Chapter 22: Broken Home

"Pass the butter, Kei."

"Pass the butter, please, Mia."

"I can't! It's too far from my reach! Besides, I asked you first!"

Cordelia snickered softly under her breath, shaking her head as she spooned sugar into her steaming mug of rose-and-orange tea. Seated halfway across the wooden kitchen table, Atma coughed softly—then rapped gently upon the table. At her wordless reprimand, the children silenced themselves, each returning to their bread in manners most docile.

"Pass the butter please, Kei."

"Here you go, Mia."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Atma caught the sorceress's eye—then winked. "Ajei, Cordeillea. Where goes your spirit this morning?"

Cordelia shrugged, rubbing gently at the side of her head as she lowered her tea. Wispy clouds of steam wafted carelessly over the top of the mug, creating idle patterns in the air. The gentle, tickling warmth rather wearied the sorceress; sleep had eluded her the previous night.

She was exhausted.

"I don't know."

"Surely you must be curious? You have never been here before." The elder woman tilted her head gently, the faintest of smiles appearing upon her lips.

"You needn't remind me of that particular summer. My memory serves me just fine." Cordelia scowled in response.

"Oh, come now." Atma chuckled softly. "You know your father left you in Gavandur's care for a reason."

The sorceress wrinkled her nose, crossing her arms over her chest as she shook deep-auburn tresses over her shoulder. "It wasn't that he left me with Gavandur—It was that he left me with Gavandur whilst he, and mother, and Asha, and Estarra, and you left for Lut Gholein. And then they came back without you! What was I to think? I was eight!"

"Of course, my love. You were merely eight. Your father thought only of you when he left you behind." Atma crooked her lips ever so slightly. "The desert road is a treacherous path, and our journey was long. It was best you did not come. But, I'm quite sure that you've since heard of the journey from your sisters."

"Star told me of everything she deemed interesting in the city—" The sorceress smirked. "—in one sentence."

Atma made a low, exasperated sound under her breath; yet amusement lingered within her eyes. "That sounds very much like Estarra. How is she, my darling?"

"Bored half to death of Asha and of our tiresome cousins."

"I never knew her when she wasn't."

Cordelia hid a smile—then nodded. "Apparently, she's seen her first death. It sounded awfully gruesome—but she seemed to enjoy it."

"She has the makings of a true seer." Atma nodded in approval. And then, with a bit of a wry smile—"Whose bad fortune was it to hear of death from our princess?"

"Asha's pet bird."

Atma blinked. "Skaran? That small, annoying little—"

"Yes. That Skaran." Try as she might, the sorceress simply could not erase the remnants of the lingering smile upon her face. "Apparently, he died proclaiming his love for his mistress."

"Tsk. He wasn't even a talking bird, to begin with." Atma waved a nonchalant hand. "He merely listens, and repeats."

"Which means that it was entirely probable that Asha wrote his deathbed sonnet for him."

"Entirely probable, my darling."

Cordelia chuckled softly under her breath. "Sometimes, I do wonder if we're all too nasty about her."

"She is your sister, darling. And your eldest, at that." Atma shrugged mildly. The children were done with their breakfast; and though they were both long gone to play, their emptied plates remained for the mother. But she did not complain—and with patience most virtuous, reached out to stack the porcelain pieces together. "Perhaps Star, and yourself, should consider a different approach when speaking with her."

"I could. But you know Star as well as I do, Atma." Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "She's never going to be nice to Asha. Not even if you tell her to be."

Atma laughed softly at the remark, though she did not speak. Instead, with something of a faint smile upon her face, she pushed herself to her feet, lifting porcelain plates from table-top and bringing them to the wash-basin in the sink. Moments of silence passed between nurse and ward, the former humming softly as she rinshed away the remnants of the morning meal. Beyond the borders of the window-sills, the children laughed, their voices loud and clear in the humid desert air. Cordelia shook her head slowly from side to side; the sweet flower-fumes of her tea were beginning to stiffle her. She cursed softly as her eyelids drooped ever so slightly—and, reaching out, grasped the mug in her hands once more.

"Cordeillea..?"

The sorceress blinked, startled. "Hrm?"

Atma watched her in pregnant silence for several short moments. When she spoke, her voice was low—and her tone was somewhat cautious. "You travel with Deckard Cain, yes? Him, and another?"

"Yes." Cordelia nodded stiffly; and, for lack of anything better to say, lifted the mug to her mouth. The tea was hot—so she lowered it once more, wrinkling her nose. "Him, and one other."

"That man—he is of Scosglen, is he not? A druid of the wilds?" Having finished with her dishes, Atma turned; but there were no traces of laughter upon her lined face. Merely curiousity, and mild concern. "Have you known him long?"

"Why are you curious?" The sorceress scowled, lifting her pallid eyes to the elder's greys. "He's no-one of consequence."

Atma pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the wash-basin. "Yet your voice changes at the slightest mention of him. I may not know him, Cordeillea; but I know you. And if you refuse to speak of him, it is clearer than ever I thought."

Clearly, the nurse was annoyed, now.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "His name is Saul Vyreant. He has four sisters; Adynne, Lorelei, Tomei, and Seirra. He is a druid of Scosglen, but has since re-located to Entsteig. He lives in the Rogues' Encampment with his cousin, Charsi. And it has been five months since we met." She hissed, her voice tense. "Is there anything else you wish to know? Perhaps a detailed family history? I swear, I've had ever so much time to communicate with him, though my motives of travel were naught but the defeat of the demoness Andariel."

A glint of something flashed across the elder woman's eyes; and for a moment or two, Cordelia half thought that she'd gone too far. But Atma, throughout the Medjai, was best known for patience—a quality the sisters had lacked since birth.

Now, she merely blinked; once, and then again, in placid, but rather pronounced distaste.

Passive aggression.

"Forgive me, then, tia-aldyn. It was not my place to ask." She said, her tone dry, and cool. "But if I may once again cross the boundaries of appropriate behaviour to state the obvious—" Here, she paused, her eyes blazing, as though daring the sorceress to stop her. "—you are very clearly caught in a dilemma of sorts. I am much obliged to tell you that you shall soon be nothing short of miserable, if you don't sort your problems out, now."

"Really, now?" Cordelia pushed herself to her feet, wincing slightly as the chair scraped heavily against the wooden-tiled floors. "If you truly believe that I am to be miserable, then perhaps you should have thought to stop my parents when they decided to marry me off!"

"It is my fault now, is it?" Atma gritted her teeth—her voice was low, now, an almost dangerous whisper. "But deal with this problem however you wish, tia-aldyn. I shan't get in your way as you deny everything you hold dear. Deny myself; deny what love you hold for the druid. Yes, I say love!" She drew herself up rigidly, her eyes narrowing. "Because I know you. If there is anyone within the realms who knows you more than I, it is Estarra. You cannot lie to me. I am not so easily bullied into trust."

"You're just being ridiculous, now!" Cordelia slammed her fist upon the table; she could feel the scowl upon her face deepening, and her cheeks were warm. Yet she found she did not much care. The unsaid words threatened to overcome her being, choking her soul, her thoughts. "I am not in love with him." And then, as though attempting to re-assure herself—"I'm not."

Atma released a somewhat exasperated grunt; then turned her back to the sorceress. "Stubborn child."

Cordelia started; and for several short seconds, merely stared into the back of the elder woman.

It hurt, fighting with Atma. Not only because the nurse had been, to her, the epitome of a best friend.

But it hurt, because, just then, Cordelia found herself in true understanding of the word betrayal.

She swallowed, inhaling sharply. And without another word, strode across the sun-lit kitchen, into the bright, noisy streets of Lut Gholein.

The skies were always a deep and rich shade of orange above the golden sands of Aranoch. It was the effect of the everlasting summer within the deserts; dry, musk-scented winds, blistering heat, and bursts of sandstorms in the wildest of moments imaginable.

Aranoch was, in every essence, a dangerous land.

A wild land.

Yet, within the walls of the jewel city, life continued, as always, it had; through sheer endurance and determination to survive.

The desert locals had that, at the very least. The will and determination to live.

It was near mid-day before Saul found himself within the walls of Lut Gholein. The market was silent, now; the locals had long since returned to their homes to begin the day's chores. Few roamed the streets, and those who did just then were children, lost in games and various forms of childhood amusements.

The druid cast a sideways glance towards the woman beside him—then scowled. "Why are you still following me?"

The amazon stretched her arms out, chuckling dryly as she tossed platinum locks over her shoulder. "Like I said earlier. You, master druid, are much too much fun to annoy."

"Couldn't you annoy someone else? I even know just the person for you." Saul grumbled. "Deckard Cain. Sits in the center square. Talks in circles a lot. He's perfect for you."

She laughed. "I pick my own victims, I'm afraid."

"Wonderful." He muttered in reply, turning away.

"Well, then." Her footsteps were light upon the cobblestones as she quickened her pace to stride alongside him. "You're going to see a lot of me, and I, you. We might as well make each others' acquaintances."

"Not interested." Saul gave his staff an idle twirl about his hand, canting his head just a touch.

"Oi." The amazon sighed deeply, shaking her head. For a moment or two, Saul thought he saw the slightest traces of exasperation in her eyes—but then her lips curled upwards into a would-be smile. "You're no more sociable than you were three days ago."

"You mean, three days ago, when you forcibly tackled me to the ground?" He grunted. "No. I'm afraid I have little patience for you, o' great Amazon stalker."

She laughed once more, her voice a low, husky burr. "Come now. Don't be such a grouch. I'll give you mine." She paused, her footsteps coming to an abrubt halt as she lifted her bow to block the druid's progress "I'm Araeya Adrielle Basette. But most people here call me Aya. Or the sharp-tongued, Amazonian bitch. You choose."

Saul lifted a brow at her; then scowled. And, in rather a grudging manner—"Saul Vyreant."

She smirked, then, with a sort of languid grace, twirled her bow about her fingers once—then returned it to its sheath. "See? Now that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Will you go away now?" Saul said, somewhat hopefully. "Please?"

"Psht." Araeya rolled her eyes. "Fine. Since you asked ever so nicely. I'll be back, though, so don't get too comfortable."

The druid scowled. "Oh, I wouldn't dare."

"Smart. I shall, no doubt, run into you later—" She ran slender fingers through her hair, lips curling further as she did so. "—Saul."

He made a face—then muttered, dryly. "No need to hurry."

"Oh, I never do." Araeya chuckled; and without skipping a beat, fell out of pace.

Saul blinked—then turned.

And just like that, she was gone.

This fact, like so many others regarding the amazon in question, did not come as a surprise to the druid. Three days; three long days spent in the company of one so wilful, and so sharp-tongued. He'd spent the days in the blistering heat of the Rocky Waste, every second, hoping, as a fool was to, in such a situation, that she would take heed of the tempestuous weather, and finally leave him be. But she'd done no such thing, choosing, instead, to tread upon his every step, slaying demons that were rightfully his to slay.

She took great pride in her agility. Many times, the druid had found himself moving to strike—then stepping back in disgust and irritation as his quarry fell to the ground with arrows embedded within their lifeless forms.

She was that quick.

It all annoyed him to no end, and she was well aware of it.

Saul scowled, brushing his hair from his eyes as he came to a stop at the edge of the harbour walkway. The deep blue sea; Gyurahn, lay wide open before him, and, just beyond the crystalline blues was the sparkling horizon. He inhaled sharply, stretching, as the crisp, salty tang of sea-water hit his lungs.

Silence. Beautiful, golden silence.

A seagull released a shrill overture from within the cloudless skies. The druid watched, eyes narrowed against the bright sun as the bird dived, then ascended once more into the sun, ivory wings outstretched.

"Beautiful afternoon, is it not?"

Saul blinked; and the silence, rare as it had been, was gone. He sighed; then turned to face the speaker.

It was the captain. The one who'd taken it upon himself to argue with the Prince of the Golden City.

It took all of two seconds for the druid to decide that he rather liked this man.

"You're that man who hates Jerhyn." Saul began—then swore quietly under his breath. He'd not meant to say that aloud.

The other blinked once, tilting his turbaned head ever so slightly. There was a bit of a sheepish smile upon his bearded face; perhaps he was embarassed at the comment. At any rate, Saul found he could not blame him. It was, after all, a rather horrifying thing to be remembered for.

"The name's Meshif."

"Saul."

"Pleasure."

Up close, it was only all too clear that the captain did not belong within the ranks of the desert locals. He was tanned, it was true; but his tan was that of weathered skies and stormy oceans. Naught of his visage spoke of days spent beneath the scorching desert sun. His eyes were of a bright, crystalline aqua; they reminded the druid of the sea. He wore upon his broad-shouldered torso a loose, wide-collared tunic of ivory muslin, and a rough-cut vest of scarlet flannel. Beneath the folds of his ivory turban, Saul saw, were several protruding locks of a deep, chocolate brown. He was, in every essense, a man of obvious strength.

"How can I help you, Captain?" Saul blinked placidly—then inclined his head ever so slightly.

Meshif rolled his broad shoulders back, shrugging mildly. "I require no help, nor have I an ulterior motive."

"Oh?" The druid crooked a vague smile. He was somewhat amused. "That's a first so far. At least on this side of the Sanctuary."

The other chuckled dryly, shaking his head just a touch. "You seem to suffer from extraordinarily bad luck, then."

Saul smirked. "Clearly."

Meshif wrinkled his nose slightly, lifting a thick and calloused hand to shield his eyes against the sun as he lowered himself onto the ground—then grunted in relief as he sat down. "So. What bothers you this day, Saul?"

"Too, too much."

"Really, now?"

Deep within the skies above, the seagull cried out to the heavens once more, the melody a slow, and mournful whisper. For several short moments, the two were quiet, choosing merely to gaze into the stillness of the oceans. The winds were present that day, and the chilly sea-breeze tickled gently at their faces—a tonic for the wearying heat.

"What do you know of—" Saul began, quietly. "—Araeya?"

The captain lifted a casual brow as he cast a sidelong glance towards the druid. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the druid thought he saw a hint of mild surprise within the other's eyes. "What of her?"

Saul shrugged. "What is she doing here? So far from home?"

"…the same could be said of you." Meshif grinned. "You, too, are far from home, are you not?"

"True is true."

The captain chuckled quietly. "So. Why do you ask of Aya?"

Saul wrinkled his nose, lowering himself onto the ground beside the other. "She's taken to following me about the desert. And I just want to know if—maybe, just maybe—she has a reason for that."

"I would've thought that reason was obvious." Meshif rubbed lightly upon his bearded chin as he turned towards the druid. "She's very much like you. You, and the lady you travel with."

"Cordelia?" It was now Saul's turn to chuckle. "You're drawing a parallel between Araeya and Cordelia?"

"I don't mean to say that they are similar in personality." Meshif smiled wryly. And then, as though the words were bitter in his mouth—"But her motives for travel are very much similar to yours. She is running away from her past—and at the same time, running towards the end of this siege of darkness."

"I'm not running away from anything. And neither is Cordelia." Saul grunted; but he knew full-well that it was a lie.

Meshif shrugged. "Perhaps I am wrong, then. At any rate, Aya is here not because she desires to be here. She is here merely because she would rather not be somewhere else."

"A troubled past, then?" The druid canted his head to the side, blinking once or twice. "That's why she's out in these wastelands? Risking her neck and life?"

"Yes. That sounds just about right."

Saul blinked once—then stiffened as an icy chill settled upon the dockside. He turned; and was surprised to find a look of similar surprise upon the captain's face. It half reminded him of the face he used to make whenever Kashya deigned it necessary to grace him with her presence; and yet, there was something different about this look.

Where Kashya had always exasperated him, Meshif looked almost—happy at the sight of the amazon.

"So. Are you two boys done talking about me yet? Or shall I retreat and give you more time?" Araeya crossed her arms over her chest, smirking just a touch as she tossed her hair from her eyes.

Meshif chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "Master Saul here was simply curious of you, Aya. Perhaps it is up to you to tell him why you trail his footsteps, then." He inclined his head towards the druid—then smiled. "I shall retreat."

"I shall, no doubt, see you later, then." Araeya offered a somewhat lazy smile towards the captain. "I need to break your neck for spilling my past to Saul here."

"I'm looking forward to it." The captain laughed openly—then clasped the amazon gently on the shoulder, before striding off into the empty streets.

Saul raised his eyebrows somewhat mildly. "Such a pretty exchange."

"I suppose you've had your share of them." Araeya said mildly. She stretched—then strode towards the druid, her footsteps light. "But come. Don't change the subject. Why did you ask about my past?"

"Curiousity, I suppose." Saul shrugged, his tone bland. "I merely wondered. And he provided answers."

She snickered, shaking her head as she shifted her gaze towards the sea. "And are your questions answered?"

"Not exactly."

Araeya was silent just then, her stance rigid. It seemed half of forever later before she moved—but when she turned towards the druid, it was with rather critical eyes. She studied him for several short moments, unblinking, unmoving, her brow creased to reveal the depth of her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was low. "Right, then. Let's clear some things up."

"Firstly. Why I left home, or why I refuse to return is none of your business, as of now. When I come to trust you, I shall tell you. For now, let's just keep it at that." She began. "Secondly. When I began trailing your steps out in the desert, I had but one motive on my mind; I wanted to help. The lands of Aranoch are dangerous to those who do not know them. I have little idea as to what we're dealing with here, but I do know that I can't deal with it on my own. That I seem to annoy you is only an added bonus. It's amusing, to me, at the very least, when you scowl."

Saul blinked once. "Wait a bit. So—" He began, somewhat cautiously. "—basically, what you mean is that.. you're here to fight?"

"Evil, yes." The amazon agreed, nodding briefly. "With you, now, it would seem."

"What was that?" Saul frowned, brows knitted together as he pushed himself to his feet. "I was not under the impression that I had agreed to accompany you on the battlefield."

She blinked mildly at him, eyes mirroring placid indifference. His face was but inches from hers. "You don't have much of a choice, really."

"Oh? Why's that?" The druid raised a narrow brow. The amazon was a good foot shorter than he was—yet the look upon her face was quite enough to cause him discomfort. It was as though the mere steel of her gaze could spear his thoughts and mind. "I am not bound in oath to protect this city."

"That's a pity." Araeya said, cooly, lifting her hands to examine her nails with something of a smirk upon her face. "Jerhyn has made it quite clear that no ships are to leave the port before the darkness is quite contained. I'm afraid you'll have to remain here until then. But I'm sure you shan't be at a lack of amusement. If you stay long enough, you may just be able to witness the union between the prince and that pretty little red-head you travel with."

That, Saul thought, as he grunted in response, was rather a low blow. He scowled. "I don't care who she marries. And I wouldn't remain here for all the riches of the realm."

Araeya shrugged, though her eyes never left his. "Denial, Saul Vyreant, is a bloody ocean. You would do well to not drown within its watery depths. It's clear you care for her." She paused, her lips thinning ever so slightly, as though she were deep in thought. And then, quietly—"And the only way you can turn, from here, is back. I don't suppose you desire that path."

She inclined her head gently towards the druid—then turned on her heels, and, without another word, strode quietly away, leaving, in her wake, a grim fog of darkness and doubt.

Desert nights, as a rule of thumb, were generally cold. The mornings were hot, and humid, the air still and warm, often tinged with the faintest scents of coconut and herbs. Every once in a while, the earthly spirits would grace the people with cooling winds in the heat of the day—but only very rarely did this take place. In such a pattern, the nights were cold, and often chilling to the very bone. When the warmth of the day faded away into the biting chill of night, darkness descended, and golden sun was replaced with silver moon.

Night had come too soon.

She strode along the darkened streets, skirts rustling quietly between her legs as she moved. Overhead in the cloudless heavens above, the silver stars twinkled, endlessly, like sequins upon a blanket of prussian blue. The city was silent.

She'd spent the day in quiet solitude within the city walls.

Walking. Just walking, an idle shadow of her former self; walking, without knowing precisely where she wanted to go.

Where she wanted to be.

She just didn't know.

And so she walked. Walked, and walked, and walked, ignorant of others in her path, and mindless of the merchants peddling their wares. She walked to find purpose—for hers, like the mornings' warmth, had dissipated away into absolute nothingness. She walked to find reason.

She walked to escape the nightmares of the morning.

"Cordelia?"

She blinked. The misty haze upon her eyes lifted; and all of a sudden, the world was solid once more.

The man was middle-aged; but if he was a year over fifty, he didn't appear so. His eyes were grey—not unlike that of Saul's. Shoulder-length, ebon locks lay swept back, streaks of grey and silver visible between the wavy locks. He wore robes; mage robes, of shades of crimson, magenta, and gold, and in slender, bony hands, carried a gem-topped, gnarled staff of polished elder.

He tilted his head gently at her, eyes mirroring slight concern. "You are Cordelia, are you not?"

Cordelia nodded—but fought to keep her confusion hidden away. She did not speak.

"Ah, I thought so." The mage chuckled dryly, shaking his head ever so slightly as he stepped towards her. "Forgive me, my dear. I'd forgotten how prone you are to being startled. I suppose you don't remember me?"

She shook her head; still, she did not speak.

"I don't blame you." He inclined his head gently—then offered his hand in a sweeping gesture. "Now then. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more, Miss Cordelia. I am Drognan; and I am a mage, and a star-gazer."

Something clicked in the back of her mind. Cordelia blinked, pallid eyes deep with thoughts of the past. When she spoke once more, it was with an almost child-like uncertainty—and her tone was low, somewhat curious. "When I was five—" She began, quietly. "—I came upon a mage, not of the Medjai, within our encampment. I was, and remain the sole woman magician within the Medjai—and he bade me show him my skill. He was, in some ways, my first mentor, though we spent but two weeks in each other's company."

Drognan crooked a vague smile, but it was his turn to remain silent. He said nothing.

"You are him." Cordelia finished quietly. It was not a question.

"Yes." Drognan agreed. "I am him."

The memories, repressed, as they had been for many years, came rushing back from the deeps of her mind. The sorceress took the offered hand—and in Medjai fashion, clasped it firmly between both her hands, then leaned forward to press her cheek to his. "It has been many years, Araduinn Drognan. You haven't aged a day."

He laughed, cupping her cheek as he drew back to gaze upon her visage, as Atma had done. "But you, princess, have become a fine woman. I am proud of what you have accomplished. The slaying of Andariel cannot have been easy on you."

"The victory is not merely mine to claim." Cordelia muttered quietly. She'd grown somewhat weary of the subject—far too many thought it prudent to mention it. "There were others who battled long and hard by my side."

Drognan nodded slowly, though he did not question her further. Yet, he opened his mouth to speak—but was almost immediately interrupted.

"Drognan!"

Cordelia blinked once—then turned towards the newcomer.

It was a woman of considerable height, crowned with locks of deepest crimson. Her eyes were hazel—and, at the moment, full of anxiety. She cast a sidelong glance towards the sorceress, but otherwise made no sign of having noticed her. "Drognan, you must come."

The elder man narrowed his eyes slightly, his brows furrowing in slight confusion. "What is it, Fara?"

The woman's lip seemed to tremble ever so slightly; but if she had tears within her eyes, she hid them well. "It has happened again."

"Again!" Drognan rose to his full height, his eyes widening just a touch. "Who, now?"

Cordelia found herself upon the brink of bewilderment. Their conversation made little sense to her.

Half of forever later, she gasped—then slowly, slowly, as if in a dream, swallowed. The woman was speaking once more.

"It is Arhaid. Drognan, you'd best come, now!"

Author's Note: Well, there we are—chapter 22, people. I am SO sorry that this chapter took so long. I have no excuse, other than the major swamping of me under work, university applications, and writer's block. But things should start to go uphill from now. I'm officially done with work, and my uni doesn't start until… July, or August. So I've got a whole month to write!

After I finish my Samurai Duelers' League duel with Ophelion on deviantART. XD

Thanks go out to:

Ophelion, for calling me OCD enough to be compared to Tolkien. It's the best compliment I've ever received! I'll see you around after I get back from KL, neh? For now! GUILT ALL AROUND! XD

FantasyFreak4Life for threatening to kill me. Again. xx

skopde for making me feel better about the idiot ex.

Luna; heh, there will be a necromancer joining the ranks in act IV. Be ready for him! And, write! Write! We need more Diablo fanfics out here, so write!

Glacio Iceblade; here's to more hooked-ness!

Silvia—I'm actually not half as annoyed at Deckard Cain as Aya will be, in the later chapters. I'm glad you like her, and I certainly hope her character's colourful enough to keep the now gloomy Saul and Cordy dream-team in good humour! Thanks!

BloodHeron—your review actually made me giggle in glee. Thank you so much!

TheBlackKnight; Thanks! I hope this chapter was a little better. I'm still trying to get my chi back, but it'll soon be back to normal. I promise.

Fallen Dragonfly—thanks! And I'm glad, out of all the fics, that you chose mine! Makes me feel honoured and happy-giddy inside. Teehee!

BloodyFingersInc—I'll try, but I haven't much time these days. Thanks for thinking of me, though.

And last, but not least to Dalia Blackwing and flint02 for the favourites and alerts.

Again, I am SO sorry for the long delay! I'll work extra hard to serve the next chapter while its hot! It's entitled, "Ocean of Fire", so keep your air conditioners on! Until then, keep reading and keep reviewing!

Ta!