Hey, everyone! All praises, comments, and constructive criticism are super-appreciated! Let me know what you think! I'm actually really excited about this chapter, so any feedback would be lovely. :3 All of the support so far has been amazing, and thank you all for such wonderful and detailed comments. I just ... can't express how much they warm my heart.

So, this chapter is dedicated to you guys, my readers. All my love!

Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 11
Crescendo

Like she did every day for the past week or so, Ahiru sat on Fakir's bed while he wrote. He'd grown used to her presence—even found comfort in it—and he needed to come to terms with the idea of her being gone.

It would be easier if he kept his distance, but …

"Eh?" he heard her say to Uzura, "You don't know what an ocean is?"

Fakir glanced over his shoulder, taking a break from his current project. The two girls sat cross-legged on his thin cot while Lamp perched daintily on the shelf above them. Ahiru balanced a bowl of potato stew in her hands and slurped noisily—a far cry from the mask of nobility she once wore when he first found her in that castle town, more comfortable, at ease, secure, free.

Uzura shook her head, tracing the tip of her drumstick against the drum on her lap.

"W-Well, it's … uhhh ..." Ahiru placed the bowl in her lap, brought a finger to her chin in thought, and tried to find the right words. "They're big, big, big pools of water! It's salty with a lot of fish, and it's very deep—even deeper than this place!"

The corners of Fakir's lips turned upward while Uzura's eyes widened in innocent amazement. "Ohhhhhh!"

"And," Ahiru continued, pausing to chew on a potato, her own expression brightening at the memory of her home, "you can even ride on the waves! The surface! With big boats that float! And catch fish to eat!"

"Like Fakir used to do-zura! Can I go see it-zura?"

"Yeah!" There was a moment just then, when Ahiru's shoulders slumped just a little, and Fakir only saw it because he was looking for it. "I mean, I'm sure you can—ah, Fakir?"

His fist clenched when she addressed him. "What."

"Would you take her to see it? You can go to my old home!" That faraway look in her eye grew more and more familiar to him. It was that expression she wore whenever she thought of the things she'd never see again, appearing more frequently now. And it tugged painfully at his heart every time he saw it. "Where I'm from, the waves roll right up onto the sand, and the breeze is really clean and salty, and there are lots of birds. And clear skies."

"Skies-zura!"

"Yeah, skies! So … Fakir, can you take her to see it?"

He snorted, trying to push down the strange stirrings in his chest that threatened to spill out. "First the letter, now the ocean. What, you have a list?"

She only laughed, and his cheeks warmed. "Maybe! So, will you?"

Turning back around in an attempt to keep her from witnessing his crumbling composure, he picked up his quill and replied, "... Yeah. Go ahead and write down everything you want done."

Uzura leaped from the bed and twirled, drumming incessantly with a sudden burst of energy. "Gonna see the skies-zura! Gonna see the oceans-zura!" She danced her way out the door, her small frame bouncing excitedly as she left Fakir's hut. Lamp fluttered after, the room dimming as she took her natural glow with her.

The cot creaked as Ahiru likewise stood, which relieved him somewhat—he wanted to be alone so he could punch something.

Instead, he felt her touch upon the back of his left hand, her fingers patting his skin. "Um! Thank you! For being so nice to me and being kind like this."

This is being kind? A bitter taste filled his mouth.

"Since the beginning, you've only done what you thought was best! And that's really admirable. So no matter what they all say, I want you to know that you're really great, just as you are!"

Her warmth seemed to seep into his skin.

His cheeks reddened from both shame and something else he couldn't place.

He watched her leave, a skip in her step regardless of whatever was on her mind—over the past month, he'd gotten to know her well, and the changes were evident only to him. The slump of her shoulders, the trepidation in her smile, the way her eyes clouded over when she remembered that she only had twenty-one days left …

Fakir's jaw clenched and he reached for his quill, his expression falling.

When did she become such a big part of his miserable life? It'd only been a month and already he'd—

—She was so haughty when they first met. True to her noble blood, she held her chin up and used her title against him, and he thought that was who she was.

But Ahiru was just a girl. A clumsy, stubborn, optimistic, and perpetually kind girl. She stayed when she had a chance to escape, she endeared herself to the best of them, and … Uzura adored her.

She was the one who believed in him. Three hundred years, and the one who encouraged him the most was Drosselmeyer's descendant after a single month of being in her company.

After the curse was lifted, she wouldn't exist anymore. He would live out the rest of his life knowing that it was only because she had given up hers. Willingly.

For Uzura, for Rue, and for his people, Fakir had to accept this.

If he was the only one cursed, if he was the only one to disappear, then he'd gladly—

Those were dangerous thoughts. Determined to endure, he picked up his quill, his left hand still warm from her barest touch.

… The air shifted. The universe held its breath.

And he froze, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach with the sensation he hadn't experienced in almost three centuries.

The quill felt heavy in his fingers.

Karon sat across from Mr. Cecil Katz in the drawing room, the two sipping tea while they awaited Prince Siegfried. According to Raetsel, the prince still wore his nightclothes when she entered his bed chambers this morning, shortly before his uncle's arrival.

Her demeanor alarmed him greatly, as did her report of what transpired between herself and Siegfried. It made no sense. It was out of character. But when Raetsel calmed down, she insisted that everything she said was true.

To be frank, Karon and Lysander believed her. Their prince had undergone swift and drastic changes lately.

It wasn't a question as to if the prince truly demanded Raetsel's heart—it was a question as to why.

Karon's jaw clenched when his thoughts drifted to the lost duchess of Hedeby. Sweet-natured, kind, and dainty Lady Ahiru, still alone, out in the world, likely already dead. He thought awful things, he knew, but what other conclusion could there be? Their scouts found nothing. Not even the bandits who ambushed them before.

He had the advisors draft a letter to be sent to Lady Ahiru's cousin, the current Duke of Hedeby, detailing the their lack of results and a possible end to the search ...

"Your spirits seem heavy, nyah?"

"Ah, pardon my lack of attentiveness, Mr. Katz."

"Not at all. With the news you've sent me, I understand you must have quite a bit on your mind." The poised man toyed with the end of his mustache. "All seems grim in the kingdom."

Karon's shoulders slumped just a bit as he regarded the prince's uncle thoughtfully. His dark hair greyed somewhat over the years, but his yellow eyes, slightly matching the prince's gold irises, were sharp as they ever were. He held himself with catlike grace, elegance and dignity, even as he sipped lightly at the black tea in his cup, and there was something in his air and manner that exuded a warm authority. A true teacher, scholar, and philosopher.

Mr. Katz's whiskers shifted with the movement of his lips and his eyes twinkled as he continued, "And that my nephew's fiancee is gone and there cannot be a wedding—nyah!"

Karon coughed. Then again, there was that little quirk about him. "I-Indeed. We've done what we can, but it has been nearly a month now since Lady Ahiru's disappearance."

"For Mytho to remain unmarried and alone as I have been …!" Mr. Katz's eyebrow twitched, but he sought composure and cleared his throat, straightening himself. "I cannot imagine the weight he bears in his heart."

"Heart …" Karon put the teacup and saucer down onto the table between them. "Today, I must confide to you that His Highness behaved badly toward our housekeeper this morning."

"Miss Raetsel? Mytho behaved badly to Miss Raetsel?"

"Yes. Alarmingly so, in fact."

"Tell me."

Karon took a preparatory breath. "He frightened her. He asked her if she loved him as more than a prince, and asked her for her heart." He shook his head, in disbelief just by saying these things.

Mr. Katz likewise put his cup down and rubbed his chin in thought, concern flooding the scholar's yellow eyes. "And Mytho has never shown any special regard toward Miss Raetsel at all?"

"No, never. Not once. He openly proclaimed his affection only for Lady Ahiru."

Before Mr. Katz could respond, the doors to the drawing room opened, one of the the servants escorting and presenting the prince. The two men immediately rose to their feet and bowed as Siegfried swept into the room.

Karon was stricken by the pinkness in his prince's eyes. Had he been lacking sleep?

It seemed that Mr. Katz noticed as well. "Mytho?"

Clarity washed over the prince for a moment, his pink eyes returning to their natural, golden hue when he recognized his visitor. "... Uncle?"

"... Yes," Mr. Katz replied after some hesitation. Then, he smiled warmly and approached, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual poise. "We thought it would be a nice surprise."

"It is." Siegfried stepped forward to embrace him. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course. How have you been faring? I've heard of your troubles lately. You must be—"

"Oh, I'm quite alright." When he pulled back, Siegfried smiled, gentle and kind, but his eyes took on that bloodshot pinkness once again. "It's becoming easier to handle. Have you come to see the progress my knights have made?"

Mr. Katz stroked his mustache idly. "No, just a simple visit, I suppose."

"Your Highness," Karon interjected, "perhaps it would be beneficial to take the day off. Your uncle has traveled quite the distance to see you."

"How kind of him, to be sure." Siegfried sat in front of the table and reached for a finger sandwich. "Then, leave us be, Karon. We have much to catch up on!"

Karon looked visibly stunned with Siegfried's apparent good mood. Perhaps Mr. Katz's presence truly did have a positive effect on him. One could only hope. "I-Yes, yes, of course. Take your time, then." With a bow and a nod, he gestured to the other servants to join him in his departure, confident that there were enough finger sandwiches, tea, and punch to sustain them.

He took the next couple of hours to tend to the estate and oversee Lysander's plans of attack. "We want to think defensively," the general said to him, "The Rungholtan army overcomes our own by numbers alone. It's as if they'd been prepared for war all this time."

Karon shook his head. "I'm beginning to think that they were."

The more they thought about it, the more they began to wonder if the impromptu visitations by Prince Femio and his company truly were for peace talks … or if they were after something else entirely.

He checked on Raetsel. As expected, she stayed busy with the rest of the staff, drowning herself in work. "One mustn't grumble," she sing-songed with a smile, but he didn't miss the weariness in her eyes, "We can only move forward. And there's an entire Grand Chateau to run!"

Times like these reminded Karon that Raetsel was stronger than all of them.

He trudged through the halls with the reports in his hands, a headache blooming in his skull at the sight of the treasury and recent expenditures. They were ultimately fine, but this is the most they've spent in the past couple of decades and it was hard to see.

Karon paused in his step when he approached the courtyard where the knights trained, and he found Prince Siegfried among them, his practice sword slicing through the air with a brutality that was utterly unlike him. Off to the side, Mr. Katz watched thoughtfully. With a polite bow, Karon stepped forward to stand beside him, wincing as Siegfried swiped under Demetri's feet and sent the poor, young knight to the dirt.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Karon."

"To you as well, Mr. Katz. How was tea time with the prince?"

"This isn't our prince."

Karon stiffened, blood running cold. "I—pardon?"

Despite Mr. Katz's evident composure, his yellow eyes were sharp and critical as they watched Siegfried continue to spar. "Though it is certainly my nephew in the physical sense, I'm afraid he is lost."

"I don't understand—"

"I need to know everything that has transpired. Every last detail, every unusual event from the moment of Lady Ahiru's kidnapping and onward. There is foul play here, and I intend to seek it out."

An hour earlier, Fakir swiped the paper, the ink, and the quills off his desk, sending the items crashing to the floor in a messy heap. The jar shattered and the silvery liquid splattered across the stone ground.

With shaking hands and short, heaving breaths, he hurriedly cleaned the mess, determined to leave no evidence of his recent writings for anyone to see. It was still a secret.

It would stay a secret. He couldn't write anymore. Nothing but destruction came out of an ability like this. He thought it might've been safe to write just because he wanted to, but it was back.

This was impossible.

He paced back and forth, the 'how's' and the 'why's' escaping him. He ran his fingers roughly through his dark hair, tugging at the strands anxiously, resentful of the itch he felt in his right hand. After a while of this, he finally sat down on his cot, glaring with wild eyes at the blanket in the corner that wrapped around the pages, quills and ink stains, hidden from plain sight.

"What happened to you?"

Fakir's stare snapped to his doorway where Autor leaned against the wall, his eyes cool behind his glasses. They still haven't spoken, not since Fakir initiated Autor's destructive transformation weeks back.

That was fine—even now, Fakir wanted to punch him in the nose all over again just for bothering him. "What do you want?" he growled between clenched teeth.

"Raven's holding an assembly," Autor replied, casually pushing the spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "You're cordially invited."

His eye twitched, but he stood, trying to bury away any semblance of panic and anxiety. "Where's Rue?"

"With the sacrifice, down in the fields. Rue was sent to distract her—this assembly isn't for the girl's ears."

Fakir bristled. The sacrifice. Right. That's all she is to everyone. That's all she's supposed to be. "Then it's about her."

"Not really. It's about—ugh, why don't you just come outside and greet the day? The entire town is gathering."

Greet the day? Underground, how could there possibly be a day to greet? Still, Fakir grit his teeth and stepped out after Autor, making his way to the town square. All around him, the other villagers hurried away from their huts and chores as Raven took his place in the center beneath a lamppost where everyone could see him. Autor walked up to stand beside him with his arms crossed and looking smug. As expected, Rue was absent, probably occupying Ahiru with more of those ballet lessons.

After a few minutes of waiting, Raven was satisfied that the Wyvern people finally gathered around to hear him. They tittered quietly amongst themselves, brimming with energy as they were wont to be lately—after all, freedom was a mere three weeks away. It was as good as theirs.

Raven lifted a hand, and a hush swept over the crowd. When he spoke, his voice reverberated clearly, the villagers hanging off his every word. He looked particularly pleased. "We have all been counting down. Twenty-one days. Three weeks until the blessed constellation is aligned. Three weeks until our sacrifice is made, and we may breathe in fresh air, and greet the world with open arms." He paused to smile at the hum of approval from his audience. "... But … will it be enough?"

The villagers went silent.

"Autor has seen into the history of the world. Disease. Crime. War. Death. Those are what await us when we emerge. We will leave our underground prison, and enter into a battlefield."

He kept on, overcoming the growing murmurs and squashing them down with the authority in his voice. "But, with the evils of the world, hope always follows. Autor has found a way for us to enter into this new realm with our heads held high, as paragons of peace and bringers of protection!"

At this, Fakir's eyebrows furrowed, and his hand itched again.

"We can never be as we once were—hiding behind the treacherous hills and dark forests surrounding a quiet, little village. No, not after three centuries of isolation. Not after three centuries of wisdom."

Wisdom? Fakir inwardly scoffed. No one grew at all these three hundred years. They were frozen, unable to move forward in any way. Uzura was still five. They had no more wisdom now than they did back then. The only thing that grew over three centuries was bitterness.

"No. We need to show the world that there is more to it than war. And we can.

"We have come across a way to become true dragons."

Fakir's mouth went dry as the crowd exclaimed in astonishment.

Once again, Raven's voice hushed them, his eyes gleaming with pride. "We are a people brimming with the potential of Fae and Dragon alike. Their blood runs through our veins. This curse that has befallen us—we may turn it into a blessing!"

Autor stepped forward when the villagers began to shout out muffled questions. "Settle down, settle down! It's a simple spell that we're fully capable of enacting once our curse is lifted! We tap into our Draconic blood latent within our bodies, and change into true dragons. Transformations completely under our control, maintaining our current abilities—anything we can do now, without the threat of vanishing in a flash of light in the end."

"We may walk upon the world and protect it beneath our wings," Raven proclaimed, taking a step forward, "Think of all we've gone through. Think of Edel's final words to us. In twenty-one days, we will have freedom, and with it, we shall free the world."

Looking around, Fakir was stunned to find the others smiling, some hooting with enthusiasm. Even Hermia, Freya, and Malen seemed pleased by Raven's words.

"We can take care of the world!" some said. Others murmured excitedly, "We can turn our misfortunes into something good!"

"Indeed," declared the elder, bowing his head humbly, "Now then, we will prepare, but for tonight, we celebrate! Music, dancing!"

With a great cheer, the villagers collectively bustled about to wheel out the instruments and food, not unlike the way they had when they celebrated Ahiru's arrival in Wyvern one month ago.

But Fakir remained frozen where he was for a long moment, his hand fiercely itchy with the urge to pick up his discarded quills.

Edel's final words …

When I bear fruit again, the world will be yours once more.

But was this what she truly meant?

Their dragon forms were unnatural. To change into true dragons, mythical beings with wild hearts and fiery breaths … Wasn't that against what they wanted in the first place? Didn't they just want to live out their lives peacefully? Edel wanted that for them—for Uzura.

Why was it suddenly their responsibility to protect the world? When did Elder Raven aspire for something like that?

Fakir's planned to eventually leave Wyvern altogether when the curse was lifted. He had no interest in staying a dragon, or being some kind of hero to the world. He wanted no part in this. Especially if he was to protect a world that didn't have Ahiru in it. That … just didn't seem fair.

His jaw clenched as he bitterly watched the villagers set up for their celebration, Autor wheeling out his piano and Hermia and Freya taking to the center of the square to dance. It was only when he heard the familiar tap-tap of Uzura's drum and Ahiru's excited laughter that he looked up. Rue, Ahiru, and Uzura approached from the ladder that led down to the lower ground, the little girl scampering over to Freya's basket of fruit a small distance away. Rue walked slowly to him, her expression unreadable, but he didn't really pay much attention to that in light of the brightness in Ahiru's eyes while she skipped to his side.

"Fakir! Is everyone having a party again?" Her grin widened, her nose crinkling. "Maybe this time I can actually join in! But my feet kind of hurt from dance practice …"

"I'm sure you can handle it," Rue reassured her, her own smile small and almost weak, "Besides, haven't you taken on the task of watching Uzura?"

"Yeah! Ah, she's so fast! Okay, I have to catch up!" She waved to the two siblings before setting off, greeting the other villagers as she did so.

Rue's forced expression finally crumbled. "You know," she muttered, "I will mourn for her when the time comes."

The thought made him sick. He couldn't even bring himself to reply.

"... So. What do you think of Elder Raven's plan?" A tiny smile touched her lips despite her sadness. "It does sound wonderful, doesn't it? I think Elder Edel would've wanted it—to use our experiences and our pain to change everything and make the world better. Oh, the things that have transpired up there in our absence ..."

"Didn't seem so rough up there to me," Fakir countered, recalling the state of that castle town from which he'd taken Ahiru. The prince seemed kind and just, and the people were utterly happy. Ahiru was utterly happy beside him, on that bridge right before Fakir set that building aflame.

She pretended to be so prim and proper. But he knew what she was truly like, who she truly was. And he thought she was infinitely better than the ladylike facade she tried to wear at the very beginning.

Why she felt like she had to hide anything, he'd never understand. She should've always been free to be herself.

Ahiru didn't even have the time to live her life to the fullest.

"You can't have seen the entire history of the world just from your brief visits, you know," Rue said with a huff, breaking him out of his reverie, "Trust in Elder Raven. I believe that we can make a good change under his guidance."

"I'm not interested."

"Well, why not?"

"That isn't what I wanted, and I don't think that's what Edel wanted either."

She look positively affronted. "You always do this—this is why you're constantly pushed out, Fakir. This is why you are always on the outside."

He scowled. "And you aren't?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I at least have Elder Raven—I at least have someone to trust, and someone who cares about me. I was always alone, yes, especially after Giselle left, because I couldn't possibly rely on my brother who was always too busy feeling sorry for himself."

There was nothing he could say to that. He could only clench his fists and bitterly look away.

She wasn't wrong.

He heard her stomp off, likely joining Hermia and Freya in a dance to cool her nerves and enjoy the music (much to Autor's delight, Fakir was sure), and he didn't follow. His mind was abuzz with the overload of information and stress—Raven's announcement, his own writing, Ahiru's eventual sacrifice—and it annoyed him to an irrational extent that no one else seemed to want to question Raven's oh-so-glorious plan.

Ultimately, it had nothing to do with him.

He didn't realize he'd just been standing there among the partying villagers, staring at the ground with a glare on his face until Ahiru suddenly appeared beside him. "Uzura's busy playing with the band," she explained, her expression soft, "so I thought I'd come over and say hi. Are you doing okay?"

The lines above his brow softened. "... I'm fine."

Ahiru gave him a cute pout. "Doesn't look like it! Everyone's having a party for some reason and you're just kind of … here."

He felt a blush coming on (and damn it, that sensation was growing more and more frequent lately) and he crossed his arms over his chest. "So go on and join them."

"Well, I'd rather join them with you!"

"Don't be stubborn."

"You don't be stubborn!" She laughed, heartily and fully, like she wasn't going to die in twenty-one days. "Well, okay, I won't force you or anything. But dancing is really fun! Did you know that I know the waltz?"

His bad mood dissipated just a bit. "Knowing your background, you should."

"Mhm! Ah … well, I'm not great at it, but I do know it."

He expected that. The corner of his lip quirked up, giving her an imperceptibly fond look. "That sounds about right."

"Eh?! What's that supposed to mean?!"

At this, he chuckled—and that should've been the stupidest thing to find funny. In light of everything that happened that day, there was just something about being around her that made things better. Easier.

But his smile fell when he saw her astonishment, her eyes wide. "What?"

"... Nothing!" she squeaked, shaking her head.

"Idiot."

"I'm not an idiot."

Feeling inexplicably lighter, he nodded in the direction of the dancers and musicians. "Go on, then. I have something to do, so … I'll see you afterward."

Her expression brightened in an instant. "Alright! See you in a bit! And don't take too long!" With that, she spun on her heel and trotted toward Malen, the artist sitting on a nearby stool and sketching out the festivities.

Fakir wasn't lying. He did have something to do. Though Rue soured his mood, Ahiru soothed it, and even rejuvenated him.

He needed to speak with Raven, and it didn't escape Fakir's notice that the village elder was mysteriously absent. In fact, when he glanced over, Autor was missing, too, leaving the piano vacant and untouched. Strange. Whenever Rue danced, Autor always made himself present.

But Raven needed to know that Fakir would have no part in this spell—or anything to do with Wyvern after Ahiru's death. And he wanted to make certain that Raven would protect Rue and Uzura, no matter what delusional visions he had for Wyvern's future.

It hardly mattered. He left the celebration and made a beeline for Raven's home, the music and laughter growing more muffled as he strode between the stone buildings. No one stopped him from leaving as Rue began to dance, enrapturing all present. Fakir didn't stay to watch.

When he arrived, he marched right in, uncaring of whether or not he was welcome. Raven leaned against the opposite wall while Autor pored over a document of some sort—likely a piece of historical writing he'd done at Raven's behest. "Why, Fakir, you aren't joining in on the festivities?" The elder grinned. "Oh, but I suppose that isn't your idea of entertainment."

"True dragons?" Fakir disregarded the smalltalk. "Even if it were possible, is that really—?"

Autor snorted, leaning back from his scroll and pulling off his glasses to polish them. "As always, Fakir, you've got something to complain about. It is possible. I've found the spell myself, and we are more than capable of making it happen."

"... Fine. Either way, I'm not going to be a part of it."

The other two men each kept a steady gaze on him, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm leaving after this is all over. So what you do when the curse is lifted is all up to you—except for Rue and Uzura. You have these 'plans,' and you're involving them as well?"

Raven chuckled, his eyes downcast. "Rue seems quite taken with our plans, and Uzura will be well-protected. I would never let Elder Edel's daughter be harmed—you should know that."

Fakir visibly bristled. "I'm wondering if we even know what Elder Edel wanted for us. I don't think it's this."

Just then, Autor dropped his gaze and Raven's eyes darkened. He pushed himself off the wall, eyes narrowing, sharp and red. "I was Elder Edel's student. I knew her better than anyone in Wyvern. Remember this, Fakir." His words grew venomous, shedding the veil of soft cordiality it used to bear. "You can leave, boy. You can go off on your own—it wouldn't make much of a difference to us. You were always nothing but a detriment, anyway. The cause of all of this."

Fakir's jaw clenched.

"But if you leave, you will not be with us. You will be against us."

Against …?

"Drosselmeyer took our happiness from us. You recall. After all, you almost died that night, Fakir. And I remember the blinding light from our dear Elder Edel, and as her life seeped away, leaving her an empty husk of an oak, that life was transferred to you. Now, you can accept fate, join us, rule the world with us. Take back what was stolen. Show them all what powerful beings have been hiding for centuries on end. And in that way, you can atone for your sins.

"... Or you cannot."

Fakir's mouth went dry.

It wasn't a responsibility to protect the world. Raven wanted to remain dragons to rule over it. For revenge. And like fools, they all were ready to just accept that?

Confidently, Raven continued, seemingly pleased with the sight of the color draining from Fakir's face. "You can try to convince the others to see things your way. But you remember how Rue's dance can be so effective in influencing them! She is quite a sight."

That despicable—!

"Give in, Fakir. If you do this you can finally be redeemed for damning all of your friends and family. This is your moment."

Fakir finally found his voice. "This isn't what Elder Edel wanted!" He whipped around, glowering at Autor accusingly. "You know for a fact that this isn't—!"

Autor sighed and just shook his head. "Fakir, just … stop. After everything, after three hundred years, don't you think we deserve something in return?! Some bit of vindication for all we've had to live through? Drosselmeyer's betrayal! All the people we lost …!"

"I didn't want to do this to you, Fakir," Raven said, straightening up. He pulled a bundle of rope from the table in front of Autor and held it out to him. "But it appears that it must be you. Take this, and bind the sacrifice, good and tight. For the rest of this month, we'll have to keep her isolated and imprisoned away from the others. We'll keep her confined to her hut, keep her under strict guard."

There was no stifling the absolute fury that burst behind Fakir's ribs at Raven's words. Bursts of small embers escaped Fakir's breath as he slapped the rope out of Raven's grip. "Tie her up?! She's harmless! She's been here all damn month and has done nothing but accept everything, and I won't—!"

"You must've fallen under her spell, too." Raven clicked his tongue, only serving to infuriate Fakir further. "She is Drosselmeyer's descendant and cannot be trusted. Some of the others have even begun to feel a bit of affection for her, including yourself, apparently. It's all going according to that girl's plan."

"She's not like that!"

Right before Fakir could grab at Raven's collar, he heard his sister's voice behind him.

"Fakir, I'm sorry for this."

Before he knew it, Autor and Raven had him by the arms, forcing him to turn around and look upon his sister as she lifted to her toes, her arms forming a graceful arc above her head, her crimson eyes mournful.

And as she danced, he could hear Raven chuckling beside into his ear. "Her dance is beautiful, Fakir. Let it sway you."

Slowly, Fakir's muscles relaxed, and his eyes dulled.

Disappointed, Ahiru went back to her hut that night without meeting up with Fakir. He just vanished, but he must've had a lot to do when there were only three weeks left until—well, that.

She hoped that he'd dance with Uzura and herself, but he didn't seem the type to want to try that sort of thing. Honestly, she couldn't place why she felt so down at the end of the day.

The celebration served to be a good distraction, if anything. After Rue danced, the entire village seemed so agreeable, and so happy. And Ahiru was happy for them. Really.

She prepared for bed, washing up with the provided basin and pulling her long locks into a tight braid like Rue taught her to do. Lamp took her place in a little basket next to her cot. It was late—she'd gotten so accustomed to day and night underground that she knew she was usually in bed long before now.

Her feet ached from all the dancing, so she pulled her knees up to her chest and began to massage her toes.

Twenty-one days …

If Fakir never kidnapped her, would she be married to Mytho by now? All pampered and queenly, eating as much as she wanted, dancing with Mytho in his grand ballrooms, becoming his dedicated and loving wife …

It seemed like so long ago that she dreamed of those things. She felt like an entirely different person now. Would her mother be proud? Would Mytho?

She stretched with a vocal yawn and rested her head on her pillow. "G'night, Lamp!" The lady bug flickered in reply as Ahiru let her eyes fall shut.

But she didn't sleep. Not when she heard the footsteps against the cobblestone, and the shift of the fabric covering her doorway. Her eyes snapped open and she blinked at the tall silhouette.

"... Mm? Fakir?" She smiled and sat up. "Hey! Where were you? I thought you wanted to meet up after—"

She couldn't even finish her sentence. He crossed the room and gripped her arms, tight and demanding, so like the way he handled her when he first swept her away from Vineta a whole month ago. He had rope in his hand.

"Fakir?"

His eyes were sharp and focused, analyzing her with a critical eye. The rest of his features were utterly neutral, and she didn't know what to make of it. "A-Are you okay?"

She waited, holding her breath as he remained motionless for a long moment. Then, inexplicably, he looked over his shoulder at her doorway.

When he turned back to her, those green irises swam with some strange emotion she'd never seen in them before—brimming with trepidation and … resolve.

His voice was a harsh whisper. "Do you trust me?"

"I—" Her jaw fell slack. What did he mean by asking that?

But she knew her answer—she didn't even have to think about it. Never once was he dishonest, and behind the grumpy frown and the piercing glare, he was truly kind. Kinder than anyone.

Her kidnapper became her best friend.

"... Yes, I trust you! What's going on?"

"Come on, hurry."

He stood up, left the rope on her bed, and gestured to the now-awake lady bug to dim her light. Lamp obediently did so, tilting her head in confusion as she fluttered down to sit upon Ahiru's shoulder.

Ahiru jumped instantly to her feet, tucking them into her slippers. "Fakir?"

"Let's go! Keep quiet!"

She bit her lip and followed him, keeping her steps as light as she could manage without tripping over herself. He led her to the ladder leading up to upper ground, ushering her to follow quickly.

The town was quiet, dark, and stagnant, and climbing up like this in the dead of night reminded her of her first arrival, falling onto the dragon who currently led her to who-knew-where. But he was quick and he didn't let her stop to reflect.

What was going on?

He kept a quick pace, darting between buildings with him constantly aware of where she was at all times. She promised she'd trust him, so she didn't question any of it, but she didn't bother to hide the confusion or concern in her eyes either.

Finally, they came upon a particular hut—Uzura's. He took a few short glances around, before ducking inside. She waited, her heart racing for no apparent reason.

When he emerged, he had a snoozing Uzura curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. "Let's go," he breathed sharply. And once again, Ahiru trailed right on his heels.

That was when she realized it. He was leading her to the only entrance. The only exit.

The sealed doorway.

It was only when he reached out to press his hand against the stone slab did she find her voice, her heart in her throat. "F-Fakir, wait! Where are we going?!" she whispered frantically, glancing around to see if anyone was awake.

"We're leaving—I'm taking you back to your prince. Now hurry and—"

"I—!" She couldn't think straight. Everything was happening so fast! "Wait, wait, but my promise, and-and-and-and the curse and all of the villagers and-and Uzura and Rue—!"

"Rue made her decision!" Fakir hissed back, impatience dripping from his every word. "She tried to—I don't know why it didn't work on me, but this our one chance and we have to take it!"

"Fa-Fakir—!"

"I only needed one more reason to save you and Raven gave it to me!"

She fell silent, her mouth hanging open.

Fakir shook his head, as if trying to calm himself down. "Look. I don't know what's right—I don't know if I ever have, but I know what I have to do. Nothing good comes from your death, Ahiru. We'll figure it out, but the most important thing is—the only thing I need to do is make sure your prince can protect you. From there, I'll—" he trailed off, glancing down at his right hand while he cradled Uzura with his left, "—I'll do what I have to. Lure them off somehow. They'll come looking, but …"

"But … I already—twenty-one days and you'll all disappear, and Uzura—!"

"Idiot. You alone, and nobody else, could accept your fate while smiling." He gave her a wry smirk. "So you can't die."

This was too much. Her heart was going to burst right through her chest.

Fakir thrust his free hand out in her direction, pleading with his eyes for her to take it. "I will change this fate!"

This entire month, she'd been given nothing but time to think. To consider. To wonder and wish and hope and accept.

And now, she was given merely a moment, the barest breath of an instant, to defy the destiny designed for her. For all of them.

Instinctively, Ahiru reached for her pendant for strength.

But she took Fakir's hand instead.

In a flurry of action that she barely registered herself, he opened the stone doorway, allowed Lamp to flutter ahead and light their way up the tunnel, and together with Uzura, they ascended hand-in-hand.

The door shut with finality behind them.

"You alone, and nobody else, could accept your fate so smilingly. So you can't vanish. I will change this fate!" — Fakir, Princess Tutu: Episode 13