2-21-2014 Authors Note: Finally caught up. I have a few more drafts in the offing and I will work on them as soon as I get this one off my screen. I have been staring at the drafts since Christmas Break. As for the new title-well, I don't know. It felt right. It also avoids pesky questions regarding a show I know but haven't even watched yet. There.

CHAPTER VI:

A PHANTOM WITHOUT DELIGHT

The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided.

It is sometimes better to abandon one's self to destiny.

Napoleon Bonaparte

Fire Nation

Konoha

Present Time

Red…flames and fires…and pain…the endless, licks of flames that brought pain after unceasing pain…blood flowing everywhere while the murmur of voices…the burning heat that just wouldn't go away…voices that called out familiar name…voices that pleaded and begged and voices that screamed and shouted and cursed…and the unrelenting heat…the burning cold…it was everything and nothing…heat and cold and darkness…

He awoke to the glare of flame colored glass as sunlight poured through the stylized glass carvings of flames and falling autumn leaves embedded upon the steel frames of his open windows, the dark curtain fluttering softly in the wind as one of his hands clutched desperately at some quickly vanishing mist, trying to hold on to something he feared he would not be able to keep.

It took him a while to realize that he still had an arm stretched out and reluctantly pulled the appendage back down to his side, clenching his fist against the sense of loss that assailed him once more and one he no longer bothered to deny. It happened before…since he turned seven he has had the dreams, periodically at first, once every year, then once every couple of months, then when he turned sixteen almost once a month. Now, in the year he would turn eighteen he has had them almost every week. He knows that as the year progresses and the days come closer to his eighteenth summer, the dreams would come every night and so he has grown used to the sour aftertaste of loss even when he knew such phantom sensation made no sense.

Why do I fear for something that has no name? Why do I long for someone I can't even remember? Why do I yearn for something I can't even understand?

The questions, like the dreams, would eventually fade from his mind and he would soon forget about it. He always did in the light of the coming day. For as long as he could remember—when he can and did remember—the dreams and yearning only lasted moments before he was fully awake. Whether they were repressed by the cold, stark reality of life, the endless sessions with his instructors or the rigorous demands imposed on him as a child of means meant very little to him once he was awake. His mind, his time are precious commodities he couldn't willy-nilly squander chasing after persistent nightmares.

He had expectations to live up to and there was simply no room in his life for flights of fancy. He has already wasted enough time on trying to find answers for the relentless dreams, he endured sessions with the therapist his brother thought fit enough to send him to and had many experts explain to him the nature of dreams.

Despite their taunted expertise however, not a single one of them could explain his dreams or why he would only have one certain dream plague him for years. It was one more thing that set him apart and whether this was further indication of his uniqueness or the less than usual conventions of other dreams, he wasn't certain. He learned long ago to simply let go of the matter since they have yet to intrude upon his normal waking hours and those were the hours that mattered to him.

The images that haunted him behind his closed lids bore no significant or merit the moment his eyes opened in the real world. For a moment though, he recalled a new aspect of his dreams and wondered at its presence. Instead of the usual kaleidoscope of colors—red, black, ivory and infinite green, this time around he saw the oddest combinations of gold and a shade so unusual it seemed sacrilege to simply call it blue. The color was like an odd interplay of sea and sky—a blue so riveting he knows he could never forget it—knows even while he denies it that he has seen it once—while he was awake and unaware—a blue so rich and alive that no gem in the world could ever compare.

But this time around the colors and images included the odd phantom sensation of touching something smooth, cool and silky. Something vital and fragile and alive. The realization brought a wry twist to his thin lips.

That's just great. Now I'm not only dreaming in Technicolor—it's in full 3d as well. Only my brain would be so weird. Huh. Figured somewhere along the line that some part of me would remain just the teensiest bit damaged.

He closed dark eyes once more and tried to induce his body back to slumber but like always, once disturbed, his consciousness refused to yield control once again. It was as if his cursed body had an innate affinity towards dusk and dawn. His pale flawless, the cause of envy and admiration from many a female and not a few male seemed so finely attuned to the changes in temperature that he would inevitably wake—without fail—whenever broke over the horizon. He could count in the fingers of one hand the number of times when his body's internal clock failed him since both occasions occurred before he hit puberty and both were direct results from being too sick and exhausted to pay heed to his body's own demands.

With a muttered complaint and a sad shake of his head he tossed aside the heavily lined indigo silk blankets and reached out for the robe that he discarded on the floor the night before. The cool kiss of the early morning breeze was invigorating enough to wash away the remaining vestiges of his dreams.

As he walked towards the large bay windows that displayed a magnificent view of the dark canopied forest that flanked one side of the clan main house he couldn't help staring at the rapidly lightening skies and comparing that shade with the one in his memory. As before, the color wasn't quite right and he again had to fight the sudden surge of bitter disappointment.

Turning away from the inviting view he as habit dictated, brushed back the fine strands of ebony locks from his face with an absentminded grace. The locks would stay in place for the time being and he would attend to its more proper care after he was done with his morning katas.

He commenced to do a few preliminary stretching exercises and tried to unknot the tensed lines of his shoulders, a result no doubt of his habit of tossing and turning once he was asleep and firmly entrenched in his dreams, tangling in the bed clothes until every pillow ended up on the floor and he was left cocooned in his comforter like an overgrown sushi roll, twisted into uncomfortable and often undignified positions that would've mortified him had he been awake.

The morning's ritual is a familiar one, just like the comfortable feel of his simple clothing offsets the elegant appointment of the room where he was in. Just like the fact that he would rise with eyes barely cracked open, do his stretches on autopilot only to settle in some other corner of the room to meditate and think about his schedule before venturing any further.

Barely paying any mind to the complicated steps of his kata and finishing with a spine-cracking stretch that would've made his admirers drool; he sat on the window seat that came with the room to begin his meditation. The sea one of its many features that made him chose such a remote corner of the expansive manor rather than settling in one of the more luxuriously appointed family suites.

It was spacious and sparsely furnished and he took delight in its silence and unintended privacy. It never failed to remind him that despite the mansions sheer proportion and the fact that it had more rooms than it did people, the interior could sometimes be stifling when one desired comfort and so empty when one seeks succor.

As of late, he found a growing need for more and more the solace that silence and solitariness gives. He has been spending nearly all his early waking moments wondering yet again at the dreams that plagued his nights…the series of scenes that played over and over again until he had to do something different to divert his mind or else sink into the occasional depressive, coldly ruthless apathetic mood that upset everyone around him.

True, he has learned to ignore the dreams once he was awake, learned and adapted to take them in his stride, finding a sense of normalcy and familiarity in what others would naturally call an unending nightmare but that was the best he could describe the matter. The only thing he has not grown accustomed to yet was the fleeting sense of loss and vulnerability that always accompanied his dreams

It's like pieces of me are floating just there in the ether and I have neither the sense nor the power to make heads or tails out of it. It figures that for all my purported skills, talent and privilege, I am bested by something that doesn't even exist in the real world.

The bitter, self-deprecating thought never lasts for very long, though they have been occurring with even more frequency of late. He had the uncanny ability, according to his brother, to shrug off even the most traumatic things and make the best of any given situation. At first he thought that like always, his brother was pointing out yet another fault and was prepared to ignore the matter until his brother pointed out that it made him a far better, far stronger person. After that, he has learned to simply look for the silver lining in whatever he had in his life. He always reminded himself that his fate in life could have had something far worse.

Sure he and his brother are orphans and the last of the main branch of a powerful and wealthy clan. True, they were fated to live in the overwhelming shadow of their predecessors' achievements and that as a second son his fate would be to be his brother's support for the rest of his life but that was not an unkind fate.

With a sigh he sauntered straight in to the large en suite bathroom to cleanse his skin of the usual residue brought by his restless slumber and his morning kata. Somewhere in the back of his mind minute detail regarding the day's event nagged at him—telling him that this morning was a bit different but he couldn't put enough brain power at the moment for it for the matter to fully register. Like an annoying gnat that flies around one's head in the dark, he consigned the elusive thing that nagged him into the furthest corner of his mind.

I would simply ask Juugo about the matter. Failing that I'm certain someone in my staff would have the information otherwise I would be embroiled in more violence this morning than I originally planned.

Unmindful of his resulting nakedness as he stripped the sweat soaked sleepwear from his body and uncaring for anyone foolish enough to receive an eyeful should they be brave or careless or desperate enough to brave the inner mansions security measures just to enter his private rooms, he only stopped on his move towards the bath long enough to pick up a thick black and blue towel from a cupboard. Reaching out a hand he flipped the switch to turn on the lights, pausing just at the threshold to let his dark eyes adjust to the brightness before proceeding into the shower area. He cast a backward glance at the floor littered with piece of dirty clothing shed willy-nilly the night before and made a mental note to tell his valet to see that the maids give the room a thorough cleaning and attend to his pick up climate appropriate sleepwear before stepping inside, not even bothering to close the door.

While waiting for the water to reach desirable temperatures, his eyes fell on the faint lines on his chest that hinted at the start of his mark, the tattoo that declared him a scion of his clan. Tracing the familiar distinctive tattoo that marked nearly half of his chest area with casual disinterest, he wondered anew at the complexity of the design and what most of the lines meant. As he turned on the shower and absent-mindedly adjusted the temperature, letting the water flow hotter than normally necessary, he tried to recall the words his brother spoke when he asked about the tattoos meaning as he lathered the sandalwood scented soap he favored all over his now drenched skin.

He said something about a bond and a promise but that's all. He didn't really say much except to warn me not to display it so blatantly. I wonder why he would worry about anyone seeing it when it's placed so prominently on my body.

He just started rinsing the foam from his hair when the phone in his room rang. With an irritated sigh, he quickly finished his ablutions and uncaring for the priceless Aubusson carpet being soaked beneath his bare feet, snatched his phone up and snarled,

"There better be someone dead, dying, bleeding or in jail at the end of this line for you to fucking call me so early in the day."

The voice that spoke to him was so obviously snickering even the static of long distance communication couldn't belie it. He tried to muster patience but it was strangely lying just beyond his normal grasp.

"Young Master, one of these days someone will be one of those things and you'd be even more pissed at the inconvenience."

"Suigetsu. Tell me why I shouldn't crucify your idiotic ass as soon as I see you."

"I bring gifts, young master. One that's tempting enough even for you."

"I doubt that."

"Oh? Then perhaps I should present my largess upon the cold pale feet of our dear Leader?"

At the mention of his brother, his ire rose even more and it took nearly all his effort not to crush the phone in his hand. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He knew well enough that it will not do to lose his patience. It is unbecoming for someone like him and he will not succumb to the irrationality of his emotions. Once his eyes opened, his voice was still and solemn as a frozen sea.

"Suigetsu."

This time the man spoke with his usual deferential tones. He, like most vassals in his young masters home, knew well enough that their young lord was not a morning person—worse still—he was a creature of habit. He doesn't take kindly to any interruptions in his routine and his call was most definitely an interruption.

"A thousand apologies, my lord. I bring news that might interest you." Silence followed. A beat later Suigetsu spoke once more. "There is movement from the mansion in the toad-stronghold. Messengers have been sent out and there was a witness who saw the Scarecrow coming out of the mountain fort."

"He's finally out?"

The he was not specified but Suigetsu could hazard a guess quickly enough to determine whom his lord meant. He paused and added thoughtfully, "He was heading north that is all they could determine. They couldn't follow close enough to know exactly where. He could be heading to any number of locations within the Elemental Nations or simply heading back to Konoha."

"Who else came?"

"There was no way to determine my lord. We caught the Scarecrow only in passing and with the strangest stroke of luck—there is no way to come close enough to the Toad Mansion to know who else arrived. But there was more activity there than has been observed since the last few months. Since there is no festival or occasion to be celebrated in the offing, there really is no reason for the number of guests coming to call on the Toad Mansion."

"I see."

Suigetsu tried and failed to read the meaning behind his young master's typical short and randomly abrupt statements but he was prepared to wait until his lord deigns to speak once more. He has served his lord for most of his life and he has grown adept at reading his silence.

"What would you have me do my lord?"

"Come back. We must speak with my brother."

Suigetsu was thanking his stars that the discussion was held via phone otherwise his young lord would've been witness to the blanching of his visage. With visible effort, he pulled himself together and was proud when his voice didn't give out so much as a wobble.

"Yes, of course my lord. I shall be there as soon as I can."

He didn't wait for Suigetsu to say anything else. He dropped the phone back on its cradle and headed towards one of the bellpulls in the room. He gave it a quick tug and waited for his valet to come.

When the familiar figure of Juugo entered his private domain, he gave the man a nod and watched as his valet quickly assembled the required attire for the day's schedule. He gave his hair another pass of the towel and made another mental note to have the carpet thoroughly dried. When Juugo made a move towards the changing screen, he quickly dropped the damp towel and allowed himself to be dressed.

The day was already proving itself worthy enough for him to bother waking—even at such an ungodly hour. Perhaps today something unexpected will come his way.