pay homage to the famous painter, Raphael. She had even learnt to drive a Vespa darting and threading through busy traffic and the flocks of motorcycles.

Robin smiled and greeted the merchants peddling their wares on one of the smaller side streets. Her voice sounded faint and nostalgic. "Ciao." They waved back, unsure of what to say or do when such a strange, teenage girl approached so cordially and friendly. The girl paused at one. "Por favore…"

And, with that, Robin poured out a string of lovely, liquid sounding syllables. The merchant she had stopped at laughed and spoke back with her. Judging from the sounds and the emotional waves cascading off of him, Nycole assumed this was a good thing. When the merchant handed each of them a small packet of warm chestnuts. In the chilly, early evening air, they were most welcome, especially since fall seemed to snap a bit earlier there than in Tokyo.

"Grazie," Robin thanked the man.

Nycole repeated it between munching hungrily on the warmed nuts. The flight between Moscow and Rome had included a small stopover, but they hadn't had the time to eat. Nor had there been anything on the plane. The chestnuts were devoured in a heartbeat.

"What do we do now?" Nycole inquired.

Robin squeezed her fist around the bag. "We find Father Juliano."

xxxx

Ah… so the pieces are gathering together.