After taking Halt back inside the tavern, Gilan and Horace had watched him carefully –more Gilan than Horace- making sure he didn't drink so much ale that he passed out (that was what Horace was worried about). Contrary to their (again, Horace's) beliefs, Halt could really hold his liquor.

(How can he drink so much? He was falling over earlier…)

(Halt would never let his guard down, Horace. Half of that whiskey he "inhaled" is watering that flower.)

(Oh, that makes sense.)

(That's Halt for ya.)

The ghosts from a past long stored away had arisen. Even as Panthera prepared for his story-telling later that week, voices he once called family spoke to him. Faces of friends, and images of Gatherings long past, floated through his mind like leaves caught in a breeze. The smells from the meal his partners cooked soured in his nostrils; once delightful, mouth-watering scents, tuned repugnant and unfamiliar.

His mind was twisted, his thoughts in turmoil.

How could a few familiarly dressed people shake him so badly? He had thought his past better buried, his emotions long forgotten. Apparently he was wrong.

He yearned for Celeste. The only person to know of him, of what he was, from where he came; she had been there in the beginning, and he needed her now that that beginning was coming into his now, his later. She was his rock.

Panthera stood from where he sat; there was no point in yearning for her when he could strike out to find her. Besides, he knew where she lived.

Creeping through the shadows, Panthera veered to his left at the main building. Master would know he was in the area, but since he didn't plan on talking to the man, entering the complex through the front gates would just be rude. Besides the disregard for manners, Celeste was no longer in the Main Complex, but further to its left and hidden in a forested grove.

Evidently his increase in abilities had earned her an 'upgrade'.

Not that he agreed with the supposed upgrade's land. Being in a forest gave both the house, and anyone sneaking up to the house, an ample amount of cover. Howsoever, once the house was detected, it was obvious where it was. In other words, once it was uncovered, discovering it again was fairly easy. Whereas finding a person who was hiding and sneaking and probably planning on robbing the house was not easy, in anyway.

Panthera was not pleased with the house's layout in anyway, at all. But Celeste was, and he had conceded that he probably was overprotective once she pointed it out, and had later promised not to rail against Master about his upgrade being a negative because of its location.

Panthera still mentally railed against Master for that, but only mentally. He had agreed to hold his tongue, after all.

Having reached the wall that surrounded Celeste's house, he debated whether to use the entrance or not, before deciding against it. He would just cause her undue worry – she liked to be dressed up when company came over, and if an unknown visitor tapped on her door, she'd be flustered. Panthera never liked doors anyway.

Tapping his fingers along the wall, Panthera found an easy handhold and looked up. The wall was disgraceful, had Master ever looked at it? A novice climber could easily scale these walls. They needed to be fixed, perhaps some new stones in place of the old ones he grasped just then.

Panthera laughed inwardly when a memory of Celeste calling him a mother-hen nudged its way into his thoughts. Alright Celeste, he conceded, perhaps you were right after all.

I'm always right. She giggled back, pinching his arm playfully.

Oh really? Well he would show her…

Shaking away the memories, Panthera's brow creased as his mouth turned slightly downwards in a faint imitation of a frown; his thoughts were wandering, that wasn't what he needed, he needed to climb.

"I need to climb the wall so I might see my princess." He whispered softly to himself, Celeste was his princess, his lonely yet dazzling princess with sparkles in her eyes and braids in her hair.

With that image in mind, he began to ascend.

Celeste whirled around, rolling pin in hand, when the door creaked open. Panthera smiled faintly at her, pleased with the rusted hinges she had taken to heart.

"Celeste." He began, voice breaking openly, "I've come home."

Face morphing from fierce to shock to ecstatic, Celeste leapt forward and flung her arms around him, the forgotten rolling pin banging him smartly across the back. A faint 'oof' and rigidness in his frame reminded her of the pin only a moment later.

"Oh Panthera, I'm sorry. Are you okay? Did I break anything? Please don't tell me there's a bruise! Oh I wish this didn't happen. Well I mean obviously I'm glad you're back – but the pin, if I hadn't grabbed it you would be fine."

"Celeste." His hands met her shoulders before trailing down to her wringing hands, halting their movement as he grasped them tightly.

Her mouth closed quickly and she gave him a small smile. "Oh Panthera, it has been awhile. You've been gone for so long, I found myself wishing…"

"It's all good." He smiled across to her, the once-small figure now matching his height. "You've grown so much." She grinned back at him. "I almost didn't recognize you. But then I saw within the walls and thought to myself: 'No of course this must be Celeste, no self-respecting home-maker would leave such rust upon their hinges, nor blinds across their windows on such a beautiful day, it must be lovely Celeste."

She giggled and swatted at his arm. "Oh but as I've not many passers-by, those that do come without first letting me know are either up to no good, or the man who knows the reasons for such actions."

His smile turned worried at that, "There haven't been any…"

"Oh hush you!" She threw her hands at him, his formerly tight grasp having loosened as they talked. "Nay Panthera, I've been doing just fine in my little house here, no unwelcome guests have come to greet me, nor unintended one's; well, besides you." Celeste grinned.

Panthera smiled back before crumpling inward. "Celeste. I need help." His face showed his distress, openly.

"What's wrong? What's happened? Here, follow me." Grabbing his left hand, she led him into the sitting room. "I'll make you a cup of tea." She bustled back into the kitchen after making sure he was seated.

Panthera watched her fondly, and said 'thank you' when she returned with the cup of blackberry surprise – her own invention.

"Now," she began, sitting across from him and folding her hands, "what has caused you to come running?"

"I… Master has decided to mask the gathering of Assassins with a 'fair.'" He spat the last word, his distaste for the entire affair curling in the air; "a fair where each assassin tells their back-story – an entirely ridiculous idea if you ask me!"

"Oh Panthera, why must you- why did you- …oh Panthera."

He gave Celeste a long look before sighing in agreement. "Alas, my past is being brought – no – forced upon me, why can't Master leave well-enough alone? Why couldn't we… I don't know, make something up? That would make more sense – not only is telling one's background private, but also costly. If all the people know of who I was, they would be less likely to come to me for work."

"Perhaps this is an attempt for you - his people - to remember their roots and why they joined his association. For them, for you, to remember everything."

"Everything...?"

"Everything from before." Celeste verified.

"Since when has Master cared about our pasts? No. This isn't like him. This is someone different..."

"Or," she began, beautiful eyes sad and sympathizing, "you are just afraid."

"Afraid? Afraid of what? No. No, I'm not afraid." Panthera scoffed at her, at her words - even though he'd come here for her help, he didn't want her eyes looking at him like that, they always made him defensive.

"Panthera." She reached over and threaded her fingers into his hair, combing a particular tough knot over an ear. "My lost, lonely Panthera." He leaned into her touch, eyes closing. "You have been alone for so long. Can't you-" She bit her lip, gazing at his face, upturned as it was.

He opened his eyes to see her looking at him. "Can't I, what?" Curiosity filled his voice.

She smiled, a little worn looking. "Won't you face your past?"

And just like that all peace and tranquility was gone from the room. Panthera shot to his feet, unintentionally wrenching her hand from his hair and throwing his own in to grasp at it. "No! Celeste no! I want to... but I can't. No I CAN'T." Brokenly his voice cracked.

"Don't you see? What they did to me... it cannot be forgiven. I can't let them off for it- I CAN'T."

"But... you MUST. Wont as I am to say it. YOU are tearing yourself apart. Panthera," she stood, voice steely and eyes matching her tone, "you will go INSANE. You will rip yourself apart if you go on like this. If you continue to hide from yourself, this you I never see anymore, you that which YOU wish to know again, you will kill yourself." Her voice softened slightly. "My brave, lonely boy, you are already dying. You were dying when I found you, and you never quite stopped dying since."

A wretched silence filled the air.

Panthera raised his eyes to meet her own. "Is that true? Even as we played, as I cajoled with you- when you were young, you saw that?"

"Yes." She whispered, sighing. "Oh, YES. It was... horrible, seeing you like that. In the village, after you were healed enough to walk, then to run and play, as mother and father taught you our language, I could see an ever-present shadow. When we went swimming that time - do you remember, Panthera, when you told me who you were?"

"Yes... I remember."

"We were playing in the creek - you were so frightened of the ocean, you hadn't told us why, just that you were - and your eyes had lost some of their shadows. I had said-"

"'Oh Panthera, look, it's Didre, I always wanted to ride her. Papa said not to, horses like her would buck a child off unless treated right.'" Panthera replied, finishing what little Celeste had said so long ago.

"Yes."

Screams rent the air. Sweating and bleary-eyed, Panthera looked around; to his left stood Horace, shield at the ready, protecting him from the Temuj'I arrows, and to his right stood the former Skandian slaves, bows in hand, and arrows at the ready. Unconsciously, Panthera felt himself shouting different positions, and shooting his own arrows into the horde of riders.

Lightning flashed and suddenly an arrow was arcing towards him, Horace paid it no mind, seemingly stepping out of its way so it might pierce Panthera's flesh. Panthera cried at his limbs to move, to do something, yet all he could do was stand and wait for his doom to meet him, face on.

Thunder rumbled and suddenly he was thrust from his body, forced to watch it fall to the ground, forced to wonder at the pain it must be feeling.

Wind whistled by as Horace ran from his form, attacking the hordes of horsemen with only his shield and sword, slaying many, yet finding more to fight.

One bowmen fell to his knees, an arrow slicing into his throat, another was felled by a sword. Panthera's once-deadly lines were massacred in a matter of seconds.

Darkness.

Nothing but black surrounded him now. Panicked, Panthera yelled for someone to come out. It was too quiet, it was to silent, it was too much. His cries were swallowed by the nothing, and his fears grew to enfold him. His mind screamed for anything, his voice was gone.

"You did this to us…" A whisper, tickled his neck.

"I could still be alive if it weren't for you." Something trailed down his side, the ghost of a hand.

"Why would you do this?"

"What did you have against us?"

A sly voice cut through the questions, a familiar voice… "So, Panthera, since you've joined my force, I have a job… killing those who displease others… and if you don't- well, you know what will happen."

An echo, a past word, his own voice: "Yes Master," brainwashed into doing one man's wishes, "for the good of this world, I will serve you.

Serve you…

I will serve you.

Blinding white light…

A scream, a flame...

…a rocking feeling, some waves, and the tangy smell of salt…

…And a new land, with new people.

And at last, a new beginning to start another life.

The morning following all that had happened, found two adopted siblings eating biscuits, butter, and sausages.

The silence between the two was not pained, or tense, just simply the type of comfortable silence that people sometimes share when nothing lies between them, when secrets aren't considered, nor mentioned. This was the type of silence someone could live in for the rest of eternity, and not need human words to fill.

What was to come, they would face together; whether it be bad, or good, they knew, this is what they fought for – so they might keep fighting.

Gilan returned to the rented room empty-handed and sorely-angry. He was greeted like-wise by both Halt and Horace, although Horace's expression was a little less extreme.

"I take it you found nothing, as well?" Horace asked, grumpily sagging onto the small cot.

"If I had found something, do you think I'd just be standing here?" Gilan replied, testily.

"Oh no, Horace had a right to ask, we both know how distracted you can get when out at the market especially one's in foreign lands." Halt snarled back at him, eyebrows forming thunderclouds over his eyes.

"Oh by all means, take everything out on me!" Gilan threw his hands in the air, "I'm not the one who made the last pot! You made it, Halt, believing we had plenty coffee left. Maybe, oh wise and elderly master of mine, you could have checked the bag before you dumped the last grains into the pot – oh wait, it wouldn't have mattered, because you're going blind!"

"Why I should-!" Halt jumped up, hand reaching for his saxe.

"Oh really, well then I will-!" Gilan went to retaliate, hand curling into a fist.

On the bed, Horace stared at the two Rangers, wide-eyed. He had known Rangers were very dependent on coffee, and enjoyed it himself as well, but had he known they got like this when they ran out… well suffice to say, he was willing to stay far away from the pot in the future – should either of his friends make it that far.

Just as the two fully-fledged killers were about to tear out each other's necks, a confidant knock resounded on the door. Looking quite put upon, Gilan and Halt retracted their rhetorical (?) claws, and backed away from the other. Re-sheathing his saxe, Halt gestured to Horace to open the door.

Behind it stood a rather lanky man who introduced himself as Derdan, before beginning his speech in a rather thick and crazy sounding language. Lots of gesturing, and paper-waving occurred, before he realized that although Halt and Gilan were nodding and making appropriate humming and hawing noises, they had never actually answered any of his questions.

Realization lit the man's face, before he handed Gilan a flier, and jogged away.

"Err…"

"Well don't just stand there you dunce," Halt growled, snatching the pamphlet from his startled former-apprentice; "let me see that."

Indignantly, Gilan went to slam the door, only to be met with the same man from not-ten-seconds-ago, and their guide from the forest, _.

"This 'ere is a knifer, if you know wha' I mean." He winked at Gilan. "But don' worry, 'e isn' on the job righ' now. 'e is doin' somethin' else." A jab to the guide's side and an angry glower caused him to cringe. "Er, but tha's not wha's importan'. Righ' now, tonigh' in fact, this 'ere fella, an' 'is crew, is gonna be puttin' on a show. I'm no' exac'ly sure wha' they're gonna be showin', bu' you can' miss i'! Gotta come an' see i' tonigh'!"

The stage seemed to stretch on and on forever, there was no end.

A hand placed on his shoulder, caused Panthera to jump in the air and whirl around, a grinning Henia met his gaze. "Relax, to everyone your story tonight, is just that, a story. No one within this tent, will believe any of it to be true, it's why chose yours to do – because it's so unbelievable."

"But I believe it; I know everything that we are going to portray, has happened." Panthera rasped back at her, his internal pain showing through.

"Oh, Panthera…" Henia whispered, heart clenching, yet not understanding – never understanding. How could he have believed he could be happy? He belonged to Master, his past and his future. Both of them did.

Halt, Horace, and Gilan handed their slips of paper to the man at the entrance of the tent, and slipped inside. Surprisingly, it wasn't cramped within, rather very well-spaced and aired. Evidently, the small entrance hid the length of the tent, as it went much further back than any of them expected.

After wandering a bit, they found a bench with enough room for the three of them, relatively close to the stage, and by an aisle – for easy escape should the need arise. Hey, in a foreign land, you never knew about these things.

The three of them chattered for a bit, outlining escape plans, and types of situations that might come up. Eventually, they heard the murmuring die down, just as the tent flap was closed – and they were thrust into darkness.

While Halt and Gilan began to scan the shadows for possible threats, Horace noted a candle flickering to life on stage.

Every eye was drawn to the center as a woman lying on a bed was rolled into sight. A haunting melody floated in the air, as she opened her mouth to sing.

The tent was closed, and Panthera's story was about to begin; initially he'd thought to start it with his father, as Halt fought alongside the man who fathered him, but he'd decided to tweak it a bit, since that memory brought him such an ache in his heart, so he'd explained to his fellows that they would begin with his mother, who birthed him alone in a hut, her man off in a war.

Henia had suggested the song, and after hearing Giselle sing it, Panthera had readily agreed – it fit the situation perfectly.

And now, on stage, all eyes were fixed on an acquaintance portraying his mother, her own child acting as him.

Pulling out his flute and closing his eyes, Panthera began to play behind the curtains.

On a day like any other,
Alone was a soon-to-be mother.
She panted, and cried, and screamed for aid,
Yet no-one did come,
For war was upon them.

Writhing in pain,
And cursing his name,
She panted, and cried, and screamed for aid.
And still, come they did not;
For freedom they fought.

With an almighty push,
And an adrenaline rush,
She panted, and cried, and screamed for aid.
A babe born from death,
Then stole her last breath.

And limply she fell, her jaw slack and dead;
Lying flat and obscure, splayed out on that bed,
A mother she was, for two seconds, no more,
Before leaving that world, and flying away
To meet her own husband, by the gates of the pure.

And a babe, left behind, was forgotten to lie
Betwixt the legs of his mother, no chance for a sigh.
He waited, and waited, then cried and grew silent,
Afraid and abandoned, and none left to remember
When a man in cowl, with a bow, came to find him.

Panthera placed the flute at his feet, and opened his eyes to watch the end of the scene.

Giselle – as his mother – was wheeled of the stage, her form splayed and bent, as a hideous carcass that had been left far too long. But her babe, as himself, was left in a cradle, and standing by the cradle was Terian – his Halt look-alike – gazing down at Giselle's baby with such a look of forlorn sadness, that Panthera's legs almost buckled and caused him to fall.

He had told his story earlier on, and it was now up to these acquaintances of his to portray it – already they were doing a fantastic job, he actually believed he was watching his own life from the sidelines this time.

"Halt." Gilan whispered, staring wide-eyed at the stage. "Halt, is that a Ranger?"

So much had happened in the first few minutes of the play, and at the appearance of the small man dressed in forest-green and carrying what appeared to be a longbow on his back, at the cradle of the baby, Halt had felt such a sinking yet bubbly feeling, that he hadn't known how to respond.

First the death of the woman after giving birth, then the baby left in a cradle to be found by – well, it appeared to be – him; was making him feel all out of sorts. Gilan's interruption had only proved that he wasn't asleep. So how did they know?

"Just… just watch, Gilan. That is a Ranger; and right now, I think our best bet on figuring out how they know about us, is to watch this play."

They might not understand what was being said, but if this was going to go along the path Halt thought it was, he didn't need words at all. After all, an image was worth a thousand words, wasn't it?

Terian grabbed the baby, swaddled him in a blanket and 'exited' the house of the deceased woman. The entire stage's floor rotated – this was accomplished through the center being on a slightly raised dais, that turned when a crank was cranked behind the curtains and offstage.

As the wall of the house came around (sitting on the dais as it was) to the back, several men grabbed it and hauled it behind where it couldn't be seen again.

Terian walked along the slowly turning dais – as if he were walking many miles to reach some destination. Time passing, was shown by another – vertical – dais rotating over his head with the sun, moon, and stars painted on it, to portray many days passing.

Finally, Terian reached his destination, a tall house (placed on the dais by the same men who pulled the last one off) with its windows painted yellow, and its bricks dark, to show it being night time when Terian arrived. Sighing, Terian placed the babe on the doorstep, gave a knock to the door, and fled to hide behind a bush nearby.

Giselle emerged from the door – this time made up to look like a mistress – and gazed down at her legitimate child. "Oh, my baby, lost and forgotten are you- what is this? A note I see…" She picked up the child and flipped open the note. "Such a simple note, 'His name is Will, his father died a hero, please care for him.' Oh poor Will." She hugged the child to her breast before re-entering the house, as it was rotated into the back.

A curtain hid the audience from Panthera's view as he rushed to congratulate Giselle and Terian, and to pat the child on the forehead – they'd done well so far.

"That was Will." Halt whispered, as clapping filled the air. Equally shocked expressions met his. "I was the Ranger that placed him at the door, and the baby was Will. Someone… somehow has his story."

"But… how?" Horace asked, jaw still slack at this revelation – he had begun to grow suspicious at the sight of what could only be a Ward House.

"I don't- I don't know."

"Well." Gilan said, in the following silence, "Like you said earlier, our best bet is to wait and see what comes next. There's a slim possibility, this is all a coincidence."

"A very slim possibility," – Horace emphasized, as a slight figure climbed a wooden tree to steal pastries off a window on one section of the dais, while another was sat on by a boy quite similar to Horace in looks and build – "practically non-existent."

So far, everything had gone brilliantly. Panthera was extremely pleased with everyone's interpretation so far. He'd done nothing but contribute his music, something he only ever contributed to these performances, since he preferred to play over standing before hundreds of citizens any day.

But since this was his story, he would eventually have to go out there; he had managed to wrangle several of the younger Assassins to play all of his time on that… older land, whereas he would act what he must since landing on the shore by the small fishing village wherein Celeste and her family had resided.

As each scene happened, the group of Araluens regretted entering the tent more and more – old memories brought to the fore again.

The battle against Morgorath, hunting Kalkaras, captured by Skandians… brief instances of painful days recounted to them skimpily by Evan- err, Princess Cassandra. Information, none of them had known was being acted before their eyes, perhaps it was invented, but none of them believed that internal lie for second.

They saw the battle for Skandia happen again, but this version seemed different – no, it was different, the ending was… harsh.

Will, their Will, was pierced by an arrow; the poison began to seep into his form, killing him slowly. When the healers went to work on him, the man acting as Halt gestured for them to stop, some words were spoken – and oh how they trio wished in that moment that they could speak the native language. They were missing something vital, something so crucial, they could feel it in their bones.

Halt Two finished arguing with the medic, and the man, having lost, left Will to… die, as per Halt Two's orders?

Flabbergasted, they saw themselves place Will's form on a boat, with food 'for his journey to the afterlife' Erak had explained when they asked, 'We do not bury our dead, not only is that a queer thing to do in our minds, and against our beliefs, the ground here is too hard for digging, frozen as it is, so we set them afloat to sail and pillage and adventure their ways to Valhalla.'

This burial was not as respectful. No tears were shed for the form in the boat, an angry Halt Two shoved the boat away from the shore, shook a fist at it, and turned to leave.

The curtains closed, and a man walked up on stage gesturing to the open tent flap, and food booths in the distance.

Evidently, the play had more to tell.

"That's not what happened!" Gilan swore, glaring at the curtains. The three Araluens had found themselves shoved by the surrounding crowds out of the tent, as the masses left to find foods and drinks. "I mean, yeah from what you guys explained when you returned, and from Cassandra's explanation, most of that was pretty accurate – but you and Horace said his funeral was respectful, wasn't it?"

"Yes Gilan, Will's funeral was entirely respectful." Horace replied, rubbing his head in confusion. "I would have slain any person who acted otherwise. However, what I want to know; is what else do they have? This story is obviously about Will's life. But they're done, they finished it, he's dead." Horace's voice caught at the last word. Even now, Will was missed. Horace continued, ignoring the ache he felt whenever he thought about Will's shortened life. "There isn't anything left for them to tell."

"That also worries me." Halt put in, "But mostly I wonder how they have this information, some spy that followed Will since the day he was born? Who… came all the way over here to turn his life into some kind of production? It's simply… confusing, I am honestly puzzled."

"I want to find the creator of this show. Don't the creators usually bow at the end?" Asked Horace, after the three spent a moment in contemplation.

"In Araluen, yes they do; but here? I have no idea."

Panthera really didn't want to put away his instruments. So far they had kept him alive, and in the light, but now he had to relive all that had brought him to this moment since waking to Celeste. His reactions to being abandoned had been suppressed for so long, and now what he did next would bring them back, he might just have an actual fit while on the stage.

Celeste was in the audience, he'd seen her sitting in the very first row, sympathetic eyes seeking his form out, searching for the source of all the haunting melodies. They had locked eyes at one scene change, and he had almost stopped playing his lute, his fingers had trembled so much.

And there she was, having climbed onstage to find him, right by the curtains – just waiting. "Oh Celeste," he whispered, jogging over to her, "I am so frightened."

Warm arms encircled his waist, her head pressed itself against his head, and her nose found its way into his neck. Breathing deeply, he felt her smile against his skin. "Panthera, I am here for you. Always, I'll be here." They stood like that for many minutes, pressed against each other; one searching for comfort, the other exuding it.

When Celeste went to lean away, Panthera kept his arms tight around her shoulders, so much that only her head went backwards. When Panthera finally felt satiated, his arms slackened their tight hold on his sister, and she leaned her head back to look up at him.

Her hands reached up to hold either side of his head, so she could gaze directly into his eyes. She stared, making sure he understood her love for him, before leaning up and forward to kiss him on the nose, "Always." And she was gone.

Panthera breathed heavily, before admitting aloud, "I needed that." Already he felt lighter.

"Celeste?" A voice asked, as arms slung themselves under his arms and wrapped around his chest.

"Mm. My sister, she is perfect; I love her." Panthera nodded, leaning slightly back into the new body hugging him from behind and grasping the hands clasped together at his front.

"You two are perfect together. I would get jealous, if I didn't understand just how much you need the other."

"There are many different types of love; the love you and I share – for truly, I do love you greatly – is powerful and aggressive." So saying, Panthera spun in the loose hold and pressed himself tightly against the now-flushed Henia. "Whereas with Celeste… it is a soothing breeze that blows away all my cares." Here he stepped back a pace, to admire her cherry-red lips and blossom-pink cheeks.

"I would give neither of you away for the world. You are both perfect in every way imaginable. And if you think anything less of yourself, because I love another just as fiercely as yourself, then you are not the woman I thought you were."

Henia winked saucily at him, "Ah but remember, I said 'I would get jealous, if I didn't understand.' However, since I do understand…"

"Then you are all that I ever suspected." Panthera completed for her, before pulling her in for fierce kiss.

Celeste smiled at her brother's display, and quietly excused herself.

It was Daniel that had found them, a few minutes later. He looked rather pleased with himself. Perhaps Panthera should murder him in his sleep – that sounded like a plan. "What Daniel?"

"The audience is almost back in their seats." Daniel giggled – really though, what grown men giggled? "So I was told to make sure you were ready. Besides," his voice turned serious. "I know you have been stressing over this for quite some time, so I thought I would help calm you. But," his voice turned wicked again. "It appears you may need a different way than a back massage to calm you down this time."

Yep, definitely murdering him. Panthera decided, as Henia giggled in response to Daniel's observations. "I might be able to help you with that." Henia suggested, trailing a finger down his side.

Ooh, but maybe Daniel was right. "Err, how much time do we have?" Voice cracking, since it was so shrill and – it wasn't his fault!

Sobering up, Daniel glanced back toward the entrance. "Probably five minutes, maybe seven. You two will have to be fast."

Panthera grabbed Henia's hand. "Ah, very well." Damn his voice was shrill. "That's enough time. Uh, we will be back. Don't bother reminding us, uh, I won't forget." That being said, Panthera practically dragged Henia into the nearest changing room, curtain sliding shut behind them.

Daniel snickered to himself for a bit, and as he was turning, saw the room's former occupant heading for it. "Oh Terian, I really would not go in there, if I were you."

"Uh… why shouldn't I?"

"Your room has been commandeered by our beloved Panthera and his even more beloved Henia. If you know what I mean?"

Terian's brows lowered as he considered that statement until, finally, he got it. "Oh… oh, you mean-?" At Daniel's nod, he shook his head and wrinkled his nose. "They had better not use my seat; I might just cut something off if they use that."

"Oh." Daniel winced. "That might be just a bit drastic?"

"No. Not when that seat played an important role in Giselle's child."

Daniel grimaced at that. "Perhaps things can be cut off, like ears or noses, but still… I personally think those things are still too drastic."

"Good thing I'm not you then, isn't it?" Terian grinned wickedly, a silver blade appearing in his left hand as he began to explain certain cutting procedures.

Although the blade filled Daniel with no feeling what-so-ever, it was the impossible and frightful images he began to imagine from Terian's description that caused Daniel to flee. Good luck Panthera, I hope you didn't use the chair.

"Halt…" Gilan began, taking a seat beside his former-master. "Whatever happens next, it's likely something made up. There wasn't anything more to Will's life. He's gone, Halt. This could all just be coincidence, it must be."

Halt sighed, but answered slowly. "Agreed. However, we still need to find the person who has written this tale, so we can figure how they have so much intelligence regarding Araluen's history – for the safety of the kingdom." And for my own peace of mind, Halt mentally added to that sentence.

All three quieted down – along with the rest of the masses – when the tent flap closed, and the second act began.

Much like the beginning of the play, the second act started with Giselle singing along with Panthera's instruments.

And while she sang, a candles placed on the gunnels of a small boat lit the face of the same actor who had portrayed Will.

Abandoned and sent adrift,
A body did roll and shift,
In a little dory swept along an oily sea.

Through monstrous waves and swift storms,
A dinghy, pushed beyond all norms,
Was swept and tumbled, between vying crests and dark troughs.

As Giselle went on with her ballad, and Panthera let the music carry him into oblivion; three men from a land so far away only one person would recognize them, gasped and shivered at the reality of what the body of their friend may have gone through.

Yet even more shocked were they, when the body awoke to thrash weakly before falling under what must have been unconsciousness, several times over. At long last, after several gales, and shining days, Will – for they could think of the actor as no other – awoke for such a length of time, that he was able to discover the sacks of soggy and rotten food, and the several casks of fresh water; Will greedily drank from those.

Appearing refreshed, yet still confused, the boy looked out at the vast and open sea surrounding him, with nothing in sight. He rummaged within the dinghy for a few more moments, until he found a small re-curve bow, and a quiver of arrows – the bow had soaked in so much sea water, the crowd immediately knew it was useless, indeed Will seemed to think so too, when he angrily threw it back into the bottom.

The boy fell asleep, and the vertical dial at the back of the stage was turned several times again to show the passing of time – on each morning, Will would drink less and less water, occasionally eating the molding food bits, until he was entirely out. Eventually, he fell into unconsciousness again.

The slow and constant turning of the time dial pushed the audience into deep anticipation. If nothing happened, surely the boy would die – he already appeared to be in a coma.

Suddenly, from nowhere, the boat – literally – tumbled against a shore that no one had seen, and was stuck fast. The music stopped at the same instant that a small girl stuck her head over a hill and spotted the dory.

Dead silence crawled across the audience as the small child crept closer to the boat. The very same instance she placed her hand on its rail, a sound like an instrument string breaking sliced through the silence. Like one, the girl and the crowd leapt into the air in surprise.

She had seen the boy within.

Turning to face the direction she had come, the girl fled to find her parents, "Come and see! We must help him."

None of the audience noticed the worried woman in the front row watching a form running to a crumpled one by the sound's origin – all had assumed it was intentional, but she could guess better.

"Panthera!" Daniel whisper-yelled, running over to his companion who was currently crouched on ground clutching his face. "Are you," he panted heavily. "Are you alright?"

"…no." Panthera replied, digging his hands into his eyes, "No, I am not. But…" Here he paused to take a deep and ragged breath, "I have to be alright… the show cannot stop, Master's commands cannot be betrayed…"

Daniel felt helpless as he watched his friend, always so strong and indifferent, displaying emotions he had never taken note of before.

And yet, even now, that strong indifference was struggling to take control once more, struggling to force the slight frame of its owner into submission.

"Don't worry Daniel, everything will continue. Just… when everything is over, will you bring Celeste to me? She is in the very first row. If you could get her before everyone pushes her out; that would be wonderful. I'm alright now, go back to your duties, really." He added the last word when Daniel failed to move an inch.

"Fine. Panthera, you managed to dissuade me for this moment, but later tonight, I will hide you away in our shared room, and not let you leave until you have had some real rest. Understand? (Your Panther) will be with you, too."

Panthera smiled, with real warmth this time – friends were wonderful things. "Yes, understood. Thank you Daniel, now off to work."

As the play continued on, Celeste grew more and more worried, Panthera's musical accompaniment had seemed to grow more and more frantic and spiky as recent events drew nearer. True, it went beautifully with the events occurring in the play – one reason a part of her told her not to worry, and that everything was intentional – but it wasn't like him. She knew what his suspenseful and wired music sounded like, this wasn't it. The extreme chords being played were coming directly from his nerves. This is what his music sounded like, when it was raw.

Finally, with the ending scene of Panthera and herself traveling away from their desolate and ransacked village, Celeste was free to find Panthera. But unfortunately, before she could so much as step forward, she felt herself being pulled from her destination by the sudden exit of the crowds.

Sullenly, she allowed herself to be yanked from her seat and be released outside, quite the distance from her original destination.

And yet, just as she was about to return to her beloved brother, she heard three gentlemen speaking in a language only she knew from said formerly mentioned sibling.

Araluen?

After being deposited outside of the tent by the rowdy crowd, too shocked was the trio to protest much, Horace turned to both his Ranger companions to say the first thing that came to his mind, "I really wish I could speak this native language!"

Before either of his disgruntled Rangers could utter a word in reply, a slight woman thrust herself before him with wide eyes.

Gilan snorted, thinking Horace was about to be offered something, err, unmentionable.

"Araluen!" She said, instead, shocking all three of them.

"Eh, what?" Horace asked, staring at her with unblinking and uncomprehending eyes.

"Yes! Yes, I knew! You are from Araluen!" She said again, in very near perfect Araluen, delight lighting up her face.

Halt pushed Horace out of the way, and stared at the woman inquisitively. "Yes, we are from Araluen." He confirmed for her, watching her face for any and all reactions.

He was not disappointed.

Whoever this woman was, she knew not only their tongue, or their homeland's name, but she also seemed familiar with their garb.

"I must… I must tell- but no, he doesn't- um." She murmured, half in her own native tongue, and half in theirs.

"Who…?" Gilan prodded, realizing what Halt was onto. This woman knew them, well their kind anyway; meaning she could either be the sly herself, but from what she was saying, it sounded like she knew the real informant.

Just then a short/tall (what is he?) figure appeared from the crowds and grabbed the woman's arm, and began jabbering in her native tongue.

"Celeste! Thank goodness I found you! Panthera needs you now; he says he's seeing his ghosts. He says, I don't even know, he says… just… Panthera needs you. Come!" He sharply tugged her on the arm, paying no mind to the trio of men he was attempting to pull her from.

Making a split-second decision, Celeste glanced at the men whose names she still didn't know and called out in Araluen "Come!" before speeding up to overtake Daniel.

Behind the stage, curled in a ball and being held by Henia, was Panthera.

Everything the play had contained – although not complete in its entirety – had succeeded in tearing him apart. He knew, distantly, that Terian had fled to contact Master; after all, an insane Assassin is a problem that must be dealt with. And Panthera believed him insane – he would almost gladly be locked away and dealt with, perhaps then his phantoms would leave him.

This whole once-a-year-let's-have-a-play-on-my-recruits'-backgrounds was actually a ploy for Master to weed out his nigh-crazy followers, it had worked so far – a close fifteen former followers having found themselves crazed and dealt with, whatever that meant.

Panthera had known his time was coming, had confessed such to Celeste and Henia, telling them that he feared for his own sanity.

Daniel and the others had scoffed, claiming him the most cool-headed person they knew, how and why would he break?

Henia had promised to keep him safe – a lie he couldn't tell her he knew about. And Celeste had simply crawled into his lap and held him, the best reaction he could have hoped for – they had both cried.

And now here he clutched his knees to his chest, fingers digging into his calves and form quivering and twitching, as he battled his demons, trying to keep them back.

This is what Celeste and the three Araluens ran inside to find.

Halt, Gilan, and Horace halted to watch the next events, wondering at their involvement, whereas Celeste tumbled to the ground to enfold the trembling body in her arms.

"Hshhhh… no don't cry baby, you're okay my dear, you are fine." She murmured, burying her face into his hair, gesturing at Henia to draw away. "My dear, sweet Panthera, what is wrong? What pains you? No, no don't answer, just calm down and breathe."

Panthera listened eagerly to her calming voice, at the moment her words didn't exactly pierce through the fog that hung over his head, so lost was he, but her presence did – and he felt himself awakening. Slowly, oh so slowly, he was waking up to the real world again, and even more slowly, his fingers were releasing their hold in his own flesh.

Horace gasped quietly when the curled form revealed itself to be a boy, a boy who had dug gashes in his own legs, so tight his fingers had been gripping his legs. Blood trickled down his calves when the pressure was released.

Those same bloody fingers found their ways around Celeste's waist, and grasped tightly against the small of her back, when he finally decided to seek comfort in someone other than himself.

Still, the Araluens were unable to see his face, as the minute he pulled it from his knees; it was shoved into the crook of the girl's neck and buried from sight.

Breathing deeply the scent of his sister, Panthera felt his heartbeat begin to subside from near-death to a steadier rhythm. Perhaps he wasn't going crazy after all – maybe he could keep her safe longer than he had imagined.

Just as this thought made itself known, he opened his eyes and raised his head just the slightest so he could peer over her shoulder, and stiffened at what he saw behind her. "Celeste…" He croaked, eyes widening and hands tightening so much they turned white again.

Having felt Panthera relax, Celeste had believed them out of the woods, so she you might imagine her feeling of foreboding when his body went rigid once more, and then his uttering of her name sent a shiver down her spine. "Yes?" She asked, preparing herself for something drastic.

"I really am insane. Celeste, I see their ghosts, behind you… Celeste." He sobbed, fear spiking his voice.

Fearing an empty wall, Celeste twisted around to gaze at where he was staring. One might imagine her confusion at the sight of the three Araluens staring curiously back. Oh… "Oh… Panthera, I see them too. I brought them here, Panthera…" She switched to Araluen, both that the trio might understand what was occurring, and that the other Assassins might not. "They are not ghosts, they're real, and I see them too."

But she had lost him; he'd fallen back into his pit of despair. One bonus, however, was his automatic transition to speaking Araluen in response to her own. "I truly am lost… Celeste I can no longer keep you safe – all that I feared has come to pass: my ghosts are here, Master will be coming – Terian ran to fetch him – and I can no longer keep you safe."

"No, no Panthera – it hasn't! These are real Araluens, outside I found them, they even wear the garb of a Ranger!" Both Gilan and Halt went to grasp their saxes at her words, whatever that was happening, they were at the center of – evidently they were about to find the source of that play's information rather quickly.

"Don't you see?" Panthera lurched away from her, his hood covering his face even further than before, only his chin visible, everything else covered in shadows. "It's them!" He gestured wildly in the trio's direction, "My former traitor friends." He spat, disgust rolling from his tongue and landing like a fat globule in Celeste's face.

Them…? She whirled to face the trio, all currently resting their hands on their weapons in anticipation. "You're not- you can't be- please tell me you aren't!" She whispered, horror filling her expression.

"What?" Horace asked, all of his confusion displayed in that one word.

"Halt, Ranger Halt. One of you, are you Ranger Halt?"

Halt stiffened, surprise flitting across his face. "I… am." He finally said, glancing at Gilan through the corner of his eyes.

"Oh..." The girl replied, placing a hand to her breast, and then she placed another hand to her arm and pinched herself – nope, still there.

"Is that a problem?" Gilan finally ventured, when Halt made no move to speak.

"Oh hell…" Celeste cursed.

And then Master walked in. "Panthera of Araluen, as Terian my witness, you have gone over the edge and are required to be detained; to keep both yourself and those around you safe from your possible future actions."

"Yes!" Panthera shrieked, leaping up – still speaking Araluen – and hood falling back to reveal his crazed and wild face. "Yes Master! Save me from myself!" His hands were bent upward in a faint but obvious pleading motion.

But none of his words registered in the trio's minds when his face was revealed; because suddenly everything made sense, and suddenly it really didn't.

Because standing before them, with eyes glinting and sweat trailing down his forehead stood a living and breathing replica of Will – their Will. So maybe, after everything, there wasn't a spy in Araluen at all – just a man who had died, come back to life…? Not that that cleared much up – it was impossible. And yet, evidently it was not.

The End.

You can read the following chapter for my final author's note, if you'd like to understand why and how this chapter is the last. If not, thank you to anyone who's been waiting on this story. It's been a long time coming and I am immensely grateful for all of your support.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Have a Merry Christmas and best wishes in the upcoming year, 2023.

-Kangarooney-