I seem to be getting better at this. Yes, another chapter, just a few days after the last. For once, there is no three-month gap! I've recently been on a massive writing binge, so I've been churning out chapters all week onto my computer (the word doc for this full story is now over 100 pages long XD)

I'd like to thank Edweis, who reviewed the last chapter. I am an idiot who didn't realise that keeping track of all the storylines is difficult. From now on, I will briefly summarise where the characters are and what has happened recently. I just don't want to confuse anybody else (sorry, Edweis)! From now on, I will also italicise the important things in these notes.

RECAP:
Tori has joined the bounty hunters, and Gilbert is uncomfortable with her doing so (for unknown reasons). They have now left Aralos.
Lukas and Emilia are still on Aralos, and have entered a rich city called Nakuuria which has a bizarre king.
Lovino and Feliciano remain on Rela, and Lovino is injured, having been stabbed in the stomach.
The rebels had left Aralos, and are now back at their base on Nyma

WARNINGS: Implied paedophilia (two chapters in a row, yes), mentions of child marriage, rape and child murder

Also, if you want a good grasp on what the 'forest' on Nyma looks like, google 'dragon's blood tree' and just imagine them a lot larger, and in pretty much the same climate.

CHARACTER NAMES:
Aija: Female Latvia
Romeo: Seborga
Kari: Svalbard (an OC of mine, practically just femNorway though)

I think that's everything? And sorry for the long A/N? Anyway, enjoy!

Nakuuria,
Aralos,
19th Janwir

It could have been the differences between the climate. After all, Fynkn was arctic and snow to the core, and as long as it had been, Nakuuria was likely the hottest place they'd stayed. It could have been the food – unusual and varied, half the time he had no clue what he was eating. It could have been the strange language that tumbled from the lips of everyone around him, not a single word registering in his mind. It could have been the pressures of remembering that he was supposed to be named 'Adem' – when it was only the two of them, it didn't matter so much, but being around people now, there was pressure.

But what set his thoughts flurried, what made every hair on the back of his neck stand up, what made his stomach clench with greater discomfort every time he saw the bearded, robed man, was not the land, or the culture, or the food.

It was Vaek.

Since day one, the guard who had granted them entry to this strange city had been lingering, shooting Lukas furtive glances and muttering in what sounded like Jhobrasian. He had adopted a pained, worried look every time he saw Emilia, and it frightened Lukas more than he would ever, ever admit. Whenever he attempted to confront the guard, however, he just drew himself up, forced a smile, and made some excuse that sent him scurrying in the opposite direction. Lukas was really beginning to get sick of it. The king already unnerved him, but Vaek's odd display was constantly putting him on edge. Something kept troubling him, it burned in his mind. He had heard but rumours about Nakuuria, but there were a few that had remained prevalent. But he couldn't quite recall it. It was endlessly frustrating, and he was starting to lose sleep over it. They had only been here for three days, it was true, and Lukas was split on whether they should stay or not. Though he would leave immediately if he sensed any threat to himself or his sister, they were comfortable here, not to mention that they were being well-fed for the first time in a long time. But Vaek's odd behaviour…

The guard had been dodging him since they arrived, but judging how he had acted when he'd first met Lukas, there was one sure-fire way to get him to at least pay attention.

The Base of Resistance Operations,
Unknown Location on Nyma
24th Janwir

"And you're sure that the pirates have her?"

Aija nodded, tears rolling down her face. The two of them had always been close, so Abel knew that she must have been destroyed by the news. He cursed softly. Matthew, who had been standing near the door, moved closer to the mousy-haired girl and put his arm around her shoulders. She sniffed, burying her face into his chest. Matthew had always been better at the 'comfort' part of this. Abel was there to accept the news and tell their superiors with a stoic expression while mentally formulating a plan. Tino's expression was pure concern, but he didn't move. He was dressed, as he almost always was, in his sniper's outfit. He was helping hijack a convoy over in the Gafadari Grasslands later that night, and liked to be extremely prepared.

Matthew and Abel made eye contact. This was bad. As a resistance member, the pirates who had captured their colleague would be well paid. As a woman of Daerna, any bounty hanging over her head would be doubled. And it wasn't as though these pirates had captured some lowlife grunt, either. Elizabeta had been with the Resistance since before the expansion, and was one of their highest-ranking officers, despite her young age (she was only 25), and practically contained their entire database inside her head. Elizabeta was tough, make no mistake – she could outlast torture and interrogation longer than the rest of them put together, but she still wasn't invincible, and considering some of the new tactics that Abel had heard of the Union using, she may just give up something vital. Not that he didn't have faith in her. He had plenty. He just didn't put it past the Union to use some despotic form of manipulation to get what they wanted.

And once they had what they wanted…

Well, Elizabeta would lose her head, just like all their friends which had been captured before her. They couldn't afford either the loss of information or her execution. That left them with only one choice: steal her back from the pirates before they could get her to Saijani loyalists. Difficult, but not impossible. Abel knew the pirates, and he knew their ship, as did Matthew. They only needed permission.

Considering what he would say even as he exited the tent, Abel set out in search of Yao.

Nyma wasn't a bad planet – far from the worst – but Abel was a man of Rywan, which had some semblance of cold. Nyma was and would remain a prime spot to get a flawless tan. The resistance had at least made note of the fact that, as they had fair-skinned members from places like Fynkn and Rywan, they should not build a base in the middle of some distance desert. Instead, at least, they'd had the decency to settle in Draak-Zafi Forra. When translated from Nymian to Common Standard, it meant 'Dragon-Tree Forest'. And a dragon-tree forest it was. The trees were unlike any other Abel had ever seen, with massive trunks that stretched up anywhere from 5 to 50 metres. Their branches were devoid of leaves, flowering and bursting with them only at the tops, which were arranged almost perfectly flat. The makeup of the plants gave them a great deal of room, but completely concealed them from above. So any Saijani ships trying to locate them would have a lovely view of the treetops, and nothing else. The ground was rocky and uneven, a great deal of the irregularities born of the massive, twisting roots of the trees. Despite this, large sections of free and relatively flat land were widespread, though many were now occupied with tents and shipping containers which had been converted into living spaces.

Abel navigated his way over the large roots of one of the trees, lifting a hand to wave at 15-year-old Romeo Bianchi, a Syhvvanian who appeared to doing target practice with the black sparrows that had a penchant for getting into their fresh food stores. Romeo waved back, taking aim at one such bird with an old crossbow, an act that Abel could only condone.

He slid down a small dirt cliff, formed when one of the magnificent trees had been brought down by an extreme thunderstorm and some misplaced lightning, approaching the large structure in the middle of the opening, one of the few permanent structures at their base. He craned his neck, trying to spot their leader. He noted him by one of the tables outside, bent low over a map. A familiar, pale-haired figure stood beside him. Abel nodded to her as he approached.

"Kari". The Fynknian looked up and nodded in return.

"Abel". She turned to Yao. "We can continue this later, I presume?"

Yao murmured in agreement, and she stood, marching from the clearing. Kari wasn't the most pleasant woman in the resistance, but she had skill, and more drive than half of them put together. And, she got on quite well with Elizabeta. Abel hoped not to be in the room when she found out what had happened to her Daernic friend. He winced at the very thought. Yao straightened, looking at him expectantly. Yao had been the leader of the resistance for several years now, and to many was a bit of an enigma figure. He didn't look that old in the face, but his hair was shot through with white streaks, and refused to tell anyone his actual age. He also wore gloves all the time, and Abel had never actually seen his hands. Despite these and his numerous other oddities, everyone still showed him the utmost respect. He also had no doubt that Yao knew exactly what he was here for.

"Elizabeta." He said by way of explanation. Yao nodded, not looking even a little surprised.

"I knew you would be coming around to ask me." Yao sighed, rubbing his forehead between his eyes, "You want to launch a rescue mission to save her."

"Yes, I do." Abel said, correcting himself after a moment "We do."

Yao sighed, "I am old enough to know about the spontaneity of young men and women." He tilted his head slightly, "Matthew is likely already gathering supplies." Abel wished he could argue that, but he knew Matt well enough to know that he wouldn't leave a friend in peril.

"Yes, he probably is."

Yao studied him a moment, before turning his eyes back to the map in front of him.

"Volunteers only. You can take a stealth ship, and five others, total. Be careful, and don't try to be heroic. Save her if you can, but if the risk is too great, you will just have to let her be taken. If you see an opportunity and you are confident it will succeed, capitalise on it, but only if you are confident." He turned again, reinstating eye contact. "Good luck, and be sure to keep us updated."

Abel bowed slightly. "Thank you, General. I swear, we will save her."

"I hope you do," Yao said, "she is important to this cause."

Abel nodded again and took his leave, watched all the while by a pair of sad, old brown eyes, which held only the hope that at least one of them would return alive.

Nakkuria,
Aralos,
21st Janwir

It had been almost insultingly easy to get it out of Vaek in the end. Though Lukas was going to give himself credit, instead of attributing it to the man's weak resolve. All he'd had to do was tell Vaek he needed to talk to him, and lured him into a corner away from prying eyes. After a few minutes of coercing him with both pleading words and by almost jamming his tongue down the guard's throat, he'd surrendered the information Lukas had so dearly needed. And now he felt only a simmering rage, accompanied with disgust that he had not been able to recall something so important about the man currently sheltering them.

Ugh, the seasonal shifts here must strike fear into the hearts of every young woman in the city.

Mirakh Nakuur: known for founding the richest city on Aralos, actively equalising the levels of wealth among his poorer citizens, being a surprisingly effective diplomat, and for marrying young girls, raping them and having them murdered in order to satisfy his sickening fetishes. He did it four times a year, one for each season, and had been doing it for the past 10 years. 40 girls, between the ages of 11 and 16, who he had defiled and killed, without a flicker of remorse.

How could he have been so stupid? That was why the King always wanted to spend time with his sister. Emilia was 15, and within the King's preferred age range, according to Vaek, which was why the guard had seemed so worried and concerned about her. He'd been dodging Lukas because they weren't allowed to say anything to discourage guests from leaving until the king could guilt them into marriage. Lukas had tried to settle Vaek's fears, assuring him that he would never tell a soul that it was him that warned them, though did give him warning that he intended on leaving with his sister. Vaek had looked legitimately disappointed that Lukas would be leaving, though he did agree that Emilia wasn't safe here. In order to resolve any of the guard's misgivings, he'd just continued to kiss him to the point that they would both undoubtedly have mononucleosis in a few weeks' time.

But now he needed a plan to get out. If he'd only known this before, they could have avoided entering the city entirely. It was one of the aspects of one of his gifts that he cursed. To look inside one's mind and read it like a book was so useful, and yet could be defeated by something as simple as a language barrier. Vaek's thoughts, no doubt many of which would have been about Emilia and what she may soon face, were in his native tongue. Lukas spoke Fynknian, Daernic, Syhhvanian, Rywanese, a scattering of the Reycausian Standard, and of course, Common Standard. But he did not speak Jhobrasian. And now he had to save his little sister from a disgusting, snuff-obsessed paedophile who wanted to marry her. Honestly, not what he had expected to have to do when they'd arrived on this barren, desert planet.

He shook his head, leaning against the door. Once he'd managed to disentangle himself from Vaek, he'd come back to his room to think, but not much was coming to mind. They still had the banquet to attend on the 25th. And it was this thought that got his mental cogs whirring. The banquet was supposedly going to be attended by important personnel, both from on and off Aralos. There would be so many people, it would be the ideal time to slip away. That is, if the king didn't interfere in some way.

He had seen it coming this time, because though Mirakh Nakuur lived on a planet where Common Standard was a secondary form of communication at best, some of his guards had it as their native tongue, and Lukas could read their intentions from a mile away. So when a trio of them began to follow him, he looked over his shoulder, made eye contact with each, and ran.

They bolted after him, no doubt expecting him to be some easy prey. Lukas had been running his entire life, not to mention he was slimmer and lither than them, and naturally had longer legs. Their shouts followed him as he darted down numerous hallways and passages, weaving among the large effigies and pillars that were dotted everywhere. The exorbitant wealth enjoyed by Nakuur was almost sickening, especially considering how poor some other Aralosians were. Though the Bondevik family had always enjoyed extravagances on Fynkn (obviously, as they were royalty) they always ensured that their people had enough before even thinking of extra luxuries for themselves. But he hardly had the time for the thought to cross his mind. He was flying down a flight of stairs towards the doors that he knew led to the west wing. There, he could find Emilia and warn her. He had to. To let that man even touch her would mean his failure as an older brother. And that was something he would not allow.

25th Janwir

She might as well have been chained, for all the good that her free and unburdened limbs were doing. A braver woman would have fought. A braver woman would have realised. But she was not brave. She was a girl of fifteen who was scared to death. The king's lecherous stares made everything ten times worse. She was dressed in a gown with a neck sliced so low that she wouldn't be surprised if her belly button was visible. She was in the middle of a room of strangers who looked at her sideways with almost mocking stares. And now that she knew why, she could understand it completely. How stupid they must think she was, to have fallen so perfectly into his trap. But worse than their stares; or the king's, worse than her isolation, and what she knew was coming, was his absence. Her brother was not here. The guard, Vaek, seemed very concerned when she asked if he knew where he was. She remembered the stiff answer he'd supplied her with, "likely a cell". And her subsequent panic. She could use her gifts, but not well, and as the second child, hers would always be weaker than Lukas' anyway. In the Free Courts, the gifts of the heir were always strongest. If the heir died, then the gifts of the second-born or next in line always strengthened. It was her greatest fear to be separated from her brother, and later find her gifts stronger. She didn't care about having power equal to his, she cared about having a living, breathing sibling.

The king had declared that he would be marrying her at the beginning of the banquet, then announced that this would act as their engagement party. Emilia had had to leave the room to be physically sick. She had sensed discomfort and worry from her brother in the last few days, but had not questioned it, attributing it to the strange environment.

She broke from her reverie to respond to a well-dressed woman who had asked her name. She was close, so close, to slipping up and saying 'Emilia Bondevik' instead of 'Sinta Agresti', but caught herself in time. The woman nodded, smirking before turning away, no doubt forgetting her name the moment after she heard it.

She met Vaek's concerned stare across the room. Her brother was in a cell, but Vaek seemed to like him. Save him, she silently pleaded, free him. Please, he is all I have left in the universe. Vaek stared.

When he was younger, Middi Ramba had spoken of witches. So frequently he could recite her superstitious tales and all their many contradictions by heart. That they were ugly, that they were beautiful, that they could enrapture you with a look, that they used the blood of infants in complicated spells. One common theme had been that they were seductive and manipulative.

He didn't think Adem Agresti was a witch. The boy had been manipulative yes, but that was to protect his sister. He didn't really try to seduce him at all. He had watched the younger boy's actions so closely that he would have known in a second if he even tried.

He didn't think Sinta Agresti was a witch. She was young, and sweet, but had attempted neither seduction nor manipulation.

Witches were not real. There were greater terrors to fear, greater evil to oppose. That was what Vaek had told Middi Ramba. Middi had smiled and responded "I know, but sometimes evil is not what we imagine it to be. Something evil can also be beautiful."

Middi Ramba would have heard the gentle urging that echoed around Vaek's mind in that moment, and she would not have called Sinta Agresti a witch. For the simple desire to help a sibling was no evil. He did not think Sinta was evil. He did not think Adem was evil.

His king was. Sinta was his prize, and Adem was his prisoner.

It was the gentle clinking of metal that stirred him from his thoughts. It was a familiar face, crumpled with concern, that alleviated his initial fears. It was the keys twisting in the locks that drove him to his feet.

Vaek didn't say a word. He nodded, held out a hand for Lukas to shake. He accepted it, but also kissed the guard in gratitude. He pulled away, squeezed his hand, and ran.

Vaek had already provided him with a large bag, in which the few personal belongings he had were stowed. As he passed through the halls, he gazed upon the riches around him, and extended his hands. Plaques and small statues vanished. Pieces of priceless cutlery, artefacts, even a fine rug, disappeared. He came across the chambers of the king himself, and, buoyed by the loud music continuing below, entered. Gold bands, strings of jewels, hand-mirrors, objects crafted from gold, silver, ivory and jade were transferred from their places to his bag. He collected bags of coins, rubies, diamonds, quartz and so many other precious gems he could not name them all. A small, soft glow drew his attention. A small stone, sitting on the king's dresser, pale green-gold in colour, and emitting a gentle light. The closer he got, the brighter it grew. Tesilurite. He pocketed that too. By the time the inebriated king would find his way back to his chambers, he would find it thoroughly stripped of his most valuable treasures.

Justice was sweet, and profitable.

Emilia retired to her bed early, as Vaek had gently bid. Once in her room, she almost cried out upon spotting Lukas. His arms around her were the greatest comfort, but his whispered 'hurry' had her pulling away from him and zooming around the room she had briefly inhabited, collecting her things (and stealing a few) and throwing them haphazardly inside her bag.

The Jhobrasian guard had set him free, but Lukas didn't want for Vaek to be punished. It was best that they escape quickly, and quietly.

And an hour later, the Aralosian king's roar of fury echoed throughout the castle, but was unheard by the two Fynknians, fleeing silently across the desert.