Happy new year!

And enjoy =]

Zen

Book Three, Part One

I didn't pay attention as I was treated. One man cleaned my visible skin, applying a thick ointment to abrasions I had. It stung when it made contact with my cuts. The one I assumed was a specialist was mostly concerned with the gruesome bite I had acquired along my collar bone—before the man treating me had taken a look at my injury, I had assumed it was bruising around the teeth marks; but the doctor was quick to explain that my skin, in fact, was rotting away. The purple was slowly fading to black. "A side effect of an Undead's attack. Lucky for you, whoever got a good bite into you was a newborn, and this bite is superficial. It's easily reversible."

Which was good, because visions of me turning into a zombie had started to flip through my mind. The older man ripped open as much of my shirt as needed, as he first cleansed the area effected. I grimaced as he pulled at the openings in my skin; it was a terrible angle to see, but my blood was oozing a dark ruby color through the marks. "It doesn't hurt?" he asked with a clip of professionalism. "No extreme burning, pricking?" I shrugged.

"A bit, but it's bearable…"

He nodded as if he had already known the answer. "Okay then."

With dexterous hands he took a hold of an unmarked bottle, wetting a piece of cloth. I quirked an eyebrow: was that liquid bubbling? Then the material was placed over my wound, causing me to hiss in agony. "Okay," I gasped. "Now it's burning!"

"Easy, easy," he almost cooed, treating me like I was a child. I watched in horror as whatever was in that tonic seemed to eat away at the holes in my skin, causing the blackness to bubble like heated tar. I whimpered, the burning sensation feeling as if it'd dissolve the skin and insides that it protected. The feeling felt endless, like it would keep digging, past the bite, through veins, tissues, bone…

Another twinge caused me to growl, fingers flexing while the medic's cool hand remained locked around my upper arm to brace me. If possible, the pain escalated, and I had to grit my teeth and buck in my seat to keep from screaming. Then, suddenly, it was gone. The jagged shapes of teeth marks were still visible, but all evidence of death had faded. Any marks remaining were now pink, oddly bright against the tone of my skin.

Finally, I caught my breath. "What…"

"Perfect. Couldn't have gone better. Now, if any sign of discomfort or reddening starts, you need to seek one of us immediately."

I nodded, relieved that the pain was finished. I attempted to stand up, but I swayed a bit, still winding down from the pain. "I'm okay," I muttered. With small steps I managed to hobble down the stairs to the common room, where a few officers were still lingering about. They held a very hushed conversation. Upon seeing me, the dialogue ceased.

Zen was waiting for me, his hands pressed together as they rested against his lips. His elbows were placed on his knees, the angle giving him a weary look. Immediately, he stood, eyes resting on my form with a softness I didn't think was possible. I moved to him, hair falling over my wound in an effort to hide the blemish. Zen's hand rested on my shoulder, his thumb grazing the bite mark anyway. I couldn't hold back my shudder. "Aradar moved your things to my place."

My eyes minimized to slits. "I can't believe him. Zen, I need him…" Before I could continue, the lean man had his arm around me and he escorted me out of SI:7. "Just because one of my missions went wrong-"

"Nothing went wrong," Zen corrected coolly. He was still leading me through the streets, which were now beginning to brighten as the sun began to rise. "It may not have gone according to plan, but it certainly didn't go wrong." We walked a bit further, and I decided perhaps it was best that Zen's arm was wrapped around me, acting as a sort of cane to lead me. I had no idea where Zen lived. "Besides, he won't be completely out of the picture. The old man has more sense than that," Zen commented lightly.

"How do you know?" I asked cynically.

"Aradar and I go way back," he mentioned, eyes still on the paths ahead of us. A baker rushed through the street, a sack of what appeared to be flour in his hands. "Back to my own training days, to be accurate."

I gasped. "So he trained you!" Everything finally made sense. The looks the two shot to each other, the reason Aradar trusted Zen, the feeling of closeness the pair seemed to have.

But they must have had their differences. That was evident in the looks they shared as well, like the day I had my meeting discussing my future at SI:7.

"No worries, Grace." Zen patted my shoulder as we arrived at his supposed house. It was around the corner, and he managed to force the door open with his free hand. "If there's one person capable of training you just as well as Aradar, it's me." With a grin, Zen guided me through the threshold.

Zen's house was much larger than Aradar's had been, and definitely more modern. Candles lit the dark corners, and red curtains and tablecloths acted as casual decorations. "Your room is upstairs," he mentioned, motioning towards the stairs.

"You have two stories to yourself?" I asked, slightly amused. He shrugged.

"The more SI:7 wants you to do, the more they offer."

There was only a single room up the stairs. The roof made an awkward slope above me, but it gave the space character. Of course, there wasn't very much in the room when one factored in furniture—a bed, certainly, a trunk at its foot, and another dresser along the far wall. A single, large window was set right beside the bed. The color theme of this room was blue—bed sheets, curtains, border along the walls.

I felt Zen approach behind me on the steps. "I was thinking about…getting a vanity up here for you. A bookshelf, maybe, since I see that you brought along a few books..." Now I saw my things, laid nicely atop the midnight blue of the bed. My small pile of books was there as well.

"You don't have to do that," I offered, still taking in the…tranquility…of the room. "It's nice, Zen. Really nice."

"I'm glad. Well…I'll let you get…comfortable." With that said, he left down the stairs. I heard him blow out a few candles, extinguish a lantern. He must have been up all night like I had been.

I couldn't sleep quite yet though. My first task was to strip off my disgusting clothes, which I could do under the cover of a divider that was opposing the staircase. Hidden in its folds was a water basin and pitcher, but I ignored the commodity for the moment and instead pulled on a nightgown. At least now I felt somewhat human.

Before I could collapse onto the bed, it needed clearing. The few books I had I placed on a table I noticed now, in the far corner near my divider. The clothes I did own went into the dresser, and I noticed with slight bemusement that I still had possession of the orange dress from the festival.

My brush went atop the dresser. I noticed with a frown that the room's bare appearance hadn't been altered by my presence. It still looked uninhabited, pulled out of a doll house.

I pulled the blue curtains shut, an attempt at keeping the blinding sunlight out. I was tired, and my body was trying to tell me so.

My head hit the pillow, and I remembered nothing more.

When I woke up well past noon, Zen was missing. I crawled downstairs, not bothering to change, and felt the distinguished absence of his aura. So I decided to snoop—I mean, tour his house.

I had been too asleep that morning to bother looking around, but now I was honestly curious. Just what did a lethal rogue's bedroom look like? With earnest I walked into his room, expecting something borderline psychotic or exotic. I was slightly disappointed. It was a normal bedroom, without much of surprise. His bed was, though, cloaked with black satin. I had to stroke the fabric with my fingers to be sure the a beautiful material was real. Black pillows towered over the sheets, complete with silver linings. Matching silver silk pillows stood behind those. Long, black curtains covered the windows, a barrier between daylight and darkness. A single, stout dresser sat across from the black bed. It looked to be polished black.

Okay, so Zen liked the darkness.

Then I discovered something that actually made me jealous. A sort of dresser lined the single wall that would be otherwise bare—I opened it and discovered it was packed full of armor and even some weapons. A handful of daggers lined the bottom draw, expertly placed as if on display. An entire set of matching armor was sitting behind two doors I swung open—the helmet and shoulder guards I found especially intriguing. They glinted black, the angles on the helmet looking like they themselves could slice through a target, leaving only room for the eyes. The shoulders of his armor were menacing, with claws jutting out. I was almost tempted to touch one of the edges, but I was too afraid of getting cut.

Someday, I promised myself, I would be the owner of such a set. SI:7 would beg me to help them, offering me anything I'd ever wanted…

But what did I really want, ultimately, besides justice for my father and the thrill of proving myself capable of defending my faction. Not much else.

With a click the dresser was shut, and I made a hurried pace out of the bedroom. Zen wouldn't have minded me looking around, surely, but I didn't want him catching me in he act, either.

I sat at his dining table, hands fiddling with the green material of the placemat. I was completely in approval of merely sitting around today—the occurrences of the night before left me weary. Boredom quickly found me.

I used a mirror at the end of the hallway to inspect my healing wound. Healed would be a more appropriate term; there weren't any scabs littering my skin. Only a pinkish hue where the Undead monster had managed to sink his teeth. The little dashes crawled across my skin in a crescent shape pattern. I had a good feeling that the scar was permanent.

The images of those things were seared into my mind—a worse reminder of what they were than the physical damage I now saw in the mirror. Things like those Undead—with those hollow eyes and animalistic growls—they had killed my father. So long ago, the alliance soldiers probably didn't have a chance. They couldn't have possibly fathomed what the things were capable of. Maybe the Undead zombies were merely experiments then, only swaying to a higher power's will. Condemning themselves unknowingly. I clenched my fists to keep them from punching Zen's nice mirror; whether those animals acted willingly or not, they killed my father. And they would all die for doing so.

Zen began training me that evening. His lessons were beginning to really frustrate me. I specifically remembered Officer Jared saying that my training needed to be sped up. So why was Zen starting at basics yet again? We sparred, and Zen's scrutinizing eyes were distracting every moment of it. Finally, when Zen revealed a smirk of entertainment, I threw up a kick and backed away from the fight. "What?" I snapped, daggers at my sides.

"I'm actually a bit impressed. You've learned a lot."

I glared. "That's not why you're amused, though." Zen shrugged, his weapons also taking their place at his side.

"I was simply entertaining the fact that you fight with your emotions more than your brain."

My jaw clenched. "I'm fueled by revenge, Zen. It tends to happen sometimes."

"So you're willing to allow your silly emotions to jeopardize a mission?" he countered, taking a step closer but not moving his daggers.

"My emotions won't get in the way," I growled, grips clenching on my dear weapons.

"Really?" he asked smoothly. With the blink of an eye Zen was behind me, a dagger pressed to my throat as his other arm locked mine behind me. My spine jarred at the close contact. "Say you're on a mission with another rogue. The pair of you are ambushed, and your partner gets taken hostage. Pretend its someone you know. Pretend it's…Aradar. The man holding him says you will cooperate or he dies. What do you do?"

"Nothing," I replied, minding the fact that Zen's blade was warm against my neck. As I spoke, the metal grazed my skin. "Aradar's an experienced rogue. He could escape himself."

Zen chuckled. "Okay, then the hostage is a child. Innocent, harmless child. Now what?"

My mind flashed back to my slip back in training with Aradar, when I had helped the seemingly troubled child. Back then, it was a ruse. "I would do anything in my power to save the child."

Zen's breath was grazing my hair, the tendrils tickling my neck. "Even though its an obvious attempt to ruffle your feathers?"

"Yes."

"Silly girl." With difficulty I withheld a growl of protest at the name-calling. Luckily Zen pulled away, turning to face me again. "The child would most likely die anyway. Some things would be out of your power."

"How do I know unless I try?" I asked.

Our conversations during and after combat usually went as such. My usual emotion I played off was frustration and anger, and it didn't help matters when Zen would berate me for using them in battle. It wasn't like I could just shut off my emotions.

"I'm not asking you to shut them out," Zen would growl. "I'm telling you to leave them off the battlefield."

My yellow missions continued. Living with Zen was…different. It felt less awkward as time progressed, but at the same time, it was difficult dealing with Zen when I hadn't been spending every single moment around him. Now that I was constantly under his wing, it was even harder to keep my temper in check.

Lucas and Dennis had been inducted long ago into their respectable classes, and were gone for longer increments of time, leaving me to handle my ocean of emotions alone. Didn't they know it was dangerous leaving a female rogue to her feelings?

I had more dangerous missions. They involved killing, incapacitating, stealing battle plans, and other daring moves. They were definitely a challenge, but Zen always accompanied me. After the fiasco in the catacombs, no one was going to leave me alone, no matter how much I complained.

Zen kept on me, kept pushing me when we dueled. In the beginning he'd constantly beat me, leaving nothing I could boast about. After three weeks or so, I was definitely becoming a legitimate adversary.

Zen growled as I made a good slice towards his stomach that he barely dodged. Realizing I had a slight upper hand, his lips pulled into a grin, and I was left speechless as a flash of smoke interrupted my concentration. My opponent was nowhere to be found.

No matter. After three weeks with Zen, both in and out of my missions, it was too easy to feel his presence. I closed my eyes, my sight worthless anyway, and concentrated on the feeling of his aura. It was coming quickly from the side.

With a quickness I had managed to obtain through months of training, I managed to parry an otherwise lethal strike to my shoulder blade. Zen looked at me with surprise, the smoke still not fully cleared when he took a step back.

"You sensed me," he stated, head cocking to the side in curiosity.

"Zen," I made sure to stress his name, "I've been surrounded by it for weeks now. If I can't pick your aura out by now, I'd be scared."

"But…" He took a step closer, still slightly awed. "I don't know anyone who has that kind of sense for others." He paused, pursing his lips. "How many people can you sense that strongly?"

"Well, it depends," I began. Obviously we were finished dueling for now, so I put my daggers into their respectable sheaths. "The better I know someone, the better I can sense them. Say, for example, someone asks me to sense…the king, for example. I wouldn't be able to. I don't know his aura to begin with."

"But there are some you have…memorized, so to speak?" Zen asked.

I nodded. "Aradar's. Dennis, Lucas, you…people I've been around enough to distinguish. I could probably pick out Officer Jared, a few others…"

"Amazing." Zen smirked. "You may prove to be an even better perk to our class, after all, Grace."

I couldn't help but smile myself, my eyes finally adjusting as the smoke cleared. "That's what I'm aiming for. Now, are you going to explain what the hell that trick of yours was, or are you going to keep me guessing?"

Zen was persistent in making me as much of an unfeeling stone as every other rogue. I grew exceptionally upset once, after I had managed a deft blow towards Zen's chest because he chuckled and commented on my anger. Then he persisted, telling me, "Perhaps you would have been better off training as a warrior, if you insist on using so much rage."

I didn't enjoy the jest. After landing a good kick in between Zen's legs, I stalked off, not bothering to look behind me at his hunched over figure.

It's not like I attempted to run away. That was the last thing I would do. Of course, I had no desire to go to Zen's house. Instead, I knocked on Aradar's door.

He answered with a smile, and I wondered if he was actually expecting me. Well, I thought, he was a rogue. He most likely sensed me down the street.

"Come in, Grace."

I did so, noticing that nothing had really changed inside his home. Without hesitation I sat at his table, smirking at the fruit basket.

"What's troubling you, child?"

I sighed. Here we go again with the 'little' thing. When was I going to be a rogue in everyone's eyes? "Did you ever think…my temper got in the way of my skills?" I asked as straightforward as I could.

Aradar eyed me curiously. "Temper?" Then he grinned knowingly. "Has Zen been pushing you about your temper?"

"Like no other," I commented with a growl. "But did you think?" I wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.

"I didn't think you had much of a temper with me," he answered. "You were learning from scratch, Grace. I completely understood that you would have your…frustrations with new experiences."

A frown formed on my face. "But then…" I sighed. "I suppose Zen just brings out the worst of me."

"He intends well." Aradar sat down, a small smile on his own lips. "Zen is merely looking out for you. He's taking my request seriously."

"You've spoken to him lately?" I inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Despite how he seems, he's very fervent about your training. I have complete faith in him."

"I know he's a talented rogue, Aradar," I agreed. "But he…rubs me the wrong way."

The man across from me grinned. "Go back to your teacher, Grace. Please take into consideration what he's teaching you. I trust him. You should, too."

I wanted to retort that I did trust Zen, but I didn't feel like making a fool out of myself. Smoothly I got up, ready to open the front door, when the heavy oak opened by itself. A boy about my age stepped in, clearly surprised by the presence of a woman. "Ah, Winston. Back so soon?" Perplexed, I looked away from the blonde haired boy, managing to land a gaze of question on Aradar.

"Your new trainee?" I demanded, a bit hurt as I turned my shoulders to Aradar. Apparently he didn't feel guilty enough to not take another apprentice.

"The officers training the new recruits are numbered. We're spread thin, trying to push through as many skilled rogues as possible." He cleared his throat. "Grace, this is Winston. Winston, Grace." I smiled over my shoulder as charmingly as possible, and the blonde named Winston waved uncertainly.

"I…should be going," I finally announced with a bit of a clip. With a slight nod to the pair, I turned and exited Aradar's small estate.

Zen was waiting for me at his dinner table. It was almost supper time—I noticed when I entered the aroma of some sort of stew brewing. He said nothing while I slumped into the chair next to him in defeat. After a few moments of silence, I sighed. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "I shouldn't have…run off."

"I shouldn't have said that," Zen replied, eyes closed. "Grace, I-" Zen took in another deep breath, his hands moving to his lips like they had the morning we returned from the catacombs. "You have to understand that I only wish the best for you. If I don't push you…"

"I know," I answered lightly. "I'm going to try…to listen. I'm just afraid of becoming…a machine. If I lose my ability to feel, then I'm fighting for nothing."

"I'm not asking you to forget your feelings," my teacher mentioned. "How many times do I have to repeat myself?"

No answer escaped my lips.

"I thought about…you," Zen mentioned, as if he was confessing to a serious crime. "I'm going to offer you a deal."

My eyebrow perked in curiosity. "A deal? What sort of deal?"

"An attempt at incentive," Zen said. "Once I've decided you're capable of controlling your emotions while fighting, I will move you up to red missions."

My air supply got cut off with excitement, but I wasn't completely sold. "Are you serious?" I asked, uncertain.

"Completely serious." His lips pulled into one of his breathtaking smirks. "When have I ever misguided you?"

"Never…as of yet," I grumbled, giggling as my teacher scowled across from me.

"Rogue's honor. You improve, I'll give you my authorization."

For a moment I paused, momentarily lost in his eyes. "Deal," I announced, holding out my hand in a shake. A small smile perked at the corner of his face as he shook my hand.

"Deal."

I really did try, and I was fairly certain Zen approved. His smiles as we dueled felt approving rather than critical.

It was as if I could disjoin myself from my feelings. I still recognized the enemies, certainly—but the fury I felt toward the Scourge was now under monitoring, hidden beneath layers of self control, helping me instead of hindering me.

Only four days had passed before I felt more precise. I was able to sense clearer, and therefore my reactions were quicker.

Zen stumbled, his dodge rendered ineffective as he fell onto his behind. His favorite dagger was dislodged—it spun away, far left from his position. "Yes!" he exclaimed, not even bothering the retrieval of his blade. Pulling himself up, he was in front of me in no time. I was a tad jealous, though. My chest rose and fell with huffs of air, and he remained balanced, not a sign of wear on him. "That was it!" His voice still leaked a bit of excitement as he patted me enthusiastically on the shoulder. I grinned. "Well, you're ready, I think."

My eyes widened "Are you serious?" I exclaimed, nearly jumping up in excitement until I realized that it wasn't very rogue-like.

"Well, I promised, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…I thought it might have been just a ploy."

Zen scoffed. "When will you learn to trust a rogue's honor?"

I giggled as we returned to Zen's massive home. "Probably never."

The following morning, Zen accompanied me to visit Officer Jared. Upon seeing my teacher behind me, the officer's eyebrows raised. "Red missions already?" he asked. Even though he tried to seem mildly surprised, I felt in his aura it was no shock. His aura was calm as ever.

"She's improved. Even in the past few days. Grace has taken everything I've taught her and maximized it to her ability."

"Impressive," Officer Jared announced, hands folded casually on his desk. "Zen, she may break your record yet."

My mentor's eyes drew into playful slits, a grin forming on his lips. "If there's one person who can get her there, it'd be me. I suppose only time will tell."

Officer Jared's fingers lingered on the top row of scrolls, finally landing on a specific one and holding it out for me. I took it without hesitation, my gaze locked on that beautiful red ribbon.

"Out of curiosity," Zen began as I tried to turn and exit the room, "may I ask how many apprentices are on the red level?"

"Two others," Jared answered simply. "There are now seven in yellow, eight in green."

Zen explained to me once that there were fifteen officers in SI:7, and that count was only in Stormwind. There were also unranked rogues—men I had actually fought beside—whose number was unknown. But still, the new recruits were outnumbering the officers, who were responsible for their development.

Three of whom were undergoing red missions. We were getting more dangerous by the moment.

I never went on missions alone anymore. It didn't bother me much any longer—I had grown so used to Zen's aura that it was a part of normalcy.

"So, what record am I going to break?" I asked Zen before I bothered opening my scroll.

A chuckle rumbled in his throat, the noise drawing my full attention to him. I had to be careful around Zen, or I could easily get overwhelmed by his green eyes. Often they were emotionless, the eyes of an assassin. But sometimes I was lucky enough to catch flickers of emotion.

"My training to be a rogue lasted a mere six months. I spent only two weeks on silly green missions. When I reached yellow missions, the officers noticed I speedily accomplished missions, often finishing up to two a day. The officers demanded I remained on yellow for at least a month or so, convinced Aradar was being too hasty with my development. I was forced to stay on the mid level for those two months. It came to the point where I was slitting throats in my sleep." I shivered at the thought. "Finally, once Aradar convinced the others I was talented, I was allowed to begin my red missions. I would have finished sooner, but Aradar was cautious in allowing me to advance."

"Six months?" I asked. "What's the average length of time for trainees, then?"

"A year or so," Zen answered. "Of course, with the impending war at hand, officers are trying to push through as many new recruits as humanly possible in the least amount of time."

Suddenly I didn't feel very important anymore. I frowned. I was just one of many, after all.

Zen stopped reaching for the door, his eyes landing on my own. "Even with the fast pace placed on all recruits, Grace, you far surpass them in progress and skill. I'm not about to waste my time on some silly half-wit recruit."

He finally opened the door, meaning his eyes slipped off mine. Finally I could find my train of thought as Zen stepped in.

"Why did you agree to train me?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Aradar requested it," he answered, as if he had rehearsed this very moment in his head many times.

"The almighty, all-knowing Zen agreed to train a silly know-nothing girl simply because Daddy Aradar said so?" I asked with a smirk.

"No," he answered too quickly. Zen had positioned himself tactically for my little inquiry. His back was to me as he looked for something nonexistent in the cupboard.

"And…?" I implored, leaning in closer, knowing that Zen would sense my determination.

"Did we use all that jam?"

"C'mon," I barked. "I can't be sidetracked that easily, Zen. Just answer. Harmless question."

He sighed, straightening up and turning to me with defeat. "I recruited you because I knew you had talent, and also because you remind me of…me when I was just beginning."

"Really?" I asked.

He nodded. "Anger. Your aura's been cleaned much from when I first sensed you, but it's still there. I know what it's like to have that anger within you so…overwhelming."

For once, I had nothing to really say.

"We all have our sappy stories," Zen stressed with a gesture of his hands. "Aradar taught me to control it. It was the best teaching I ever received. I knew I had to help you with it, too."

Silence engulfed the room for a mere moment, but I couldn't help but ask a question that was burning at the back of my mind. "Aradar taught you to become…an unfeeling assassin?"

It didn't mean to come out so…harsh and demanding. It was a serious question that had plagued my thoughts. Zen was always so in control of himself. Never letting emotion take over his actions or motives. Sometimes I even wondered if he had a heart, the way he paid no mind to women or the beautiful sunset or death…

"I have feelings," he muttered, but his tone completely contradicted the statement. It was cold, unattached as he tried to distance himself from me.

His aura hardened as well. I nearly regretted mentioning it.

Wincing, I took a step toward my room up the stairs. "Sorry," I mumbled. "It wasn't my place."

His hand caught my wrist in a nearly bone-crunching grip. My head snapped to question him, but his eyes were locked on the tiled floor below. The rest of his body language conveyed that he really didn't mean to be forceful; the contact made me hold my breath nonetheless.

"You really believe…I have no feelings?" he asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," I answered automatically, his grip loosening hopelessly on my wrist. "I didn't mean…Forget I even said that," I begged, biting my lip to keep myself from overreacting.

Crying would only worsen the situation. How long had it been since I had a good cry? I was only female…

Before I could see Zen darken any more, I was stalking up the stairs, reaching my bed and burying my face in my pillow. This time, my mouth had run too far. I regretted it, knowing the reaction I had received.

He clearly reacted to the question, meaning he had an opinion on the matter, which would then mean he had feelings. Right?

It just didn't seem natural. For a man like Zen to simply float through life, doing what was needed to get by without a sense for love or passion. Well, he must have felt hate. For the enemy, like I felt. If he was capable of hate, certainly he was capable of love.

I wanted so bad to peel off my clothes, to opt for something laced and frilly. Blame my girly feelings for wanting to feel more in their element.

I cradled my own arms, wishing I felt tired enough to sleep. I felt Zen's aura concentrated in his bedroom. It still felt uncomfortable, and his aura only rubbed off mine like sand on skin.

Then it dawned on me that I had a red mission below my room waiting to be opened. Quickly I fumbled out of my large bed, nearly crashing into the wall near the stairs. My hand was around the scroll in no time, fingers itching to rip the ribbon off. I hesitated, holding my breath.

It was a monumental moment for Zen as well. He was responsible for my improvement. I had to face him at some point, so it may as well be now before he had time to mull over my brash comment.

I walked into his room, acting as if I'd never been inside before. Zen was sitting on the edge of his bed, sharpening his dagger. I ignored the silver glow the metal emitted along the wall near Zen. The scroll was visible in my hands, but I ignored it.

Quietly I sat next to him, watching his expertise as he flawlessly sharpened his weapon. After a few seconds, I sighed lightly. "Can I ask you something?" I asked carefully.

He hesitated with his strokes a moment. "Will my answer really matter?" he countered smoothly.

I withheld a roll of my eyes, gripping the scroll in both hands. "You said you were angry. What happened?"

Zen inhaled audibly, the blade before him momentarily disregarded. "I lived in Darkshire with my family. Me, Mother, and Father. Back then, the Scourge wasn't renown. We were there, in our house, when a wave of them attacked the city. Later we learned that it was an experiment, meant to test their capacities. Undead invaded. My mother and father told me run, never look back." He paused, seemingly collecting himself, and I noticed that my hand had instinctually gone to his arm for support. It was just as hard on him to tell it as it was for me to listen. "And I did. Ran through those thick woods, didn't look back. I heard the screams of terror. Sometimes they still ring in my ears.

"From there, I enlisted. I had no family, no money. It was the only way I could survive. The hate I felt for those things only fueled my desire to be a rogue, to be as prepared as possible."

I choked, a single silent tear sliding down my jaw line. "I'm sorry," I muttered again, this time truly regretting what I had done. "That must have been hard to share, and I reopened that scar for you…"

"I'm glad you did," he replied a bit lighter. "At least now you know we're pretty similar." My reply was a nod. Gently Zen's hand moved so that it was placed over my fingers clutching the scroll. "Now, I believe you have something important to open."

My muscles relaxed at his touch. Finally I pulled at the ribbon, its bow unfolding to allow me to open the parchment.

Most of the red missions I completed in the couple of weeks were seek and destroy, with a stress on the destroy part. It involved obliterating groups of people, wiping them off the earth completely.

Zen and I easily completed these at night. It was hard to anticipate a pair of rogues like us. Zen was beyond experienced and I was supernaturally talented with sensing. The only setback was the traveling—we often traveled by horse for a day at a time, to more remote places.

The killing didn't bother me, even though it probably should have. I was an assassin now, trained to act and react. Only thing left was my initiation into SI:7 as a full-fledged rogue.

It was day eighteen of my red level training when Zen and I were awoken by a loud knock on the door. I was clothed in a nightdress, fumbling for a robe as I faltered down the stairs. Zen was already at the door, speaking to the figure on the other side in a low mumble.

I sighed. Officer things. Probably another midnight meeting.

But after a few moments Zen shut the door hurriedly, then bypassing me swiftly and walking straight to his bedroom. The fast pace had me worried. "Zen?" I asked, turning the corner of the banister and following him into his dark room. Inside he was pulling out his gear, throwing it on his bed as he took inventory. "Zen," I repeated, arms folded to hide my indecency, "what's going on?"

"I have to go. There's been a rumor of an attack on Menethil Harbor. An entire company is being sent out at the moment—all classes. But they want a good number of rogues at the helm. I'm one of them." While he explained he scooped up the armor, not accustomed to having to changing behind a screen in his own room, and staggered behind the black divider.

My jaw clenched. "You're leaving," I muttered, eyes unable to focus. The sounds of his gear locking in place met my ears.

"Yes."

"You're leaving me."

He sighed from behind the screen, and then he appeared, helmet resting on his hip. "Grace, its far too dangerous for you to come along. I wouldn't want you coming even if you could."

"Meaning you could die," I answered for myself, voice shaky. "Zen, don't go."

"This is my duty, Grace," he replied lightly. "The danger is part of the job. Besides, I live life on the edge."

"And you'll probably die on it, too," I grumbled, pouting like a little girl.

"Grace, this is your future as well, don't you understand?"

I frowned. "I know. But you'll be out there, and I won't be able to sense you…It's unnerving."

"You're used to me alongside you. I know. But you'll be a rogue soon, and this'll be the norm," Zen explained. I bit my lip, refraining from saying anything that would get me in trouble. He placed his weapons at his side, as well as a few others he hid within his armor. Then he looked at me again, a grimace my only comfort. "Keep an eye on the house, okay? If that Dennis character shows up…"

I rolled my eyes. "Are you my father?"

He scoffed, pulling on his chest armor. "Hardly." We both stepped out of his room as Zen threw a cloak over his figure. In his full gear, Zen looked extremely frightening. "Stay out of trouble, Grace. No missions while I'm gone."

I gasped. "What?" I snapped. "Wh-what am I supposed to do, then?" I demanded, fingers balling into frustrated fists.

"Anything but the red missions," he answered coolly. Swiftly he turned to me, his gloved hand resting on my shoulder. His lips parted as if he was to say something, but he snapped them shut in defiance. "Stay safe."

And he was gone. The door was shut behind him, a breeze tussling the curtains. I looked around me almost expectedly, waiting for the house to crumble or dissolve with the absence of Zen. Everything around me remained intact, though.

What could I do? Still in a slight daze, I climbed back up the stairs, returning to my bed in hopes that I'd wake up the following morning and feel Zen's aura once more.