The boy had left a difficult trail, but with his experience hunting Gears, it was not trivial. He went on instinct, he gave his ears out, and with achy feet, he led himself to the most obvious God damn place. Paris.

He knew the boy more than he thought.

The Great War was enough for him. More than enough. And putting Ky into the mixture didn't help. Its late and former leader had shown the Sacred Order's foolishness when they appointed an eighteen-year old zealot as his replacement. A prophecy some called him. Bullshit! He had probably been a pro at chess and he soaked up the lie.

— All right, he had to admit, his fighting abilities were impressive and his tactics worked on the fields and with his soldiers. A fair leader, honest to say. But they clashed on too many levels. His speeches about God and justice in and out of the walls of the Sacred Order burned his ears. There had been several times Sol snapped at him for it. And in return Ky complained about his pigheadedness.

Wasn't so perfect now was he?

Screw 'em.

The war was over. He didn't need the Order. He didn't need Ky. He was free from both of them, of their rules, of their faces . . .to a point. Ever since the war, Ky was constantly on his tail when he got the chance. After taking Fireseal, which was rightfully his the day it was created, he had been after him. Ky called it a crime.

Get a life.

He had a feeling there was going to be another confrontation. Not over Fireseal but over a Gear.

Whatever. As long as he got what he wanted.

The Sacred Order's headquarters came first. Where would dealing with a Gear lead a nostalgic knight?

Home. Not to the IPF where he belonged but to the lonesome of the headquarters.

Even more predictable. He couldn't wait to laugh about this one in the boy's face.

He walked across the stone bridge leading to the front doors of the large and noble building. Visiting the headquarters was rare, unless Ky challenged him or something tempted him there. Like this.

The wind brushed him when he came to its face and took hold of the front gate handles. Entering, the first room he came to was empty. Despite being left in the back of the old knights' minds, the floors were clean and the relics were still standing. But not all of it was in pristine condition—mainly because of them. There were several broken stained-glass windows, cracked flooring, scorched and damaged walls and one decapitated statue.

Sol blinked and listened.

Nothing. But that didn't mean they weren't here.

He crossed the room, passing statues of two dancing angels and climbed a flight of stairs. At the top, he reached a lookout post wide enough to wrap around the entire building. It gave him view of the landscape where the trees still stood healthy and strong and the waterfall flowed and crashed near the bridge. Its waters shimmered.

He flared his nostrils, taking in the cool, fresh air before he walked along the balcony. He rounded it until he reached the other end.

Nothing.

He went room to room. He went to the ceremony hall but he knew the boy wouldn't dare to bring it in there.

He drew himself back and turned, continuing. He searched every room, scanned the outside—but God damn it, there was no sight of either of them.

Was he wrong for coming here? Or was he in the wrong place?

The headquarters wasn't the only property of the Order still in Paris. There were other places that would make good hiding spots.

* * *

Sol made his way to the old training grounds, which was thankfully a couple of miles away from the headquarters. But this wasn't the only one in Paris, there was another one, but Sol was damned if he had to go to another. His feet had enough. Besides, he had a feeling—a feeling it was there.

When he came to the grounds, the grasses were nothing but weeds. The structures and the main building were broken and turned into rubble. One who hadn't been a knight wouldn't know it had once been the training ground for potential and skilled knights. He heard this one was downed by an army of Gears, then the elements ate away the rest. Now the grounds were quiet and still as if it had turned into some sort of graveyard.

He saw a dark figure sitting on a block of rubble, staring at him while he was scanning the area. They gazed at each other for a long time when they made eye contact, both of them silent. He noticed there was some bulk on its shoulders but had a slender form.

He took a few steps towards it, then stopped.

The figure then said, "Where's Ky?" It was female.

Success.

"You," he muttered in curiosity, tilting his head a bit.

She then stood and took a cautious step forward.

Sol met her step. "So, Ky—" He froze when she came closer. She had a tail sticking out from under the cloak she tried to fool him with. She had red but human eyes. Not the typical Gear but a Gear nonetheless.

"So," he said, "you're the Gear."

The female Gear shrunk back. "Are you a bounty hunter Ky has been talking about?"

Sol frowned. "Ky should have kept his mouth shut."

"You are."

The Gear began to back up. Then something seemed to explode. A color of dark green and white flashed from her cape, tossing it back. He saw large wings spread to their full extent, and within them, formed two figures, an angel on one side and a hooded demon on the other.

This was it.

"I better be careful with this one," he muttered to himself. He braced himself in a casual way and steadied Fireseal in his hand. He watched her carefully.

"No, no, no!" she cried. "I'm sorry. I can't . . . I can't . . ." She held her head.

The green wing rose and formed into the shape of a dragon. The mouth opened and suddenly spewed a bream at him.

Sol dove to the side into the grass and stood again. The two faced off for a few seconds before the Gear went in for another attack. —Well, the things attached to her.

The white wing raised its arm and threw something at him. He quickly dodged to the side and felt a sharp sting graze across his cheek as he did. He looked down and saw a dagger made of ice sticking out of the ground. As he looked at it, he began to feel blood trickle down his cheek.

He wiped it away and returned his attention to the Gear.

"Going to kill me?" he asked, tempting her.

She shook her head and began to open her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Sol snorted. "Just as I thought." He charged and arched his sword backwards while flames built around its edges. He thrusted it, sending the flames forward.

She screamed. The wings tried to protect her but she was thrown back. When she fell, she landed too close to a cluster of rubble, most of them large, and smacked the back of her head against one. He watched her go limp.

But he wasn't going to let his guard down. He never let his guard down on any Gear.

He watched her a while, waiting for her to stir, but she remained still, laying there as if she were asleep. After a few more moments, he bent down and grabbed her by the ankles and began to drag her like an animal dragging its prey.

* * *

The catch was thin. Out of the three of them, they had caught two fish from the stream they frequented. It was a shame between the three friends, but perhaps it was because of the coming fall. Or did they choose the wrong spot this time?

It didn't matter. It was a couple of hours before sunset. There was another time.

The three boys collected their rods with the fish hooked on one and began to head back towards the village, walking along the bank of the stream. The stream whispered as the water ran through it. It went thin in one section as rocks became dominant. Behind them, the water was deeper and they claimed it as their fishing spot. The area they walked was nothing but jumping spots for the smaller village kids, that is if they weren't clumsy enough to fall and hit the rocks.

Suddenly, the boy leading the group halted. The one behind him nearly ran into his back. He stood there, his arms stiff and fingers splayed. In the stream laid the body of a girl with her face resting against a cold rock. It was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

"A girl."

"That's not a girl," one said from behind him. "That's a Gear."