Author's Note: Yay for the fourth chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying the characters, regardless of the poorly moving plot, but I promise it will move in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I own Golden Sun! Really, I do! Bwahahahah! Oh, wait, no I don't. Bummer.

Ravaged Bonds Chapter 4: Two Crimson Shadows

"Father . . . ? Why did you wake me?"

"Darling, we need to go, and we need to go fast! Pack your things as quickly as you can. We are getting off of this island."

"B-but why? What about Wolfie? Can't I say—"

"I'm sorry, but we can't say goodbye to your little friend . . . you have achieved your inner potential, and bad men will come."

"Bad men? Where are the bad men?"

"Isha, Isha, calm down . . . no bad men are here or will ever hurt you. We're going to a better place now—mum, me, you, all of us. Forget all about Palmaria, my dear. You have your whole life ahead of you."

"B-but . . ."

"No buts about it, Isha. Go pack your things."

Isha smiled and pressed her hands against her cheeks, feeling the heat transition from one to the other when she realised that she was flushing. Needless to say, she was immensely pleased with her good fortune and that this was a childhood dream come true. Never before did she feel so alive or happy, and every now and then she let out a giggle or a squeal of excitement.

"Oh, Ish, get a grip now . . . !" she told herself, struggling to keep herself under wraps as minutes rolled on past. "You're a grown woman, aren't you? Start acting like it!"

With a tight self-hug around her stomach, she managed to quell her nerves and seat herself on one of the elder tree's expansive roots to calm her mind, telling herself that there were more important issues to think about.

Isha slouched into the palms of her hands and looked down, her smile disappearing into an introspective frown. Getting Wolfe's acceptance was certainly a big deal, but what if he knew all of the things she had been keeping secret from him? She came back to be here at the one place she felt home at and to be with him, that much is true, but what would he say if she told him she ran away to do so? He lost all of the true family he had. Surely he would not truly accept her if she fled from her own, right?

That was just one of her worries, though. She was about to run out of money, her purse only having enough to pay for three more days of room and board, and that was excluding meals. She had to work to keep herself from sleeping in the streets or in the countryside, but who knew what would be the case and what was she to do? Everyone in this community provided for themselves and for each other, but she was no longer one of them.

She sighed, agitated toward herself for not planning better for the trek back to Palmaria. She had every intention to pay her father back when all of this was over, but perhaps she should have made a better loan, in a sense.

Her shoulders rolled as she rose to her feet, gazing in the town's direction through the wall of trees. All of this had to wait, she told herself. She would figure it out some other time, but now she had to prepare for meeting Wolfe again. A small smile encroached her lips again as she started to step into the forest and out of the glade.

She had never noticed it before, but the forest was as beautiful as it was ancient. Everything existed in perfect harmony, even if the lesser monsters came out at night, and both plant and animal worked in accordance to the other. Birds croaked overhead, the blossoms within a large patch of deciduous trees started to bloom in vibrant reds and blues, and attached to the bases of many were mushrooms with stalks as thick as branches, smiling underneath their indigo caps with cyanic gills. It was surprising to her that they were alive for so long, when she thought about it. The forest had been cleared by fire many times, and the mushrooms must have been very heat-resistant to survive the tongues of whatever flames that tried to attack them.

The snap of a charcoaled tree limb startled her from her observances, and she looked around to see what had caused it anxiously. Nothing in the forest was heavy and large enough to do that in the day, she knew from childhood experience, so what was it? Certainly not another human, right?

The faint murmurings of a distant conversation proved that assumption wrong, and Isha frowned slightly to herself. She did not feel like interrupting someone's conversation, and turned to leave, but it was too late to simply leave when she caught a glimpse of them. They did not see her, however, and she thanked her lucky stars for that, hiding behind one of the thick trees of the vicinity.

Two walking, corpselike people travelled along the path and stared ahead, neither of them glancing over to the other as they communicated, which Isha thought was quite strange. One had bleached yellow hair and terrible, wrapping scars all over his neck and face, distorting his appearance vastly. The remaining newcomer was kept half-hidden behind a mask of plate metal, yet thick silver hair that jutted out in thick, angling spikes and a diamond tattoo that lay branded into his cheek were visible on the other side. Cloaks of scarlet and deep black hues fluttered from their shoulders to just above their ankles, the blond's opened in the front as if torn into shreds by recklessness and the silver's neatly locked into place by a set of interlocking metal tines. She found that their ages were inverse of what she had guessed. The man with metallic hair appeared to be a youth, one nearly as old as she, and the other was probably in his late thirties.

She swallowed roughly and withdrew behind the tree. Something was not right between them, something almost inhuman but not quite. She knew that she feared them, however, and shuddered against the coarse bark of the tree.

No, that was not the way to be. It was not correct to fear or make biased assumptions someone who she had never met; she knew that much in her journeys both near and afar. Besides, she was a Mars Adept, a proud one, and she was not going to get scared even by these two. Clenching her fists so that her partially-formed fingernails bit into her palm and drew out four tiny pinpricks of blood, she turned to observe them again.

"So the extraction progress's going as planned," the man with the torn face uttered in a deep, unwavering basso, emitting a smile in his companion's direction that rippled across his face like disturbed shards of glass.

"Mm," the other grunted. "Progress has been achieved by 58% according to last year's quota, which is 23% more than what was previously attained at this current date. 83% of—"

"Listen, you don't have to tell me about all the numbers like you do with Superior," the yellow-haired individual snarled, his previous smile resetting. "Just keep things nice and organised, preferably without fancy-shmancy math. My head swims when you say stuff like that."

"I apologise," the masked man stated, not even turning toward his companion. "Changing diagnostics—"

"And stop talking funny, else I'll kill you myself!" the blond barked, gripping the youth's shoulder with a thick warped hand and pulling them both to a stop. "Talk—I dunno—human!"

"Understood . . ." the masked man uttered, his face shifting from emotionless and blank to one with more human characteristics. His steel-blue eyes no longer were dim, and his face regained some of its colour. "Does this suit you?" he queried, his voice slipping slightly.

"Much better."

Isha twisted around the tree, her heart leaping inside of her again. What exactly were these people, and what were they doing here in the forest? In fact, what was this progress that they were talking about? None of it made any sense to her, especially the strange talk of the man with the plate mask. Against her body's wishes, she turned to the other side of the tree as the odd twosome continued along the forest floor.

"The crystals are getting easier to feed and siphon from. Isn't it strange, Carn, that we need to give Psynergy to gain Psynergy?" the silver-haired man questioned, this time looking beside him at the other.

"Hmm . . . I wouldn't know. Isn't food the same way? We chew to digest, and chewing spends energy. Digestion produces it."

"Fair enough, I suppose . . ." the man with silver hair droned, stretching his thin hand up to his chin as he stared up into the sky.

Isha pondered over what they were saying. Psynergy? What in Sol's domain is that, and why are they trying to harvest this strange thing? In fact, they are getting it from crystals, but crystals from where? Nothing made sense, but whatever the case may have been, she knew it to be fishy. These were no ordinary individuals, and she suspected that they were up to no good.

They were getting further down the makeshift path, and once again she had to adjust her position behind the tree. She tiptoed along with her back towards the tree, but the snap of something trodden under her foot carried through the air. Her heart skipped a beat and she pressed closer to the tree when the sounds of footsteps died off.

"Soo . . ." she heard the gruffer voice say worriedly.

"I know," the younger said, strikingly calm.

Seconds passed by without movement, from Isha or the cloaked twosome. She kept her breath in check, worried that even the slightest inhale or exhale may be heard or that they would search for the source. What she did not expect was the ripping of metal against wood, or her shoulder being pierced clean through.

She cried out in anguish, fighting back both pain and tears as she gripped the alien object lodged between her shoulder blade and collar bone. Glancing over, she found an enormous shaft of metal as shiny as white steel and thick as a coin, and her fingers felt blood, her blood, all along the place she wrapped her fingers around.

Carefully yet speedily, she removed herself from the object, keeping her eyes closed and her teeth gritted to bear through the throbbing pain in her shoulder. She did so, slipping off of the pointed tip and gripping her shoulder to staunch the blood flow. She had to get out of here fast before she ended up killed. She had much to live for, and she was certainly not going to let this end it all.

"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here," the older shadowed figure exclaimed blandly with a grin, his face rippling in a disgusting modus. "It appears that you missed. You never miss."

"There was a 73% chance of hitting, and a 31% chance of striking a vital point at that height. The odds were not in my favour at the time, but I will not miss again with a 100% chance like this," the younger replied, tilting his head like a puppy. Isha found his face absolutely frightening; it was akin to watching grandmasters play chess, their eyes hazed yet their focus so gravely serious and intent so strong.

"What did I say about numbers?" Carn snarled in his direction before huffing a sigh and letting a grin form again. "Well, that's no matter. Bravo for stepping out, yet so very unintelligent. I'll let you handle this, Soo."

"I know," Soo replied, holding his hands outstretched and staring at Isha with calculating eyes.

And then, he started to chant.

Isha was unable to believe her own eyes when she saw a metal spire fire out of the ground at his feet, launched in her direction. Not even a Venus Adept could pull metal out like that, so what was he?

She leaned backwards with her head angling to avoid the sailing object, and once again the metal shaft buried itself into a tree. She, however, was unscathed. She spun backwards with her good hand and legs with a backflip, surprising both herself and the others as well. She had never done that before, though she did have a bit of combat training during her travels.

"My, my, it looks like you missed again," Carn laughed. "What was this about 100% accuracy?"

"And what did you say about numbers?" the other replied in a monotone, still staring at Isha. Before his rowdy companion could counter, he continued: "I did not factor in the chance that she was an Adept. No normal human being would be able to move that fast unless she be a master swordsman or a martial artist. With both of those factors impossible, she's an Adept."

"An Adept? C'mon, Soo, you must be joking!"

"Look at her," the masked man uttered. "Don't you see the fear in those eyes? That is not the same type as normal—a coward's fear. This one has some courage."

"But fear she still has, and for good reason! Finish—"

Isha had chanted for a small while, mumbling words under her breath that she herself did not know but used as an incantation. Soo stepped back as he saw a Flare Wall being formed and countered with a metal shield, whereas Carn pirouetted away with a gross shift in his hideous face.

The wall of intense flames soon abated, and the odd Adept behind the shield shot the object towards her like a discus. She barely avoided being sliced open by the razor-sharp rims and slipped to the side, her agility coming into play. Continuing to mumble under her breath, she raised both of her hands and slammed them into the ground with a ferocious thud, wincing at the pain in her shoulder as the shock travelled up her arm.

Soo looked down where he stood listlessly before leaping backwards, just barely escaping the mouth of a forming volcano as Isha took magma beneath the ground's surface and launched it upwards. The cone was small, but the amount of molten rock that both streamed and blasted out of it was voluminous.

The two had to be experienced in the art of Adept warfare, she knew that much. Both of them were able to escape danger unfazed, even though the area they were in was wooded and lava pooled the ground. Several trees caught on fire at their bases as they were touched by fire, and the purpling mushrooms were set ablaze as if they were nothing.

The twin flashes of metal alerted her to the side of the volcano where the lava had not flowed down, but it was too late. Her boiling blood oozed, and she laid absolutely still, an expression of surprise strewn over her face. Touching her neck, she found a pair of bloody knives impaled through her throat and fell backwards.

"Target neutralised . . ." the silver-haired man uttered, his eye and skin colour returning to a partially normal hue before he gasped. "Sol and Mani . . . what have I done?"

"You've done your duty, and well at that," Carn replied, smiling out of slight mirth at both his companion and Isha's dying form as he stepped out from behind a tree. "You can leave her. She'll bleed out eventually. A fitting end for a snitch, really," he snickered.

"I . . . I understand . . ." the other spoke.

"Don't forget to take your lances out. Don't want to leave anything that would betray a battle."

"But what about the knives . . . ?" Soo inquired, glancing down on her once again. Daunting horror betrayed itself in his eyes as he looked at her, but why, she did not know.

"Just leave them with the body. Those won't compromise us." Carn turned about and headed in the direction that they both were going, glancing up at the now flaming branches of the nearby trees. "Hey, let's get out of here before we get caught in the blaze; I'm itching to get back."

Soo nodded hesitantly, extracted the lances, and allowed them to flow up his sleeve as if it were the water of a Mercury Adept. He did not seem fazed by the extra weight, and twisted around to follow his companion, leaving Isha alone amidst the raging inferno of scorching trees and lava. She lay there, unable to do anything but watch the embers lap up the dried leaves or the billowing smoke cloud of the newly formed volcano or even the ominous thunderclouds behind it all. This was supposed to be a good day, but now all she could see is the red of fire on the black of everything else.

"W- . . . olf- . . . ie . . ." she uttered amidst quiet rasps, tears rolling down her face and dissolving into the small yet growing sanguine puddle beneath her. "I'm s- . . . sorry. . . ."

The squawks of fleeing seabirds overhead was enough to make Wolfe feel queasy, and the clouds and growing intensity in the air could only make it worse. He knew it to be a bad omen, especially when the wind had shifted from its previously happy demeanour and instead slowed to a halt.

"What is going on . . . ? Not a stripe of lightning is in the sky, so why are things acting like this . . . ?" he queried to the wind, staring up at the dark wisps of cloud that started to pass overhead and snuffed the sun out like a candle.

His inanimate companion did not respond, remaining motionless and silent in the wake of the seabirds.

A loud explosion resounded through the forest, causing the seabirds to caw out in fright and Wolfe to panic. The sound came from behind him, and when he turned about to see what had caused it he saw a small pillar of pitch-black smoke, rising and every increasing in diametre. His heart sunk. He knew that it came from the same direction as their meeting place.

"Oh no, Isha!" he shouted abruptly, bursting into a run as he headed back along the path he previously went down.

Minute after painful minute rolled by, and his legs burned almost as much as the heat of the air did to his exposed skin, growing with each passing step. The glow of flames was impossible to escape even if he was a hundred metres away from the conflagration, and he charged into the heart of it.

"Isha! Are you here?" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he fought for air in the oxygen-starved environment. The smoke and heat was stifling, but still he forced himself on, shielding his face with his arm. "Isha!"

He swallowed hard, gazing at the volcanic mound that still spewed lava out of its maw, though only tiny trickles compared to its former glory. The isle had been volcanic for quite some time, and every now and then there was an eruption, but nothing like this was in the history books. It was not natural, and he knew that only a Mars Adept could control such a thing. Could it be that Isha caused this?

Something else caught his eye, a faint green object lying in the midst of the raging inferno, and his eyes narrowed.

"ISHA!" he shouted before hearing the snap of wood above him, looking up, and sidestepping. A burning branch smashed itself into the ground and shattered, leaving flaming bits everywhere, including his pant leg, but to his luck it did not catch on fire. He shouted her name again and ran up to her side, but he did not expect to find her like this.

His lip quivered and his legs partially gave way, and he kneeled down in far greater pain than ever before. Knives, blood, death—all three rattled in his mind in the worst of ways, and he broke out into a fit of sobs as he loomed over her.

"Wolf-ie . . . flee . . ." he heard beneath him in a broken whisper, hardly audible in the crackling of the flames.

His eyes shot open to see her amethyst eyes staring at him and her lips curve into a small frown, blood trickling from the sides. He wanted to hug her tightly, he was so glad to see that she was alive, but the burning environs reminded him that time was of the essence.

"Isha, don't speak . . . I'm going to get you out of here!" he whispered back through sniffles.

She shook her head infinitesimally and closed her eyes to swallow what blood had collected in her mouth.

"It's . . . too late for me . . . I'm going to die. . . ."

"D-don't say that!" Wolfe shouted, the tears trickling down his face evaporating before they even reached his mouth. "I'll get you out of here! I'll get the Great Healer to revive you! Just don't give up!"

"I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . but I don't know. . . . Give me your hands. . . ."

He did so, her weak and limp hands wrapped in his own. She gave him a light squeeze and smiled.

"My gift . . . to you, Wolfe . . ." she uttered softly, emitting a glow from her right hand. Wolfe glanced over to it in confusion, but the light died off before he could know what it was. They locked eyes again, and he noticed that she smiled. "I can only hope . . . that you will never . . . forget me . . . as I won't you."

"I-Ish . . . you know I could never forget you. You'll make it . . . you have to make it!"

"Then please hurry. . . . I don't want to . . . follow Mother just yet. . . ."

Her eyes slowly shut, and her grip faded so that her hands slipped out of his. Wolfe worried at first, but when he saw her chest rise and fall still he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She was alive. Isha was alive.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted her out of the puddle and headed back where he came with her in his arms, running as fast as his legs could carry them both. The flames had spread further, devouring every deciduous tree it could reach, before halting at the thick and lush pines, a bulwark against the touch of flame. Wolfe choked viciously on the thick, hot smoke, but eventually passed underneath the pines and out from underneath the burning canopy.

"Stay with me, Isha. Stay with me," he huffed as he continued. She looked so peaceful, lying in his arms with an infinitely small happy expression on her face. How she could look like that when she was bleeding to death was beyond him.

The rain started to pour and drenched everything with woe, yet Wolfe kept running, urging himself on through the curtain of water.

"For Mani's sake, Healer, open the door!" Wolfe cried out, pounding on the Sanctum entrance with kicks that resounded throughout the street. "Open the door! I've wounded out here!"

Shuffling could be heard from the other side, and the double doors of the Sanctum burst open to reveal its well-lit interior and numerous bearded faces. Each and every one of them stared down into his arms in shock, and a few beckoned him in at all speed to lay her down. He was only too glad to comply, and the door closed behind him with a snap.

"Wake the Great Healer," one of the Healers commanded an associate. "We need a Revival, and fast! My gosh, what blood . . . !"

"I'm on it!" the latter shouted, rushing off to the back of the room.

Wolfe's head swam as so many people beckoned him to a freshly laid-out bed on the floor, but he managed to get Isha onto it speedily. She was drenched, with water as well as blood. Her face was corpselike, without colour anywhere except for the stains of blood on her throat and mouth, and her eyes, still closed, quivered even as she laid down, the pain lancing through her body unbearable. She had to bear through with it, however; removing the blades risked causing a secondary hemorrhage. Both Wolfe and the many Healers knew that much.

The Great Healer soon came, a wizened old prune of a man with unfathomable eyes and grey hair strewn over his visage in long patches. The others made way for him as he approached, but only Wolfe stayed with her, holding her cold hand in his own with a dreading expression on his face. The master cleric set his hand on the youth's shoulder and bent over.

"I'm sorry," he uttered into Wolfe's ear, "but you must step away for now. There's no telling what would happen if I do this on someone as . . . healthy as you."

Wolfe looked up at the elderly Healer and grudgingly nodded, seating himself on one of the stump-like chairs provided in the room. The man looked her over with his steel grey eyes, assessing where the damage was most.

"Her neck and shoulder are pierced," he blurted speedily, not wanting a second of idleness to pass by.

The cleric looked over to him, nodded his thanks, and bent down over Isha with his hands outstretched over her core. Wolfe felt helpless, unable to do a thing but watch and worry while Isha lay not even ten feet away from him. He felt the sticky blood on his hands and prayed that all would work out well, that everything would be all right.

A warm hazel light glowed from the man's palm, and a sensation of renewal flooded through the air. Wolfe thought he smelled fresh spring grass for an instant, followed by sight of spring buds from a dormant branch, but those were just illusions, chemical senses that he got whenever someone used strange and impossible power. He felt it so crisply and so clearly when so many others could not, and he wondered what each of the Healers experienced. Did they see it too?

The light ceased not soon after, and Wolfe wondered what was happening. The knives were still in her, and not even the wound in her shoulder disappeared behind a veil of scar tissue. The Healer looked up at him and shook his head, whilst the young man's heart immediately dropped.

"I'm sorry . . ." the older man murmured. "She has passed beyond even my reach."

"Y-you can't mean that . . . that . . ."

Silence fell as lead would, and so did his innermost soul when the Healer nodded. Wolfe gripped the sides of his head in terrible pain, and tears trickled down his face like rain off a roof. Isha, his best friend, was gone, and so was a large part of him.

The late afternoon sun peered through the western window in muted tones through the stained glass, yet everything seemed to lose its colour. The different bell from the Sanctum filled the air with its long tolls for a quarter of an hour, yet each note struck Wolfe like a tossed rock every time.

He questioned himself the eternal question of why it came to this and why he had to bear through not only the death of his parents but his friend as well, but not an answer came.

Isha lay atop a hammock that the Healers had provided, clean and without any sign of injury except the darker scars on her neck and shoulder. Palmaria's Healers took good care of the deceased before sea burial, healing every bit of damaged tissue to the best of their ability and washing away what grime they had on them. He was thankful for that, as well as for the personal time they had given him to pass on his last words, even if it were to an empty shell.

"Hey, Isha . . ." he started out, holding her hand warmly and attempting to keep his voice calm, though failing to do so. "I'm . . . I wish . . . that I could switch places with you. . . . You were better at me than anything, and had so much more to live up to than a simpleton like myself. . . ."

Fresh tears, sparkling like polished silver in the low light, trekked down his face and onto the awaiting ground. His grip on her limp, fragile fingers faltered before it rallied again like an indecisive soldier.

"Never again will I see your beautiful smile or eyes . . ." he whispered painfully. "Never again will I hear you speak or laugh at something I do. If I were only faster or strong enough to save you, we both would be alive and well . . . you alive and I well. All I could say for now is . . . goodbye. You were the best friend I could ever ask for. . . . Thank you . . . and I pray that I'll see you again in the clouds someday."

Giving her hand one last squeeze, he lifted himself up from her side and exited the Sanctum doors. Not a single glance was cast at the expressions of the Healers outside or even at the people in the street as they tried to see or hear what was going on. Wolfe simply walked on, his face downcast and focused on the puddles beneath him.

The manor slipped into view as he passed along the taller knolls that led north of town. He took his time getting back, the sun just barely setting and casting a crimson glow in the sky, and the world appeared to be painted in dark hues of black and red. The wind whispered to him the entire time even as cold crept onto and over the shores of the isle, promising that things were going to be okay even though Isha was no longer around, but he ignored its faint attempts of calming him with an angry slam of the front door.

The loud noise was refreshing to him as it reverberated through his ears, relieving his mind with a well-needed distraction and bringing a small, bittersweet smile on his face. He felt sorry for shutting the wind out with a bang, but he just needed some time to himself and not listening to its murmurs on his eardrum.

"Slamming the door like you own the place, are we?" he heard from his left, and he peered over to find Avvie's father staring at him with a glowering expression.

"I'm sorry . . ." Wolfe spoke, peering down to his boots to pull them off.

"Sorry wouldn't cut it if you broke the door," the father continued. "See that it won't happen again."

"It won't."

"It won't, what? You're forgetting something."

"It won't, sir!" Wolfe shouted, his anger betraying itself a little too well as he tossed a glare at the man.

"Know your place, Timbre . . ." the older man warned in a low rumble, "else you'll be sleeping for nights on end in the stream out back."

Something in Wolfe's mind snapped, and rage burned a flush over his face as he searched for anything to say, and yet he could not find the words. No, that was not it; it was something else that he could not figure out at the moment. He resigned his efforts and sighed, his face clearing of a fraction of his previous fury.

"Sorry," he uttered firmly, turning his head away toward the stairwell and heading towards it. He was stopped by a thick hand on his shoulder.

"That's not all I wanted to talk about," he heard the father say behind him, the grip on his shoulder tightening enough for Wolfe to let out a cry of pain. "How about that little friend of yours, this Isha?"

The young man's heart drummed faster in his chest as the anger was summoned back, and once again he struggled to restrain his tongue.

"Father, would you stop pestering him?" Av's voice called out from the top of the stairwell, and both turned to face her. Wolfe was shocked to see that she was in different clothes than she was garbed in this morning, but it made sense concerning the rain. She gazed down toward her kin with a frown and continued: "He's had a bad day . . . we both know this."

"I told you to stay in your room, Avdotya. Go back inside. Now."

"I-I will not! Not unless you promise you won't hurt him! He's had enough pain already!" she cried out, trembling like a leaf.

Wolfe spotted a small rivulet of blood flowing down the side of her lip as she bit down upon it. This was the first time she spoke out so openly against her father, and he was both happy and horrified by that.

"Hnh . . ." the muscular figure grunted, letting go of the youth's shoulder and folding his arms. "If it means you'll leave it between the two of us, I won't lay a hand on him. Now go and do not come back out until I say so. We'll talk later."

"Okay . . . but if I hear anything out of place I swear you'll regret it, Father," she uttered, emitting a stern look before slipping back into her bedroom.

Painful seconds of silence flowed through the room after the door snapped shut, and the two remaining people glared at each other, each with a sense of loathing in their hearts.

"Follow me," the father voiced with a rumble, walking over to the front door and whirling it open with a swoop of his hand before looking back, "and don't take long."

With Avvie two doors and an enormous room away, Wolfe knew that something bad could happen to him without her knowledge by the one man that he feared the most if he stepped outside. The forgiving wind whispered to him of this danger through the portal, warning him to go back inside as if nothing had happened or would happen, but he did not, instead closing the door behind him and turning around to face the choleric fellow.

"What did you take me out here for?" Wolfe uttered, his voice a little too quiet.

The father smirked with an added grunt, folded his arms, and leaned his back against one of the railings on the porch.

"What do you think?" he sneered. "I mentioned it earlier, but I'll say it again. I need information on this girl, Isha. You're friends with her, right? Or were, before this mess happened."

"What reason would you want to know?" Wolfe shouted, his voice pitching from fear to fury. "What interest would she be to you, now that she's dead?"

"Keep your voice down," the father spoke lowly, his grim countenance turning even more so, "unless you wish to have Avdotya know you to be a killer."

"Wh-what?" Wolfe uttered in disbelief and anger. "You honestly think that I would kill her?"

"It seems my warnings continue to go unheeded," the man sighed gruffly, no longer leaning on the balustrade and instead fixating his eyes on the youth in front of him.

"Have you absolutely no faith in me at all? You're my adopted father!"

"Grudgingly adopted father! When I first laid my eyes on you, you were weak, pathetic, and groveling, and look at you now. You're the same as you were before, no matter how much I tried to change you, but now you're a cold killer. The evidence is profoundly against you."

"N-now see here!"

"No, you see here! The Healers told me you confessed you were in the forest with her, and everyone saw that the forest we had maintained for centuries upon centuries aflame in your wake! There are no highwaymen or bandits here—I made sure of that—and no one would be disgruntled with her when the ferry ticket is four days old except a past acquaintance, namely yourself."

"Me?" Wolfe shrieked, his body quivering in rage. "I killed her? I would sooner kill myself than anyone else, especially her! She was, is, and always will be my best friend!"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Avvie's father continued, unfazed by Wolfe's reaction. "I see it in your gaze, the murderous embers of villainy, death, and deceit. There is nothing good in those sockets of yours, and the only thing that's keeping me from ripping their contents out and executing you on the spot is my daughter."

Wolfe stepped back, drawing his arm up defensively. He could not believe what he was hearing. This man, his adopted father, openly accused him of murdering his best friend and being evil to the core.

His back touched the wooden side of the house on the third step, and before he could react the man pinned him against it from shoulder to shoulder with a thick, brawny arm. Wolfe let out a cry of pain as the pressure increased on his clavicle, threatening to snap it in two. The man in front of him grunted and relieved pressure, but only enough for the restrained to speak.

"Listen closely," the father whispered, "to what I am going to tell you. Lay a hand on my daughter in any form and you will seal your fate as a dead man. Is that clear?"

Wolfe remained silent and turned his head away in shame and anger before letting out another cry as the pressure increased once more. The man's lips drew closer to his ear, stretched over ivory teeth that gleamed purple in the crystal light of the walkway, and the predatory eyes gazed down on him. He could not help but lock his gaze on them.

"Is that clear?" the father demanded, the noxious odour of garlic and fish entering his nostrils. The pressure did not let up, and Wolfe had to answer.

"It's clear, Sol-take-it!" He spoke hastier and more pitched than he had wished, but the pressure decreased on his body all the same as the man drew away.

"That is good," the father responded with a satisfied smirk. "Go back to your room, Timbre, and remember these words well."

Wolfe did so without an additional word, even though his tongue desired nothing more than to create a train of invectives at the man. Thoughts of all the good and bad things that happened only made things worse, hitting him like a brick upon recollection, but even though he tried to shut them out he found it impossible. His dearest friend was murdered, and he was the falsely accused; that was that, and there was no escaping the pit that he was dragged into.

The urge to slam his door was difficult to resist, and he flung himself onto the bed without undressing, questioning for what reason the evils that had been thrust on him and Isha had occurred. It wasn't long before he passed out with eyelids like lead, tired, confused, and lost in the agony that this day had wrought.

Author's Note: To all of those that wished for a happy conclusion, sorry. Isha was always one of my favourite characters, and I went through as much turmoil as Wolfe when she died. As for the father, what a guy, huh? Please review and critique; I am always open to suggestions that will help this story out.