He moved to the side as he narrowly dodged a golden claw from her gun. He smirked as he slid to avoid another, taking a bite out of the apple she was supposed to grab out of his hands. He twirled back to the right, chuckling as he chewed.

"Would you hold still," she shouted as she tried another shot. He danced closer with a smirk and another bite, a simple sidestep to avoid it.

"What's wrong, can't hit a moving target," he joked, twirling around her, his faded gold jacket flowing behind him. He reached over her and tapped her nose.

The moment his hand retracted from her view she turned around and shot at him… only for it to miss. "Agh! How the hell do you hit a moving target?"

"I don't know why you're getting so bent out of shape. I thought you were an 'expert' thief," he taunted from behind her.

She growled in frustration at her uncle. She swiveled around and shot again. He stepped to the side and grinned. "C'mon. I'm just a 'decrepit old man'," he teased. "I can't move that well, you know."

She growled and glared up at him. "Is it your mission in life to make me miserable," she complained as she tried to grab the now half-eaten apple from his hands.

"It's my mission in life to make you a better person," he admitted after absentmindedly moving away. "Try something different- your technique is very rough." He watched as she paused to look down at the gun in thought. When she didn't say anything a thought occurred to him. "You've never actually used it." She looked up suddenly and he corrected himself, "I mean, you've tested it, of course, like any good inventor but never used it out here." He motioned to the rest of the desert.

He took a deep breath and reached for his gun. He turned away from her and began to walk. He looked back and jerked his head so she would follow, picking up the sack of provisions. He took another bite from the apple, eventually finishing it when they stumbled across a green buncher. It hopped about but a ripe babana could be seen hidden amongst its bright green growth. "You see that babana there?" She nodded. "Well, here I go. I'm going to get it."

As the creature hopped away, he closed an eye and took aim. He pulled the trigger and the grappling claw grabbed the babana with ease. The babana carrying creature moved further away from them and he smirked at his catch. "Now sometimes, it might not work. But keep trying. The best success, I've found, is waiting until you feel it in your gut. Let your instincts guide you. If you think you can make the shot, that you can get what you need, go for it!" He held his hand out, his palm facing the sand, and moved it slowly and smoothly. He tossed her the babana. "Enjoy," he said with a smile.

She caught it, though she seemed lost in thought. "Do you ever miss, uncle," she wondered as she absentmindedly peeled the babana to eat.

He rolled both his eyes and his shoulders. "Yeah," he admitted, looking down at the gun. "I sometimes do. I'm not perfect." He looked down at his gun and weighed it in his hands. "If I were, we wouldn't be in this desert." He shook the gun up at her. "And I wouldn't have needed to build this."

She smirked over her half-eaten fruit. "I'm glad you're not perfect," she said as they continued to walk. "If you were, you'd probably be the most unbearable person in the world," she prodded, elbowing him.

"Just what are you trying to say," he shot back with a grin.

"Oh nothing…," she countered as she grinned back.

They walked to a flatter part of the desert- they were nearing Al Mamoon. They stopped and began to train again.

Swaine moved around her, holding yet another apple. He often danced out of her way, but her shots seemed more focused. He couldn't help but smile at the improvement his advice had on her.

"Better, but still no apple," he mocked, holding up the red fruit. "Read into your target, the situation," he instructed as he continued to dodge her. "And don't be afraid to take a risk," he imparted as a quick whisper in her ear.

"Why do you keep mocking me," she whined after another unsuccessful shot.

"Because some enemies are smart enough to do so. It's a good diversion tactic," he told as he slid smoothly out of the way.

"Aren't your joints getting sore, old man," she jeered as she nearly missed another shot.

"They've been sore. I've been ignoring them," he returned as he ducked a stray claw. He held up the apple. "Are you going to get this apple or what?"

She stopped and thought for a moment. She watched him move, she recalled his movement when he suddenly dodged. If she could just change the trajectory at the last minute, that apple would be hers. She took aim again at the man so cockily showing off his own flare. She closed an eye and focused on the apple. She had it, she felt it in her gut, she pulled the trigger. She continued to aim as she watched the claw sail towards him. She saw him watch it as well, timing his next move. As he began to dodge yet again, she jerked the gun and the claw jarred towards the same direction he moved.

His eyes widened as he felt the apple leave his grasp. He stared down at the now empty palm and blinked. He slowly began to laugh. "You did it! Good job," he congratulated her. He approached her and smiled. The smile became more mocking in nature. "Now do it again," he said, swiping the fruit out her hand.

Her proud smile fell into an annoyed frown. "What," she shouted. "Again?!"

"Practice, my dear. Practice," he reminded her. "I didn't become a legend without it." He held the apple up again. "Now let's see if you can pull it off again."

They didn't move any further after that. The rest of their day was spent on her training. She found her technique improving, her timing quicker, her reflexes tuning to her newfound skill. Before long, she found herself grabbing the apple with the gun just as quickly as he had backed away with it.

"Let's call it a day," Swaine offered, placing the apple back in her hand instead of having her take it from him. He walked over to the provision bag and sat in front of it, groaning and stretching as he did so. "Ah, my joints," he complained. He watched as she slumped to the floor. "You tired, too?"

"Mentally," she responded as she reached into the bag. "Why do your joints hurt like they do?"

"Who knows," he groaned. "You'd think they'd be fine considering how much I move about but no..."

"Maybe all the battles you've been in triggered something," she theorized as she ate a sandwich.

He smirked sadly down at his own for a moment. "I'm not young, you know." He looked up at her. "I wasn't young in the legend either- when I helped Oliver prevent the world from ending." She paused from eating what was left of her food and looked up at him. "I'm a legend, but I'm still human, Lynnea." He smiled sadly. "I can't stop time." He held out his right arm and winced slightly. "I can't stop nature." He lowered his arm and tilted his head at her. "So I'm going to give it all I've got, whether it's saving the world or passing on my knowledge to you." He looked down, recalling past mistakes and shaking his head. He looked up with a determined glare. "Because I know that I might only have one chance to make the right choice."

"Is that why you don't want me to be a thief," she slowly began to ask. She looked down at her sandwich when he nodded at her. She finished eating her sandwich and got up. She walked over to him and sat next to him. She looked up at the clear night sky, at the many stars there were. "Uncle Gascon," she began, earning a hum in response. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Can you tell me about you and father as kids?"

"Huh?" He raised an eyebrow as he turned to look down at her. "You used to ask for stories about my adventures," he recalled. "Wouldn't you rather you hear about that?"

She shook her head. "I… Kind of miss home," she admitted softly. She giggled when she realized what she said. "And he never told me stories about you and him." She tried to bury her head in his shoulder to no avail. "And if he did… He did it so boringly! Like he didn't have a storytelling bone in his body!"

Swaine chuckled at his niece. "Now you know who did most of the storytelling and who did most of the reading between the two of us." He nodded at her. "Let's see if I can think of one good enough to tell." A devilish grin appeared on his face. "One that'll embarrass him," he decided in maniacal glee.

She glanced up at him despite the fact that she could only mostly see brown and grey curls. "That's why you're my favorite uncle," she complimented.

"I'm your only uncle," he corrected happily.

"True," she breathed.

He finally found a tale to tell: about a time when he and Marcassin snuck into one of the workshops for parts for a model pig tank. By the time he had reached the exciting part where they were chased out of the workshop, he heard a snore from beside him. He glanced over to see a snoring Lynnea, passed out from exhaustion and the lull of his voice. He smiled fondly and carefully pulled the hood over her head. He carefully wrapped his arms around her and laid her on her right side so sand wouldn't wear down her arm or clog any of the intricate mechanisms she had installed.

He watched as she snored peacefully. He patted her on her right arm. "Sweet dreams, my little porcine princess," he cooed softly before scooting over and laying down, himself. He rested his head on his left arm and quickly fell asleep.


A former imperial guard turned bounty hunter sat at a bar in a small tavern drinking a mug of beer. He wore a grey turban and a purple sash over his cream robe. His left eye had a scar shaped like stitches from a large gash and an eyepatch over it- the injury that forced him to eventually leave the guard. He overheard a group of men arguing about a chase they recently had.

"We should have looted the body," one of them gruffly said. "We could have gotten back the money she swindled off of us and then some."

"Shut it," the leader hissed, glaring at the black-bearded ruffian. "Do you want a bounty on our heads?"

"I'm just saying, that little brat owed us- er… owes us money," he shot back, leaning over his glass of ale. "We should have done something other than run, don't ya think?"

The bald man slammed the table with the side of his fist, snarling. "She fell off a roof, Earl! If she died, that's blood on our hands!" He scratched his chin and gazed up at the ceiling. "What was it the notice board said in Swift Solutions? Wanted alive for mass thievery?" He tapped his foot under the table as he glared at the bearded man making a fuss. "Even if we were bounty hunters, we wouldn't get the reward, would we?!"

"It's Emril," the one with a beard corrected him, rolling his eyes.

"Plus we'd be wanted for murder," another man with sideburns and an eyepatch simply said through a mouth of food.

The leader smacked the other one that spoke over the head causing him to choke. "Thank you, Sir Obvious- that's the reason I keep telling you fools to not discuss it! Let it go!" He grabbed his mug and held it up as he was about to drink.

"Er… Gavin? I don't think that's a possibility," another warned as he raised his hand to point at the former guard, now hovering near their table.

"Sorry to intrude, but I couldn't help hear about your run-in with a certain individual," he politely interjected. "Might you be able to show me where she was last seen?"

The leader looked up with wide eyes, still about to take a sip of his drink. He set it down and looked somberly down. "She's dead. Fell off a roof."

"Oh," the guard asked curiously. "Would you show me where, anyway? It might be odd to hear, but she could very well still be alive."

Gavin blinked and tilted his head at him incredulously. "I'm pretty sure she's dead." He nodded and licked his lips as he looked into his cup. He looked back up at the guard. "Yeah. A fall like that could kill me. She's dead, sir. And for the record, we didn't push her off. She fell."

The guard leaned over and placed both hands down on the table as he eyed each and every one of the men. "But you chased her to her death. Your cohort admitted it. Wouldn't you feel more at ease knowing you didn't kill her?" He smirked devilishly down at the group. They all collectively swallowed at his reasoning and exchanged nervous glances. "If she is alive, I'm even willing to cut a deal with you. If we find her I'll split the bounty." He scoffed as they all turned to look at him. "If she isn't… I hope she is for your sake," he venomously warned. He straightened up and turned to leave.

"Wait… We'll-," the leader began with his head lowered. "We'll help you find her."

"Gavin-," Emril began to argue. He silenced himself when Gavin glared at him.

The guard nodded and smiled. "Good to do business with you. The name is Amos."

They lead Amos to the building they had scrambled up. They followed the direction of her path and found the alleyway she fell into. The guard walked up to it and looked around. "The body either was moved or she lived." He looked over at them. "How did she fall?"

"Huh? You're expecting me to remember that," Gavin exclaimed. "Er… I think she kind of tripped but maybe at an angle… I think."

"It was definitely at an angle," the shorter bearded man next to him confirmed. They watched as their new mysterious companion looked up at the adjacent building. "Is that important?"

"Aye, it is," he answered as he looked down at the small pile of rubble in front of him. "She's still alive with a severely broken arm. She's probably left this city by now." He glanced at them and for once smiled warmly. "Looks like you're not murderers," he said coldly as he walked out of the alleyway.

"How do you know," Gavin asked as he watched Amos walk past him.

"I used to be a guard. I know a fugitive act when I see one," he stated with his hands on his hips. He turned to the side to look at the group with a cocky smile. "We'll start searching the outskirts of the town. See if we can find this 'Mecha-Master'. As they say," he instructed with a nod.

They followed their new leader out to the edge of town and searched its perimeter. They came across a hut near the tiny oasis that barely provided the life-sustaining water for the citizens. The door was missing from the already ramshackle building. With a raised eyebrow the turban bound man led them in.

In the center of it was a pile of ash where a small fire had been on the stone floor. Next to it was a crumpled note. To the back, the wall stained with blood splatter and in front a stain where a pool of the same blood had collected. That was the first thing Amos noticed as he investigated the scene. He approached it and examined it closely. "Something happened here," he stated as he ran his hand over the stain. He sniffed it and cringed at the smell. "This was a week ago. Or more." He looked up at the men. "When did you chase the girl?"

"About ten days ago," Gavin stated, rubbing his bald head. He looked at the stains and back at Amos. "You don't think…," he began, his eyes wide.

The guard looked at the sheet on the ground. It outlined blueprints of a mechanical arm. "The target is called what she is because she's from the machine capitol of the world." He placed a hand to his chin and looked down. "She has the where-with-all to build not only a pickpocketing gun but also command a giant robot. Many call her the want-a-be master-thief for those reasons." He hummed in thought as he stared at the blueprints. "Now, if I were to fall from a height of say a four-story building, willingly and still live to tell it, I'd fall so my arm would take the brunt of the impact. My arm would be broken beyond repair, but I could manage if it wasn't my dominant arm." He smirked at the plans and looked around at the holes in the sides of the roof and the ruined spackle on the walls. "This would be the last place I'd look for me. Now, I'm no inventor, but I think she might have had her robot help craft the arm. It's her familiar, it'll do what she commands."

One of the men picked up the note and looked at it. "Hey, Mister Amos, sir? I don't suppose the robot could write." The thin balding man walked up to Amos and handed him the note.

As he read he sighed exasperatedly and then threw his arm down at his side, dropping the note. "She has help. She managed to endear herself to someone to help protect her as they move." He frowned as he looked down at the disposed note. "We may have to kill them to get to her."

"What," Gavin shouted as he looked at the former guard. "I don't want that!" He shook his head. "No. No! There will be no killing if I have any say-," he began.

"Says the man who led his posse up a building and chased a girl to her possible death," Amos returned vehemently. "If it comes down to it, I'll be the one who stops this person, whoever they may be."

"And if its someone important, like one of the Sages or the heroes from the legend," Emril warned cautiously, tilting his head warily at the former guard. "We don't want to be dragged under if you kill someone like that. What do you plan to do if it is?"

Amos crossed his arms and scoffed. "They're protecting a fugitive. Legend or no, they have no immunity." He stared coldly at the door past the gang of newly made bounty hunters. "Even kings have rules to follow- we are all bound by laws."