(Three)
Later that night, Remy once more found himself in front of a glowing computer screen, trying to catch up on Aiden's diary. The day had been traumatic at best, boring at its worst. The meetings had been endless, filled with arguments and planning. He had never had the greatest attention span and more than once found himself nodding off. The disaster seemed remote and far away from what he truly cared about.
Once freed, he remedied that by checking in with all of his various charges. Seth was with his Mistress and Kimble with his new friends, passed out from another deep round of play with both of them. Remy knew Aiden was using sex to keep Kimble calm and quite frankly, he couldn't come up with any argument against it. Babette was asleep as well, her shine glimmering with happiness, something Remy was all too happy to see.
Onward home the good thief did go and there he found his wife and Angel, curled up in front of the TV with their own brand of contentedness keeping them calm. Molly refused to have the news on and didn't ask Remy about any of it. They watched a movie, had supper and went on with their lives, trying to keep things as normal as possible.
Once Angel was asleep in her bed, Gambit was back to work in a new way, going through the next batch of files that Seth had sent him. He couldn't help but be captivated by Aiden's tale in spite of all the poor Siskan's troubles. There was so much he wanted to learn, so much that he had to learn. Aiden wasn't one to talk, but the boy could write well enough, giving up what Remy so desperately needed to know. The Dreamer was explaining,
What can I say of being a gladiator? I have been many things but one thing has been constant, I am a survivor. Krishnak was no different. He took over and pretty much stayed for good. He fought well, growing to love the sounds of the crowds. All Siskans crave attention, it is in our nature, and so it was for Krishnak in his way. He learned that the longer the fight would last, the greater the exultation of the crowd and thus the greater his reward. He was empathic and so fed off of their vibrations of gleeful mayhem. He danced, making his fights graceful and beautiful as only they could be in this savage place.
Time passed. It is not my wish to record every adventure that befell Krishnak nor glorify what he had become. He fought many fights and he almost always won. In the few times he was defeated, his enemy soon perished of the wounds sustained in that battle, so did he really lose?
Krishnak remained in power of the body for a great many years. He always saw the ghosts of us and our number grew every time he was thrown down and terribly hurt by those who might have won for the moment. I was there somewhere in the dim fog of memory. I know this because I can recall the dirt of the arena, the smell and taste of coppery red blood as it bathed our body.
Krishnak was the type of Siskan who rarely slept and so seldom dreamed. It was not here that the premonitions began for me, for us. That was later, but I was there in the crowd of ghosts, waiting.
Eventually enough years went by that Krishnak passed hands, moving from one Master to another. The Muzla do not live for long, not as long as a Siskan hologram who can be repaired so easily. Money was exchanged and we moved from ring to ring, fight to fight, always making money for whomever owned us at the time. The years sped by in a blur of battles and gore, an endless daily grind of death and mayhem.
A full fifty years or more had passed when the change happened. One cannot predict events or see how the simplest thing will affect us. It just happens and wow, there it is, reality interrupted. We were living with Greedock, a Muzla Master who owned many fighters. What was significant was that he favored Siskans whenever he could get his hands on them.
We had been with Greedock for well over a month and had established our rank early in the status quo of his pens. With each new place, Krishnak had to reassert his dominance so he would not be jumped and raped. It never took long, and Greedock, like those before him, lost at least two or more fighters from his stable on Krishnak's first day because of it. Krishnak was without mercy when he sought to stake his claim - it was all savage and a bloodletting on a greater scale than most of the arena fights themselves. Any fighter who came to him with sexual intention was repulsed or killed outright if they were too thick to understand this was one battle they would not win.
We were well established and left alone when another Siskan was added to the group, a female. Krishnak hadn't really been prepared for her appearance, the Siskans were still so very rare in the great big world, and he hadn't realized just yet how prized they were as fighters. This newcomer wasn't Marked, she wasn't part of the Game. She was simply a Lushna-esk that ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her name was Tillamay.
Even now when I think of her, I still feel the pain. She was stronger than Krishnak was in a way - the Masters had tried to break her and yet, still she remained one person. They hadn't dared to melt her more than once of course as they had done to us, she did not possess the special codes as we did and she would have been destroyed. They wanted her to take the plasma from the sun and the single melting was enough to make that possible.
She was tall and lithe, a handsome redhead with sparkling blue eyes. She walked high and straight, first because she had been trained to do so by those who owned her previously, and then later as a means to intimidate the men of the packs. She was bigger than they were in height if not build. Most of the females of the pens adopted this trait, it was safer to meet the men in the eyes, to look away would be a sign of weakness.
Gender was not relevant in the Games. If you could hold your own in a fight, you were fair game to the slavers. There had been many females before her and many more would came after. Her former owner had lost her in gambling and now here she was, just another one of us. Females were always entertaining, even if they succumbed faster than the men. The Muzla cared not, there were always the packs to watch, having their sport with them.
Tillamay was not stupid. She knew she was vulnerable here on her own. Her best defense was to find the strongest male and use him as protection from the packs. It took her only a moment to find Krishnak sitting alone in his corner, unmolested by the others around him. She was startled to see he was a Siskan as she was and it only gave her hope. She strode right over, knelt down and raised her breasts at him, her head back, exposing her throat. She spoke no words, she didn't have to, they were both Lushna-esk.
Krishnak did not behave as she had expected. He rudely ignored her, seeing her only as a disturbance and an unnecessary complication. For this I have only regrets though it was Krishnak in control and not myself. What could I have done? I was barely there, not even strong enough to be more than just a simple, voiceless ghost.
It took only moments for Tillamay's rejection by Krishnak to be noted by the packs. She was grasped by the others and torn away, thrust into the middle of a hungry, lustful pack. The decision not to help her in that moment was final - once she was taken, it was impossible for Krishnak to rescue her. To fight these men one at a time was one thing, there was no way he could take her like meat from a pack of snarling, starving dogs. They had at her and all he could do was listen.
He thought he could shut it out like he had all the other times a penmate had been abused, but he was sadly mistaken. It was horrible and humbling, listening to another of our kind be tortured and abused like that. The longer the abuse lasted, the harder it was for Krishnak to bear. The guilt and pain was soon horrible for Krishnak, worse than the beating he had taken from his fights that day. It awoke feelings in him he had long denied, dangerous things that threatened to bring up old memories of a better place than this, of a better life. Even Krishnak's stony heart wasn't immune and he turned to the wall, hiding his tears, at the same time vowing for it to never happen again.
The next morning came late. Krishnak was exhausted from lack of sleep and upset from the night's events. He could take no food, couldn't even stand the sight of it. As the sun rose, he was urged on by Father to look for Tillamay, in the hopes that maybe there might be some chance to recover her, but she was nowhere in sight. The pen he was being held in was a good sized room and there were many of us fighters. Before long, it was time to be moved for the fights. Once in line, Krishnak caught a glimpse of her and he was relieved to see that she was still alive. She was bloodied and bruised, yet there was a ring of spirit to her shine. She wasn't broken, not just yet.
Krishnak made it through his fights that day, some of his usual flair gone due to tiredness, and for a while he was able to forget her. It was only as he was returned to the pens for the night that he caught sight of Tillamay again. She was a little more bruised and battered than when she had first come, but she had survived her fights as well, something that called to his own powerful spirit. They were the same, she and him. Her shine was sparkly bright, she had taken some recovery from the sun as he did. Her fights must have been brutal yet still she lived.
Once in the pens, Krishnak wasted no time in making his claim, once more urged on by Father. Father saw something in her that he deemed worthy or he wouldn't have pressed his case so badly. The packs had already started to circle the girl once more, looking for seconds, but Krishnak came up fast, grabbed her roughly and dragged her back to our corner without ceremony. He tossed her down and stood tall over her, facing the others. "You want a piecze of disz, eh? Zen come!"
No one moved, they were too surprised. What a shock to hear Krishnak speak, not once had he uttered a word to anyone. There was some distant grumbling in the back as the pack debated whether or not to take Krishnak on, he was still new enough to be an unknown, but everyone had seen him fight. There would be no easy battle here, no clear victory for them.
Krishnak waited, knowing that they would back down. The fact was, as bad as it had been for him to listen to her torture last night, the pack leaders had had their taste of her. It was actually easier for Krishnak to defend her now since she had already been taken.
The others backed off and finally left Krishnak and his prize alone.
My skill with people is bad, I admit it freely, and I know where it comes from. It's an inheritance from Krishnak, a primary component of the blended personality that is me at present. He was simply horrible at communicating on a level beyond threatening or challenging others, something that affects me even now. I am a belligerent, arrogant fool, but look at what I am made of. Gladiators? Angry feral monsters? Father? One must have some sympathy for me, how could you not forgive me?
But I digress...
Even though Krishnak had claimed Tillamay for himself, he had no desire to speak with her. He simply thrust his bowl of water at her and pushed her deeper into the corner, shielding her with his body, asserting his dominance to the pack, daring them to try and take her.
Tillamay was a talented Lushna-esk. She could sense Krishnak was little better than feral from years of fighting and hardship. Happy to be left alone by the packs, she didn't fight her new situation. This was far better than being raped and beaten, she would suffer with his silence. Perhaps in time, this one would weaken to her and then they could get to know each other better. She drank her water, washed as best she could and was patient. It was later in the night, when all was still that she dared to touch him, the warrior Krishnak. It was simple, nothing more than merely sliding her arms around him for warmth when the night was at its darkest and coldest.
Poor Krishnak was not prepared for how much that simple touch meant. It came without demands, came without pain. Just a tender embrace, a laying of his head against her higher shoulder. A shiver of arousal rocked through him, warm animals friendly, but it would not be acted upon, it was a simple reaction to the warmth. She seemed not to notice or care, she simply held him closer and brushed his hair with a long slender hand. No words passed, just a small communication of mutual need for one another. At that moment she knew him better than any other.
Tillamay was quite patient with us, the dear girl. She understood that Krishnak was feral and broken, I think she even understood that Krishnak saw ghosts. He would mutter out loud to no one she could see at times and she accepted it without complaints or questions. It didn't mean she didn't have a goal in mind - she tried to get Krishnak to speak to her, doing it slowly and with great care. He responded to her touch, she had felt that, and so thought to wake his inner Siskan self by gently whispering to him in the night. They lay tightly together and she would brush her lips against his ear, speaking to him softly of the things she knew.
She whispered to Krishnak that she, too, had been made by the great Siskan Master Quishnalay. It had been years after Talalanay had been tossed aside, but she confessed that Quishnalay still spoke of him, the one he should never had let go. These whispers did not rouse any emotion in Krishnak. Any love for Quishnalay that remained had been squashed years ago, drowned in blood and suffering.
Tillamay was still young when the Dognan came to Siska and routed them out. All the Siskans had been destroyed and their Courtesans taken. She was there when Quishnalay himself was dragged out into the garden and slaughtered, his blood feeding the roses there. Krishnak couldn't help but react to that, there was the unmistakable gleam of satisfaction in his shine. So Quishnalay had met a fitting end, murdered by those he had so graciously helped with the Game. How very just. Krishnak couldn't stop himself from stroking her hair, pleased by his imaginings of that fateful bloodletting.
Tillamay was pleased, she had reached something inside of her protector. She understood his pain, she was Lushna-esk, so of course she saw it. She also understood that a deep rooted loneliness and desire to be with one of our own had driven Krishnak to take finally her in. Yes, even myself, the solitary Dreamer has that weakness. I do not relish my time alone, not always. I withdraw because I do not understand people and what they do. I withdraw to protect myself from the pain and suffering that comes with having friends, lovers, a family. But yet, there are those who have enough character to draw me out.
Like you, dearest Kimble, Tillamay was one of these.
They found themselves a daily routine, Krishnak and Tillamay. They fought in the day and came back to their corner as if it were home. They did not speak or compare battles. They simply sat and shared their food and water, then curled up to sleep tangled in one another. Perhaps if one or the other was damaged more severely, they might touch and rub to soothe the hurts, but that was all. If one of the other was aroused by the heat and touch, it was ignored as a Siskan reaction to the company. To act on it was unthinkable.
Well, at least it was for Krishnak.
It was days before the inevitable happened. The collective parts of the boy that had once been Talalanay fought it for as long as they could, but it was a battle they would lose. A large and noisy storm had come, one loud enough to be felt inside the fighters' stone house - the crashing of thunder and the trickle of dampness that came from a deep heavy rain outside. I have never enjoyed the sound of thunder, even to this day it frightens me. Krishnak shivered, doing his manly best to hide this, but Tillamay was not so easily fooled.
It was late and the pens dark. They two of them were against the wall on their sleeping mats, Tillamay's back propped up to the wall with Krishnak's heavier body between her knees as usual. This way they were as close as possible, all the better to keep warm. The heat of their bodies together was a pleasure in and of itself and as usual it had aroused us, the selves of Talalanay. One loud crack of thunder, a deep shiver of fear, and Tillamay pulled Krishnak that much closer, turning him around to face her. He didn't fight it, he no longer did when she wanted this closeness, and they sat chest to breast, his chin on her shoulder and their legs wrapped around one another, so warm and friendly. There came another crack of thunder and Krishnak jerked from the noise of it, grasping her that much tighter.
"Don't be afraid," she whispered to him in Siskan, soft and low so no one would hear. Most of the fighters were awake this night, it was impossible to sleep with all the racket.
Krishnak would not acknowledge her words. In this room full of violent killers, he wasn't about to admit to any fear or weakness. His reactions to the thunder he'd covered up beautifully as only a Siskan could. If anyone questioned what this looked like, it would seem that he was comforting his female companion, though it was really the other way around. But he could not hide this from her. Not from Tillamay who was so very near.
"Come closer, my fine protector," came the soft breeze of her breath against his ear.
Impossible, they were already pressed so tightly, but then she slid one hand between them, lightly grasping the part of him that had come awake from the shared heat of their bodies. He questioned her with a soft grunt, but her only answer was a quick fumble with their skimpy garments, freeing him. The gladiators wore simple briefs, so easy to pull aside for what she wanted. One shift of her hips told him her desire and the Courtesan in him acted automatically, lifting her bottom with his hands and plunging into her.
This was done without thought, an instinct born from countless files on sexual exercise. This position, while not traditional, was very warm and intimate, and easy enough for two such talented creatures to take advantage of. Krishnak's whimper of sudden joy and excitement was silent to the pen, but deafening to her.
Not once since he had come to be with Muzla had Krishnak indulged in sex for pleasure. With him it had always been rape, the use of his body for another. He did not participate in the pack behavior of rape on others though he did nothing to stop it from happening. Instead he carved out his little space in the world, this little corner with the window, with his fists and his cruelty, no other way. To rape is Chuckfet, a practice he nor any other of us has never desired to do. In the pens like this, Krishnak was too feral, too much the fighter to desire the intimacy for which he had been created. In all the time Krishnak possessed her, not once had he used Tillamay for sex, something perplexing to the other fighters. Why would he claim such a pretty woman for himself only not to use her? Well the others were watching now, finding some entertainment where the storm had failed.
Krishnak started to growl possessively, looking at them as they watched.
"Shh..." Tillamay soothed and turned his head to her other shoulder, making him face the wall. "Don't look at them, my love. They will not fight you, they are not that stupid. They are merely jealous, nothing more. They see what they do not understand."
Krishnak closed his eyes and forgot them, soothed by her vibrations of want and need, of her love. Now, inside the body of his Siskan sister, Krishnak's body shook, feeling a joy and exhilaration long since denied. It was one of the singular most erotic moments of our long life.
Their coupling was brief but intensely passionate, it had been a long time for both of them, sex for pleasure like this. She was Lushna-esk and his body knew it, drinking up her Kundatesh like a bone dry sponge. When they finished it, they shuddered together as one. Her vibrations came into him, a flash of Kundatesh that rocked his world, reminding him so much of Sharak, his first Siskan lover and the one who had eased him through the trial of Shemusk. Into his arms she fell and he held her tighter than he had ever done before, admitting finally that his stupid battle against his own nature had been lost, and willingly. The long celibacy of Krishnak was over.
The change in Krishnak was profound. He fought with renewed vigor the next day, walked taller and straighter. As time passed, his only goal was to endure the blood drenched days so he could return to her, our Tillamay. He had never known such happiness, or at least it seemed so after so many years of a great blank nothing. They would laugh softly, touching, and then grow ever bolder in their coupling as Krishnak's shyness in the pens evaporated. The nights were filled with passion, blotting out the madness they endured during the day.
The Master, Greedock, watched this with amusement at first, loving the sight of their coupling. He would stand outside bars, smoking or easing back with a drink, observing the entertainment provided with a gleam in his eye.
Nothing was private in the pens for long, the pens were little more than large cages or holding cells in a stone building. The Muzla walked freely, safe from their own slaves behind the iron bars. They watched us eat and sleep, watched us fight and of course, rape one another. On a good night, they might even take bets on the losers, the pathetic Chuckfet assholes they were. The Muzla were fascinated by our violence, it's what fed the games and made them rich. They were especially fond of watching the two Siskans at play, at how skillfully they made love and with increasing tenderness for one another.
Yet over time, Greedock saw that Krishnak was losing some of his desire for battle, that he was losing his taste for it. Krishnak's bouts grew more and more brief, the Siskan simply wanted them over with so he could win and be returned to the pens. In other words, fucking Tillamay had become his new priority.
To inspire his possession to regain some of his former ferocity, Greedock had Krishnak whipped for no apparent reason. He simply dragged the Siskan out into the ring, tied him to a center pole and flogged him himself, enjoying this for his own twisted reasons. The lashing was not severe, Greedock wasn't so stupid as to wound his best fighter too seriously, just a few lashes to get him motivated.
Krishnak took it personally of course, how could he not? He'd had years to learn and understand the rules of this horrible place. He had conformed beautifully to the life of a gladiator and having no desire for pain on this level, went far out of his way to avoid being punished.
Once Krishnak was returned to the pens, Tillamay was temporarily forgotten. Krishnak was enraged and grew quite violent, taking it out on his penmates and then his opponents the next day. The fights had regained some of their earlier ugliness and cruelty, inspiring the crowds who watched them to part with their money in greater amounts. Three times Krishnak killed, crushing his helpless prey with great flair and bloodletting.
Greedock had quickly learned that anger and cruelty made Krishnak fight all the better. He was quite pleased with himself. But of course, once he backed off and Tillamay had a chance to work her arts on her protector, Krishnak's anger was again soothed and the violence dropped off once again. This Greedock could not abide. He would not have his wishes overridden. He would not have his most talented fighter weakened by the soft pussy of a pathetic Siskan female.
Greedock had learned that if a nice vicious beating would enrage Krishnak to perform, perhaps there was something else that might accomplish that goal once and for all.
Can you guess what he did, this greedy Muzla Master? I'm guessing you can.
It was done without ceremony, without any pretense of being anything other than it was. On this world, a Muzla Master had the right to do as he pleased with any of his stable, they were all property and there would be no criminal prosecution for any action a Master might take, no matter how cruel or unjust.
Krishnak was restrained and forced to watch as Tillamay was dragged out into the center of the ring and tied to the pole there. He thought she might get beaten as he had been but he was wrong. One slash of the knife and her throat was cut. There had been no announcements or accusations of a false crime committed by her, it was brutal and to the point, quick and final. Gel blood poured from her in a filthy torrent with no hope of a recharge, of a repair by the sun or any other means. It was just a drag through the dirt, a slash, and a fading away to nothing but a lake of gel. Krishnak watched helplessly as her stars winked out one by one. A senseless murder if there ever was one.
Worse than that, was the vaporous image that Krishnak now saw, drifting above her remains. He saw her spirit, her soul as it departed. This was the first time we saw such spirits, though it wouldn't be the last. She looked at us, smiling with such peace in her eyes. She gestured, "I have always loved you. Do not weep for me," but that was impossible. How could we ever witness such an event and not go mad?
Gambit shuddered and closed his eyes, he was done for the moment. Here it was again, the unimaginable cruelty of a Master. Could he really blame Aiden for his hatred of the Chuckfet after reading something like this? It was impossible. How many of the Chuckfet had ever shown him kindness?
It can't be dis way, he thought to himself. Trishnar wouldn't have done dis. Dere 'as to be some 'appiness 'ere, some justice. 'E must 'ave felt some love.
/ I guess the only way is to read on, my dear, Shi'ow-ri whispered, soothing him in her way. / Aiden is giving up his secrets, use them to help you understand. /
Remy nodded and continued, trying to make the most out of this opportunity.
They say it is difficult to kill. That this would be so for anyone.
It is not.
And who would know better than I? They put us into the ring to fight and we'd made our first kill the first week we were there. That had been the point, really. We were but a year old at the time the Muzla possessed us. At this point in my tale we were now over fifty. Can you calculate how many corpses we'd left behind by then? Feckt. What was one more?
Krishnak was beside himself and quickly lost all reason. Not until that moment had he dared to admit to himself just how much he had grown to love his precious Tillamay - her soft voice, her gentle laughter as he made love to her time and time again. He had forgotten what it was like to be happy, even just a little, and she had been the one to give that back to him.
Krishnak didn't even bother to try and fight it when Kain, the Great Anger, came out and all went red. Siskans are more powerful than those of the flesh and when they are enraged, there is no stopping what can't be stopped. Kain destroyed his restraints and flew at a very startled Greedock.
Blood, bones snapping, the wet of torn muscle, a strangled, gasping scream, and it was done. The other Muzla who were there were stunned silent, never had such a brutal killing of a Master ever taken place and so quickly. Greedock had been crushed and dismembered, his parts strewn about like the limbs of a doll. Kain was howling like a rabid dog, the most feral of animals, screaming his victory.
Now it couldn't be allowed that a fighter should get away with such an act of revenge even if it was justified or not. It simply wouldn't do. There would be mutinies left and right. The Muzla knew of our Siskan weakness to electricity and they charged Kain, four to one. He managed to take down two of them before he was finally shocked senseless and restrained.
Kain woke to find himself as a ghost once more, Krishnak had roused first and with the anger spent, reclaimed the body for his own. He was now chained and contained in an energy block, a square cage with no bars, only screens of force fields that were unbreakable. He had been drained of most of his energy and collared with a restraining brace, completely helpless. Not that it mattered, all the fight in him was gone. He understood that the Muzla would probably destroy him for Greedock's murder, but at that moment cared not one bit. It would be a relief really, the loss of Tillamay was still bright and ugly, it would be good to be rid of this pain and this life.
It was not to be. No, the Fates had worse things in mind. Krishnak watched helplessly as the Muzla who had captured him were approached by a Dognan officer. Money was exchanged and the officer came close, his smile a grimace of pure malicious intent. "Now, my dear Receiver," he purred, "I am your new Master. You can call me Meckland. You and I, we are going to be such great friends."
If Krishnak thought he had known pain, he was mistaken. If he thought he had known the worst of cruelty, he was mistaken. If he thought that life was better than death... well, he was once more mistaken. You see, we were not as fully broken as we were yet to become. Not so broken and yet not so powerful as we are now. Meckland had only one goal in mind, he wanted a Rogue. And if he couldn't find one, well, he just might try making one instead.
Remy forced himself to stop, he had read enough of Aiden's personal nightmares right before bed. He closed the computer down and crawled into bed, holding Molly close and whispering silent prayers of gratitude for having her. He couldn't imagine the loss Krishnak had suffered. Krishnak had found some light in a place of darkness and it had been violently stolen from him for all time. Remy closed his eyes on fitful dreams, a restless night of dim nightmares.
The next morning, Remy stood at the construction snack table, sipping a cup of coffee and relaxing. The disruption of yesterday's violence against humanity had settled somewhat. There had been more meetings and endless safety drills, but thankfully, he had been excused from most of them since he was placed in charge of security on Seth's project. He had never been one to sit still long enough in one place for such long discussions and was all the more pleased when he was allowed to leave.
It was now the second day of construction, early morning, and watching over the Siskans out here working was going to be an assignment he would enjoy, Gambit saw that quickly. His nightmares were softened by the present sunlight and the sense that all that happened to Aiden had been in the past.
Gambit found a secret joy in watching the Siskans Kimble and Aiden working. This was like playtime to them, they were joking and playing as they worked, laughing and being merry. The work got done swiftly enough, Kimble had his power and Aiden his great tireless strength. They made a joke of the labor and the work was progressing quickly. The work had been going steadily on for a couple of hours now and Kimble and Aiden had killed that time quickly, moving the first of the metal rails into place, the birth of the framing that would hold this vessel together.
Babette had come up this time, sitting nearby and reading, though he could see she was watching the Dreamer. Her thoughts were guarded, but her shine spoke only of happiness. She was recovering, finally shaking off some of her grief.
Adding to Gambit's already fine company was that Molly had come up to man the refreshments table and she was beside him now, her head gently leaning on his shoulder. The sun had done her well, just as he had hoped. Her shine was sparkling bright with happiness and she showed no signs of queasiness at all.
Remy had his eyes on Aiden, his mind mulling over the excerpts from the Dreamer's diary that he had read the night before. It was hard to equate the man before him with what he had read- Aiden was laughing with Kimble, playing more so than working. There was such peace in his shine, a deep felt happiness that was matched only by Kimble's own shine. Both had been through so much and it seemed as though they had finally been allowed to recover from it. Remy vowed to do anything to protect that happiness for them both, to keep them all safe, the two brothers and their sister who sat nearby. He would do this if only the fates would allow him the chance. Impossible to think that after all they had endure that there would be more pain to follow. The world just couldn't be that cruel, could it?